Another Christmas has come and gone and I’m still standing. Every year I say, no I vow, that I’m going to start my Christmas shopping early, and every year I’m out there battling the other procrastinators on Christmas Eve trying to rescue any decent gift from the picked-over mess that lies on the store shelves and on the floor.

The thing I hate most about waiting until the last minute to do my shopping is that it’s usually hard to find a parking spot anywhere. This year I was lucky in that I was able to find good parking no matter how full the place was, and no, as tempting as it was – I did not use my father’s handicap placard to park in a handicap spot. The way I see it, I’m grateful that I can walk so I’ll park where ever there is a spot and walk. I understand there are less fortunate people who need the spots and I respect that, besides I work with mostly older, handicapped veterans, so can you imagine the hell they would give me if any one of them saw me parking in a handicap spot.

As I walked into the Toys R Us store a homeless man walked up to me and edfor a dollar. He smelled like he had been drinking for most of the holiday season, and for some reason the smell as he talked to me reminded me of the rum balls my aunt used to make for the holidays – it gave me a warm, melancholy feeling, so I gave him a dollar.

I raced around the store, running through the aisles, practically knocking over blue haired “Grammies” as I go over my mental list of people who I still need to buy gifts for and I try to match them with whatever is left. Most of the people on my list will never know how close they came to receiving 7-11 Slurpees and individual size bags of Doritos as gifts.

It took a little longer than I thought it would to finish my shopping. I had to go to three different stores including that Hellhole they call Wal-mart. I hate going there even when it’s not Christmas because most of the employees are mean and would rather chew off their right arm than help you. The cashiers never smile or do the chit chat, small talk thing that makes customers feel all warm and fuzzy inside, especially at Christmas time.

Once the gifts were bought and wrapped we decided that we would all dress up and go out for a family Christmas dinner, some of us were more dressed up than others – Ok, I’ll admit that I hate to dress up and I won’t dress up unless I absolutely have to. I think that comes from the fact that as a kid my mom used to make dress in jackets that matched exactly with my pants. I remember going to school wearing a green jacket that matched exactly with my green pants, or a red jacket that matched with my red pants, you get the picture. It’s a good thing that it’s only my fashion sense that was screwed up by those matching outfits.

As we sat eating I heard my mom ask my four year niece if she’s ok, then I hear her say, “She’s choking!” My sister jumps up from her seat and grabs my niece and starts patting her on the back real hard trying to dislodge whatever is caught in my niece’s throat. In a flash my mom is on top of the situation. Like a superhero she flies around the table, grabs my niece and forces a chunk of ham to fly out her mouth. My niece starts to cry and then she throws up, right there in the restaurant in front of the other diners - and a new family Christmas story is born.

My sister took my niece to the restroom and cleaned her up. She was visibly upset and I have to admit that I felt a little shaken up myself. I looked at my sister and said, “thank God for Grandmas who know how to do the Heimlich.”

After dinner we decided that we would walk on Freemont Street. There’s  lots to see and do on Freemont Street, it’s like a carnival on one of Vegas’ most famous streets. As we’re walking, my mom and sister-in-law decide that they want a margarita, so my brother gets in the line to buy one for them. My brother orders the drinks and as the bartender is making them he reaches behind his back, puts his hand in his pants and scratches his ass.

My brother was disgusted and said to the bartender, ”I don’t want those.“

The bartender looked at my brother with a strange look on his face. “Are you serious? You don’t want them?”

“You just put our hand in your shorts?”

“I wasn’t scratching my ass.” The bartender said.

My brother said, “I saw you scratch your ass. I don’t want anything.” The bartender claimed he was adjusting something. Just my thoughts on the subject I don’t think I want to be served anything by anyone who is either scratching their ass or adjusting something in it.

I looked at my brother and said, “Maybe he was making a new drink called ‘dirty- ass margarita’”