Post Graduation Depression: Buying Christmas Presents.

First of all, Penguins. Why? (Just something for you to ponder for a little while.)

It is not common knowledge that after spending all of my savings on college and then not being able to find a job for 7 1/2 months that I only have about $2 left in my bank account. However the spending my life’s savings on college and the still not able to find a job part are pretty common knowledge, it seems to be the case with many in my graduating class. So as today has approached I have had a problem looming in the distance, like the fires of Mount Doom. What am I going to do for Christmas presents? It is not that I feel obligated to give a lot of people Christmas presents but I do feel like it will be an awkward Christmas morning if the only present under he tree is the one that my parents, who are already feeding and housing me, are giving to me. So I decided that I have to do something to show my appreciation for their support of my vagrant lifestyle. Of course I still put it off until after the 21st on the off chance the Mayans were actually right which was a terrible idea because I hate crowds, people, and putting things off until the last minute and somebody had the audacity to go and save the world (rude). Well now it is Christmas Eve and there are presents for each of my parents (all two of them) which solves one conundrum but only adds to my bank account problem. Oh well, maybe the penguins will give me all of their money, it’s not like they’re using it.

Roommates: Good, Bad, and GOOD LORD CLEAN UP THIS MESS

            On the last day we lived together Kristina, my first roommate ever, and I came to the most important conclusion of our lives. We hustled and bustled around the common room of our flat, there is no more apt term for describing the kind of dorm room we had lived in for the last nine months, cleaning the microwave and wiping coffee grounds out of the silverware drawer trying keep the number of fines we would receive at a reasonable number. Like your average college sophomores neither Kristina nor I actually owned any real cleaning supplies. I provided a can of Scrubbing Bubbles nine months earlier and we did have some sponges and dish soap but there were no paper towels or rags or even tissues for wiping up messes. Fortunately the school had provided for us several rolls of single-ply toilet paper at the beginning of the year which we still had two of after deciding to spend all of our limited funds on good toilet paper instead.            Kristina took one roll into the bedroom and I took the other to the kitchenette and started wiping out drawers. After exactly three futile swipes at the Scrubbing Bubble foam in the drawer I pressed the entire roll onto the foaming mess before chucking it down the hall. Kristina stepped out of the bedroom, having clearly done the same. “Single-ply toilet paper is officially good for nothing,” she swore holding the roll above her head like a torch she planned on using to kill an ogre.

            “You’ll get no argument from me.” I gave up on the drawers and started picking any pieces of left-over Styrofoam from the day before when, instead of packing and cleaning like we had planned, we had turned our living room into a snow globe.

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            That’s what made me and Kristina such a good match as roommates: we had remarkably similar dispositions. We washed the dishes every three weeks whether we needed to or not, usually by spreading out the largest towel we could find onto the kitchen/dining room/we only had two rooms and a bathroom in the flat but they all served at least three purposes table and laying every dish we owned out to dry on it.

We ate incredibly unhealthy food together without judgment except to occasionally pause and mutter, with mouths filled with cookie dough, “We’re fat.”  I picked up another brownie after one such occasion and muttered, after tasting it’s wonderfulness a second time, “where have these brownies been all my life?” We had layered them by putting the fudge topping on only half of the batch and putting the other half on top. It seemed like a good idea at the time, we were drooling over Jonny Depp and chocolate together watching Chocolate.

Kristina’s eyes widened at her second brownie. “I don’t know but if I were them I would have been hiding.” That comment later became a conversational staple whenever one of us was looking but not finding something important. “Where are my scissors?” “I don’t know but if I were them I would be hiding.”

Most importantly though we were both quippy and usually angry at everyone else in the world except each other. Most of the time we spent together in the room was spent playing The Jungle Book on our Sega, watching movies, or shouting. Actually shouting occurred during those other two activities as well because Mogli was a saboteur and neither of us was happy about the fact that everyone in every situation falls in love. The rest of the people living on that floor were certain we hated each other. It was understandable, we shouted “too much” and had a painting of ourselves above the television that made it look like we were the most uncomfortable people in the world.

