i’m dreaming of a shite Christmas

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Oh, god, why is Christmas always horrible?

For the last three years, i’ve come down with a horrific intestinal bug right around the holidays in December, but this year, the curse passed from me to Luna…

…normally, a dog gets diarrhea and you just don’t give them any food for 24 hours and they get better. But by the second day, she was shitting blood and vomiting like crazy. We had to take her to a 24-hour emergency veterinarian, and she was diagnosed with a bout of HGE — hemorrhagic gastroenteritis — probably caused by bacteria in some random crap she ate outside.

She was very dehydrated, and i have no idea if there was any danger of her dying. I would rather not know.

I LOVE THIS DOG.

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Crap, we get the key to the new apartment in five days. I haven’t done any packing except for taking all my posters and wall scrolls down. Granted, we don’t own much, but i feel like it should be in boxes by now.

Crappity-crap-crap.

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I don’t even have the energy to give a shit about all the rumors and mess at work. Impossible to care. The one funny thing is that Gomez is infatuated with Muna and stares at her pictures all the time.

To recap — Gomez works second shift, and Muna and i work third. So when we arrive, Gomez hangs around and tries to talk her up for 20 minutes before leaving. And he does it in the style of Zapp Brannigan, saying as many things as he can, as fast as he can! But it’s never going to work, because she’s from a Muslim family and has all these weirdly serious marriage proposals from young muscly guys, and she refers to Gomez and a “tall-for-nothing lard.”

Cool it, Gomez. The only reason she likes me is because i don’t hit on her. At least, that’s what she said. Also, hello, she’s nineteen? Also, she says she’s probably moving back to Toronto in five months. I’ve never been to Toronto, but i imagine it’s a fair bit more interesting than Nashville.

But Gomez is getting wiggy, man. Everytime he sees me, he asks about her.

Heeeeeey, L’Hommedieu man, how are you and Muna doing? Things are good?

Yeah? You know i really envy your guy’s working relationship and all.

Cool it, man. We’re not fucking.

She’s funny, though. Her family owns two houses here and four in Africa and her Uncle gets large sums of money sent from Africa whenever he needs them, and maids clean their houses, but she doesn’t consider herself “rich.”

She scoffed when i said that spending $80 on a meal was extravagant. Then assured me that our wages were more than sufficient to afford such things, until we did the math and she learned that no, Americans are not really swimming in money.

I wish we were. But no.

Whenever a woman says “you don’t have kids? Why ever not?” the first thing i think of is, uhh, i don’t have a girlfriend to impregnate. And beyond that, who the hell can afford to? I’m not rich like these immigrants from Somalia!

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Okay.

Luna is home now. She still has some diarrhea but is a lot better. For the next week, she’ll be eating nothing but boiled chicken & rice, occasionally garnished by a dab of peanut butter coated in crushed-up Pepto-Bismol.

The vet bill is pretty enormous, but fuck it… i got the best Christmas present of all. I got my puppy back.

Still.

Everything else is damned depressing.

Muna’s days are numbered, and Dahir’s probably are as well. Ever since he received that final warning, he’s been getting all ants-in-the-pants and copping a real “fuck this job, i don’t like the way they treat people” attitude. And while it’s true our company is horrible, they’ve actually been pretty lenient with him. But he doesn’t see that. Tonight, he was about to leave the place to run over to his sister’s house to grab some lasagna because he was hungry — and leaving the place for any reason is the surest way to get fired. Who knows, maybe he wants to get fired so he can tell his family he didn’t quit, he was wrongfully terminated because of discrimination and retaliation.

I don’t know. I’m just tired. My drawing is for shit. I need to start packing.

And just listen to these smug fucks on NPR. They’re visiting Europe, and eating Brie, and wearing scarves and sweater vests, and sitting around drinking pumpkin-spied lattes and learning the art of pie-making; they’re playing their fancy word games and writing poetry about leaves and engaging in those wanky little news stories about NORAD tracking Santa’s progress and asking a scientist how many microseconds Santa would have to spend at each house to visit them all. They’re arguing over whether the Christmas tree originated in 8th century Germany or 16th century Latvia, and talking about the weird shit that Romans eat on Christmas.

They sound like they’re having a good time.

One day, i hope to write a non-depressing Christmas entry. Until then, fuck everything.

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