Weight Watchers

disclaimer: This post is not meant to offend those following Weight Watchers or other diet plans, its more of a general commentary on how ignorant Americans are and how much control marketing has over our thoughts and actions. And an attack on the Bush administration, not explicitly, but just because I am not a fan. Oh, and not an attack of America’s poor. Blah blah just read.

Diet soda. Sugar-free cookies. Low-fat muffins. Low-carb bread. Fat-free salad dressing.

Aren’t these all twisted oxy-morons? If you’re on a diet, don’t drink soda. If you’re restricting your sugar intake, don’t eat cookies. Trying to cut the fat? Don’t eat muffins. Want a healthy salad? Use oil and vinegar. Salad dressing is MADE OF fats, so if you’re eating fat-free salad dressing, you’re just up-ing your intake of some labratory created form of bodily pollutant.

Sorry if this sounds harsh, but it is… if you want to lose weight because you’ve been eating fast food, potato chips, brownie batter, and drinking hydrogenated vegetable oil by the bottle since you hit puberty, then stop eating these things. Ya, it sucks because they all taste good, but you know what else tastes good? Being able to eat solid food when you’re 75 because you didn’t melt away your teeth with five thousand liters of diet soda and having blood still flow through your arteries because you didn’t stuff them with eight hundred 100 calorie packs of sugar-free fatcakes.

We are so lazy. Its like “Ohh I want to have my cake and eat yours too, then lose ten pounds because we used Splenda instead of sugar.” Oh wait no, I’ll just pay a company to tell me how many points I can eat in a day. Then, I’ll focus not on getting enough vitamins and minerals but on cutting out as much fat and calories as I can. In doing so, I will most likely double my intake of additives and preservatives because, while Weight Watchers provides healthy meal recipes, I’m just going to eat their Weight Watchers brand double devilish chocolate cakes and their microwaveable 3-bite size portion of fettucini alfredo… after which I won’t be full… so, as I chat with my co-workers about how yummy my microwaved cardboard/cheese pasta was and how I’m sooo satisfied and how it was only 4 points!, I am dreaming of the minute I get home so I can shove cookie dough and raw meat into my salivating trap. Then, as my fat cells double and triple, I’m going to sit on the couch and feel guilty while I flip back and forth between the Biggest Loser and American Idol. But instead of doing some exercise or puking it all up, I’m going to promise myself I’m only going to have half my allotted points tomorrow to make up for what I just ate tonight.

Not to totally knock Weight Watchers… They do, like Scientology and Mormonism, have a benign foundation, but it all gets lost in the mix once profits and sales growth enter the picture. This also goes for Nutrisystem, Jenny Craig, and all other fad diet systems (EXCEPT South Beach - that was actually created by a doctor to reduce his patients’ high cholesterol counts, not for weight loss. If you follow it correctly you not only lose weight, but you learn how to eat well and better your all-around health. That is, of course, if you can make it through the first two weeks of basically no carbs. I personally crashed at day 10 and started shoving Rice Crispies into my face. I did, however, drop the belly fat.).

But, Weight Watchers, with help from Sarah Ferguson , Kirstie Alley, and that other short round-headed woman (I just tried to find her name for like five minutes… if you can’t find a celebrity using Google in less than five minutes, then do not follow their weight loss program), has transformed its followers into brainwashed point-counting machines. Everyone always defends it, saying how you learn to eat from it, blah blah blah. I’m sorry, but if you can’t figure out that that 1/2 lb baconator burger is not a good mid-day snack choice, then maybe we need to send you not to Weight Watchers meetings but to a 7th grade health science class. You shouldn’t need to have to look up a food and find that its a hundred points to determine if its a “good food” or a “bad food.” Then again, maybe the shitty quality of not only our health education system but also the food we serve in public schools is a huge contributing factor to the health crisis this country is blanketing with the war in Iraq and how important it is we don’t go to a national health care system. But we would never improve the health education classes or take the vending machines out of our schools because, instead of getting to the root of problems, Americans like to muffle the symptoms with commercial goods.

