Call me a Scrooge.  Call me the Grinch.  Call me whatever you want.  I HATE Christmas.  Being forced to spend any length of time with my family is not fun.  At all.  And this year, things are all wacky anyway.  My mom's sister died on December 12 and I went to Maine with my mom for the funeral.  Both of my sisters came too...although at different times.  I actually enjoyed seeing my family in Maine...it had been close to 17 years since I had last seen them.  So, the visit was sad and happy all at once.  My family in Maine is nuts...good to know where that comes from.

After getting back from Maine, my oldest sister (who always comes for Christmas) had to go back to Illinois (the place that she calls home) earlier than usual.  Meaning that we celebrated Christmas this past Saturday.  And yet, for some odd reason, I'm still expected to hang out at the family homestead until Christmas. I'm not exactly sure why this is.  I mean, we've had the Christmas feast, we've opened all of the gifts that we had (which wasn't much), we went and looked at the local Christmas light display.  What else is there left to do??  I am bored out of my mind here.  I mean, if I were at my home, I'd still be bored out of my mind there.  But at least I could hang out with some of my friends. 

I suppose the upside is that I get free food for as long as I'm here.

Having insomnia sucks.  Having insomnia two days in a row doubly sucks.

That is all.

Well, I spent a good part of today ignoring my family.  I honestly didn't mean to...but I was absorbed in a book.  It's been forever since I've read a book in one day...I generally take FOREVER to read books...much longer than most people, it seems.  However, the one that I read today...well, I really just got wrapped up in it.  It's called The Perks of Being A Wallflower and is written by Stepen Chbosky.  It may be my new favorite book.  I suppose that it's intended audience is teens...but it really spoke volumes to me.  I related to the narrator, Charlie, in a way that I have never related to a character in a book before.  It's really weird for me, a 32 year old man, to find so much to relate to in the thoughts of a character that is a 15 year old high school freshman.  But, then again, the writer is actually my age...so I guess maybe it's not so odd after all.  And, quite frankly, in many ways, I'm not sure that I ever really moved past high school in some ways.  Mainly in the social way...I really feel like I've never learned how to relate to other people as an adult.  I don't know...it's weird and hard to really explain.  Anyway, I highly recommend the book.

"As long as you are saved, nothing else matters."

Words to that effect were uttered to me by my mother this weekend.  I went home to see her for her birthday and, in the process, got slightly more religion aimed my way than I am comfortable with.  Before the above was declared to me, I went to church with her...where I learned that I am, apparently, an antichrist.  Not THE antichrist...just a minor one, I guess.  Oh, how I do love the Baptists and their obsession with telling everyone that they are evil and going to hell.

Anyway, after the church service, I was having a discussion with my mom and my oldest sister about my life and its direction...or lack thereof.  After talking about it for awhile, my mother told us both why she was always so happy...because she was saved and she knew that she was going to heaven...and essentially this life doesn't really matter all that much.  I had no idea how to respond to that.  Neither did my sister, but she took the conversation in a completely different direction by commenting on the bags under my mom's eyes. 

Sometimes I wish that I hadn't lost my religion...then I could believe the way that she does.  Unfortunately, I can't.  I believe that this life is all we get...and I would like to find some way for me to be able to enjoy it - something that I've been absolutely shitty at doing so far.   Waiting around to be happy in a next life that may not come just ain't gonna cut it for me.

Now if I could just figure out this whole happiness thing...

I voted today, as my home state does not allow early voting.  The line was longer than any line I have ever seen for Election Day in my 12 years of voting.  I had to wait an hour and a half to vote...which was fine with me.  I would have waited even longer if I had to.

And I got a free sticker...

My good friend Brandon got married this past weekend.  I went to his wedding on Yonges Island (near Edisto Island) South Carolina with several of my friends from the Winthrop library.  Had a really great time.  I think the photo below sums it up nicely:



After the traditional toasts to the bride and groom, I came to the realization that I really like champagne.  A LOT.  So, much so that I started stealing it from other tables.  Finally, I snagged a nearly full bottle from the wedding party table and drank it.  (By that point, I had probably consumed at least half a bottles worth just from the cups that I swiped from the surrounding tables.)  Later in the night, someone gave me another bottle....which I proceeded to carry around with me at the after party like it was my child.

There are parts of that night that I don't remember so clearly now.

But a good time was had by all!

So, as all two of my regular readers know, I work in a library. Luckily, I managed to break myself out of the public library a year ago...now I'm in community college library land. Community College Library Land (or CCLL) is its own special beast with its own special kind of...umm, problems. I could go on and on about all of the fun that I have at CCLL every damn day of the working week, but I shall resist. Instead, I'd just like to tell you a bit about one particular student that I have the (mis)fortune of dealing with on a regular basis. So, there is this guy from Africa...Liberia to be exact. I call him the Liberian Terrorist...although I am certain that he is not, in fact, in any way, shape or form a terrorist. Well, other than the fact that he terrorizes ME nearly every day. But, anyway, Liberian Terrorist has a rather thick accent. On top of that, he's a mumbler. Now, normally, I do not have anything against either people with thick accents or mumblers. However, when you combine all of that into one person....a rather needy person that I am expected to help on a regular basis...well, then I have a problem.

A normal exchange between us usually goes something like this:

Liberian Terrorist (LT): Sheshishemumblemumbleklik

Me: Umm, excuse me?

LT: Sheshuskeligmumbleshelikemuk

Me: I'm sorry. I still didn't quite understand you.

LT: SHESHUIKDULPMUMBLEMUMBLERAGNAROKPUK!

Me: ......

Generally, at some point, I will catch enough of what he is mumbling to finally make enough sense to help him. And, to be fair to him, he never asks stupid questions. (At least I don't THINK he does.) Still, every time I see him coming, my heart sinks a little and my brain starts to hurt. I would really just be happy if he would graduate. Or go away. Whatever.  Because I just can't take much more of it.

I suppose I should look at the bright side. At least he's not peeing in any of our seats...like Pee Girl at the public library did. (She peed in the seats...what else did you think I'd call her?)