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Watch Out, You Fucking Bitch

December 24, 2009

Today has been weird.

Just one of those weird days. Too tense for December 24. My workplace was open until noon and there was a distinctly panicked and hopeless vibe hovering over the proceedings, which was fair enough, in a way. The winter semester starts in early January. Rush is pretty much the worst. There’s no way to be adequately prepared for it organizationally or emotionally. It’s like a bad illness that nothing will alleviate. You just have to wait it out. I’ve had different kinds of jobs and have discovered that the phrase “work hard” has numerous meanings. I worked hard as a grad student. I worked hard as a retail peon, especially in December. But rush at a university bookstore is a whole different animal. A mean, unattractive, implacable, exhausting animal. Worst pet ever. And I guess today everyone was in a strange combination of pre-holiday clockwatching excitement and pre-rush overwhelmed misery mode. I’m one of those obnoxious human beings who can’t help but absorb whatever emotion happens to be happening in whatever room they’re in. It can get unpleasant. I was glad when noon arrived.

I had a bunch of things to do this afternoon, one of which unfortunately involved the grocery store. The atmosphere in there was pre-apocalyptic. Like it had just been announced that a nuclear holocaust was underway and everyone should accumulate as many non-perishable provisions as possible and retreat to the safety of their underground bomb shelters. Hysteria. I don’t understand what’s wrong with people. Like, seriously, get into the store, calmly walk to the right aisle and get your can of fruit cocktail, pay for it, and go home. You’re probably off work for the rest of the day, so there’s no rush, and there’s plenty of fruit cocktail for everyone, so there’s no emergency, and it’s the baby Jesus’ birthday, so let’s all give the little dude a smile and a thumbs-up. Frankie says relax.

Anyway, I get my can of fruit cocktail and a bottle of Coke in case I feel like getting drunk by myself on Boxing Day, and I’m standing at the crosswalk outside the store beside one of those generically irritating couples, a skinny blonde pouter/overbearing macho douchebag combo, and as the woman starts to cross the street, a car sneaks in front of us and turns right. The woman slams her hand on the hood of the car as it’s turning and yells: “Watch out, you fucking bitch!”

The spirit of Christmas.

Things turned around after that. Went to the best toy store in the city and picked up some hilarious gifts. Went to the liquor store for some liquor. Went to my friends’ place to hang out with Seneca, who is alone this Christmas. He was kind enough to purr in my lap for half an hour, which worked out well for both of us.

Everything’s all swirled together in my head, the kickass time I’ll be having with certain friends and certain friends’ offspring tomorrow, and nine days off (it’s a Christmas miracle), and the fact that two weeks from right now I’ll be in Vancouver, which is simultaneously amazing and terrifying and is going to involve way more packing and chaos and separation from people I love than I care to think about. So I’ll have a rum and watch Kill Bill instead. Even on Christmas Eve, I long for a Hattori Hanzo sword. (If, on your journey, you encounter God, God will be cut…)

Watch out, you fucking bitch! No, that can’t be right. Let me try again: Merry Christmas. Hope y’all find someone to kiss under the mistletizzle on the day of the birth of J-Chrizzle, fo shizzle.

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