I went on the annual Xmas shopping excursion last night. All I can say is WHAT AN ABSOLUTE CLUSTERFUCK! I had gone to Bell Square, which if you're not from the greater Seattle area, is generally accepted as the nexus for yuppie hellspawn. Three and a half hours of battling crowds, insousciant window shoppers, people who group together in the middle of the thru-way to talk and some asshole pushing a baby in a stroller who clipped my heels and just looked at me with a blank stare as if nothing happened. Braving all that would have been worthwhile if I'd managed to get a large chunk of my shopping done, BUT NO, in fact I left there with exactly as much as I entered with. I still have everyone on my list to shop for.

I don't know what it is (besides the above rant) but I'm just not in the "spirit" this year. I half-assed my list when I was pressed to give one. I just generally don't care.

And in case anyone's wondering, my comments in my last entry about December being to suicidal tendencies what Mardi Gras is to drunk chicks, pretty much all stem from my myriad car problems. A car when it's working is something that we never think about. But when it's not it can fuck up your entire outlook on life. Take me for instance, I've had three cars in the past five years. The only one that drove well I totalled on Friday the 13th. If that doesn't give you a pretty accurate portrayal of just how terrible my luck is, then I don't know what I can do to convince you.

Well, I'm off to work on The Money Pit. That is, the car and by work I mean hitting it with a wrench and swearing at it.