We all act like the ever-increasing average weight for Americans is something we’re just victims of, as if we can’t help but eat Easy Mac and Nestle Iced Tea. As if its something in the air over here that makes our bodies retain calories, and that doesn’t exist in the air over Europe, South America, Central America, Africa, Asia, or Australia. Hell! We can get anything at any time of the year in this country, but instead we choose processed food and anything injected with corn syrup. This is going to sound cruel but, if you’re poor, drink tap water and milk when you can get it - I believe your food stamps cover that. Buy rice and beans. When you’re poor and fat, people don’t trust you. Never trust a fat beggar, you know they’re doing something behind your back. Maybe we’d treat our poor with more compassion if their physical appearance said “I need financial help to buy food” not “the new Quarter Pounder is so addictive.”

So want to eat healthy? Read a nutrition book, if you’re poor read it at the local library. Educate yourself instead of having Kirstie Alley do the work for you. Go for a walk, lift some weights, do some crunches. Otherwise, if you’re going to eat croissants and butter sticks for breakfast, don’t come crying to me when your socks don’t fit anymore.

I should be president.

This Will Be Interesting Because I’m Talking About Myself

I’m tempted to break these rules and just write six non-IMPORTANT things/habits/quirks about myself but I’m a good Catholic girl - I don’t eat meat on Fridays during lent, I don’t break rules, I don’t talk about people behind their backs, and I don’t lie. Well, I just lied… but I don’t lie big, I only fib about little things like how many people I’ve slept with or if I remember what I did the night before.

So I’m going to do this blog chain letter thing…

The rules are:
* link to the person who tagged you
* post the rules on your blog
* share six non-important things/ habits/ quirks about yourself
* tag at least 3 people at the end of the post and link to their blogs
* let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog

six non-IMPORTANT things/habits/quirks about myself:

1.) I have an issue with symmetry. I can’t quit describe it, but I need not to be at the visual extremes between perfect symmetry and chaos. Two examples:

1.)I’ve never sat through the movie Garden State because of the opening scene where he’s in some room with checkered floors… I got a headache because there is too much symmetry.

2.) Two years ago at Ash Wednesday Mass (see I am a good Catholic), there was absolutely no order installed for the lines to get ashes… I was freaking out and, if I weren’t a house of God, would have punched the priest because it was his fault for not organizing the lines… people were everywhere, it was CHAOS.
2.) I find that I force myself to have compassion for poor people and minorities, but just in my head. Like, when I see a minority on the subway, I’ll think to myself “oh I LOVE her shoes!” But I don’t love her shoes, they’re cheap and they don’t go with her outfit. I just say it in my head, maybe to replace the ever-present thoughts on how TRUE stereotypes are.

3.) Conversely, I am intensely judgemental of all other strangers. Again I keep it bottled up, but the judgements bleed uncontrollably into my thoughts. I’ll say to myself how I hate a girl’s hair color or mentally roll my eyes at a guy’s small feet but we all know what that means (Every time. It ALWAYS means that. There aren’t exceptions… except for elephantitus of the dick).

4.) I don’t have a savings account. I had a savings account but the bank shut it down two years ago because I actually OWED the bank money. I had to go to the bank and pay them so they could shut down my delinquent savings account.

5.) One of my favorite smells in the world is pot. I love it.  Although I have heard on numerous occasions that I “seem like a huge pot head” or I “look like a smoker” or that “I don’t even need to smoke because it seems like [I'm] high anyways.” It’s not that I’m straight edge, I actually wish I had gotten started with it earlier in life… but high school was strictly cigarettes and booze. I’ve tried several times, but it just hurts my throat. But, if I could employ someone to just smoke pot in my house a couple times a week I would be a happy woman.

6.) I’ve been wearing the wrong bra size for all of my bra wearing career. After tearing apart Victoria’s Secret last month, determined to solve the problem of the ill fitting bra on my own, a kind hearted employee took me aside, fondled me, then told me my real size. I was shocked and, honestly, a little pumped. I’ll be a lady and refrain from revealing that information though.

