I am me.

Call me an asshole. Call me a grump. Call me whatever you will, but the truth is I don’t like Christmas. There, I said it, it’s out there. But honestly. I worked in retail for over 10 YEARS and Christmas has to be the absolute fucking worst holiday in all of existence. Allow me to explain...

It all revolves around shopping. Shopping fucking sucks. You squeeze through crowds of people all looking at one fucking thing, and in the end they don’t even end up buying it. People are the god damned worst. Then they do the second most annoying thing in the whole damn world...they stop to talk to their friends and block the flow of traffic. SERIOUSLY?? I mean for real WTF? You know there are tons of fucking people walking in the same direction like a herd of cattle, yet you still feel that it is absolutely appropriate to stop and block the way so that you can say hi and hug and someone you probably see every fucking day? No. Not OK bastards. There is a flow of people aimlessly walking in your direction. Clear the way you jackasses!

I hate shopping.

So, because it’s fucking Christmas, there is an unexplainable need to buy shit for people you normally wouldn’t even think about during the other 364 days of the year. But hey, god forbid you don’t buy them something for Christmas, right? So you end up finding yourself in a store like Brookstone looking at shit you would NEVER in your wildest dreams even consider buying...like this bullshit right here: the pillow, not the guy...

What the fuck is this? Well let me tell you. It’s a Buzzy Orb. Yup. Some crazy fuckers in a think tank somewhere down in Silicon Valley, or some shit like that, worked REALLY hard to come up with this piece of shit right here, I’m still talking about the pillow, not the guy, just in case you are confused, and now they are selling it at Brookstone for some undisclosed amount, because that’s another bullshit thing about the holidays, stores don’t post any prices on their crap probably so that your sorry ass will just get it and buy it without ever realizing how much money you actually spent on this shit Basically this is a vibrating pillow. Yup. Like totally fucking WOW. If I wanted a pillow that vibrates when I squeeze it I could just stick my fucking vibrator, that I already have, in the pillow, that I already have, and save a shit ton of money. But hey, it’s fucking CHRISTMAS!!! And no, I didn’t buy one.

And...like if I even had bought this piece of shit thing, would I sit against it like THIS? Oh hell no. We all know where that pillow would be. And speaking of odd places to put things, take a look at where this one associate decided was an appropriate place for her name tag...

Really bitch? You just “accidentally” put your name tag on your nipple area? Yea...Nice try girl.

I really hate shopping. In the years and years I worked in retail I NEVER did any Christmas shopping until Christmas Eve. Two reasons: Things are cheap as fuck, and by then there is no one around anymore. Win-Win.

I spent almost two hours shopping for crap, and only because I was being forced to be there, but I had two incentives: one, we would be stoping by the toy/game store, and two, I would be getting dinner and drinks after. So I had to bear with it. 

Naturally, when we made it to the toy store I was appeased. All the stress and anger that had built up in me subsided and I was once again at peace. My inner child was restored and I was overwhelmed with a case of the “gimmies.” Gimmie this. Gimmie that. OMG I HAVE TO HAVE IT!!  I walked out with two things. Merry Christmas Daniel. It was a totall success.

Then there was nothing left to do but go to the restaurant and grab a few drinks...fuck the food. I was ready to order my first drink immediately after we were seated, much to the surprise of our server. “Tall frozen margarita, please.” I said to her. She smiled and left, giving us time to look over the menu, as if I was going to order food. HAHA!! Bless her little heart. She brought over the drinks and I took to mine with reckless abandon. I would have chugged the whole thing down only I had ordered a frozen margarita and even my ass wasn’t about to suffer a massive brain freeze for the sake of getting much needed alcohol into my system. Instead I opted for a large gulp then a photo text to one of my dearest friends: 

BITCH! But honestly, I can’t argue. This was the response I was actually hoping for.

Thank God I had those margaritas though because, OMFG, it was karaoke night and the talent...or lack there of...was atrocious. I knew it was finally over when one drunk bitch stumbled on stage and attempted to sing, Someone Like You, by Adele. I use the word “tried” generously here. She sucked. “I wish nothing but the best for you, too, bitch.” Now get off the stage. There’s only one Adele, and you aren’t her.

First let me preface this by telling you all that I’m not really that afraid of germs, I’m not that squeamish. If you’ve got a cold I’m not going to avoid you. If you share my drink I’m not going to wipe the cup after your lips touch it. I’ll steal food off your plate and totally believe in the 5-second rule; however, this shit really messed me up.

