Today, a big gift basket showed up at the office, with another one showing up shortly thereafter. The office admin said, “Mellzah, I want you to take these home because you have no family around here, and it’ll be some fun Christmas stuff for you to have at your house.” A few seconds ago, my least favorite coworker swept in and out of the office, and took my entire Tiny Tim Christmas with him. WTF.

“So, your father tells me you’re making Christmas ornaments–that’s great! I’d really like to see them!”

“…I don’t think you’d like them so much.”

“Why? Are they giant PENISES or something?”

“NO. Why is it always about penises with you, mom?”

On Saturday, Amy and I got dressed up (her moreso than me) and went out as we were both getting a little stir-crazy from the holiday. That is what we do–we get dressed up to go out to the same old bar and hang out with the same old people. It’s like home away from home.

Except this time. This time, there were a couple of really hot guys there. A couple of really hot guys who invited us back to their place. And we agreed.

Picture this, if you can deal with the lingering burn on the inside of your retinas: at some point later in the evening, I am making out with pretty much the hottest guy I have ever laid lips on. Things are going fabulously until, all of a sudden, he grabs my fat and says it turns him on.

…Let’s hear that again.

HE GRABBED MY FAT AND SAID IT TURNED HIM ON.

I pulled what has got to be the most horrified face in the history of mankind because, while I am ok with myself naked (I don’t shatter mirrors), the fat is NOT an attractant, and is, in fact, something I pride myself on keeping covered with clothing.

HE GRABBED MY FAT AND SAID IT TURNED HIM ON.

The worst part is that Amy was still…busy, so I couldn’t leave.

Gross. GROSS.