Ok I’m breaking the rules but I’ve been out of the blogging world for a small amount of time (entering back in with some encouragement from friends and the frequent reminder that I should write a blog whenever I see Matt pop up on my gchat list) and I don’t have other blogs to tag yet… but I promise I’ll do some surfing and add some soon.

addendum: I’m full of empty promises

On growing up…

I truly believe that my 23^rd year is the ham sandwich of my twenties – the worst.  I’m realizing I’m just a little too old for the things I used to enjoy… fake tanning, blowing through every penny I earn, being unfaithful in relationships, etc.  (if you are an ex/friend of an ex/ one of my family members… that last one was a joke).  But I’m just not ready to be doing the things I feel like I should be doing as I age… power-walking, remembering everyone’s birthday, wearing matching silk camisoles and robes to bed.  So I am just stuck, I am in the ham of my life. 

What do I have to look forward to?  Cellulite, waking up early all the time, having “things to do,” wearing foundation, paying off my debt, having sex with the same man for the rest of my life… all these things are so painfully boring to me.  I wish I could fast forward from being a wild and free 23 year old to a settled down stay at home mom with no kids and a hott, rich, funny husband who is like OBSESSED with me and turns the other way while I have an intense and orgasmic affair with the 25 year old construction worker that’s fixing our deck.

But no, I have to creep through the rest of my twenties… awkwardly maturing and using anti-wrinkle cream around my eyes. 

…Constantly fighting with my fat cells and yelling at my lazy metabolism

…Struggling with the ever present temptation to go on Match.com (The commercials really are convincing… but if I ever did it, I’d be going on a date with a pathetic tool who needs to join an online dating service to get ass.  I mean come on, if he can’t at least take advantage of a drunk 20 year old at the bar do I really want to be spending an extended amount of time with him?)

…Realizing that it its very possible I may never actually win the lottery.

…Coming to terms with the fact that it really isn’t o.k. to be forcefully attracted to the stars of MTV high school reality shows.

 If all of those things aren’t life’s interpretation of cubed ham, I really don’t know what is… I guess until I reach my 30’s, ew.

Great Opportunity for a Hard Working Individual

Two good hearted and youthful long-term friends are looking for a little help around the apartment.
Duties include:
- Cleaning the living areas (please bring a vacuum, we have all other supplies)
- Sitting on a love seat
- Giving one of the girls manicures (please provide equipment and nail color)
- Making us delicious sushi

Preferably an older, small and adorable yet quiet female.

This is not a cash paying job; however, you may help yourself to any of the leftovers in the fridge/freezer/pantry.

also seen at http://boston.craigslist.org/gbs/dmg/592251782.html

Ideally someone similar to this:

see you at the polls…

The first presidential race I can remember was in second grade, the first time brilliant Bill Clinton ran for presidency. I can distinctly remember feeling passionate about this race, debating with my peers, and getting SO excited for the day we got to cast our vote for the grade-wide election. It had been the dinner table talk for the previous few weeks, which I, like a good little robot, regurgitated to my classmates whenever I got the chance. I knew what was up with politics and I knew I could identify the perfect candidate.

So the day came when we got to vote! Oh, I was so thrilled, a little nervous, but genuinely confident. I remember scribbling down in all my eight year old wisdom:

“Ross Perot!”

And so it began, since then I have not successfully aided in voting in a governmental representative. I am tempted this year to hit the poles simply to vote against someone by voting for them, since, as in my dating life, I always gravitate toward the losers. By “someone” I, of course, just mean whoever wins the Republican nomination.

The Republican ideas are fine, whatever, they want to hoard money for the wealthy because they claim they’re all going to donate a ton more than they would pay in taxes… but I think that today the Republicans rely more on being viewed by their supporters as some sort of beacon for God’s will. And, looking Mitt Romney’s face makes me nervous his eyes are going to send laser beams straight through mine. It’s the same feeling I get when I look at Tom Cruise … and a little less scared than when I look at Suri Cruise.

