Santacon 2012.

Since I don’t appreciate bar culture and didn’t start drinking until I was in my late twenties, I’ve never participated in any kind of alcohol-related festivity, like St. Patrick’s Day for example. However, my co-worker Nessa told me she was going to Santacon and I should join her. I figured, hey, I would have friends around me as a human shield to protect me from the inebriated masses and I could dress up like an idiot, so I decided to participate.

I wanted to look slutty (not sexy, like a sexy elf or sexy reindeer, slutty, there’s a difference), but it’s cold out, so I decided to clearly delineate precisely where my primary and secondary sexual organs are via the use of brightly colored fabric. I bought a red shirt and used green glitter glue to stick sequins in heart shapes over my bosomy parts. Then, I took a sparkly Santa hat, cut it apart, and made myself a loincloth of sorts with felty green poofs stuck on it. This way, I was still trashy while still wearing leggings, pants and a sweater. I called myself The Christmas Flasher. Please to also notice the “hot holiday mess” makeup and the antler headband.

We had a lovely brunch in Astoria and then got on the train to Midtown. Nessa had bought a pair of fairy wings that I painted in festive red and green, so she was a jaunty fairy elf.

When we got to Manhattan, there was a million billion Santas everywhere. On the corners, in the buildings, everywhere.

Most of them were wearing basic Santa costumes, but some people got very creative.

This man was dressed as a Squid Santa. I was super-excited about that. Him, less so.

There was a Santa that was 7’1″. He was an easy guy to find.

This is a nice picture, but the photobomb behind it makes it even better.

Nessa took this in an attempt to have street cred.

While I had a nice time all day, it was not my ideal social event. I don’t really appreciate standing around for five hours slowly sipping various alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages. I danced for a while, but other than that, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Luckily, as the other Santas got more and more bombed, they provided me with entertainment. I got to see something I had only heard about as lore. Two young men who were relatively short and therefore compensated by working out too much, attempting to fight but, being challenged by all kinds of gravity, looked like they were slow-dancing to oddly tempo-ed music. And the entire time both of them are slurring, “I love you, man!” “No, I love you, man!” I snapped one photo of them as their equally loaded friend tried to break them up.

Now that I have had this experience, I don’t really feel the need to go again, but if I would be going to super-cool dancing facilities or something next Santacon, I would make myself a big red cape festooned with holiday goodness that I could wear over my clothes and not be cold. Consider that as an option if you go.

Additional niblet: I was outside a Broadway theater when Dan Stevens came out! Teh Hottnezz from Downton Abbey! I posed with him for a photo and promptly stabbed him in the face with my antlers. Luckily he wasn’t mad and I took a photo with him without my antlers robbing him of one of his greatest assets.

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