Sassy Grinch

Call me a grinch, but I seriously can not wait for the Holidays to be over. There is nothing fun about Christmas to a 22 year old single only female child who is semi estranged from her parents. Nothing, I tell you, nothing.

Though, I suppose I can't completely blame my lack of Christmas spirit on my age. I've never really liked Christmas. I mean, sure as I was growing up the gifts were amazing. As an only child, I always made out like a bandit. I didn't even know certain toys exsisted, but there they were under the tree wrapped in shiny paper waiting for me. I always got the most presents and spent days afterwards finding out what the hell each one of them actually did and where I was going to put it.

As I got older though, the gifts got less interesting- more socks less my little ponies. As I became less excited about the gifts I got, I started to notice the unfair and unequal distribution of the gifts. My mother, who worked harder than anyone else I had ever known, and was sadder than anyone I had ever met, always finished opening her gifts first, because of course I was too young to buy many gifts, and my father was too unoriginal to think of wonderful things to buy her. As I grew up I made it my mission for my mother to have as many, if not more, gifts than my father and I had to open on Christmas morning.

This task proves to be an overly stressful one every year as I have to grappel with what to buy my mother, who spends her time working, watching Judge Judy and playing Bejewled. You can only buy the woman so many off brands of Bejewled before she has every non-interesting computer game in the world. She doesn't like to pamper herself, so delicious smelling soaps and lotions are out of the question. She won't paint her nails so nailpolish sits and hardens. She doesn't go anywhere, or do anything accept for the afformentioned Judge Judy marathons and Bejewled tournies (do they have those? God I hope not...). Then, to top it all off, I grow increasingly more broke as the years fly by.

Alright, so, aside from the gift giving head aches, there are the TACKY decorations. Christmas is the season when the whole world begins to look like a grandmother from Jersey wearing her favorite golden fanny pack and a light up turtleneck sweater. People drown their homes in automated reindeer and snowmen, bright mismatched string lights, people sized unedible candy canes, and in special neighborhoods giant cardboard cut outs of 70's cartoons like The Flinstones and The Jetsons in Santa Hats. If I had my way, people who left their decorations up after Dec 27th would be thrown in jail for a lifetime without parole. There's just no reason to leave the decorations up for longer than that. I don't care if your roof is covered in snow, or its raining cats and dogs outside. You got them up there, find a way to get that shit down, ASAP.

I just can't wait until people pack those monstrocities away, and the gifts are all unwrapped and the food, which I don't even really like to eat has been put away in tupperware and I can go home, to my undecorated house and forget about it all until next year.

Dec 27th, please come as soon as possible.

Ancient

I know, I know. In my last post I promised I would stop being too busy to write in here, didn't I? I'm sorry. My life, once again, got the better of me. Its hard you know, being in such high demand. There's hardly ever a second to sit down and write one of these things. But quit your bitchin' because I'm back! School is over for the time being so I should have more free time to entertain the inter-masses. Enjoy!

While I was off living my life, neglecting my blog duties, I got a little bit older. Not much, just a year or so. You can't even notice, though, the other day I did pull a hair out of my head that was supiciously less brown than it should have been. Actually, the hair was kind of odd, it was a long strand, no dead ends in sight, and about half way through it it changed color. It looked as though the hair growing from the root was a very very light color, perhaps, blond, or... gra- no, I can't say it... while the other half the hair, the older part, was a dark brown.

I didn't necessarily pull this hair from my head, though. When I get stressed out, or I'm thinking too intensely about world peace, how to solve hunger, or how to get my minions to do my biding- I mean, how to ask my friends for a helping hand, I run my hands through my bangs. Often times bits of hair fall out in the process of being over stroked. So, a while after I'd finished plotting, I looked down on my shoulder and noticed some hair and began brushing it off. That's when I found this strange hair, picked it up and began to examine it in every light possible. I even got one of my employees to come take a look at it. We both decided that it couldn't possibly be mine because, at 22 years old, though my joints ache more than they did at 20, I'm still not THAT old. Right?

Don't answer that.

Bad Blogger, bad!

I know, I know. I haven't blogged in a really long time. I'm sorry! Is it possible that my life just isn't interesting enough to recount day in and day out? No. I didn't think so either. My life is SO interesting, in fact, that I often forget about my blogging responsibilities (because I'm so caught up in my life's interestingness). That's my story and I'm stickin' to it!

Don't be upset, Blogsphere, because I've also been neglecting my Twitter. Then again, my Twitter is becoming a very scary thing. Every day I get new e-mails that this person is following me, or that person, and I don't know who these people are, which is fine... because I mean, I'm not going to keep any of the awesomeness that is Mars away from anyone who wants it, you know? I'm just THAT generous. What does kind of creep me out is that when I click on my followers so that I can look at the Twitter of my newest stalker, they don't show up on my page, so I can't see them. And one sided stalking is way creepier than mutual stalking.

So now, every time I tweet I have no idea who's phone my Tweet is going to and that scares me immensely. I've taken to posting a tweet and then looking around me suspiciously to see who grabs for their phones. I think its Twitter is going to turn me into a Paranoid Schizophrenic, and that sucks because I think I have enough problems already. Right? (I'm so glad I can't hear your answer).

Anyway, I've got to get back to my OH so interesting life. I'll try not to forget to blog, but you do understand how it could be hard for such an interesting person. Or maybe you don't, because you're sitting here reading my blog, which means you're probably not that interesting.

Go get interesting!