The Ghost of Christmas Fail…

Christmas is coming. I hope you stocked your stockings, bought your friend's asshole kids toys they won't know how to play with and sent your mom a gift certificate from Viking House Sweaters and send it off via Pony Express… I'm not sure if you noticed, but I'm not really in the Christmas spirit. That's because I equate the holiday with a number of poor decisions. Like that time I ate the Special Number 2, at Orochon, and then decided to go on an early morning jog, the next day, before “cleaning the pipes.” Or the time when I challenged Darth Vader to the Shell Game. Vader is such a dick! (I'd like to take this moment to state that my google analytics keywords are all over the effing place. I should really take time to focus. End rant). So eff Christmas. I am going to share with you a story epic in its scope of complete and total assholery. If you didn't know I was a jerk and a bum, let this post once and for all put that question to rest…

I was in the kitchen, brewing a pot of hatred for Christmas and a dash of pricky-ness, minding my own business. The holidays were here and I couldn't have been more annoyed. It's during times like these that I take my brew, made with hate, down to the Vans skatepark and watch little kids eat shit, as they spill across the pavement fumbling trick after trick, botching fakies and munching kickflips and falling on their asses. You'd think I was the seed of Dr. House, what with all the abrasive feelings I've canned up for Christmas. I was immensely amused…

Thoroughly happy with the number of kids I saw who crashed and burned, I headed back to the “Piss and Vinegar Mobile” when suddenly I was bathed in a flash of light, which was followed by a crackling boom!! Had I been struck by thunder, I wondered to myself… Standing before me was a woman of interesting and forgettable features and an annoying high pitch cackle, crooked glasses, a big butt and a smile. This girl was poison. Not only that, she was the Ghost of Christmas Fail!

The Ghost of Christmas Fail comes around to take toll for my trespasses against the women of the world, like that time I tricked my female assistant manager into calling 9-1-1… Twice. Yes, I was a frequent visit for the Ghost Christmas Fail…

Ghost of Christmas Fail: Well, well, well. If it isn't Twat-face O'Hoolihan! I see you've been contributing positively to your fellow human being once again.
Alex: Oh for fucksake! You visited me last year, too. Did I not pay back my debt for that whole accidental donkey punching debacle?
Ghost of Christmas Fail: Listen, jerk, don't try to pull that accidental donkey punch excuse on me again! Surveillance clearly proved that was no accident.
Alex: Hey! I got mule kicked in the nuts, like ten times for that miscarriage of justice. You know, I have a suggestion for you.
Ghost of Christmas Fail: And what would that be, fallout boy?
Alex: Make sure you've finished cycling before…

With yet another thunderous boom, before I could finish my deep-cutting insult, I was transported. Yes, transported through time. Sounds crazy, right? Well shut up your face! I'm telling the story hear, you turd!

I land on the floor, with a loud thud, with the Ghost of Christmas Fail to my left eating a bowl of ultra buttery garlic popcorn. She was transfixed on the scene playing out ahead.

Ghost of Christmas Fail: You do recognize where you're at, right?
Alex: I see a crying woman. This could be any number of my first dates… So what's your point?
Ghost of Christmas Fail: Surprisingly this isn't one of your first date mis-fires. This is your 2nd post 5th date, date. That's Nina. You remember her, don't you?

I was pretty confused with the whole concept of the 2nd post 5th date, date nonsense, but you can bet your Nana's knickers that I remembered Nina. It was only a year ago, but I remember our time together very well. It's a time I wasn't proud to be me… Which never happens!

She sat at the foot of my bed, tears carrying mascara down the sides of her face; uncontrollably sobbing. This was awkward, for sure. No, no, this woman, Nina, hadn't given me a blow job and we didn't have sex… yet. So why was she crying? Realizing a pat on the back or a fist bump wasn't going to cut it, I panicked. The words “I love you” built a head of steam and escaped my lips and made a run for Nina's anxiously waiting ears. Shit!

Nina looked up from the palm of her hands and tackled me with a hug, which was followed by snuggling and then coitus. Yes, I said coitus! Don't judge me! You see, Nina and I had dated for all of about a month. She had professed her love for me, after  a week of being shitty to me and pushing me away because she didn't know how to reconcile her feelings with my own.

From that point on, we talked more than a few times every day. Each conversation ending with “I love you.” I created a monster, born from my inability to not be a puss about the situation and just tell the woman like it was. When we had sex, it wasn't just sex to her; we were making (gulp) love!! With each passing moment it became more and more clear I needed to defuse the situation.

Ghost of Christmas Fail: Is this where you become a jerk again?
Alex: … Die!

The following weekend, I'd helped Nina move a new couch up to her top floor apartment. By the way, ladies, stop buying top floor apartments and then have your poor and naive friends help you move heavy shit to that top floor. Anyway, I was exhausted, yet Nina was ready to work it out over sex. I just wasn't interested, not in the slightest. I was bothered because I knew that this girl loved me and while I liked her, I didn't love her and it was manifesting itself in a number of ways. Most notably, this charade I was putting up was just numbing me to every emotion I had for this person. It made me distant and an otherwise lousy sex partner.

“No, Nina, I'm just tired. Sorry,” I stated. Nina knew something was wrong and she called me out on it. At that point I took a few deep breaths and confessed that I actually didn't love her. Her reaction, you ask… Well, she tried to slap me and managed to kick me off the bed. With a loud thud (it seems that I make a lot of thuds in this story, no?), I picked myself up, put on my clothes. I attempted to apologize, however, Nina didn't need to hear me tell her how great she is and she'll find another dude. She knows that. Most any woman does and really they don't want to be bothered with some dude taking pity on them.

Everyone lies, but Dr. House is  about the only expert that can be shitty to someone and save their life all at the same time. I have no such skills, therefore it's in my best interests to not be shitty to people, I suppose.

Ghost of Christmas Fail: How are you going to atone for this little slice of freshly baked hell, hmm?
Alex: Freshly baked hell??? This took place over a year ago!! Why do you have to wait until Christmas to be an asshole?
Ghost of Christmas Fail: My doctor told me that, as a part of my personal development, I should do something nice for myself everyone once in a while. Making you feel like a shit bag is one of those “things” that I do that puts a smile on my face, you see.
Alex: You know, I'd really like to sit in with you during your next therapy sesh. I'm sure you're the poster kid of all things stable.
Ghost of Christmas Fail: Suck on my bunions. My work here is done.
Alex: What work!?? All you did was make me feel like an asshole!
Ghost of Christmas Fail: Awww. Don't be all whiney and stuff. I really hate when you go all Mr. Frumpy frump. Look at it this way, if you feel like an asshole, it's likely that you understood you did something wrong. Right?
Alex: I hate you! Speaking of which, have you ever hear the joke about the woman with the two black eyes?

Another thundering boom and crackle and I was back to my own reality. Back in an empty parking lot. All the shitty skateboarder kids had gone home, presumably to lick the wounds that come with sucking at life and failing at the Vans skate park… Yep. I'm a douche.

The car ride home took longer than usual. All I could think of was what kind of dick I was to tell a woman that I loved her when I really didn't. Why did I do that? I was too much of a sissy to tell her to her when it mattered most. I was afraid of hurting her and, well, being hurt as well. Doing the right thing is never easy and we can find examples of this in every day life, too. I once saw a girl try to catch a bee to set it free outside, she managed to get stung in the process. Nice reward, eh?

That's really the lesson I learned. Even when you do the right thing, you're still going to get stung. How long do you want to delay the inevitable… Answer that one for yourself, please. You don't want to get visited by the Ghost of Christmas Fail, like I did…