The other candidates aren’t as bad, but having a president named “Huckabee” after having George “I was born in New Haven, Connecticut but I’ve forced myself to act as and sound like a groom on ‘My Big Redneck Wedding’” Bush in office for EIGHT YEARS, I fear Canada will begin to look too good for me to pass up. I used to like McCain, but the Bush Administration sunk their vampire fangs into him and then replaced the blood they sucked out with bug juice infused with Bush platelets.

But who do I actually support? The answer to this question is two tiered: most importantly I just support whatever democratic candidate makes it; a very close second to that is that I proudly support Clinton.

I have nothing against Obama – I would be just as proud to see our country elect a “black” president as seeing it vote in a female president… I just feel like he’s a bit of a new comer and needs to thicken his skin a bit, then definitely come back into the mix.

It’s like having sex with a virgin. Maybe that virgin is really attractive and their innocence draws you in, maybe you like the fact that they have yet to have dicked someone over or taken it in the ass… but once you get into it, you really want someone that’s fucked and been fucked. You want that rough experience so that YOU can get what you need. And, sometimes, you don’t even know what you need… like a special trick with the hips or a bit of twisted tongue action, but once you get it you’re sooo glad you did.

That said, Clinton is definitely not a virgin. I understand feeling uneasy putting a woman in charge. I mean, your mother was in charge of you for at least the first 18 years of your life, predominantly female teachers were in charge of your education up through high school, and your babysitters looked after you on the weekends… and they all did frighteningly horrible jobs right? Ok, well I was a babysitter and I usually just ate all the snacks and watched MTV, but no one ever like died or pooped their pants on my watch.

It’s funny too – as Americans we want more, we want it all, we want DOUBLE. So why aren’t more people fucking pumped about the possibility of having two Clintons in office? Granted, Bill offended some people when he sunk Monica Lewinsky low (if she had been Marilyn Monroe or Amber Fry maybe the public would have been more forgiving) and, as the first First Gentleman he’d have to do things like read books to kids and have a small eye (e.g. Laura “I’m not wincing, it’s a small eye” Bush), but he’d still rock out some pretty ill political agendas.

 

All in all… I’m happy as long as a democrat gets in to clean up the mess George W has pooped out during his two terms (ick), but I’d be even happier if we impeached him… we have less than a year left to do it! I’m sure if we can do it to Clinton for expressing some love we can do it to Bush for expressing some hate.

 

Peace, love, and elections.

When Weird Things Happen…

Everyday normal things happen, like the usual daily routine things… or unusual but still technically normal things… like finding a dollar, falling in love, getting so drunk you throw up on the bar after pouring two beers (that aren’t yours) over your head. These things are interesting in like an “I cant wait to tell my friends cuz I’m sure they’ll think its amusing” way… but then, every now and then a weird thing will happen that stops you in your tracks and makes you realize that you can never tell a soul about it.

Like, this morning, I - um I mean my friend - was using the office bathroom. Don’t get uncomfortable this is obviously not going to be a bathroom humor story because bathroom humor is the least funny, just below slap stick comedy and the Waynes brothers.

So, I - um she - was in the process of pulling up my skirt, when she lost her balance a little.

OK I admit it, this is a story about me..

This would have never happened if I not decided to try out thigh-highs. They had, before this incident, been amazing… no nylon muffin top and I didn’t have to deal with that horrible mental image of the glimpse of myself in the mirror that I caught while getting ready… me in tights and a bra is enough to make Ryan Seacrest finally admit he is a raging homosexual.

But, then, I walked into that stall and it all changed.

Now, the thigh highs can’t be totally to blame… if I had been wearing full coverage underwear instead of a thong I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have even noticed… but enough “if’s” … here’s what happened:

My bum cheek touched the toilet paper dispenser.

What a weird thing. I stopped, stared at the metal dispenser, and thought “I just touched you and not with my hands.”

So there it is, a weird thing… and what do you do with it? I mean, normal things I would tell my friends… but these weird things? Who wants to hear about bum/dispenser contact? Who can you even TELL about bum/dispenser contact?

