One Is Silver and the Other Gold

Another year passes and I'm left feeling older and not much wiser, but remembering the year that's passed and everything that's changed. Even traditions that continue year after year change gradually, and soon you're left thinking maybe there's something to that kooky Darwin's "evolution" theory after all. Especially as we reached the end of 2008, holiday traditions took on new forms and their progression over the years captured my attention.

December 2002 was the beginning of the now-legendary Ho Ho Ho Ho party, and since I've physically attended 6 of the 7 events, and video-phoned in for the one I missed, I've been able to see just how major a transformation it has undergone. Now don't get me wrong—I love hippies as much as anyone (How could you not? They're so hairy and cuddly?), but they are RUINING the Ho party. When four, enterprising young women set out to found Arizona's greatest holiday bash, we were smart little capitalists, fully intending to break even on the cost. Cups cost a set amount, and tips were encouraged to earn a kiss. Perhaps it was borderline prostitution, but dammit, we recouped our money and then some. Now though, the Ho party suggests you byob, find your own cup, and if you feel like donating to the "Send Matt to Space Camp" fund, feel free…otherwise, party on, dude. Grooooovy. And even more a travesty is that our brilliant tip-earning methods have been bastardized into a free-love orgy in which every woman (and man—but I'll get to that) is wearing red lipstick and leaving their love-marks on passerbys who don't even know their name. Don't give it away, people! Love is meant to be bought! Then, to top it all off, free-love apparently now means gender-lines be-damned. I can't tell which attendees are which gender half the time, leaving me forced to do an accidental crotch-grab as they walk by, and then feel guilty for not paying them. Men and women alike wear fishnets and go topless and the only reminder that this is a Christmas party is the slightly-higher-than-average amount of red in outfit selections. That ratio doesn't last long however, because soon 80% are down to their underwear which they aren't even considerate enough to choose holiday versions of. Now, don't get me wrong—I love a good bisexual orgy now and again. And again. And again. Almost as much as I love hippies. I even understand that Christmas is a somewhat-pagan holiday where the witches and the gnomes danced in the woods and lit squirrels on fire, but Christmas is also about commercialization and spending lots of money. All you crazy he-shes out there with your wacky ideas about liberalism and being comfortable with who you are and expressing yourselves through dance and nudity and really caring about who people are on the inside: you have missed the Christmas memo, and you are upsetting the delicate balance of the Ho party. I fully approve of your unbridled sexuality, but if you do not turn a profit, I am disallowing it. Period. And so the tradition of the Ho party lives on, albeit twisted into a whole new beast. Next year, I'm moving it to Colorado and resurrecting Capitalism in the name of the failing economy.

The first EVER picture of Roomie-ho smiling nicely in a photo with me

It's sad when old traditions die. Or when you kill them. Christmas with the fam almost wasn't this year, due to weather and drunken New Year shenanigans was traded for learning about my sisters' sexual history while dd'ing and praying for 12am to arrive so I could go to bed. I guess I need to start some new traditions...