'Tis the season of the holiday party. Ho fucking Ho. About 5 weeks ago, I promised myself that I wouldn't drink for 100 days. Don't ask. All I'm going to say, is it had something to do with a white pashmina scarf, a bar named The Cock and some vomit. Nothing to see here. Needless to say, the cheer in my holiday has been a bit, well, cheerless. I don't think I've been dry at a party since my 8th birthday. Don't get me wrong. I love people and I love parties but making conversation with drunk people when you're sober, is an art form. It's not dissimilar to engaging in conversation with your fat, annoying Aunt that smells like spit at your Bar-Mitzvah or having a catch with your retarded cousin. It's not impossible but you need to focus. Alcohol is to a party like Auto Pilot is to an airplane. You don't have to pay attention after you hand over the controls. You just coast on through. Last week I had three Holiday parties to attend. I didn't...
