Thought Catalog

Here’s How I Got My Boss To Sleep With Me At Our Office Christmas Party

Posted: 24 Dec 2016 06:00 PM PST


I had been looking forward to the office Christmas party for a different reason than all of my boring coworkers: I was trying to sleep with my boss and I knew the alcohol combined with an excuse for me to wear something tight was the perfect background for it to finally happen.

My gut told me he felt the same way about me. I’d get the suggestive emails late at night when I knew he’d been drinking. He ignored them in the morning but they came with a regularity that made me feel secure that the feelings were mutual. You don't drunkenly email your employee about the length of their skirt if that topic of conversation isn't deeply interesting to you in a way you'd rather not explore sober.

I was young enough to not care about the fact that it's probably really stupid to try to seduce your job. My job wasn't that great, it's not something I couldn't do anywhere else in town. I was bored and this was exciting. There was a heat to it I didn't feel like passing up. So I decided the Christmas party was it.

The day before the party I got up the nerve to email him in the afternoon and ask the dress code for the party. He replied with whatever the standard line was about cocktail attire before I really pressed him, "what I meant was, how short of a dress should I wear?"

He didn't respond for the rest of the work day, which drove me a little crazy. I thought maybe I had been mistaken about his feelings and tried deciphering the way he looked when he walked past my desk, but he was stoic as ever. I thought maybe I looked like a silly, hopeful little girl, so I switched to just ignoring him.

I was already in bed that night when I got a text from an unknown number: "Knee-length. Professional. But I want to see a sheer thong on you when I take it off."

It was him. I didn't know the number but I knew him.

A delicious feeling of victory and anticipation washed over me. This was happening. Thongs weren't really my thing, but that could be arranged easily enough. I also had some black thigh highs that I never wore because they were a pain, but that I always thought looked particularly sexy while undressing. Those and a black dress that flattered me but was modest enough for my coworkers would do the trick.

Emboldened by his response, I sent him a message back detailing the thigh high component of the outfit.

"This is a good visual. Will you be able to keep quiet while I fuck you in the office?"

I was nervous to text more then and ruin what promised to be the most exciting night of the year, so I just sent back a short "you'll see."

The next day at work was torture. I was so turned on by his message and the detailed fantasy that was now playing out in my head that I couldn't focus on anything else. The anticipation was making my physically uncomfortable. By the time I went home to shower and change I was extremely keyed up.

The party was held in the cafeteria of our office building. It sounds kind of depressing but they'd bought a lot of nice decorations and it was dark except for the twinkling Christmas lights everywhere, so it really did look kind of romantic and festive.

I was maybe the most nervous I've ever been, but excited enough that the nerves didn't matter. His words had been clear, he was looking forward to this as much as I was and knowing his nature, he was going to take the lead anyway.

I made sure to go early. I needed to be a few cocktails deep to calm my nerves. When he arrived I was buzzed enough to be bold. I brought him a drink and wished him a good Christmas in front of a group of our coworkers. Everyone was cheerful and happy to blow off some steam, no one bothered to noticed the way I tried to be a little seductive when I said it or that I managed to turn around and make sure my ass made full contact with his crotch as I cut through the group to walk away.

I wasn't surprised that he followed me so I kept on walking through the party and back up to his office. He shut the door behind me.

His mouth was on mine before I even saw him. I was completely enveloped by his hands and his tongue and my dress was pulled up to my waist before I regained consciousness about what was happening. I was sitting on the edge of his desk and he had stopped kissing and touching me to pull m thong down with both hands. The next instant he had slipped a few fingers inside me while he used his other hand to pull my hair back and expose my bare neck to his mouth.


I wasn't even sure what I was begging him for, but he knew. He guided my arms to the waistband of his suit pants and I was undoing them. So that I could push them down and release his cock. He was hard and his cock was perfectly thick but I didn't pause to savor the moment. I scooted to the edge of the desk so he could enter me immediately.

His weight was on me and he was thrusting hard. I moaned a bit before I got a hold of himself and he covered my mouth tightly with one of his hands. The slight taste of him in my mouth while pushing me close to the edge. I pulled his hand down slightly so that I could suck on his fingers while he fucked me. It kept me quiet and gave me something to focus on and his immediate groan told me he loved it.

