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At work, we sit in cubicle-like sections that resemble something like a honeycomb. Each section has seven seating positions. I am fortunate(?) enough to sit one seat away from a guy who resembles Fat Bastard from the Austin Power movies, except replace the fakey Scottish accent with an Okie southern drawl.
There's five other people in my section and they affectionately refer to this guy as B.F.F.F (Big Fatty Fat F**k). There's actually an empty desk between me and him...but that doesn't stop him from scootching over to kick my chair so that he can tell me something pointless and lame that has happened to him recently.
He always has something to say and he always has to say it very loudly. Except he gets winded when he goes off on one of his stupid rants...
Today I set off his latest rant because he asked me if I was looking forward to Christmas. And, as a matter of fact, I am not. So I told him this. For me, Christmas hasn't been "cool" since I got that big Casio keyboard back in 1986. Sometimes I wonder whatever happened to that thing...
Growing up, the best part about Christmas was Christmas Eve. For many years, I spent Christmas Eve locked in a room with Robbyn, Remington and Cristal. Why? Well, because I had a nasty habit of sneaking out into the living room in the wee hours of the morning and then running to everyone's room and telling them what Mom and Dad left out for them. For some reason, this wasn't very popular. So, the four of us would camp out in the back bedroom and Robbyn would sleep in front of the door, so that no one could leave until the sun came up. It was great fun and the tradition continued long past the time I would ever consider waking up voluntarily before sunrise.
However, Christmas Day itself was the stuff of nightmares...until Won, André and I invented the Christmas tradition of drinking beer and stuffing ourselves full of tacos. That was awesome. Especially that one time when a certain someone was courteous enough to hand roll 13 "special presents".
This is the first time in four years that I will be spending Christmas at home...with my biological family.
Anyway, the point is that B.F.F.F. yelled at me for my lack of holiday cheer, but as Evan, another guy in my section, says (usually in reference to a mean customer), "I hope he gets gonorrhea and burns in hell."
On a more pleasant note, my brother Remington is coming home this weekend, which is happy news. By the way, Rem...Tunde called me tonight. We're going to a titty bar next week and I'm gonna buy him a lapdance for Christmas. I gave up on the fancy belt buckle idea.
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