Hello 2bird readers! First I would like to apologize for my absence that I’m sure crumbled your world and broke your heart. I know, I can be so cruel. But I have returned with kooky stories and the makings of a bangin' drinking game this friday to make up for my absence.
So it’s Christmas time in the big City. I love Christmas time: fabulous store windows, twinkle lights everywhere, trees, ribbons, ice-skating, hot cocoa (with a lot of Baileys)! However, my normal holiday joy was put on hold this year for two reasons.
Obviously relating to Rick a.k.a. my patriotic asswipe of a landlord. Now, as explained, I gots the holiday spirit just like any other girl, but Rob has taken it too damn far. Let me explain to you what the already tacky exterior of our apartment now looks like. The large American eagle liberty poster has been replaced by a large flag of the nativity scene with 2 floodlights illuminating it at all times. In addition we’re talking garland (fake, obviously), mini Santas, ribbons and bells everywhere, twinkle lights, 3 wreaths (one of which is made of blue and white lights to shut the Jews up), a large “Merry Christmas” sign that’s made out of the material of one of those fake diamond rings you get out of the vending machine at an arcade, little signs proclaiming “Joy!” “Noel!” “Jesus is the only Lord and Savior!” everywhere (well…maybe not that last one,) and finally we come to the icing on the cake: the singing fake Christmas tree lit up by mini Santa Claus lights. I don’t even know why I’m surprised. The apartment looks like a red carpet showgirl any other day of the week, of course he would bring out the big guns during Christmas. Expect pictures for 4th of July…
Every Jane or John feels a little lonely around Christmas time. It’s natural. The city is so romantic this time of year, they might as well be playing porno in Times Square and hand out condoms and Barry White CDs. Coming off of the worst date known to man and a mighty rough experience with a fucktard gent over Thanksgiving break, I’m not exactly in the mood to put myself back out there and find Mr. Right. You know what doesn’t help? Waking up on a cold Monday morning at 6:45, checking perezhilton.com and seeing this banner ad:
Boyfriend Season? Fuck. Great, now I have to get a camo-printed ho dress, John Deer trucker hat and a rifle from my grand pappy and catch me one of dem critters.
Sha la la!