Cabin Fever

I don't know about the rest of you, but Cody and I have been in a little bit of a funk.  Actually, Cody has been in a little bit of a funk.  I've been in a full-blown, five-alarm psychosis.  The funkiness seems to have stemmed from the fact that sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving, sneaky devil aliens took over the planet and transformed it into a weird, foggy nightmare land where it's dark all the time and constantly raining/snowing and armies of crazed zombie shoppers stagger around in public places, making it impossible to find a parking space or buy something without standing in line for an hour.  Either that, or its wintertime and the holiday season.  I'm sticking with the alien/zombie mutant scenario because it's less depressing.

Whatever the reason, we haven't done much lately except go home after work and sit in the house with the blinds closed, watching whatever swill is on the TV and drinking ourselves into numbness for seven hours straight. This constant confinement has begun to take its toll because Cody and I are starting to get cabin fever from wandering around in the dark half-drunk and bumping into each other.  He deals with it better than I do.  He was able to stave off looniness by going skiing for four days straight over the Thanksgiving holiday.  I, on the other hand, have descended into full-blown madness.  So if anyone wonders why they haven't heard from me, it's because I've been sitting in the corner of my closet in a straightjacket, watching invisible fireflies and singing "London bridge is falling down" over and over again.

I suppose getting some exercise would help things.  Unfortunately, the entire city is knee-deep in filthy, wet slush, so outdoor workouts aren't an option.  I'd go to a gym, but the thought of standing elbow to elbow with all the zombies on a treadmill in a row of treadmills in a sea of workout equipment sends me right back to my closet.  I could go out and do something, but I'm nearly paralyzed by the thought of driving through all the holiday chaos.  Plus, I don't own a practical pair of shoes, which means I'll look like an idiot sliding across sheets of ice and baby-stepping around ten foot deep slush puddles in my 3 inch stiletto boots.  I guess I'll order a pair of galoshes off of Amazon.com and then sit in the closet until they're delivered.

Yesterday, I decided I couldn't take another night of TV and alcohol and in a flash of brilliance, decided I would MAKE Christmas presents this year.  I did some looking around online and determined how to accomplish making the thing I decided to make and then went to the craft store on my lunch hour.  With all the shopper-zombies.  Dumb. 

I stood in line for almost 40 minutes and used up my lunch hour and then some.  I was so flustered by how busy it was- even in the early afternoon on a weekday- that I forgot some things I needed and had to go back after work, when it was even busier.  I was totally disenchanted with the whole "crafty" thing at this point.  What were all those people doing in the craft store at two o'clock in the afternoon on a Thursday?  Didn't any of them have jobs?  What could they possibly be making?  I decided I was never trying to do a craft project again.  After all, we know how the "homemade gift" thing goes.  You go and buy all the crap to make the thing and then life and bills and work and exercise and groceries and laundry happen and you never actually finish it, so you end up spending twice as much money because you have to go and buy actual presents and then your Christmas craft junk sits around and craps up your house until St. Patrick's day when you decide you'll never finish and you throw it away.  I was never going to do another project.

Until......I actually sat down and  made the thing I was going to make.  Unfortunately, I can't tell you or show you what it is because the people the things are for might read this and then wonder if it's for them and the surprise would be ruined and then the rest of you would be jealous because you all want one too, but I can't make enough things for everyone cause I have a day job.  Which is too bad, because the things that I made?  Super awesome. They are insanely cool and I stayed up *way* too late being crafty and watching American Dad and having way too much fun for a weeknight and now today I'm too tired to use proper grammar.  So just know that my craft skills will melt your face off.

Also, while I was at the craft store, I had the most awkward conversation of my life with the really weird (possibly stoned) clerk who had the most monotone voice of all time.  I can't remember her name, so I'm gonna call her Cashier (which is probably something some idiot would actually name their daughter, except it would be pronounced with a French accent, like "cash-yay").   It went something like this:

Cashier:  "Oh my gosh, your eyelashes are really long."
Me:  "Thanks" 
I instantly felt like a douche for saying thanks because she may not have been complimenting me, but just making an observation.  Maybe she actually thinks long eyelashes are creepy.
Cashier:  "I like your earrings, too.  They're really cute."
Me:  "Oh, thanks."
Cashier:  "That coat is really pretty.  Did you get it at Ross?"
Me:  "Uh, no.....the mall.  Thanks, though."
Since there are about a billion stores in the mall, she probably thought I was NOT telling her the exact store on purpose so she couldn't go and buy the same coat and now she thinks I'm a dick.
Cashier:  "Your hair is really long, too."
I hesitate.  Is this another observation?  Should I say thanks?
Cashier:  "It's really pretty." 
I couldn't say thanks again or I would feel like a schmuck.  Why was she doing this?  Was she trying to make my head explode?  My mind was racing.  I just smiled weakly and then realized I should compliment her back because that's the socially acceptable thing to do.
Me:  "I really like your....bracelet."
Cashier:  "These are my register keys....."   
Cashier holds up her arm to reveal one of those stretchy, curly bands that looks like a telephone cord with some small keys dangling from it.  
Me:  "Oh....."
Awkward silence.
Cashier:  "That's a cute ring too.  Jeez...I guess everything about you is just cute, cute, cute....."
Awkward silence.  She said this in a very bitter, sarcastic tone so that I felt really guilty, like I did something wrong.
Cashier:  [points behind me] "But I like HER coat better than yours, so don't get a big head or anything...."
We both turn to look at the customer behind me, whose coat was actually a bath robe.
Me:  "Heh....me...too......"
Cashier stares at me without blinking, then slowly, wordlessly extends her hand to give me my receipt.  She holds onto it for a few seconds after I grab it so I can't take it right away and I'm forced to just stand there, both of us holding the receipt.  When she finally lets go, my hand drops and I knock over the little Jerry's Kids donation can.  Instead of picking it up, I just turned and ran out of the store.

I'm not sure just when I became this socially awkward.  Maybe I always was.  Or maybe I haven't been getting out enough lately.  Or *maybe* Cashier was actually a zombie.