Thanks for seein' about a girl, friend. here's where I'm writing my own history—for you, for me and anyone else who needs to laugh to keep from cryin' every once in awhile.

Indian Givers -- Alive and quite well in 2006

Like coal in my stocking:

It's the Friday  before Christmas and I am at work.  

Suddenly in the lower right hand corner of my computer screen, Outlook highlights an incoming message. I see:

"Happy Holidays to one and all!"

Oooh! An exclamation point! 

I actually said that to myself, "Oooh! An exclamation point!"

You know what that means? Early dismissal, yes!

No, no*, instead I opened it and read: "... it's been a great 2006 and next year looks to be even better ... thank you to each and every one of you ... yada yada ... Please enjoy some time ..."

Please enjoy some time ... please?

I read that "please" as "feel free" -- you know, "please sit down," "please make yourself at home," "please stuff your face with as many Christmas cookies as humanly possible because the crumbs look so great nestled in the giant trough otherwise known as your breasts. They're just delicious aren't they?"

(The cookies, I mean. The cookies. They are delicious.) 

So naturally I scoffed at the idea of "feeling free" to enjoy my weekend -- or holiday. Well of course I'll feel free to enjoy it -- it's a bloody weekend, you sodding Indian Giver. I already get that -- you were gracious enough, oh stupid god of Work, to grant me with a 5-day work week and then dangle 2 days at its end. 

(It's like dangling a carrot in front of a horse, instead it's no whole carrot -- it's one of those pre-packaged, pre-shaven carrots, cut into munchkin-sized bites so that a workhorse like myself can push all the way to Friday and then nibble on two days like I'm on vacation. It's more like an alochol-induced vaccination, the way I treat my weekends these days, but whatever...)

I can't believe it read like I was being granted something truly special though. I mean, come on. I already covet those two measly days, thank you, I don't need no stinkin' permission. Gracious. 

"Please enjoy this swift kick in the bum; it's on me," cracks the wicked Overseer.

No, no. I am at work. I cannot be at home for the holidays like the rest of the known world ... unless I'd like to use my vacation time. For Christ's sake -- yes, for His sake; he is the reason for the season as we all well know -- Jesus was born on this day! And to think there's endless snickering about how tired everyone is of being "politically correct" and wishing everyone "Merry Chrish... shiii....  no Happy Holidays!" 

We can't even get extra time to celebrate with our families (or whoever), and why is this? Because in all actuality, Jesus is not the reason for the season. Money is.

I am going now, as I sit here wallowing in the paucity of days "allotted" for my so-called "holiday." I'm trying not to seethe too much, but this feels very much like one of those old-fashioned Indian burns. (And no, I don't have a beef with Indians; not when I whoop with the best of 'em come closing time.)

A Haiku from Scrooge:
Bah! What holiday?
There's no such thing as free time??!!
This the real world, trick.

* Note: I have also watched The Devil Wears Prada which has further influenced my ever-expanding expressiveness as I now say, "No no" countless times a day. It has that nice "ding dong" ring to it, the way Miranda says it in the scene where she tells Andy she has no style.

I'm no Monk, but I know me some germs when you sneeze 'em.

Why buy Office Space when one clearly lives it day by day?