Entry 130: February Is National "I Hate Everything" Month

           Maybe those of you in warm, temperate climates (I hate you) don't understand the dreary misery that is winter in February, but let me assure you that months of gray clouds, ice & snow, and frigid temperatures start to wear on a person.  Some people feel the effects more than others (I hate anyone who isn't as badly affected as I am) because there are those, like me, who get to this point in the year and change into mean-spirited, cynical, rage-filled douches.  Here's a graph showing why February is the peak time for winter-suckassedness:

1. Dec-Jan.  Yes, there are many shitty days in front of you, but you haven't been worn down yet.  You carry over some of the excitement of the previous fall, and you get a few Holidays to distract yourself.

3. March -->  You've endured the worst of things, yet Spring is in sight.  You occasionally get days of semi-warmth and might even get a glimpse of the sun.  Yes, it does exist.  Also, baseball starts in April.

2. Feb.  Epicenter. Your spirits have been eroded by months of gray and cold.  You realized that you never even truly believed in Santa in the first place.  Your parents probably adopted you.  When you're at your weakest, you realize that there are still many, many days of shit-tastic suck-waddery ahead of you.  FML.

Yesterday I almost snapped at my own mother.  Since I try to live by the "if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all" motto, I'm pretty silent in February.  Here is the conversation, plus my evil thoughts:

Mom: "blah blah blah"
Me: "Yeah, I'm okay.  Just a little grouchy from this weather I suppose."
Mom: "Well don't be grouchy! Go home and play with your cat and relax.  Don't be grouchy."
My thought: "Yeah, that helps, mom.  Why didn't I think of that?  I'll just go ahead and not be grouchy now.  Great advice."   

Instead I mumbled "I'll try that." 
Can't believe I almost snapped at my mother!

I don't know if I've shared this yet or not, but my 3 long-term relationships have all ended within a week of Valentine's Day.  Each breakup initiated by me.  Sad, I know, but in retrospect it was probably the best gift I could have ever given them.

 

Yes, my girlfriends were this hot.

I can't help it.  It's like I'm not me, and the real me has abdicated the throne until April and turned the reins over to a hating doucheweasel.  A doucheweasel who doesn't want to do anything, go anywhere, or see anybody.  You could ask the doucheweasel (DW) "Hey, DW, how would you like a million dollars?" and he would say, "F your money.  I hate you.  I hate money.  All money buys is shit that will ruin your life anyway.  The only thing worth buying with money is hammers to smash beautiful things. PS eat shit." Right?  Just hateful.

Possible depiction of a doucheweasel

The main object of my hatred the last few days is the Bird Lady who works near me and is the epitome of bitterness and spite.  I wrote about her and her evil sidekick here.  She has passed my work area several times today, and each time my urge to punch her bird-face as hard as I can rises.  She seriously, seriously, looks like a chicken.  She even sort of pecks her head forward and back, as if her eyes are on opposite sides of her head and she had problems with depth-perception.  Her mouth looks like she eats lemons all day, everyday.

 Picture this: 

Plus this:

And you'll pretty much have it. 

The other day at work I decided that I didn't care if she happened to be around and I did my impression of Bird Lady all the way down the hall.  I did the hen-walk, the head-bob, and occasionally let out a loud "BA-GAWK!" to signal my desire for corn feed.  Speaking of, I wonder if it's possible to leave a trail of chicken feed from her desk to a pit outside filled with sharpened stakes.

And it's not only just people and situations that can arouse my February-hate.  Sometimes it's more abstract than that.  For instance, two blog writers I know have recently gone on a few dates together and have been writing (charming) updates.  A picture on the gal's blog today was of some roses and a "guess who I got THESE from?" caption.  Cute, right?

Regular Caleb thinks: "Boy that's nice.  With all the craptastic stories of dating out there, it's sweet to see two people actually working out!  Plus, I like reading the guy's blog and he seems like a thoughtful and genuinely decent guy.  He deserves some good luck!"

However, Douche-weasel thinks: "Gay.  Lame.  Nothing says 'I don't know you well enough to get you something thoughtful' like roses."

Now that's not nice.  I don't really want to think these things, but I just become a douche-factory that manufactures douchery and exports it to everywhere.

So if I seem mean, or I don't want to talk to you, or I set your house on fire, know that I'll be back to my old self in April and ready to help build you a new house.

Caleb "I don't feel like putting anything here." Shreves

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