Thank god I have this blog.

…AND I’M BACK!

The Want Ad

Want sum1 who likes me more than i likes them Wink! w4m - 23 (boston) Ok. First off, i’m 23 years old, I’m 5′6, long blond hair, blue/green eyes. I’m Irish and Scottish but I’m not pale - I keep myself in check but I don’t over tan like all those bronze ho’s! I’ll b honest, I don’t have the best body but my strong points wud be my rack and my legs lol. Atleast thats wat ppl tell me! lol Prob. better than most of those b*tches out there. I like to drink and, sumtimes, my friends and I get a little krazy. Not making out with each other, just hitting the dance floor like its ur mother’s business. I grew up on the South Shore and I live wit my girlz in Southie now. I’m done wit tha college thing meaning I am done with BOYS.So I am lookin’ for a str8 up MAN. Someone who isn’t gonna pussy out and tellz it like it is. I’ll be honest wit u and u be honest wit me. Doesn’t mean i’m a HO looking for a one time f*ck. There’s enough scabs out there that, if I wanted that, I cud just go to the club and find it. I want a guy wit sum balls! Take me out to dinner and order a f*cking steak. Guys that order salads for dinner still pee their beds. OH thats another thing, don’t be a sloppy drunk. I wanna go out wit u and ur boyz and i don’t want to have to carry u home. In fact, i want u to carry ME home, and into the showa to get freaky ;)That said, physically speakin’ I’m lookin for a two hundo thats over 6′0. And i don’t mean 200 lbs of fat or of pure muscle. Prob the body of a hott ass fire fighter or construction worker wud be perfect. I like dark hair, dark eyes, but i’m willing to bend if ur fine enuff. not like that, get ur mind outta the gutter - but we’ll see what happens if we meet up! Better be able to calm down your wandering eye cuz i’m not about to fight wit u over u lookin’ at otha bitches.A real man is gotta b honest, trustworthy, true, sincere, genuine. U betta have ur own apt and a ride that works! dont think i’ll be pickin up ur ass.I’ve added a pick cuz I dont want no 1 thinkin one thing then gettin the other… I’m the one on the left, OBVY. I culda added some pick i took of myself in tha bathroom mirror, but girlz that do that are lame and i dont do that shit. i actually have friends that take pics of me, thank u very much. the girl on the left is mad chill and u gotta b cool w her if ur gonna chill w me. so maybe this pic shows that i have a SENSE OF HUMOR. ever hurd of it?oh and thats gum in my teeth, u know i crest white strips those puppies.bottom line, if u like wat u read and see, hit me up. if u dont, then y did u read this far down? sucka. seriously lets grab beers, if ur lucky and u impress me, i’ll make u dinner for our second date. um YA i can cook.

Stereotypes Exist Because They Are True.

My friend Plato made a good point when he said “those who are too smart to engage in politics are punished by being governed by those who are dumber.” Amen, brother. No offense, George.

Personally, I’m so smart that I removed myself from the game after I hit my political involvement peak in high school. I’m not talking about some student council pussy shit, I was a volunteer for O’Brien’s campaign against Romney (fought the good fight against the Mormon) and for Kerry when he ran, basically unopposed, for re-election in the Senate. I broke even, a loss and a win. But God, it was so exhausting. Everyone was always stressed out and arguing about lame stuff like abortion rights. Aren’t we experiencing population overflow? Send the babies to God earlier than they planned, keep the numbers down. Easy enough. So I resigned from my position as phone banker/sign holder/awkward high school volunteer in ill fitting business casual.

Even though I’ve thrown in the political towel, some things really still get to me… like all this political correctness crap. Being politically correct is really boring and it means you are subject to the opinion of a person who sits in a room all day deciding what should and shouldn’t offend us. Ham offends me, and I don’t see anyone arguing my case against Hormel. This person, by the way, is totally out of touch with reality. Like, we have to call black people “African Americans.” I mean, even people from Jamaica? They’re even not from Africa. Sure, their ancestors probably are… but so are mine. So are all of ours. So then, aren’t we all technically African-Americans?

