So I went back to Pembroke this weekend to give my parents a hand with decorating their Christmas tree, and–well, duh–because my mother was baking and well… enough said. We ended up doing that, finishing my Christmas shopping for the most part (ideas for Christmas gifts for mom, anyone?), then going to my aunt’s (no, not the cool one who’s earned a mention or two on here already) place for a premature Christmas Eve party, since my uncle goes back to Afghanistan in 3 days. Now, as is the family tradition, there was alcohol involved in that party–and lots of it. I actually managed to behave myself, though, which surprised the hell out of me; I only bought a 6-pack, and by evening’s end I’d drank 4. Considering I’d intended to finish the pack, I’d say I didn’t do too badly. Of course, leave it to the sister-in-law to negate the possibility of me finishing said 6-pack. I won’t get into detail,because to be blatantly honest it was ridiculous being there, and it’s even more ridiculous talking about it. Suffice it to say, when after an hour and a half of drinking your tongue is looser than most hookers, it’s not going to be a good night. For you. Particularly if half an hour later your head is first in a bucket, and then in the table whilst you pass out. It became necessary to pour her into a car and get her the hell home just so we could keep the place clean. O’course, then we all ended up starting to file out an hour later anyway, but that’s so not the point. Surprisingly, she was fine when she finally came alive this morning (translation: noonish), and she and my brother took off to… um… somewhere, presumeably to get food into one or both of them since neither had eaten since supper last night, and she barely even ate that (hint: she knew she was going to be drinking. Ding dong, stupidity calling.). She tried so hard to make me believe she remembered everything that went on last night, but as soon as I said “We have pictures” I think she knew she was fucked. We only stayed there until maybe 11:30, and I think we got there about… oh… between 6 and 7 let’s just randomly guess at, but I’ll bet an hour and a half of that party was just spent making sure she passed out on the table instead of the floor, and then figuring out the best way to actually move her doorwards without her losing the rest of what she drank that night–by the way, that was a miserable failure. And this would be me *not* going into detail. Then today was basicly the part where I pack up my shit and get a lift back to Ottawa, where I now can actually get some rest, then do it all over again in a week. A whole 2 days and I left like haulling off and drifting her. And if she wasn’t across the table from me last night, I probably would have–but I wasn’t alone! If that’s an indication of how Christmas is gonna go at our house next week (by the way, I have 5 days off… yay!), I’m seriously going to give thought to going home Sunday morning, and coming back Monday night. In as nice a term as I can place on it, this was just horribly fucking bad. I want my weekend back.