...especially when it's for other people. When it comes to the Holidaze, you buy everything you can online. Hell, you haven't even set foot into a grocery store since Fresh Direct began their beta test, but that has more to do with the fact that they'll carry cases of Diet Pepsi up six flights of stairs and aren't allowed to complain when you give them a "nominal" tip.
But you digress. Of course you leave all your Christmakah shopping to the weekend before Christmas, and, as usual, so does everybody else. So you and your hangover are schlepping around the city to buy lousy gifts for lousy people who you don't even like. People like your brother. And your evil niece. Over Thanks4nothing-giving your niece came up with a new nickname for you (her only uncle without a police record) and she called you "Doorknob!" all weekend long in the most derogatory, venomous way that her six-year-old vocabulary could muster. So, being the good uncle that you are, you decide to swing by Home Depot to pick up a doorknob for the little biatch.
You're schlepping your shopping bags down 23rd Street when you recognize a familiar face headed your way. Your first instinct is to smile even before you realize that it's your old Boyfriendster from years ago before everybody migrated from Friendster to MySpace; and long before everybody abandoned MySpace for the ubiquitous Facebook. You're still happy to see the Boyfriendster (even though he's the one who dumped you, over the phone no less) and you give him a big, dimpled, friendsterly, "Hey!" as he catches your eye and mouths an inaudible "hi." His eyes dart down to the sidewalk with copious amounts of embarrassment as he passes by. Just like that.
You stop in your tracks and literally do a double-take because you've never been so dissed before! You almost scream out, "You can't even say hello? You're the one who dumped me!" but he probably wouldn't even notice because he's practically got his eyes closed and his fingers in his ears in order to avoid you. So you just stare at him as he shuffles down the street, away from you, whispering into his friend's ear as he leaves you in an even shittier mood than when you began your shopping.
But that's when the boy next to your ex-Boyfriendster slowly turns back around and stares at you and everything begins to make sense. Suddenly you realize that you've actually slept with the Boyfriendster's boyfriend. You chuckle to yourself because you realize that you have become Chelsea's version of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. But since you're only One Degree of Separation, you're more of a Lucky Pierre. Anyway.
But you digress. Of course you leave all your Christmakah shopping to the weekend before Christmas, and, as usual, so does everybody else. So you and your hangover are schlepping around the city to buy lousy gifts for lousy people who you don't even like. People like your brother. And your evil niece. Over Thanks4nothing-giving your niece came up with a new nickname for you (her only uncle without a police record) and she called you "Doorknob!" all weekend long in the most derogatory, venomous way that her six-year-old vocabulary could muster. So, being the good uncle that you are, you decide to swing by Home Depot to pick up a doorknob for the little biatch.
You're schlepping your shopping bags down 23rd Street when you recognize a familiar face headed your way. Your first instinct is to smile even before you realize that it's your old Boyfriendster from years ago before everybody migrated from Friendster to MySpace; and long before everybody abandoned MySpace for the ubiquitous Facebook. You're still happy to see the Boyfriendster (even though he's the one who dumped you, over the phone no less) and you give him a big, dimpled, friendsterly, "Hey!" as he catches your eye and mouths an inaudible "hi." His eyes dart down to the sidewalk with copious amounts of embarrassment as he passes by. Just like that.
You stop in your tracks and literally do a double-take because you've never been so dissed before! You almost scream out, "You can't even say hello? You're the one who dumped me!" but he probably wouldn't even notice because he's practically got his eyes closed and his fingers in his ears in order to avoid you. So you just stare at him as he shuffles down the street, away from you, whispering into his friend's ear as he leaves you in an even shittier mood than when you began your shopping.
But that's when the boy next to your ex-Boyfriendster slowly turns back around and stares at you and everything begins to make sense. Suddenly you realize that you've actually slept with the Boyfriendster's boyfriend. You chuckle to yourself because you realize that you have become Chelsea's version of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. But since you're only One Degree of Separation, you're more of a Lucky Pierre. Anyway.
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