The Best/Worst Christmas Gift Ever


The holidays are a time for breaking bread with loved ones, spreading cheer and putting the Christ back in Christmas. It’s also, most importantly, the time for PRESENTS and we want to hear about the best and worst gifts that you’ve ever been given.

Before we get into that, let’s honor the best contributions to last week’s pissing test, Your Most Embarrassing Holiday Party Stories. In an ideal world, you’d all be winners—not out of generosity, but because you shared some truly humiliating shit. It’s not an ideal world though, so I had to narrow it down to out top three.


Well, this story isn’t from a holiday party, but it was an office party, and I sure as hell did make an ass out of myself. It was my first big party at my first real job; I was in charge of planning the day’s activities, so naturally I was in panic mode for an entire week straight before the event. I wanted to impress the CEO whom I worked closely with, in addition to the gazillions of other twenty somethings who also worked there. In short, I was 22 years old, and really wanted them to love like me.
We went to a fancy bowling alley in NYC which kept bringing us more and more liquor. Being anxious and already stressed, I obliged the waitress returning to our lane with beer after beer. I normally can’t eat a lot when I’m nervous, so I got drunk pretty fast. I lost count around five beers.
My mis-behavior started innocently enough: flirting with some of the other single guys in the office, moon walking on the lanes themselves, impressing coworkers with my ability to keep my eyes closed and still get a strike (apparently I’m a great drunk bowler). But shit really hit the fan when we continued the party at a rooftop bar next door.
I started talking to a co-worker. He was newish to the company and seemed like a nice guy, so me and my friend struck of a conversation about life, love, trials and tribulations, that sort of thing. The guy is going on and on about his girlfriend, and how much he loves her. All the while my friend keeps saying “he’s really cute!” I didn’t agree, and I especially wasn’t interested after he spent forty five minutes talking about the “love of my life,” so I ignored my friend and we kept talking. And of course, drinking.
Somewhere along the line the newish coworker guy grabs me and we start making out. I barely remember this part (I blacked out). We were both so drunk we fell on to the ground. Not quite sure what was happening, I went into full make out mode. I straddled him while laying on the ground as our coworkers made a silent circle around us….and watched.
Another male coworker saw what was happening and was clearly concerned since I was so intoxicated. He tried to help me up but of course I yelled “I DON’T NEED YOU! I DON’T NEED ANY OF YOU!” before bursting into tears and telling everyone…the entire company, how much I hated my job because I felt they didn’t appreciate all the BS I put up with, or all the great things I do for them.
My new make out buddy, stood up slowly walked over to his boss and punched him in the face. Honestly, that was kind of the best part — his boss was a straight up douche.
Sigh, I’ll never forget that day. How I didn’t get fired… I’ll never know.

“An Indecent Proposal” by Siren:

My birthday is exactly a week before Christmas, and as such, is almost always the day that my office chooses to have their holiday party. This has happened several times over the years with various jobs, and it is generally uncomfortable and has occasionally gotten weird.
The most memorable, however, was several years ago. Not only was I the one who had to plan the party, but my boss decided it would be on my birthday.
About a week prior to the party, I had broken up with my boyfriend of three years. I was no longer attracted to him at all, and had started feeling like a glorified masturbatory aid when we did actually have sex (he took less than two minutes, thought foreplay was for chumps, and was perpetually mystified as to how and why I was never instantly wet and ready to go). I was only in my mid-twenties, so I figured I would end things with dickbag and clear out the cobwebs in my vagina.
I had already made out with another guy who I was very VERY attracted to, and asked him to accompany me to the party. He was charming and gracious, and agreed to attend with me. We were having a great time, had a couple too many drinks, and my boss surprised me with a birthday cake in the middle of the party. Just as everyone was singing happy birthday, my ex shows up to the party.
He had spent an extravagant amount of money that he didn’t have on a hideous engagement ring, sidled his way next to the person holding the cake, and at the end of the happy birthday song, he got down on one knee, opened the ring box and practically screamed at me to marry him. I took one look at him, and suddenly my peppermint martinis decided they were not to be one-upped and wanted their own grand entrance into the party. I ran to the bathroom to throw up.
My charming date, with the assistance of my boss, threw my ex out of the party while I was experiencing my gastrointestinal pyrotechnics. I never heard from him again, but I also never heard the end of that incident until I left the company. Charming date spent hours with his head between my legs later that night.