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            Not all roommate pairings can be so divine. Everyday takes me farther away from that roommate pairing and closer to the day that I will probably have to put a roommate want ad. up on Craigslist and closer to the day that I will probably murder that same Craigslist roommate for using my travel coffee cup or judging me for drinking a mocha the size of my face every day, they probably won’t know that the mocha will have more shots of espresso in it than, I’m pretty sure, is legal in America. Every day I come a little bit closer to accidentally revealing the sad secret that I am difficult to live with.

I am a very difficult person to live with. Everyone should already know that but, just like no one in Gotham seems to be able to figure out that Bruce Wayne is Batman, most people do not realize it. It has become my own secret identity scouring the streets for thugs to shoot dirty looks at for such crimes as talking to me at a bad moment or being around too much of the time. But I will always be able to look back that year I lived with Kristina. If my inability to live with people is Batman then that year is Alfred who knows the secret but for some reason never called the nice men in the white coats to take me to the asylum where I so obviously belong.

A good time to be a book nerd

This Christmas is practically a literary nerd’s dream as far as the film industry goes. There are so many movies coming out, or now out, based on classic and great literature. Most of it I’m proud to say I have read, that which I wouldn’t be proud of reading I haven’t read. It’s not just a lot of great literature though, it;s great literature from all over the world. From France we have Les Miserables coming out (the musical is based on the book after all), then from England we have both The Hobbit and Cloud Atlas made into films, finally from Russia Anna Karenina. All GREAT novels! They’re novels that teach us something and stir us deep within our souls, if you’re the kind of person who likes the souls stirred rather than shaken. When I started looking forward to these movies a couple of months ago I wondered what great American novel would fill the seasons requirement for a film adaptation, that seemed to be the theme. The answer is the final of the Twilight books. THE TWILIGHT BOOKS? Those tedious, drippy, vampire romances specifically designed for empty, vapid, women who are unhappy with their lives. That is the book you chose? That series of poorly written books chronicling the ins and outs of an emotionally abusive and co-dependent relationship.

Congratulations America, this is why we can’t have nice things.

I must be cursed. I know I’m not a frost giant.

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I’m not one to complain, except when I have too much work or too little or stub my toe, but lately I feel a little bit like I’m cursed. No I haven’t been turning blue and accidentally freezing my enemies like Loki did in Marvel’s Thor (if I were I wouldn’t be complaining because super human good looks already got them but some other super powers would be awesome) I have just had a string of really awful luck since August. We’re not talking I tore my favorite jeans bad luck, although that did happen, we’re talking really bad luck, most of which was not in any way my fault or karmic retribution and I won’t go into the details just yet. So after a few months of this nonsense I decided that there must be a reason and went looking for one. Well I am, beyond a shadow (or the benefit) of a doubt not a frost giant, a spy, or the victim of some sort of scientific accident (I actively avoid science that is not immediately followed by the word fiction). Then lightning struck my brain. In August I left beautiful Spokane which is rumored to have been cursed by a gypsy. I did some research into that. The gypsy was a used car dealer named Jimmy Marks even though I always pictured someone a little more like Clopin from Disney’s Hunchback of Notredame.

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Because of the curse Spokane is supposed to always be mediocre but when I started research I thought that maybe the curse was different than we all believed. My theory was that people would be fine within Spokane, after all there are some pockets of intense creativity there plus Whitworth University, but that when a person left the curse on the Spokane government would follow them and they would forever  be plagued by corruptness and scandal. This theory is obviously disprovable and therefore wrong so my next theory was just that 90% of people in the world suck.

That theory seemed to be both true and provable because, as it turns out, most people do suck. The person who smashed the window in my dad’s truck and then our house guests truck window a few days later sucks. Select members of my extended family REALLY suck. The person who tried to steal my identity with a job scam especially sucks(they didn’t succeed but if they had I’m sure they would have enjoyed my $3 and all those student loans). So rather than trying to fight some strange gypsy curse (seriously the only way to do that would be to break Jimmy Marks curse on all of Spokane or move back to Spokane. The second option isn’t so bad.) I have decided to fight 90% of people instead.

It’s an enormous relief, having a plan. Now whenever something bad happens instead of being sad I take on a completely different mind set.

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And the people I specifically mentioned need to remember that. I may not be a frost giant but I’m certain I can hold up my end of that threat. I do have a very specific skill set and have been training to kill since birth (nobody tell anyone that my specific skill set involves writing. The training to kill part is true though.)