2003-12-19

I have to read heaps and heaps of news clippings as part of my job, and to that end, I�m hooked up to various media services that send me article summaries via e-mail. The condensed headlines in the subject lines are sometimes rather nonsensical, and this morning I got the best one yet: �CRIME bogus fish.�

Dastardly fish impersonators! It�s the crime of the new millennium! Nonchalantly they swim around the tank in circles, innocently eating their freeze-dried yuck flakes, until��Hang on just a minute!� you think. �That�s not a fish AT ALL! It�s my ex-boyfriend wearing a koi mask!� and you feel so horribly violated and abused!

Much to my disappointment, the news article was actually about a fish-processing plant that has been defrauding the government. Reality is so dull.

Also, the other day as I was grocery shopping, I was scanning the shelves and misread a product name as �panty cubes.� You know, I�ve always thought it a shame that foundation garments are not available in cubic format. It would be much more efficient, storage-wise, although perhaps lacking somewhat on the comfort front.

This is the part where I complain for a bit. Unsympathetic parties who want more bizarre non-sequiturs may choose to go ponder the meaning of the phrase, �the white flower pickled in the head.� Enjoy.

Now back to poor me! I�m a confirmed Scrooge. Christmas irritates me and always has, ever since I figured out that those cookies left out for �Santa� were a no-yield investment and basically just meant three fewer cookies for me. (�CRIME bogus Santa!�) I am also an android devoid of all human emotion, and as such I�ve never felt a particularly strong desire to do the whole holidays-with-the-family thing � actually, I have barely any contact at all with my family, because we�re just a �one phone call a month� kind of bunch and not particularly close. But this will be my second Christmas totally alone (Sister is flying back to Calgary), and while that�s fine, these days I am also a) a total hermit, rarely venturing forth into daylight, b) totally friendless, since everyone I know is out of town with their families, and c) at my own request, not receiving any gifts, because I�m getting rid of everything I own to move to England. The cumulative effect of this is not a little pathetic. Being the determinedly solitary creature that I am, I don�t expect anything different in future years, and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come is showing me visions of holidays spent drinking cheap wine out of the bottle and cruising dating sites on the internet.

I guess the alternative is to shack up and pop out a pack of kids. Then I could spend my holidays pulling slimy tinsel out of toothless little mouths and watching �Barney Does the North Pole� over and over until my mind turns into figgy pudding.

Bring on the Gato Negro!