So going to the gym is something I really enjoy doing. It’s like my meditation time, a place where I can take a break from the world and just do my own thing. After a good workout I also enjoy sitting in the steam room or hot tub to relax and let my mind wander. It’s like the icing on the cake, don’t judge me. This inevitably leads to the need to shower afterward, while this has upsides and downsides, both of which I’ll address another day in another blog, what happened to me yesterday left my skin crawling.

My post-workout routine goes like this: grab sandals (I might not be afraid of germs, but no one wants foot fungus), take off my clothes, put on swim shorts. grab towel, walk to showers, hang towel on wall, hit the hot tub. Super simple. Then I just have to walk to the showers when I’m done, grab my towel and shower. Boom! Easy. 

So, long story short, yesterday, after I left the hot tub and went to the showers, I went to grab my towel...and it wasn’t there! I was surprised to say the least. I stood there for about a minute. I looked down the row of showers. No towel. I wondered if I had just forgotten to bring it. I definitely had. Then I looked behind me. There stood a man, late 40s, fumbling through his gym bag, while wearing MY TOWEL around his waist. There was no question, he had used my towel to dry himself off, and there was nothing I could do about it. His eyes met mine, and then he realized what he had done. He looked at me and said, “Oh! Is this your towel?” As if it was a question. I mean honestly, how the hell do you not know what your own towel looks like?! I looked and him and said, “Yes.” A look of disgust undoubtedly resonating on my face. Then he proceeded to take it off and hand it back to me. 

Now, in a situation like this, one must demonstrate a certain level of tact and understanding. I did neither. Instead, I looked at the man, waved my hand and said, “Keep it.” Then, in my best shade throwing, F-U bitch demonstration I whipped around, walked to my locker, and grabbed my sweat towel. At that point I would rather use my sweaty gym towel to dry off than one some stranger used to dry his ass and balls with. I mean, germs or no germs, there was no way I was going to rub my body with someone else’s ass juice.

When I got back to the shower and started the water the next worst thing happened. The old man showering across the way decided he would weigh in on the situation. “Did he just use your towel?” he asked. I replied, “Yes.” Now mind you, we are both naked by this point. We were in the shower after all for crying out loud. Then the man proceeded to tell me a story about how the same thing has happened to him. This would have been just fine, only he went around in circles telling the story to the point where it just got awkward that the two of us were standing in the showers talking...naked. It was enough that I was already traumatized by they towel incident, I didn’t need to add on a conversation with a stranger, sans clothes.

I finally got to shower in peace, dry myself off with a tiny little sweat towel, and leave the gym with a shred of dignity. 

So I know I said I was going to keep up with this and everything was going to be awesome, you were going to laugh your asses off and basically fall in love with me, and then I disappeared…well what can I say? I’m sorry? No, because actually I’m not sorry.

Here’s the truth.

I honestly had every intention to write here almost everyday. I had an incredibly elaborate idea of how it would all go, what I would write about, and how everyone would keep coming back for more. Then every time my fingers touched the keyboard my mind just went blank. The ideas were frozen. My words were trapped behind a barricade that would make The Wall of the North appear as a fucking speck of shaved ice. There was no getting through that mother fucker.

Then it hit me. All this this time I was trying so hard to think of what to write I was losing sight of what was really important. It doesn’t matter what I write, what words I use, how many cuss words I say, or which metaphors and cliches I reference, what’s important is that I write what I feel inside, only then will you all truly be able to connect with me. (Isn’t it a bitch when the answer is that easy?)

In a way I’m glad this happened. It helped me realize that sometimes I over think things. I’ve allowed my insecurities to dictate how I express myself, and that’s fucking bullshit. But that’s all over now, and I’m ready to forge ahead.

So basically the story goes like this:

I’m a college graduate, several times over. I have two degrees in English/Lit, and a certificate in publishing; and, here’s the kicker, I’M JOBLESS! Awesome, right? Well, actually no. See, while I was completing my English degrees I also worked full-time. Yes it was a huge bitch, but it had to be done. And, while not the ideal situation, somehow it still worked. I mean, I graduated, so yeah. Then I did something I had never done before. Something that actually scared the crap out of me, but had the potential to open up doors I would otherwise never stumble upon. Or so I thought. I decided to quit work in order to attend the Publishing Institute. I haven’t not had a job since I was 16, but this time I felt it was absolutely necessary in order to make this work. In doing it I saw the potential to gain the experience and networks necessary to make a career in publishing a reality. I was so excited. I graduated two months ago, and, well I’m still here, laying in bed at 2am, disappointed, disgruntled, discouraged, and writing this blog. So yeah, it was basically a total success…