Sunday, December 23, 2007
Life, "Ask a Bachelor"

Surviving the hellidays

My family adored my boyfriend, and I’m bracing myself for nonstop comments about how in the world I could let him get away and do I want to be single and alone for the rest of my life?

Q I’m a 33-year-old woman, and after three years, my boyfriend and I decided to call it quits. We needed to break up—things had run their course—but the timing sucks. I’m visiting relatives for the holidays and am dreading what I’m sure will be an onslaught of criticism and pity. My family adored my boyfriend, and I’m bracing myself for nonstop comments about how in the world I could let him get away and do I want to be single and alone for the rest of my life? Even though I know breaking up was for the best, I’m still upset and don’t need any more flak about my newly single status. I’m dreading this so much that I considered going with a friend to her family’s home. But I know my family would be really upset about that. So how can I make it through the holidays with my busybody relatives? —Single and Stressed

A Ahh, the holidays. What would they be without obnoxious relatives you haven’t seen in eons, sporting reindeer sweaters and tormenting you nonstop about when you’ll tie the knot? Which is painful enough on its own but downright excruciating when you have to factor in your heartbreak, too. You have my sympathy.

Now onto some survival tips. Ward off the avalanche of questioning with a few zingers laced with shock, sarcasm and deflection. For example, when decrepit Aunt Fanny tsk-tsks: “Will you ever get married?” you reply: “Maybe, but not before I burn through the economy-size box of condoms I just bought.” Or: “And deprive you all of the pleasure you get from asking me every year? No way!” And never underestimate the silencing power of implying just a touch of insanity. When slimy Uncle Larry oozes, “Another one bites the dust, eh? What did you do?” you calmly reply, “Well, my Lorena Bobbitt impersonation hit a little too close to home for him, if you know what I mean,” while smiling mysteriously and hacking off a chunk of spiced sausage.

Finally, try to remember your relatives’ endless inquisitions don’t mean they’re grinches trying to steal your sanity. If you can view their badgering as off-the-mark but well-intentioned expressions of their love and concern, you’ll have a much easier time not wanting to shove a giant peppermint stick up their asses every time they start in. Plus, keep in mind that if they’re married, lack of sex is probably clouding their judgment on respecting someone’s privacy about their personal life. And if all else fails, I advise alcohol—lots of it. It’s hard to answer questions when you’re passed out, isn’t it?

At my office holiday party this year, I committed one of the biggest gaffes imaginable: I got out-of-control wasted. I drank about a dozen vodka tonics, got crazy on the dance floor and made out with at least one colleague. It got pretty hot and heavy with her in the bathroom, but we eventually got ourselves together and went back to the party. I remember grinding with a second girl to several songs, but I’m pretty sure that’s as far as it got. From that point on, it’s pretty fuzzy. I think I spoke to my boss, but I can’t remember exactly what I said. I don’t know what got into me. Things at work have been really stressful lately, so maybe I was just letting off some steam with my colleagues. Thing is, since the party, I’ve sensed that people are acting differently toward me at work. They don’t seem to take me seriously. Should I start sending out resumes, or is there anything I can do to save my job? It’s a pretty conservative office, but I really love what I do. —Still Hungover

A conservative office? With a holiday party that features free-flowing alcohol, a jammin’ dance floor and willing colleagues who will bootyshake with you and shag you in the bathroom? Holy hell, if this is what you call a conservative office, I’d love to be invited to the shindig for a casual one. It would probably put the Playboy Mansion fêtes to shame.

Unfortunately, you’ve learned an important corporate covenant the hard way: Thou shalt not get blitzkrieged at the office party, lest thou make a colossal fool out of thouself and put thoust job in jeopoardy. You could’ve led your team in sales for the year or saved your company millions, and what will stick out in your colleagues’ minds is that you turned the YMCA into a drunken striptease. Depending on how much time has passed, if you haven’t been called into the boss’s office yet you may have dodged a bullet. Focus on becoming a poster boy of responsibility and professionalism—that means no distributing mass e-mails about happy hour—and stick to punch at next year’s party, where hopefully some other jackass will make a bigger spectacle of himself than you did. SP
After two years of highlighting her own romantic adventures, Blane Bachelor is now available to help you with yours. Send your questions to askabachelor@sundaypaper.com.