Loot.

My relationship has a fatal flaw. Not to be dramatic or anything, but seriously. Fatal.

Every gift giving holiday I ponder and squirm and wrack my brain as to what to get Geoff. And yes, I'm aware at this juncture I should know what to get the man but honestly it boils down to one thing. I hate him. Just kidding that's not the thing. The thing is, I HATE giving practical gifts. I like superfluous, random, silly gifts that make the person roll their eyes and laugh.

And Geoff could not possibly be more pragmatic and tasteful.

This goes back a long way. For our second anniversary I gave him a toy norwhal (yes its a real animal, look it up) that could use its magical tusk to spear small animals (pre-speared toy koala and seal included). Seeing it on the shelf made me snort involuntarily and embarrass myself in public, so I knew I was on the right track.

Imagine my surprise when my sugar daddy pulls out a jewelry box containing a singularly beautiful and expensive watch that if I were to pick out any watch in the whole world it would be the one in that box. Well shit. We all know who cares more don't we?

Anyway, since then I have gotten pretty neurotic trying to get Geoff gifts that he wont try to pass off as something given to him by a retarded nephew. This Christmas I once again pondered and squirmed and wracked my brains and got him a bunch of HBO series on DVD. Because John Adams is educational and historically accurate and Laura Linney is seriously hot for someone her age. I didn't snort when I saw it, and it didn't make the guy ringing me up laugh and shake his head so I figured I was in the clear.

And this morning I headed to the UPS store to pick up what I soon discovered was a singularly beautiful and expensive leather bag. Dammit Geoff. If I cant win, I'm going to go back and see if they make any other norwhals.

Ho Ho Ho is how fat people laugh.

Internet, today I have consumed no less than 47,000 calories in baked goods that had the misfortune of being in the scope of my vortex. I obliterated a whole village of gingerbread people and without missing a beat moved right on to some rasberry fudge. Around 2 pm my jaw actually unhinged to make room for fistfuls of peanut brittle.

I would like to think that since my office is roughly the temperature of a snowmans balls, I have burned off the calories through shivering alone. But I doubt it.

A Warning

If the cafeteria here on campus has decided to stop selling goldfish crackers on a lark, then they should at least have emailed me, their most LOYAL BUYER.

If they have done so as related to an unwarranted vendetta by a certain salad-dressing scrooge, well then I say this: if you charge me $7 for a shitty salad with nary a drop of dressing, I will continue to steal fistfuls of plastic cutlery.

Take heed.

Not My Gumdrop Buttons!

All day yesterday I was fiending for gingerbread. I mean that literally. I woke up at 5:30 am (I know, I hate my life too) smacking my morning breathed lips and thinking of the spicy, ethereal goodness. I didnt think about it for the next hour and a half on account of the fact that I was trying not to throw up my lungs on a treadmill, but rest assured, the craving returned on the sweaty drive home.

I made it through the day looking at gingerbread recipes on various websites and trying not to touch myself (they frown on that here at work).

When I finally made it out of the office, I sped to the Trader Joes (Mecca) baked goods aisle. And Internet, it is a miracle I didnt tear into that package with my teeth right there in the store. I made it all the way to my car where I tore into it with my keys. Which I think is slightly more dignified.

The Most Dangerous Game

Yesterday I spent a solid hour and a half at the post office.

Entering the building with a pile of gifts under my arm and a bag of save the dates in my sweaty little palm, I was nevertheless the picture of chrismassy-weddingy cheer. I managed to keep this facade through my first round in line, but when I entered into the second go round (on account of being ONE MOTHERFUCKING STAMP short) my grin had melted off my smug little face.

I had left work an hour early and come into the establishment with three goals in mind:

-send out G's Christmas packages so that I can make up for forgetting his birthday with awesome please-dont-hate-me gifts
-send out the 121 (that number would come to haunt me) save-the-date cards that had taken up residence on my coffee table.
-get a new passport because the crap for brains government employees had decided that I was born in Belgium when I renewed last year.

The first two goals were met easily enough, albeit shaving off a decade of my life and half of my heel (dont wear uncomfortable shoes to stand in line). But the third, oh the third. I think maybe the abominable snowman works the passport office. Because he is NEVER there. Also he is the one that decided I was born in Belgium last year, and I hear snowmen are retarded.

I have gone to the post office twice previously, and each time been told that he is not working on the day I have come in (different days respectively). Yesterday I was told that he had left early. When I had the gumption to ask if he would be around at 4ish today, I was told that maybe, but it was really luck of the draw. Because who works til five on a Tuesday?

What the abominable passport man doesnt know is that I am stubborn as hell. And. I . Will. Never. Give. Up. The lady at the ID office learned that earlier this year, when she tested how many times I would assault her voicemail (infinite number). And now passport guy will see my wrath.

Good luck old man. Its Christmas Break and I got aaaall day.

Embracing the Inevitable

It is now December 8th and I am elbow deep in forced yule tide cheer.

In addition to the 47 holiday parties that I have managed to cram into my file-o-fax, my personal to do list screams things like "office Christmas baking!", "silver shoes!", and "stop eating holiday leftovers because your fiance wont love a heifer!".

Its as if I don't have a job I should be doing, or an ass that isn't in sore need of some lunges. I justify each lapse in self control with "its the holidays! Everyone is doing it!" (which I hear is what crack heads say too). Because its all I can do to not log into the food network again to look at what kinds of deliciously buttery morsels that Paula Dean has created for the destruction of dieters everywhere. No wonder there is the post-Christmas depression. There is no more excuses for half assed decision making.

And I don't know what it is about this time of year, but its all mixed up with this sense of urgency isn't it? Like, the presents cant be bought early enough, and what do you mean you haven't sent your cards already? But next week is Halloween already!
I woke up in a cold sweat this morning realizing that I have not bought G's brothers anything yet. Because it isn't like I don't have until freaking Dec 25th. And everyone knows last minute presents bought as impulse buys are the best anyway. Handle of jack? Happy Holidays!


If it weren't for the Christmas remix by Wings, I might just polish off that last powdery cookie I got in my mailbox this morning. Just kidding. I already ate it.