His other hand was around my thigh, holding me close while I tried to keep them tight around his waist. He was the loud one now, grunting a bit which each thrust. His hands began to clench and he finished inside me with a satisfying series of manly moans. I felt completely satisfied with my plan to be the catalyst for such a primal expression of lust.

He removed himself from me and zipped himself up while I pushed my dress down and tried to straighten the wrinkles out that had formed in the last few minutes. As we moved towards the door I saw him stop to pick up my thong and place it into his pocket. He ushered me out of the door and into the low lights of the party without saying a word — until I felt my phone buzz a few minutes later and saw a text:

"You're very talented with your mouth, I'm going to need to investigate this further." TC mark

Here’s What Happens Every Year When You’re Not A ‘Christmas’ Person

Posted: 24 Dec 2016 05:00 PM PST


I am not a Christmas person.

I know, I know.

Apparently that makes me a kill joy. Since I’m not jazzed about your tinsel, your red and green sweaters, or binging on overly sprinkled cookies and a She & Him album, I’m the worst. Since I’m not one of those people who gets all amped about sleigh bells and all of the movies running on repeat on ABC Family, I need to just keep my mouth shut until December 26th rolls around.

But the thing is, it doesn’t end there.

People who are all about Christmas are ALL. ABOUT. CHRISTMAS. And while I’m down with seeing my family and eating a lot of mashed potatoes, I just don’t really see the point surrounding all of it.

Can’t we all stop and recognize that Christmas is basically a marketing ploy to get us to buy out stores so that their inevitable End-Of-Year-Inventory is more manageable? Don’t we see that “sending cheer” is something Hallmark invented to get us to justify $7 cards that sing “Walking in a Winter Wonderland” instead of picking up the phone and calling Grandma? Aren’t we all in on the fact that Christmas has gone from being about community to being about who gets the best Christmas light shot on Instagram?

Oh, that’s right. I’m not supposed to feel that way. Or at least admit that I do.

Because by feeling this way I’m a kill joy.

Or worse, I’m a Grinch.

But see? I kind of think the Grinch was on to something. In the same way that Miranda identified with the Witch from Hansel and Gretel in that Sex and the City episode, I identify on a deep level with everyone’s favorite green dude.

In the Dr. Seuss tale, we’re led to believe that the Grinch is a lonely guy who misunderstands everyone around him and just needs his heart to grow from being three sizes too small.

Well you know what? Fuck that.

The Grinch didn’t misunderstand anything. He knew exactly what those little Whos were putting down and he just didn’t want to pick it up. He knew the answer to Cindy Lou’s, “Where are you Christmas?” was “Wherever the longest line on Black Friday is, CL.” He had a kick-ass rig in the mountains, with a scruffy but obviously chill dog, and he just wanted to hang out up there without having to worry about whether or not some damn kids were going to use his stoop for a rousing game of ding-dong-ditch.

The Grinch isn’t a symbol of needing holiday cheer. The Grinch is a fictional example of every post-grad who’s hoping their phone never rings and would really dig just getting some rent money this year.

Personally, I get where the Grinch was coming from. There’s something about Christmastime that brings out the lonely in everyone, whether we’ll admit it or not. It makes us feel insecure for not being (or having) a plus one at holiday parties. And even though we roll our eyes at the Mrs. Claus lingerie in Macy’s, we wish we had someone to buy it “for” and joke about how ridiculous it is with. It makes the fact that our families are states away and we may not see them for another 365+ days a hard pill to swallow. You don’t often get this feeling of guilt on a random day like May 13th. But during the month of December you’ll be slapped in the face with it over and over again.

So it’s understandable that when presented day-after-day with this holiday that isn’t always as joyous as that Papyrus card would want you to believe, the Grinch got a little crotchety.

I am not a Christmas person.

I don’t care about paper snowflakes, I don’t want to go caroling, and I’ve seen The Holiday but would really rather watch something else.

So go ahead and call me a Grinch. But frankly, he seemed like a chill AF dude and I’d be down to get beers with him. TC mark

5 Tips On How To Have Sex At Your Parents’ House

Posted: 24 Dec 2016 04:00 PM PST

Twenty20, SashaNell
Twenty20, SashaNell

Sex is an integral part of humanity. And yet, few of us are comfortable discussing this aspect of our lives openly with our parents. Why? Maybe because dick sucking and pussy licking aren't activities mom and dad want to envision their daughters and sons participating in, and we all know that the power of suggestion can trigger unwanted visuals. Or maybe Freud was right about the Oedipus complex, and we're all aware on some level that widespread honest sexual discourse might unlock the Pandora's box of lust we each harbor for our parents, thereby causing an incest epidemic. (Ew!)

