Post-Xmas Cheer (Brought to you in part by Trader Joe's Selection of Sparkling and Red Wines)

Christmas 2010- I think I did it wrong.

This is my first Christmas in the USA. Previously, my holiday times were spent in warm places, where long lines at the grocery store on Christmas Eve didn't exist, and we weren't stuck in an unspoken war with our neighbours about the degree to which we could illuminate our lawns with fake, glowing reindeer. (We lost.)

Let me summarise the evidence against us. We bought our tree, (our official one, apparently the tiny artificial one didn't count) on the 24th of December. We actually decorated it on the 25th. We wrapped our presents on the 25th. It's now the 26th, and we still haven't opened them. (I blame laziness? Although I could try to pass it off as our spirituality- foregoing the material, superficial side of Christmas, but who am I kidding.)

"I'm dreaming of a White Christmas" was transformed by my brother into the less-festive, "I'm dreaming of a drunk Christmas." Post-Christmas mass on Saturday, my brother and I lamented our lack of vodka and bloody Mary mix, a lingering pain which was soon assuaged by copious amounts of Trader Joe's "vintage" 2010 wine. (It's what happens when you drink all of the good stuff and you scour the back of the closet for available booze options. You get the oft-neglected, watered-down options that you tell yourself you will just be using for the kitchen.)

We're usually much better at this Christmas thing, so I blame an ill-conceived three day roadtrip to Montreal and back as the cause of the permanent ripple in our Christmas-time cheer.

Now that Christmas is over, here's what we all have to look forward to:
-A stop to the barrage of eardrum assaulting Christmas music that's played every single place you go. 

-Please, God, if you like me at all, stop television executives from playing any commercial that includes a snippet of Vampire Weekend's "Holiday." To the smug guy at the end of the Tommy Hilfiger commercial, "NO I DON'T JUST LOVE THE HOLIDAYS DOUCHEBAG!" (My hatred for this is worsened by the fact that it's played in every single cab in New York City). I refuse to ad a clip to this commercial, even thinking about it gets this song stuck in my head. Instead, douchebag's douchey facial expression:

-The end of Christmas movies. Really, who has ever watched a good Christmas movie? 

-A permanent diet and unfulfilled resolve to go to the gym that will last till next Thanksgiving when we stuff ourselves and the cycle recommences.

On that happy note, Merry Christmas 2010!

No Country for Flyer Distributors

I had a job for two days this week.
As wonderful as it was to feel productive for 48 hours, said job involved an activity that could be easily used as a form of torture: handing out flyers in New York City. 

"I hope you dressed warm today," the boss said as I arrived to temporary job.
"How nice of him to care..." I thought, not realizing the reason behind this question- an impending 45-minutes of finger-face-numbing cold handing out papers to unwilling passers-by.

If you've been to NY I'm sure you know that the only thing New Yorkers fear more than people handing out flyers is BED BUGS and high rent. I think you need to be a person of extremely strong character and possess sky-high levels of self-esteem NOT to be permanently perturbed by an experience such as begging New Yorkers to take your flyers.

As you can tell, my experience started out poorly.

An example of an exchange I had with random street-dawdler:

Me: "There's a really great sale going on upstairs if you're interested!"
Scared Person: "Ok"
Me: "Would you like to come? IT'S UPSTAIRS!..?"
SP: "No.... Thanks..." (insert impatient glare)
Me: "Will you at least take a flyer...?"
SP: "Sure...."
Me: "You can throw it away later..."

After that point, I helplessly flailed flyers in the face of an on-coming barrage of people who would a)ignore me b) glare at me or c) just say NO and walk on. (C was the most infuriating of all) People will go to great lengths to evade walking in the path of your flyers. But I relished in catching the ones who tried to run away. MUAHAHAHAH! And I think I fell in love with all the ones who actually did take a flyer.

I went from anger...(ITS JUST A FLYER I'M NOT GOING TO GIVE YOU HERPES OR MAKE YOU UNDERGO A SCIENTOLOGY STRESS TEST PEOPLE)

to soul-crushing defeat...(WHY DO YOU HATE ME I'M SO COLD WHYYY) 
  
back to anger... (I HATE YOU SOULLESS PEOPLE!) 

to a severe ego shattering...(WHATS WRONG WITH MEEE??) 

then right back to anger (GRRRR ROARRRR)

And I swore to myself, that I will always (or almost always) take a flyer from a cold  outstretched hand.

Victory Is MINE!!!

I've DONE IT!!!!!

Evil Scanner has succumbed to my efforts, I don't know how or why, but it's working!!! I know you were all super curious as to the outcome of this THRILLING EMOTIONAL ROLLER-COASTER of a SAGA!

