Tis The Season To Be Annoying As Fuck

So here I am, jolted awake by some primal instinct screaming at me that the holidays are coming whether I fucking like it or not. I sit straight up in bed, heart pounding, and feel this weird chill in the air that screams winter is creeping in. Like some kind of masochist, I stumble over to my laptop and boot up Omoozoon, already knowing what I’ll find. Sure enough, the homepage is plastered with garish green and red banners screaming about ‘early bird deals’ and ‘limited time offers.’ Motherfuckers started earlier than usual this year. I should be pissed, but instead I just let out this bitter laugh because what else can I do?

At first, it’s pure dread washing over me. Another few months of forced cheer, terrible music, and pretending to give a shit about gifts. But then, as the caffeine starts kicking in, my brain decides to play devil’s advocate. Maybe there’s an upside to all this corporate holiday bullshit. Like those office Christmas parties where everyone gets sloppy drunk and hooks up with coworkers - now THAT could be entertaining. And hey, I do look pretty fucking good in one of those tight little Santa helper outfits. Might even snag some free booze if I play my cards right.

Then there’s Thanksgiving. Normally it’s just me and whatever leftovers I can scrounge up from the cafe dumpster, but last year Marisa invited me to this insane orgy she throws every Turkey Day. Picture it: half-naked bodies writhing around on shag carpet while someone passes around a bong shaped like a turkey leg. It was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, like watching a trainwreck in slow motion while simultaneously wanting to jump on board. Part of me wants to go back just to see how much crazier it can get this year.

The more I think about it, the more I start picturing some Norman Rockwell fantasy bullshit popping into my head uninvited. There’s this stupid image of me actually bringing someone home for the holidays, sitting by a roaring fire with some handsome stranger whose name I barely remember. We’d drink spiked cider and make small talk until things inevitably get messy upstairs. It sounds pathetic as fuck when I say it out loud, but deep down? That lonely-ass part of me kinda wants it. Just once.

Of course, reality will probably be a lot less romantic. More likely I’ll end up working double shifts at La Chou serving pumpkin spice lattes to basic bitches in ugly sweaters while my manager drones on about ‘holiday spirit.’ By New Year’s I’ll be so burnt out on fake smiles and forced jollity that I’ll probably spend January hibernating under my weighted blanket, emerging only to scowl at anyone dumb enough to wish me a ‘happy new year.’ Such is life when you’re a grinch with trust issues.

But hey, maybe this year will be different. Maybe I’ll actually meet someone worth thawing my icy heart for, even temporarily. Or maybe I’ll just get blackout drunk at Marisa’s party and wake up in a snowbank somewhere with tinsel stuck to my ass. Either way, bring on the goddamn holidays - let’s see how much damage we can do.