There is of course no reason for anyone to be ashamed of their sexual habits, assuming they lie within the scope of consensual, nonviolent (unless permitted to be violent) behavior. Still, there is a case for preserving the memories people cherish of their pure, innocent children dancing as sugarplum ferries in the local production of the Nutcracker, or hitting that clincher of a home run in the championship little league game. Feeding the collective parental delusion that we adult children (including those with offspring of their own) do not engage in sexual behavior regularly might just be integral to humanity, too.

For the typical grownup not residing in the basement of their childhood home, nursing the misconception that sex doesn't play a large role in their daily life is simple enough. Then comes the holiday season, when we're all roped into several family functions within a short time. What's an adult keen on shielding mom and dad supposed to do when their libido kicks in and the only thing they want—nay, need—is to stow away with their partner for a spirited, eggnog driven romp? Consider these five tips on how to have sex undetected when trapped at your parents' house.

1. Wear easy access clothing

With just a modicum of additional forethought, you can arrive at your family gathering in a sex-essible outfit. (Thanks to the genius design of the zip fly—and the male penis, I suppose—this pointer is mainly for those with genitalia that can't be whipped out in the heat of the moment.) Ladies, wear a skirt or a dress when you head home. I don't care how cold it is. There are a lot of options when it comes to winter tights and leggings, and a quickie is much more easily facilitated when a gal can slide her bottoms down rather than shimmy around and risk falling flat on her face. Skinny jeans and tight fitting pants are an absolute no-no.

2. Choose an off-hour

When so many relatives are flitting about, poking there heads in every corner of the house, the chances of securing alone time with your partner are slim. If you want to go at it in a packed house, the best bet is to choose an off hour. Forget bedtime and early morning. Commit to poking in the middle of the night, when everyone else is fast asleep and blissfully unaware. Alternatively, plan to meet up in an unexpected location (laundry room, broom closet and garage all come to mind) at a time when neither of you is likely to be missed, such as cocktail hour or in the midst of an after dinner movie viewing session (you can Netflix that thriller later).

3. Pick a standard position

There are couples out there dedicated to mastering every position in the Kama Sutra, and that's great. But your parents' house isn't an ideal environment for experimentation. The "magic bullet," "reverse cowgirl," and the "organ grinder" can all wait. Stick to the basics at mom and dad's, because fundamentals are straightforward and easily executed. In the case that a lock does fail, it's simpler to interrupt missionary style intercourse than it is to untangle a complicated pretzel type situation.

4. Stay as quiet as possible

Yes, auditory stimulation is wonderful. But it's not necessary. And for obvious reasons, keeping mum is crucial to having sex on the sly. So find another method of expressing your pleasure when doing the deed aside from screaming "Yeah, baby, like that!" or "Fuck me harder, please!" For instance, you might dig your fingernails into your partner's back, or clench (no spanking!) their ass flesh. For those who are typically vocal in bed, copulating quietly might just be a new, fun challenge.

5. Clean up after yourselves

To avoid detection, you have to keep things tidy. That means surveying a given location briefly prior to boinking so you can arrange mom's couch cushions exactly as they were, or realign the washing machine just so. If you're going to make nooky on a couch or a bed, laying a towel down is a good idea—but only if you can procure the protective cloth in advance and stash it somewhere afterwards without drawing undue attention. If there's a condom in the equation, pocket the wrapper as soon as possible, lest little cousin Lucy happen upon it and incorporate it into her yuletide diorama. Oh, and wipe that orgasmic afterglow off your faces before re-engaging with the others. TC mark

My Daughter Wants To Know Why Our Elf On The Shelf Is Behaving Strangely… We Don’t Have An Elf On The Shelf

Posted: 24 Dec 2016 01:00 PM PST

Flickr, Bethany King
Flickr, Bethany King

“Mommy, Jingles is gone.”

The fuck. What day is it? I could’ve sworn it was my day off but that can’t be right because Ava is at the edge of my bed, shaking my shoulder, and this little shit knows how badly I need my sleep on my days off. It’s still dark out. This better be good.

