Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Follow Up: Where I Sat For Christmas Eve Dinner.

Mon peeps, what is up? A few weeks ago I wrote a post about frustration and anger over a very trivial and minor slight. I have never written anything like that before, so I understand if you were taken aback by it.

(26 Seconds of blog research)

Oh, turns out that is the majority of what I write about. I'm fine with it though, and you're reading this so you must be cool with it too. The SPECIFIC post I'm referring to has a pretty self explanatory title. Here is the link to "My 6 Point Plan To Sit At The Grown-up Table".

Until yesterday, this was the most viewed post in "j.Bowman Can't Sleep's" illustrious history. I'm assuming "illustrious" means pointless. Even though the post has been dethroned by John McClane (12 Days of Christmas Movies: Die Hard) it's minor significance carried over, past Christmas and many people have been asking me the $4.26 question:

"j.Bowman, did you get to sit at the grown-up table?"

An excellent and affordable question (oddly enough the .50 question is "who is the shittiest rapper?"). I got tons of support from some of you and I got texts, emails, facebook notifications and even a phone call from the Netherlands (M.Laverman is a king among men). I have since promised you all that I would write an update, and unless we are dating, I keep my promises! I appreciate all of your help and support and it is with GREAT PLEASURE that I respond to the above question with......

Sort of.

(I phoned in to the rally and broke the news to them first. Thanks anyway guys!)

Allow me to elaborate on my vague statement. It turns out quite a few members of my family read "j.Bowman Can't Sleep" and knew of my highly mature way of handling it if I didn't get the seat this year. In case you forgot, I threatened to "go tantrum" on everyone.

(Exactly like this, only more awesome)

(Not that awesome. Holy shit give that kid whatever he wants)

Anyone who read the comments on the original post can see how quickly my Aunt stepped in to crush my dream of getting a shot at the adult table. She made incredibly valid points, and everyone seemed to enjoy her showing up on the blog and busting my chops, so I'm cool with it. But because my family rules, a compromise was reached to avoid having "Christmas Eve Dinner 2010" turn into "The Incident" in our family lore. Here is what was presented to me upon my arrival for dinner (which I should point out was delicious):

Two tables of equal length, size and consistency.
Equal amount of seating for both tables
Age segregation based on years of service.
Preferential treatment to any siblings who got married this year.

I graciously accepted. And by "graciously" I mean I wept with joy. Fucking wept, people. I no longer had to eat in Australia, exiled by myself with only my mashed potato sculptures to keep me entertained (I could totally survive in prison so long as I had an unlimited supply of mashed po-ta-toes!) There are tons of things you can do with potatoes to pass the time, and I learned from the best.

(He also taught me how to carry a midget up a hill)

So even though I was technically at the kids table, it was exactly the same as the adult table (only with slightly less booze). I looked at it two ways:

A) It was good practice for my attempt next year cause I have to be able to eat with other people.
2) It gave me a chance to connect with some of my younger cousins and get the low-down on what's going on with today's youth. Turns out there is so much going on with pokemon that I didn't even know about! Turns out despite his playful appearance, if you fuck with him, Squirtle will straight up murder you.


So yeah, things sort of worked out for me this year. I didn't get my purple crown and everyone at the "Taller people table" had really baller gold crowns from their "Christmas Crackers" (thanks to J.Lawton for the confirmation on what those are called) but all in all it was a successful dinner. Any dinner not ruined by a 6'2 pasty lunatic behaving like a child is definitely a success. But there is 1 lingering feeling that I'm left with:

What about next year?

I have three hundred and whogivesafuck days to prepare for next year. I'm gonna get an early start this year. Maybe hit the gym, learn some magic tricks, who knows. My repetoire will be pretty damn impressive by next Christmas. And if I don't get a shot at the "Tall Peoples Table", I can always say passive aggressive things to whomever held me back using sign language, which I also plan on learning this year. Even though I already know a little.

(I will not be smiling)

So thanks to everyone who was rooting for me this year. I appreciate it almost as much as I appreciate the message my family sent to me that communism works. I probably misinterpreted that.

Thanks for Reading


Your 3 point plan to help me get a seat at the "Tall Table" next year: 1) Head on over to the "j.Bowman Can't Sleep kind of Official Facebook Page". b) Hit "LIKE". 3) Suggest other tactics and skills I could use to fulfill my turkey dinner destiny in 2011.


  1. Clearly you have an outstanding family.

    The marriage thing is an interesting segregation tool; I guess new spouses are like shiny new toys everyone wants to play with... I should point out that I'm married and don't get shit as far as Christmas Eve Dinner seating goes. Another year stuck on a love-seat in the living room surrounded by idiot cousins while my (single) sister lived up the high-life, Table-Style.

  2. Sounds like they tricked you in to willingly sitting at the kids table in disguise

  3. Congrats, J.Bow. I suggest commandeering ("Friendly Hostage-Taking") said tables in advance (perhaps the day after Thanksgiving) and holding them in exchange for a healthy ransom of preferred seating and all the mashed potatoes you can eat.

  4. Fantastic idea. I don't just like where your head's at, I love where your head's at. I think after thanksgiving I will just steal the table legs. They give me a seat, I'll give them back the table legs.

  5. Or you could just get married. I'm willing to offer myself as your spouse.

    One condition.

    You give me ALL YOUR MASHED POTATOES. Every last deliciously fluffy drop. I love that shit.

    What say you?

  6. Your hand in marriage would be worth all the potatoes in Ireland darlin'.