How Would You Like Your Christmas Calories?: Soy Sauce and Ice Cream

Ingredients

• (what feels like) 1 million f-ugly Buckeyes made, upsetting to all involved except your stomach and taste buds, yeaahhh!
• 2 Jewish friends who share your sensitive stomach but not your love & knowledge of "A Christmas Story"
• An entire pew to yourself at Christmas Eve Midnight Mass
• 1 nine-month-old maniacal cat
• 11 hours
• 1 fancy Italian restaurant open on Christmas
• 11 hours
• All of the New Zealanders in NYC
• 4 stolen petit fours leftovers stashed in coat check, like bread in "Aladdin"
• 1 very sexist man who wears a coat
• 11 hours
• 1 puking man
• Circling back to my Jewish friends, 1 (affordable) restaurant open on Christmas: Chinese food 

Instructions

I lied. CVS is also open on Christmas. It's 24 hours, bitches, 365 days a year. There, I purchased my first-ever pint of Ben & Jerry's ice cream that wasn't their fro-yo and also bought in a dorm using my college meal plan points. No, this was the real deal: an entire pint of normal Ben & Jerry's Half Baked Ice Cream at the original, non-sale price. Chocolate & vanilla ice cream with fudge brownies & gobs of chocolate chip cookie dough. And Chinese food. At 11:00pm on my orange futon.

Now, how did I end up here, eating legit not-dietarily-modified-at-all chicken and broccoli with white rice out of a giant styrofoam container until my sides burst, only to follow up with half a pint of full fat, overpriced ice cream-- on Christmas Day? Have I mentioned I was alone? (Sans the maniacal cat I'm cat-sitting, of course. His name is Anton.)

My Christmas Story is a funny one. It's not rather interesting. It's funny maybe only to me. Perhaps it's simply sad, and nothing else. Or it's just... nothing, and nothing else. But I'm going to recall it to you in the form of a classic Christmas poem, pronounced "pohm". That way, after you read it, you shall rest your head down, dream of dancing candy, and receive gifts under a plant in your home, which was broken into by an old man.

Light your fires, or turn on Yule Log on Hulu:

'Twas the year without Christmas, and all through NYC

No one cared you were here. No one bought you a tree.

So your garland was hung on the wall with pushpins,

Your ornaments, too, except those forgot in the box, like shut-ins. 

The Buckeyes were made with such high expectations,

As no one outside Ohio has any inclination

Of what majesty they bring to your mouth and your Christmas,

Even when your first-time-alone batch is semi-ambitious.

As the Ohioan sou chef of a highly acclaimed restaurant understood,

"They were good. Visually, not so good." 

For from an old brownstone in Bushwick they came,

Where you melted dark chocolate like one dumb and lame.

Alas, my first sans-mom Buckeyes look dreadful,

Making their appearance and tasting at this fancy restaurant stressful.

But everyone working there's strangely from Ohio,

How else would you get this job, checking Burberry coats like there's no tomorrow?

Showing high business clients to their tables so swiftly,

Ignoring sexist "can you handle these two coats on your arm?"-- No, really.

Alas, this is the reason why you weren't home for Christmas,

For when you apply for a job in December, you clearly missed

The underground agreement that you'll work on the holiday.

That's fine, though; you didn't want to fly home again anyway!

It's helpful your mom flew in the weekend before--

Her "I-haven't-flown-in-thirty-years" record no more!--

And that you'll be flying home soon for a colonoscopy. 

Anyways, who's left in New York for a Christmas Eve party?!

Two of your best friends, who happen to be Jewish, (other) Anna and Melanie!

Every dish you make to accommodate gluten-, dairy-, & FODMAP-free

Turns out to explode, burn the oven, or not be real tasty.

In accordance with what your dad advises for a Christmas Eve bash, 

"Good food good friends good movies", you didn't do too bad!

Because of work, you won't have time for mass the next morning,

So you head to your first Midnight Mass to find your Prince Charming.

(That's your mom's response to your first trip to any new church--

That you'll meet a nice Catholic boy to help you out of your lurch.)