“What, Ava?” I groan, rolling away from her grabby little hands.

“Jingles. Is. GONE,” she repeats in that insufferable tone only 6-year-olds can pull off.

Who the fuck is Jingles?

“Who’s Jingles?” I ask my pillow, editing for language.

“Our elf!” Ava stamps her foot. When I don’t turn back to her, she scurries over to the other side of the bed so she can thrust her face in front of mine. “He told me, he said he’d have a special present for me today but now I can’t find him ANYWHERE!”

Okay. Let’s get one thing straight here. I don’t do that Elf On The Shelf bullshit. It’s a waste of time, it basically bribes your stupid kids into behaving for a month, and it’s just a glorified way for Facebook parents to take ridiculous photos and share for god knows what reason. Do you have any idea how many pictures I’ve seen on my timeline where a full-grown adult, someone I smoked weed with in college, has dropped Hershey’s Kisses into a toilet and posed that idiotic elf over the bowl? Too many fucking times.

So you understand my confusion.

“Where did you get an elf, Ava?” I ask, groping for my phone on the nightstand. 4:02 am. I am on the brink of a very serious time-out.

“He came through my window last night.” She sticks her lower lip out in a pout that sort of makes me want to slap it off of her.

I wouldn’t do that, of course. I don’t hit my kid. But if you have kids and you act like you’ve never thought about it, you’re a dirty liar.


The Facebook Christmas Drinking Game You Need To Start Playing Immediately

Posted: 24 Dec 2016 12:00 PM PST

Christmas Eve is finally here! Hooray! And we're going to play a little game to take the edge off because we all know the Holidays can be rather stressful. For this game, all you'll need is a bottle of your favorite alcoholic beverage and your Facebook News Feed. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! Enjoy!

Take A Shot of Liquor Every Time You See:

  • "We're getting married!" Because even though everybody and their mother knows there's nothing more cliché than proposing during the Holidays, why not?
  • "Baby's First Christmas." I'll never understand why people feel the need to pimp their children out so much on their digital spaces. (Your children are going to cringe so much in their later years.)
  • "Look at our tree!" We get it, your tree is the greatest thing since sliced bread.
  • "I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW WE BECAME SUCH A MATERIALISTIC SOCIETY…." Feel free to finish the rant. We understand bro. I love Jesus and my family 365 days a year. But checks in the mail don't hurt either.
  • "Ugh, have to go hang out with all my racist relatives now!" I guess I feel kinda bad for anyone (see: mostly White people) who have to hang out with racist relatives but must you inform us of this every year? Newsflash: This isn't an act of heroism.
  • "[Insert status about war on Christmas]" You know as someone who celebrates Christmas in the very Christian sense, it's pretty insane for anyone who lives in a majority Christian country to complain about there being a war on Christmas.
  • "I just want everyone to know that I am working so hard even though it's the Holidays…" Sorry? (I mean I really am, but what do you want us to do about it?)
  • "Grind don't stop on Christmas." Okay bro.
  • "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas." With some cliché photo of snow or Christmas decorations.
  • "Give to this cause because it is my cause and if you don't give to it, you're a terrible person." Okay, you do know how terrible a marketing strategy this is, right?
  • "Here I am doing something wonderful for a group of people and I need you all to know it." Usually comes with a picture of privileged person doing something for less privileged people. Hooray for needing everyone to know about how great a person you are!
  • "Fit fam doesn't take Christmas off." Accompanied with a picture of your gym selfie. Congratulations, do you want a cookie? I'm guessing probably not.
  • *Picture of a couple kissing under a mistletoe* People who do this should be banned from Facebook.
  • *Picture of a group wearing ugly sweaters* Ho ho ho….so original!
  • *Pictures with Santa* Honestly, unless your Santa is Morgan Freeman, this is really not that interesting.
  • *Pictures of your Christmas dinner* Which will all look fairly identical to a lot of other’s but you know, whatever.
  • *Pictures of all your incredibly expensive gifts.* Is there anything more tacky in the world than this?

Finish Your Drink If:

  • Someone manages to say something profound about the Holiday spirit and Christmas that actually is heartwarming and genuine.

Disclaimer: Please don't actually drink this much. TC mark

Happy Holidays From Rehab

Posted: 24 Dec 2016 11:00 AM PST


Your alarm's going off – it's 5:30am.