Its Me Against The Scanner

I'm sinking deeper and deeper into a spiral of depression all because of an evil inanimate object sent to earth by what I can only assume are dastardly extra-terrestrials trying to make my life miserable and prevent me from getting a job.

My Printer/Scanner All In One Contraption, AKA the very bane of my existence.

I'm now in a battle to the death with it. It refuses to work, and I refuse to rest until I have it under my full control.

Let's start at the beginning of this tale. I spent most of my weekend watching this on ABC Family:

And finishing these:

So I thought, today, I'd start tackling all the more adult tasks in my life.  Starting with the evil scanner. I spent an hour looking for the CD to install it, a search which involved me "organising" my documents. This is what ensued:

(The universe sent a marathon session of Keeping up with the Kardashians to my television to distract me from this task. Every second I watch it, my IQ sinks by a couple points- this was surely a ploy to reduce my capabilities in the face of my scanner.)

I found the CD, magically NOT hidden anywhere near my "documents" collection but on my bedside table in full-view. Point one to you, scanner, touche.

Then, the death struggle between us started. It taunted me with its little green flashing lights and its strange noises, which scared my cat into taking his afternoon nap in his carrier, next to his favourite stuffed animal. The scanner refused to do anything.  It's been about three hours that I've been struggling with this evil contraption, and we're at this point in our fight to the death:

And its making me feel like this:

I could give up on this and go to a Printing/Scanning store two blocks away. But it's too late now. I need to vanquish this scanner. It will perhaps take every ounce of energy and intelligence I have, but I will succeed. 

But first, this is very much needed:

Employment Fail

So, I had a job interview yesterday.

It was strange.

I arrived at the building (which, I'm sad to say, was in Washington D.C.). When I arrived at the lobby, the secretary immediately told me to sit down in a chair directly behind me.

When the chair started moving, I realised they'd sat me down in a wheelchair and some hefty man was now pushing me at full-speed through the corridors of an office building, navigating around desks and cubicles. Did I look physically impaired? Or was my laziness so apparent to the world that they figured a time-saving technique would be pushing me around at turbo-speed? I was thoroughly confused.

Heftyheftyhefty parked the chair near a cubicle and I was face to face with my interviewer. She introduced me to her underling, an earnest sliver of a man wearing thick-framed glasses and an immaculately groomed coif.

Then she asked for my resume.

Shit, my resume.

I knew I had it in my bag somewhere...Like a madwoman, I searched through the contents of a knapsack which I then realised was probably not appropriate for a job interview. But the only thing I could find was a stack of embarrassing lady magazines.

"Erm, maybe you could look on your email? I sent it to you." I asked imploringly.

"MMMmmmm...No." She said, emoting her dissatisfaction in one big "Whatthefuckiswrongwithyou" look.

Imagine this look in a human form.

Finally, I found it, folded in one of the many books I'd somehow fit in my bag. (I thought about making a crack about an extendable bag charm as I'd just seen Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows but I though better of it)

She sat me in front of a TV screen to watch one of their on-going projects.

"You've heard of our urban-renewal-wildlife-blah-blah-blah-not-listening-to-the-words-you're-saying project, haven't you?"

"Ohh, of course," I said, realising I had no clue about the images being projected on the screen. First there were lobsters. Then a pile of hay. Then two angry looking dogs chasing after an elephant.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two small children watching eagerly. Somehow, I gathered skinnyeagerassistant was babysitting them for scaryboss. Their commentary was a little distracting:

"Oh my good I can't wait till the dogs catch the elephants....YEAAHHHH!!!!"

I was already struggling to keep my eyes open when a huge blonde blob materialised under my outstretched hand- it was an enormous golden retriever, begging for some affection. (WHAT kind of OFFICE IS THIS? I thought to myself, secretly happy that a canine presence would help keep me awake)

When my cooing and petting became distracting to the pair evaluating me, I focused back on the urbanrenewalwildlife mumbo jumbo.

But...Sosleeepyyyyy..why didn't I drink more caffeine? Would they notice if I took a micronap?
My forehead felt heavy. With horror, I reached up and realised I was still wearing one of those airplane-eye-sheilding things from the night before.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAH! She'd surely noticed. It's not like I could pass it off as a fashion accessory. Or could I? What if I put it back on for a little nap?

Then all of it, the dog-nudging, children blabbering, skinnyasssistant glaring at me, reached a symphonic zenith and suddenly I heard a bell ringing in the distance.

My next-door-neighbor's doorbell. I woke up.

I thought if I gave you a cute picture you'd forgive me for making you read this.