At 1am, your walk back home, you pass drunken reindeers at bars, 

Fellow holiday orphans who, instead of an 8am start, get cigars.

"Now, Mother! now, Father! now, Sister! now,-- KITTEN!"

You Skype with each parent, and with your temp. cat they're smitten.

But, alas, fifteen minutes with each is all that you get,

For a train you must catch to your Christmas Day hosting minuet!

11am to... whenever! That's the shift you will work.

There are so many others battling this here with you, you can't help but smirk.

But just as you do, you know it won't last;

You predict a moment where you will all break-- you see it in a flash.

You try to ignore it as folks start to arrive,

Until you notice a dreadful trend that simply won't jive.

Jive is a horrible word in this context, merely used to rhyme--

What I mean is THESE PEOPLE WERE ALL FOREIGNERS WHO WOULDN'T TIP A DIME!

No, not a dollar for coat check! On Christmas, of all days!

A marathon shift, all you had going was hope of high pay!

How could you be so naive, thinking they'd take pity on the hostesses?

The considerate family-minded are at home with their families on Christmases!

Who else would be at this restaurant, paying for a Christmas pre fixe

But overseas tourists whose native custom is not to tip?

New Zealander after Brit strolled in with puffy coats through the door,

Even though it was sixty degrees out, there came more and more and more and more...

The key sexist man, the only truly offensive guy so far:

When you returned with two coats, he refused to take "the lady's", so you stood silently by the bar,

You holding her mink until she returned from the restroom,

Only to be met with another demand, from which you looked to fellow hosts for rescue:
"Help her into it." Help her into it?! Say it nicely, at least!

This was at Hour 8, by George, you were gritting your teeth. 

Oh, sir, we are not your servants; coat-checking is not our CAREER.
Apparently, to you, sir, our life's calling is hosting your fine dining-- sorry, to us, that wasn't clear.
The muscles in your face tightened ever so,
And this wasn't even that breaking point, ohhhh, no no no!
Finally, after a knock-down, drag-out professional discussion of who got to leave and who got to close,
You left second (yay!), and could finally, ruthlessly blow your nose.
Now began your true Christmas, your extremely deserved celebration.
You hadn't planned on eating after work, but your bitter exhaustion had a better response to starvation.


"What's open at 10:15pm on Christmas night?" was a question you were excited to answer,
As you knew, from "A Christmas Story" and your Jewish friends, that Chinese food was standard. 
Why there were tourists outside taking pictures of the Lord & Taylor windows
And the New York Public Library at this hour on Christmas, you'll never know; 
Or why a young man projectile vomited onto the subway tracks 
Right next to you and, for whatever reason, you didn't even react; 
Or why you were sweating in December instead of dodging stray icicles--
These Christmas mysteries exist alongside Christmas miracles. 
Yes, that one Chinese place around the corner from your apartment
That you swore to never get was open, its old, weathered picture menu lit up and ardent.
You waited maybe four minutes for your food; man, that was fast.
Though usually it'd make you sick, you enjoyed it with Netflix, at last!

SNL, duck sauce, and Half Baked Ice Cream;
A cat like a dog on Adderall, to whom every ten minutes you scream.
So you didn't eat your mom's cookies, your gifts shipped too late to your family;
You missed your cousin's engagement and Marr-famous dinner rolls from Aunt Sandy.
This Christmas belonged to you, and you alone--
Your first New York Christmas, your first away from home.
You got to share Christmas Eve with friends who don't know it,
Though you didn't have the clam dip, lasagna, tenderloin, and trifle to show it...
And, let's be honest, you missed your cousin's wedding engagement--
It literally happened on Christmas, your mom was there, important situation.
But still! The fugly yet delicious Buckeyes do freeze in your freezer,
A cat is asleep on your futon, and you ain't no Ebenezer.
You are off on New Year's Eve-- well, except for 8am to 3...
But who the hell cares! You make cash, nap, then PARTY.

Let's all now exclaim, ere you sneak out of sight--
"Happy Christmas to all, and don't puke near me New Year's Eve night!"