Touche.

I recently heard that Chelsea Handler got in trouble for making some black jokes. Come on, she’s a comedian… its bad enough she got a show on E! instead of HBO or Showtime, but now we’re going to make her censor herself even further? Now, you may not think she is actually that funny because you’ve seen her show on E!, but it does her such a disservice. She is funny because she’s uninhibited, crude, and not afraid to be — ahh! — politically incorrect. I’m sure she’s far from racist, I would wager to bet that Ms. Handler wouldn’t turn away a gorgeous black penis if it wandered into her bedroom.

If we keep making people tip toe around these politically correct borders, sooner or later we are going to succeed in completely eliminating comedy. We’ll devolve back to the days of the Three Stooges. Even though Hollywood always shows people watching black and white movies and laughing, no one in real life does that.

Number one, people that write movie scripts have no sense of reality. Number two, those people are laughing because they’re getting paid to, otherwise, it is virtually impossible to crack a smile at three fat guys poking each other(unless you’re watching porn). Number three, to watch those movies, you’d have to actually go out and purchase them. DVD’s are expensive, and no one would even know what titles to buy, unless they’re eighty years old. The grammies and grandpas wouldn’t even be able to read the titles … or know what a DVD looks like.

The Politically Correct Crusader’s biggest enemies, second only derogatory terms, are stereotypes. Once again, the man in the room is totally out of touch with reality…

Stereotypes, unlike eyebrows, exist for a reason. Because they are true.

True stereotype #1:

Asians are horrible drivers. I don’t know if its because they’re so used to riding bikes, but Asians really do suck at driving. My Asian friend sucks at driving… mostly due to the fact that she is usually under the influence, but still, she’s Asian (love ya Wacko). Just today, I was leaving the mall, and I had a bad experience. He was pulling the move where you go the same speed as the person in the lane next to you, thereby preventing me from switching lanes. The whole time his hands were at 10 and 2 and he was looking straightforward pretending not to notice the blond girl in the next lane screaming at him. Its cool to know what the guy in front of you is doing, Chan, but you need to be aware of your buddies on either side, too. I almost missed my exit because of HIM.

When my brother was taking his license test in Boston, he had to drive through China Town and he hit an Asian. The guy was jaywalking and he didn’t get hurt, just rolled up on the windshield of the driver’s ed car… and my brother managed to still get his license that day.

That story has no bearing on my defense of this stereotype.

True stereotype #2:

Blonds are dumb. The truth behind this stereotype extends only to certain blonds, i.e. not me. I’ll give you the history of the Dumb Blond:

God created man, and man decided that he loves women with blond hair. Brunette or dull-blond women who weren’t especially interesting didn’t have a lot to offer besides a giggle, and, although guys love vapid laughter, it wouldn’t keep their attention. Because they had no tools to attract a partner, the women were living their lives as virgin spinsters without even interesting thoughts to keep them company. So, these lonely miserable women tried to end their lives by dipping their heads into buckets of peroxide. However, once they did this, they realized the peroxide smelled bad and stopped when it hit their scalp. Although disappointed about their failings, the women soon realized that -va voom! - they now had blond hair! The men came running, and so begun the bleach blond hell that is today the West Coast.

Now all the women who don’t have a lot to offer mentally or physically resort to this peroxide facade, thus providing the foundation for the dumb blond stereotype.

True stereotype #3:

The Irish… drink a lot. I didn’t want to say that “Irish people are drunks,” because that has a negative connotation. And, we all know there is a clear distinction between a drunk and a party drinker. But the Irish do drink a lot. My new apartment just so happens to be on the route for South Boston’s St. Patty’s day parade, so bottoms up, lets all fall deep into the hole of stereotyping!

.

Now, I don’t actually follow all stereotypes. I mean, people sometimes say that blacks and Mexicans are lazy. I’ve worked with plenty of hard working black people and with far more lazy whites. So, in my experience, I haven’t seen that proven true. Same with Mexicans, they are always sweating… Oh god, I’m kidding, I’ve worked alongside extremely hard working Mexicans also.

