Merry Christmas!!!!

So I was reading Dear Abby today, our last day in the office for the next eleven days. It was easy enough to say HO HO HO I laugh at other people's troubles, but this one annoyed the living SHIT out of me. Read it here.

I am expected to include a detailed NOTE in my Christmas cards? Really?? Who would want that? Ever? Because my Truth will burn your eyebrows off. You wanna hear my Truth? Here goes: My world was my Job. I did it. I did it well, even though my stomach tried to undermine me at every turn. I've been sick a lot. Look at it. LOOK AT IT.

I succeeded anyway. Still I wasn't lifting heavy weights or doing a real job from the real world. How proud could I really be for this? In my White Hot private life, I dated zero (0) people. I mentally stalked about five. Only two of them will still look me in the eye.

I continue to WIN at chunking out. I have sexy new chin that accentuates my other FLABULOUS qualities. I continue to threaten anyone and everyone who dares to comment on it. I try not to whine. I expect you to SHUT. UP.

On the brighter side, I met a small peep called Juju this year. He is a baby, soon to be a Harvard scholar or perhaps a mime. He looks at me with both delight (WIDE EYES) and terror (when he realizes I am holding him). I totally believe he will be genuinely happy to know me one day. I have sweet, good friends.

And, for the most part, sweet and good employees. I absolutely refuse to allow toxic people into my life. Therefore, all of my certified friends should be your certified friends. My taste is impeccable.

I almost died twice this year. Once this morning when the wind tried to push me down the subway stairs (IRONY, since this is the first day since Sandy that I could have taken the R all the way to work) and tonight, when I read this bit from Buzzfeed about the best Autocorrects ever. I seriously had to walk away from breathlessness, tears, and mild hysteria. 

 I am still suffering from some sort of post traumatic stress disorder from that last relationship. YES, I KNOW IT WAS A HUNDRED YEARS AGO. And yet I still dream about him. And in my dreams he is just as handsome, and charming, and ultimately cruel as he was before. Why I can't dream of Channing Tatum giving me foot massages every night, I will never know. 

SO THERE, people who feel obligated to know my business, get happy. Your wish is my muthafuckin command. 

Love, 

Fool