Oh the nog-spilling!

Oh the beer-guzzling!

The tinsel-spewing good times of the LA Santacon  . . .

Matt and I . . . bottom front. El Cid.

Then later . . . I stole a sign from one of those clowns . . .

I’m sporting my grandma’s green taffeta ball gown. As you can see, things got a lil’ fuzzy . . .

Yesterday, when I showed up at the office wearing not a shred of green, someone said to me, “Anna, I’m shocked that you forgot St. Patties day!” Well . . . OK, I must admit . . . . it just wasn’t on my radar this year because of a little shenanigan that happened in mid-December called “SantaCon.”

Take about 150 friends dressed in all various forms of ‘Santa’ , causing trouble at local malls, parks and bars . . . .  . . . and drinking yellow snow lemonade . . . and gettin’ the cops called on us . . .

. . . and about four hours later, you’ve got ‘Santa-AnnaTude’ sleeping at Formosa Cafe, puking behind a plastic tree and squealing, “I just don’t know how this happened!” between heaves . . .

 . . . and ever since that fateful day, my body has said, “Ho means HO! We’ll be having none ‘o that pot o’ gold!”