I really think that we need to embrace stereotypes because, chances are, if you fall into a category targeted by one, you are proof they’re true. If it pisses you off, just counteract it; be sneaky and constantly surprise people by showing how good an Asian driver you are, smart a blond you are, or how Irish and sober you are (boring).

George Bush for Prez!

Update

Happy Boxing Day!

Thank you for all the concern about the bed situation… all though it turned into a bigger drama marathon than Heidi Montag and Spencer Pratt’s relationship, in the end it all worked out.

Well it worked out for me because I ended up getting all my normal Christmas presents AND the bed. So, woop woop!

I’m about to go brave the mall. I have gift certificates burning holes in their cardboard holders and I need to feel the rush of clearance racks and super sales.

I wanted to let everyone know that there may be a lull in my posts because I am moving OUT OF MY PARENT’S HOUSE. I’m planning to up and move tomorrow and hopefully I’ll be able to set up my internet and all that by the weekend.

Until then,

Peace, love, bundles of used wrapping paper

The Obligatory Christmas Post

Happy Holidays to everyone.

Personally, my holiday is not going to be happy. It is going to end up like every other Christmas since I have been old enough to make a Christmas list. This is how it will go:

I will wake up and meet my family downstairs at the Christmas tree.

We will all open our presents.

My brothers will get what they want and more.

I will open each present with more contempt than the last.

All of my presents will be things I absolutely never would want in my life.

I will go up to my room and be pissed and crying.

I may seem a little old for it, but it is absolutely called for. You see, every year without fail, I tell my mom exactly what I want and then, come Christmas morning, I end up opening hundreds of dollars worth of presents that I don’t want.

So, I am pissed and crying for a multitude of reasons… I’m pissed I have all this crap now, I feel bad that my mom went through all that effort, and I’m pissed at her for not just fucking listening to me. If I were her, I would have learned the first time it happened. But, no. Its always neck pillows you warm in the microwave, the exact same cashmere sweater that I picked up at Ann Taylor and said “I want a cashmere sweater for Christmas but I would never wear this one,” or whatever she got me this year in place of a new bed.

And its not like I’m silently miserable. I say every year “why do you always do this to me? You ruin my Christmas every year because you pull this stunt, then I feel double bad because I’m mad at you for getting me presents. Stop doing this, get what I ask for, I don’t want any of this. YOU ARE RIDICULOUS.”

You see, I’m moving out a few days after Christmas and I am dirt poor. It just so happens my friends and I fell into a really great living situation so we’re taking advantage of it. However, I hadn’t planned on moving out until the summer, so I had no money put away for this. Consequently, I have no money to buy furniture. I can take some furniture from my parents, but I really need a new bed.

My mom’s stance is that I can have one of the twin beds from the bedrooms at their house. That would be great if I were eight years old. However, I’m 23 now. The twin bed is out for a number of reasons…

1.) Its nice to stretch out in bed, but, when your limbs are reaching past the bed’s borders and you’re falling out of the bed mid-stretch, it just turns uncomfortable.

2.) I hate the way rooms look with twin beds in them. It looks creepy… like an eight year old’s room.

3.) Not that I expect to, but I’m not about to bring any guys back to my twin bed, therefore preventing me from ever meeting someone, therefore preventing me from ever becoming married, therefore preventing me from being a happy stay at home mom with no kids, therefore preventing me from smiling ever again.

And so, by telling me that she got me a ton of stuff besides the exact thing I want and, more importantly, need, my mother has successfully ruined Christmas before it even happened. The fucking annoying thing is that she did it with this smirk that says “you have to be happy because I’m buying you presents, but I know that I conveniently forgot that we agreed on you getting a bed so that I could buy you patterned socks and the boots you tried on, then said you hated.”

Well, I am going to be as immature as a person that sleeps in a twin bed would be. I am not going to talk to her and I am going to take every single present back to the store then take the money from that to buy myself the cheap bed that I had asked for.

I wish I celebrated Kwanzaa.