Christmas Time...

Once, Christmas was fun for our mothers. Now it is a militarised series of events for them:
-Buy the Christmas cards. Make the mince pies. Write the Christmas cards. Decorate the house. Buy the presents. Buy the food. Buy the stamps for the Christmas cards. Buy the tree. Send the Christmas cards....
They pretend they are having fun with the family but really they hate it. Year after year dad throws away the bag in the garage with the Christmas decorations, thus creating the first (usually of many) Christmas arguments.

Although in general i do enjoy getting into the festive spirit, which in Argentina, really hardly exists. Well, unless you count avoiding the fireworks planted in bins and street corners which make you feel as if you are living in a war zone. What part of being kicked out of my bedroom, being forced to speak to great aunt Mildred, who requires a hearing aid, is fun!? My family always try and go away for Christmas so mother doesn’t face a nervous breakdown hosting the masses. I just don’t get the point of small presents from people I hardly know. If I wanted that tacky necklace from Claire’s I would go and get it. You receive a present; your voice always is required to become higher. ‘OMG’ amazing, I have always wanted that’ to some jewellery which resembles something Vicky pollard would wear. You are then required to wear it, to be polite.
The worst is when people continue looking in the bag to see if there is anything else to this present. ‘No, no that’s really it love, credit crunch and all’.

The Social Event.

You know the feeling, you have spent days preparing yourself for the much sought after 21st party, in a rather snazzy London Hotel. You have even limited your consumption of edible calorific foods. Waxed, de-dreadlocked and you begin to ressemble less and less Hagrids sister. The only slight hiccup is the fact that your shoes fell apart on the way and you are trying to fix them with sellotape. Standard.

Anyway, I am now seated next to two ‘young chaps’, neither competing in the good looks competition. One is the guy I just tried to maintain a conversation with, but due to the lack of response I pretty much gave a monologue. The other my friend introduced me to by saying that my dad is running for parliament for the conservative party. He is, however, head of the labour society at University. This should be a bundle of laughs.

The Office Ex-Bitch

Today, the Office Secretary Bitch was nice to me. I almost don't like it when this happens. If she is nasty, i can bitch about her. Simple. If she starts being nice, I get confused about what the hell to think. Plus, it's always shamefully fun and bonding when there's a unanimous person for all to bitch about.

Anyway, I was attempting to print some comprehensions for my class, and as the printer didn't work i continuously pressed the print icon. This resulted in a complete embarassment disaster, as when the 'Office Ex-Bitch' fixed the printer (which is in full view of everyone) the printer seemingly had paper diarrhoea. Unable to stop it, i was forced to hide the wodges of paper as they came out. The looks i received suggest this wasn't done in the subtlest of ways.

I would also like to add that last night I did not sleep and I feel so awake today. The night before i slept for 14 hours and felt so tired still. I even lied when a housemate asked me if i had REALLY just woken up..........'no, no, just a quick nap' i retorted. Forget alcoholics anonymous, I am in need of sleepers anonymous.