Actually, that's a lie. Despite going over the rehab "list of essentials" with your mother (which laughably do not include shaving kits and mouth wash–apparently in the case that you try to drink yourself to death), you have forgotten to bring a clock.

So no. It's not your alarm. Your roommate's alarm, however, is going off and you are nestled in your twin-sized bed under the hideous Floral Comforter attempting to wield yourself into the first nonsexual human pretzel ever performed.

Maybe the nurses will forget, you hope. Sometimes they do.  You move the comforter up over your head so that when one of them comes knocking for vitals, maybe she'll mistaken your lump of a frame for a pillow. (And yes, you do think of that scene in Ferris Bueller's Day Off… Every.Time.)

Your roommate wrestles from one side to the other– flinging her matching comforter to the left.  She turns off the alarm.

Ugh, you think every morning. Why can't she roll around for 30 minutes like a normal person.

But she doesn't. You already know she won't.

She's up now, her black hair flowing behind her–grey sweatpants pulled up over her waist and Easter-colored top hanging from her chest.

You can hear her take the brush off her nightstand– her hair untangling with every pull.

You like her, you remind yourself. You just want an excuse to not have to trudge down the hall to get your weight done.

You don't even need weights anymore, you complain every morning to the other girls who have sleep in their eyes and medical gowns hanging off their shoulders.

You've weighed the same since you checked in (you know this because you've snuck glances at your sheet every time drill sergeant Betty has drifted her eyes from you to the cabinet. A fact you're not sure if you should feel comforted by given the overhaul of carbs- or a fact you're internally disappointed with.)

"This is your normal weight," they always tell you– as you lay in your bed, running your hands over your side to see that your hips are still traceable.

To make sure you don't feel softer from when you accidentally caught a glimpse of your backside in the mirror.

To run your fingers over the flab of skin beside your arm pit and your back bone and grip it like it might come off when you wriggle it.

This weight– you think again– laying in bed, pushing your hand under the waist of your sweatpants– between your legs. It's an awkward thing to do– but you want to touch the skin that hangs on your inner leg– you need to hold that piece of thigh in your hand.

You don't know why you do it– But you sift the skin between your fingers, feeling the loosening muscle, and the pockets of fat that you know store the cereal boxes you binged.

You can hear your roommate open her wardrobe– and grab the hospital gown that is sitting somewhere crumpled in your closet as well.

It's cold, you think. It's the Sunshine state and you're always freezing in this place.

You wonder what you'll wear on this day–

Fail to forget you haven't showered in three.

"You're tired," you say. "You barely move anyway."

8:30pm rolls around every night and when the other girls head off with their sponges and soap– you steal the inside of one of the phone booths and call your best friend off collect.

You'll shower later, you tell yourself when the phone rings. You want to feel the water on your skin– and the shampoo down your spine.

You want to undress yourself and look down at your stomach- to your legs- to the tips of your toes where you need to trim the nail.

You want these things– and sometimes you do them.

You can look in the mirror and see what's left of your ribs– blanketed with that thin layer of fat.

You can turn to the side and not hate the rounding shape that your figure makes.

Because you're made that way, you can say to yourself.

You are not made to be a stick–

But this morning– with your body folded into you, you can see the indention of your sweatpants imprinted on your stomach, you can feel your thighs touch– your stomach sag– and your arms squished against the bed, spreading out like an egg cracking over a skillet–

And you're sad because you can't love it, and it hurts.

You hate yourself for hurting–

But you just get so bloody sad when you have to look at it–

So you don't.

"Is it Tuesday?" You ask, pulling the comforter down to your nose.

Your roommate looks back at you from the hanging mirror on your door, tying her gown to the side of her.

"Are we doing body checks?"

"Yeah," she says, sweeping her hair into a loose bun on the top of her head.

You sigh.

"Merry Christmas," she sings– winking at you from the mirror.

Merry Christmas in loony tune land.



"So what is it we're doing tonight?" you ask later that morning, plopping down next to Lilly on the community couch.

"I dunno," she says, her tangled headphones lying loosely in her ears.

"JJ," you say to the girl across the room. "What's the deal with Christmas?"

She shrugs. "I think they're still deciding on letting us stay up till 12."

"12," you say flatly. "As in midnight?"

She grins. "Yeah."

