Happy Seasonal Affective Disorder

I'm still a little taken aback that Thanksgiving is weeks behind us and there are only a few days left until Christmas. I, for one, never cared for the holidays; mainly because growing up any holiday that revolved around giving or receiving presents turned into a guilt festival for not being helpful or grateful enough. As I've grown up though, I've noticed that all Christmas has turned into is "go into debt buying shit for people you only talk to once a year" day. Call me cynical, but I think that defeats the whole concept of celebrating baby Jesus's birthday. Granted, I'm not a religious individual, but I personally think any holiday, especially Christmas, should be spent eating good food and spending time with people you actually like.

I feel like I've used the word 'Christmas' entirely too many times already.

The first year I celebrated "Christmas Alone with a Dog" I was rocking in the fetal position, crying on the couch, while watching Marley and Me and clutching my puppy. I wanted to make the best of the evening since I spent the entire day acting like a character from Girl, Interrupted, so I devised a plan to go get drunk and make some bad decisions... only to get side swiped on the highway... on Christmas day... in the rain. My car has never been quite the same since. I have since given up on trying to keep my car ascetically presentable. He never gets washed, unless the cloud gods have opened the skies and poured water down upon him. The inside of my car looks even worse; I haven't seen the passenger side floor in months. 

And yes, my car is a 'he', because if I have to sit down and ride something all day... wait, I'm not even finishing this sentence. 

The second annual "Christmas Alone with a Dog" wasn't planned to happen, but life just seems to know when to keep a good thing going. I was recently unemployed, broke and full of self wallowing woe. A friend of a friend asked me to stay in her giant house and dog sit for two weeks while she frolicked around South America with her diamonds and rubies. Had I not been so desperate for money, I would have realized just how far she bent me over with how much she actually paid me. As it turns out, I would have made more in 4 days at my current dog sitting job than what she paid me. Nature then decided to slap me in the face by snowing. Not once, but twice. It wouldn't have been so terrible had I not owned a car with low profile tires that did nothing but maliciously cackle and flip me off during snowy conditions. I had no choice but to shovel the entire front of her property, including the quarter mile long driveway. Not that I could really go anywhere, because she lived in the woods; full of hills, twists and turns. So, I spent Christmas drinking rum and watching hours of Intervention, which is a contradicting statement in and of itself. I'd like to point out that watching hours of Intervention makes you want to shrivel up and die, which isn't the outcome you want to go for when you're already bathing in misery.

The third annual "Christmas Alone with a Dog" has crept up on us and this year I'm going all out. Not only do I have my dog to spend this holiday season with, but I have my roommate's dog and I have a giant golden retriever to walk all weekend long. I figured since this is what the universe has bestowed upon me every year I might as well embrace it at this point. While I haven't quite worked out all the details yet, I'm thinking my celebration should include things like:

• Take a stab at lasting more than 20 minutes doing my Xbox Zumba - so far, I've felt like imploding every time I've tried
• Give myself a pedicure. I may not be able to reach my feet that well, but I'm sure I can improvise by attaching a Ped-Egg to a yard stick
• Have an invite only wine tasting party - Even if I'm the only one invited, it sounds a lot fancier than "drink the pain away alone" 
• Watch Bad Santa and take a shot every time Billy Bob Thorton says "fuck"
• Take a shot every time my roommate's dog cries from separation anxiety
• Take a shot every time my anti-social dog leaves me alone in the living room
• Take another shot just for the hell of it

So far, my celebration includes a lot of drinking, but it's still a work in progress. Happy Fesitvus!

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