It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year?

I never thought of myself as a Scrooge, or someone who hated people who loved Christmastime, because that's not at all how I see my reaction to December 25th and the dreadful days leading up to it. People say its the season of giving, which is great; I'm all about everyones high level of fake tolerance of one another one month out of the year. For the 26 years that I've been on Earth, I have yet to experience a holiday season that didn't make me want to rock in the fetal position while clutching a vat of bourbon. I just don't understand why there has to be so such stress involved. In all honesty, I would love to spend the day with my family talking and laughing. No gifts, no big feast, no drama. We're all alive and we're all together - that should be all that matters.

Unfortunately, I seem to be the only person out there who feels this way. To others, spending next month's rent money on gifts, crying over ruined assorted baked goods and stressing yourself out so badly that you land in the hospital practically every single year appears to be the only way others enjoy spending the holidays. It makes me giggle when these people claim that Christmas is all about lil baby Jesus and how we should honor his birth. I'm sure stuffing your face full of cookies and buying everyone useless crap makes Jesus feel warm and tingly inside. To each their own, right? I'd just rather be left out of that whole concept of fun.

This year is the second annual "Spending Christmas Alone with a Dog", and I am determined not to cry during this year's festivities. I've already started drinking, so I think I'm on a good path. Pineapple Orange juice mixed with Malibu rum might lead to me raping myself tonight, but I'll try to behave and learn that no means no. I digress. I googled "Christmas Blues" and I kept coming across all of these really lame pieces of advice, such as 'volunteer and listen to Christmas music really loud'. So, in order to fight off the devastating side affects of seasonal affective disorder, I have come up with a realistic list of things to do to occupy my mind:

1. Drink. Heavily.

2. Open up 12 bottles of nail polish, (to signify each day of Christmas of course), and start making my own nail polish color. Really, what we're aiming to do is get high off the fumes, so when it mixes with the heavy drinking, I'll pass out into a blissful slumber.

3. Watch Bad Santa after waking from the toxin induced nap

4. Eat an entire can of vanilla frosting - if no one is around to witness it, it never really happened

5. Enjoy a nice poop

6. Gorge on bad Virginia chinese food

7. Enjoy another poop

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to mix myself another rape cocktail. Happy Festivus.

The Firing Squad

There's one sure fire way to ruin someones lunch break: telling them there's rumors about them getting fired. An even worse way to ruin someones lunch is when those rumors are reality. KFC chicken will never taste the same to me. The rumor was I was getting fired because I was friends with someone of the male persuasion at work. The actual reason I was fired was because I sucked at my job, or so they claimed. Coincidentally, the company posted a new position on Craigslist the very next day of a recruiter position who would also happen to do my job. Seems like I got screwed if you ask me. Might I add that this all took place about 2 weeks before Thanksgiving and three weeks before my lease was up. I was now jobless, and soon to be homeless. Happy Holiday Season to me.

I wasn't one of those people who gracefully left the company either. Oh no, not this girl! I instead lost all control of my emotions and composure, cried in front of my boss until my mascara was running into my mouth, dumped the contents of my desk into a cliche box (minus the ficus) and practically threw my keys at him. I walked next door to say goodbye to two friends of mine, and to shake the hand of the VP, all while my eyes looked like tremendous swollen tumors from all the tears. When it comes to making a memorable exit, I'm a pro.

The only thing that made sense to do that night was to drink wine. I proceeded to buy not one, but two bottles all to myself and bring them to my friend's apartment. Word of advice: if there's a 'buy one, get one free' sale on wine, don't buy it. There is a reason it's $5 for two bottles. I was, however, on a budget now and couldn't think about such things as taste or quality. I had a mission to accomplish, and it was to forget who I was by the end of bottle number 1. We toasted to my failing life and drank the world's worst wine imaginable. I can't even begin to describe what was so bad about it. It was dry, but it wasn't supposed to be dry. It sort of tasted like rubbing alcohol mixed with potpourri and vinegar. I was a trooper though, and drank the contents on bottle number one on the couch, while we watched Love Actually. Bottle number two is still sitting untouched in the fridge. It shall be saved as a souvenir.

The next day I went to the new gym I just joined that was across the street from my job to beg them for my money back, since it was no longer a convenient location for me and since I had no money to pay them with. I walked in there with eyes still swollen, makeup dried onto my face, smelling of bad wine, wearing ripped up sweats and a mangy pony tail, hoping that the more disheveled I looked, the more pity would be taken upon me. Mission accomplished. At least something worked out for me.

Everywhere I went I swear people knew I was a jobless statistic. Why else would I be wandering aimless around Wegman's in the middle of the day looking like a homeless person? People with jobs don't look this way. Perhaps my vivid imagination was taking me places and nothing was going to convince me that no one saw the scarlet letter on my chest. I went home, filed for unemployment, updated my resumes and started my quest. Perhaps it was time to change my career path. I could become a lady of the night... that's tax free money, and I could still collect unemployment. Or I could go into street pharmaceuticals. No? Bad Idea? I'll keep looking then