Lilly shakes her head, mumbling explicits. "23 years old," she muses. "And can't even stay up till midnight."

"Don't even," a girl says, sitting down next to us– her college t-shirt hanging on her frame.  "I have to go to bed at 10."

"Tonight?" you say, making a face.

"Yeah, I'm still at 75% body fat. They won't let me."

"Dude, are you going to be back on partial then?" Lilly wonders.

She shakes her head. "No. They know I'm eating; my body's just not reacting yet."

You and Lilly nod–slightly jealous but it goes without discussion.

The counselor walks in to start the group.

Christmas in Rehab you think as you take your place on the couch against the wall.

You reflect on the year before– where you were. Drunk, a bottle of wine in hand–fitted black tights– a sleeveless dress you bought from Urban that you didn't wear a jacket with because you were excited to feel thin enough to wear it.

You were in England– mate.

It was cold.

You were in England, thin, sloppy–you barely ate dinner before but throughout the night snuck the appetizers at the party by hiding them in your purse.

You were losing it then– carefully, concretely.

And now here you are, you muse later that evening, climbing into the Rehab-escort Bus behind the other eating disorder patients who drink to forget they're hungry.

You're 24, spending Christmas and New Years 2014 at a 7pm AA meeting in town.

When you get there, you're welcomed by people that offer you nonalcoholic eggnog and coffee– You look to your counselor for approval but she says "No."

"No?" You whine.

"It says on my sheet you chose to have coffee at dinner."

"It's one cup," you argue.

She just shakes her head. "Sit down, Hall."

And you do. You sit in a room with 30 people you've never met and together, you spend the next hour trying to understand what it is that you've done in your life.

Why you've done it.

You talk about what your life was before– the Christmas' you spent avoiding the food, drunk off 3 glasses of red wine.

You think about your mom, your dad–

How they're flying halfway across the world right now to sit in an eating disorder rehab with you for two visitor hours on Christmas.

You realize somewhere throughout this hour that you're feeling guilty– but not in the way you imagined.

Feeling guilty because you're guilt-free to be sober tonight– and in a meeting.

Guilt-free because you're comforted by being safe.

You share this with the room towards the end– you don't know why but you feel like you should.

To have just said it– to have admitted the truth just once.

When the meeting's over, you form a circle with the people beside you–clasp hands with a guy named Steve who came, he said, because if he didn't– he'd drink.

On the other side, you have Lilly– she shared her story tonight and you smile at her softly as you take hold of one of her dirty, self-tattooed fingers.

At night – when this is done – after the nonalcoholic eggnog is drank and you've been hurdled back to the Rehab Bus –

You get back to your little self-proclaimed loony bin–make a pallet on the floor of the recreational room, with your girls.

You say they're your girls now– because despite knowing them for 2 weeks– you've been more honest with them than you can remember being with anyone.

Why wouldn't you, though. You had to.

So you make a conscious decision to celebrate Christmas tonight– instead of shun it.

You bring your pillows from out of your rooms, your blanket that your moms sent you– the stuffed animals that friends sent in a care package– and together the lot of you make a casket on the ground.

A white, wrinkled, sloppy pallet on the floor– and you're in the middle now between Lilly and her XL Wu Tang Clan sweatshirt, and a 14-year old with a pixie haircut who lost her Dad nestled into your shoulder on the other.

You look at these girls that night–at their bodies, and their faces.

At the way one of them tucks pink hair behind one ear.

At the oddities of a human–

You realize you may never be in a room with these people again after this.

May never see their stories grow when you leave– or spend another holiday watching "A Christmas Story."

But damn, if you're not lucky to have them then.

11:59 hits– and tonight, you guys bring in Christmas asleep on each other's shoulders. TC mark

What Your Christmas Eve Plans Say About You

Posted: 24 Dec 2016 10:00 AM PST

Community: Season 4
Community: Season 4

Emergency Shopping All Day

You're pretty obviously a procrastinator, but you're also clutch as heck, thriving under pressure. While others might panic, you laugh in the face of Christmas. You know your friends and family well enough to have absolutely nothing 24-hours before Christmas, but turn a hasty 1-3 hour shopping spree into top notch gifts for everyone. You are Michael Jordan late in the 4th. You are Glen Coco on Candy Cane Gram day. You are the Batman of delivering in time sensitive circumstances.