“ALL. OVER. MY. FACE.” by NeoFlyG:

It was our annual Christmas party that my friends and I do every year. Earlier that day I’d traveled from Chicago to my hometown where the party was to be held. I’d brought two bottles of my favorite red wine and was ready to go as soon as I walked through the door. The party was great and we eventually moved it to a bar just down the street from my friends house. I was completely wasted when we arrived as I’d drank one of the two bottles I brought and then switched over to rum and coke once we’d all arrived at the bar.
Being single at the time I immediately saw a guy who was attractive and kept making eye contact and we eventually both ended up on the dance floor together. I don’t think we even exchanged any words we just started dancing. At one point I noticed he was staring at me a little more intently but not in a good way. I wasn’t sure why he was looking at me all weird so I walked off and went to the bathroom.
I went straight for a stall and sat down to pee. Mind you I am completely lit at this point and things are blurry and unfocused. I noticed little drops of red all over on the floor around me, on my legs and on my hand. It took me a good twenty seconds of looking at my hand to focus in and realize that it was blood. Omg, I’d gotten my period and it was EVERYWHERE. I’m gushing blood all over the place and I’m totally fucking wasted in a public bathroom with no tampons or pads. I smear the blood off my legs with toilet paper, shove some in my underwear, pull up my pants and open the stall. There are a few ladies in the bathroom at this point and I start asking (surely slurring my words) if anyone has a tampon because I’ve just gotten my period. They look fucking HORRIFIED. What the fuck? Why is everyone looking at me like that? I must be REALLY drunk and generally offensive.
It is then that I see my reflection in the mirror behind the ladies that I finally notice there is blood ALL. OVER. MY. FACE. Mostly around my mouth and chin and I realize I have a bloody nose. Not just a few drops but there has been some kind of explosion from my face and I look absolutely crazy.
It took me a few seconds to realize that I obviously didn’t get my period and that is was just blood dripping off my face that I was too drunk to notice. It also registered that this had likely started on the dance floor and the cute dude I’d been dancing with had seen it too. I must have looked like such a mess with a bloody face dancing around thinking I’m the shit because I always think I’m a better dancer when I’m drunk.

Well done, everyone! Truly horrifying!

For this week’s Pissing Contest, I ask that we allow ourselves to temporarily put aside graciousness and rant about the truly awful (or truly wonderful) gifts you’ve been given over the years. To get us started, in middle school I really wanted a Razor scooter for Christmas. Instead, I was given a floral suitcase in a Razor scooter-size box. (TBH, I used the suitcase more than I ever would have used one of those cheap, fold-up injury machines.) In better gift giving news, my grandparents once bought me—then an 11-year-old Shakespeare nerd—a brick with my name engraved in it at the Globe Theatre and I screamed with joy for minutes.

Another Jezebel staffer had this heartbreaker to contribute:

My (at the time) unmarried, childless cat hoarder aunt who had bullied my mother through her childhood once gave me a Felicity doll for christmas. It was nicer than anything my parents could afford to get me, and I think she did it as a sort of passive-aggressive way to shade my mom. Of course once I opened it, I was so excited because I never thought I’d have a Felicity doll and it was like a DREAM COME TRUE. But my mom was so bummed out that my aunt was rubbing (something) in her face. I never figured out exactly what that gesture meant, but in the ensuing years, my mother has stopped talking to her sister, and I have really poisonous memories of that entire day.

Well, we’ve shown you ours…

Image via Shutterstock.

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