Being Kind Of Sad That Christmas Is Tomorrow, And Then It's Over For A Year

You'll make the most of it all. Listening to Christmas music, soaking up every last bit of those merry jingles, every last shine of the colorful lights, every last whiff of festive aromas. The big day that you've been waiting for all year is here, but it's kind of like when you order pizza and wait, and wait, and it finally arrives, and after two or three glorious slices you start to feel yourself getting full, and wish you could go back to the empty stomach feeling of anticipation you had moments earlier.

Sitting Around Waiting Until Right Before Walgreens Or A Gas Station Is About To Close To Grab Last Minute Gifts

You're a monster. Even the worst procrastinators judgingly glare at you as you stand in the greeting card section baffled, searching for the perfect words to match the gift card you're undoubtedly buying someone.

Anxiously Waiting For Santa

You're five – do your parents even know you're on this site? Click here, rascal.

Daydreaming About All The Food There'll Be Tomorrow

You have a New Year's resolution to be healthy, so you've got to devour everything in sight before then.

Wrapping Presents All Day

You're a firm believer in deadlines and you say things like "If you're early, you're on time. If you're on time, you're late." Every person who has to go into the jungle that is a department store or mall on Christmas Eve envies you and hopes that, at the very least your wrapping job winds up looking ugly.

Oh, Is Today Christmas Eve?

This just isn't your holiday, but also your brain must truly be elsewhere to be oblivious to the date. Perhaps April 20th is more your idea of a holiday?

Browsing The Web, Internet-ing As Per Usual

You have much needed time off of work or school, and you're using it to do as much nothing as possible. Respect.


You work for one of the places that the procrastinators and last minute monsters mentioned earlier will be doing shopping at. You're probably not thrilled, but you also get holiday pay, hopefully, so you're reminding yourself of that to avoid being a Grinch.

Tracking Packages

You're one of those people who hate crowded places and can't handle traffic and busy malls, so you wisely decided to do your Christmas shopping online. Normally, avoiding people is a thing that works in your favor, but you've got gifts that haven't arrive and you're skeptical of the postal service's abilities, so you're on the phone and computer like a busy stockbroker, trying to ensure that Santa isn't going to show up on December 26th. TC mark

The One Sentence You Need To Hear If You’re Single During The Holidays, Based On Your Zodiac Sign

Posted: 24 Dec 2016 09:00 AM PST



(March 21st to April 19th)

You’re not really alone, look at all the love surrounding you that you’re not even paying attention to.


(April 20th to May 21st)

Stop focusing so much on yourself and be thankful you have people around you to share the season with.


(May 22nd to June 21st)

It’s okay to acknowledge your loneliness, just don’t let it ruin your holiday.


(June 22nd to July 22nd)

It’s natural for you to want to have someone to call your own during this season, just know you are capable of being whole on your own.


(July 23rd to August 22nd)

You might not realize it, but the vibes you send off are contagious so try your best to make them positive even if you’re struggling.


(August 23rd to September 22nd)

It might be challenging being around family alone right now, but you are so smart – acknowledge it won’t always be this way.


(September 23rd to October 22nd)

You may feel alone, but you’re never really alone – your heart is constantly being filled with love from others.


(October 23rd to November 22nd)

If you need to step aside and take a break, do it – you’re not the only one who is feeling overwhelmed.


(November 23rd to December 21st)

It’s okay to feel jealous, but always appreciate that you’re actually alone and not with someone who makes you feel alone.


(December 22nd to January 20th)

Everything isn’t as good as it appears, but that still doesn’t mean you shouldn’t drink a lot of mimosas at brunch.


(January 21st to February 18th)

You act tough and like you’re fine on your own but inside it’s eating you up; just know it’s okay to feel lonely, it doesn’t make you weak it makes you human.


(February 19th to March 20th)

You’re so passionate that it’s a struggle for you to be alone and no one is judging you for that, just allow yourself to express your feelings and you will ultimately feel better. TC mark

It’s Official: Krampus Is Our New Santa

Posted: 24 Dec 2016 07:00 AM PST


Sure, I laughed along with everybody else when Krampus said he was running for Santa. I remember joking around with my friends like, "Yes! He should run! That would be hilarious!" We couldn't help but look forward to the media spectacle that would come from a child-torturing, goat-demon running for Santa, a position very consistently won by jolly, rosy-cheeked, twinkle-eyed men. It was just so insane and frightening an idea to even think of. "Can you imagine?" we'd say, and we really couldn't.

And when we heard the former Mrs. Claus was also running for Santa, I admit some of us thought that was pretty far-fetched too. But at some point our excitement overtook our skepticism, and all we could talk about was how amazing it would be to have the first woman Santa. My friends and I would dismiss any poll that said the race was neck-and-neck. It didn't seem possible to us then that a tongue-wagging, hirsute monster could be Santa, so we just tuned it all out.

I mean, every day Krampus would Tweet something insane like, "My favorite drink is the tears of children" and "my favorite music, their screams." We were like, okay yeah, this dude is clearly off his damn rocker. We'd retweet Krampus all the time. Honestly, his account is still one of the funniest in my feed, but I just don't have the heart to laugh about it anymore.

Even when Krampus hosted SNL, I was still like "Okay, this is terrible, but there's no way The Horned God of the Witches is ever going to become Santa. No way!" I mean, we're talking about the cloven-hoofed, chain swinging host of Celebrity Satan. Gary Busey's buddy in charge of determining who's been naughty or nice? Inconceivable.

Maybe it's the party's fault for ignoring how unpopular Mrs. Claus was as a candidate for Santa. Maybe they should've nominated that old ass elf that was always yelling about the top 1% of naughty kids. I'll admit that's who I voted for in the North Pole primaries. But as soon as he was out of the picture, I was with Mrs. Claus all the way.

I'll confess I live in a major urban city with a lot of privileged elves, but I don't think we live in a bubble. Except for the times we're literally in a giant bubble we made out of children's laughter. In that case, yeah, we're totally in a bubble and it's fun as hell. But it's true that we were not fully aware of how many pissed off blue collar elves were out there. That's on us. And even if that's not the whole story of this election, it's like, go ahead and try comforting yourself with finger-pointing when you're getting stuffed into the punishment-sack.

Who knows, maybe Putin did interfere with the election. He totally looks like a dude who would think, "You know who's got some great ideas? Krampus."

Anyway, it's not even Krampus that I'm really worried about, it's his cabinet. I mean his actual cabinet, the one filled with all those snowglobes that are actually prisons for souls. Like, who thinks of stuff like that? I mean yeah, his mentally unhinged team of policy advisors is deeply concerning too, but those snowglobes? Ummm, check please!

Who's going to run for Santa in 2020? Perchta? Maybe. And maybe by then we'll finally be ready to accept a Santa who is neither a portly fellow, nor a terrifying hell-beast. Until then, we've all just got to come together and be as nice to each other as possible. I'm not trying to preach here, I'm just saying if we don't unify and learn to love each other, Krampus is going to trap our souls in a snowglobe. So, yeah, just keep that in mind. TC mark

One Day, You’ll Spend Christmas With Your Forever Person

Posted: 24 Dec 2016 06:00 AM PST

One day, you won’t be alone on Christmas. You’ll roll over, before your alarm clock even rings, and snuggle into his chest for a few blissful minutes before your excitement takes over and you can’t wait any longer to give him the gift you picked out months earlier. The gift that contains all of your love wrapped up with a bow and an address label that says his silly nickname across it.

One day, you’ll have someone to kiss beneath the mistletoe. Someone to sing crappy holiday songs with as they play over the grocery store speakers. Someone to finish off your eggnog when you know you’ve had enough. Someone to debate whether you should watch Nightmare Before Christmas now or if you should’ve watched it back in October.

One day, your forever person will help you hold the shopping bags as you wander around the mall. He’ll give you suggestions on what you should buy for each family member, even the cat. And when you get home, he’ll wear the elf hat you bought for him and let you take selfies, even though he knows how ridiculous he looks and that the pictures are going to end up plastered across Instagram.

One day, you’re going to be excited about December, just like you were when you were a kid, because you’ll get to experience the old traditions again. You’ll decorate gingerbread houses. String lights around the tree. Make sugar cookies in the shape of reindeer and snowmen (and probably a penis or two).

One day, you’ll unwrap your presents and you won’t get an ugly pair of earrings or a generic scarf like your exes gave you. You’ll get something personalized. Something that proves that your person really knows you and exactly what would bring a smile to your soft lips.

One day, Christmas won’t feel like a materialistic day. It won’t be about the presents or the sales or the holiday bonuses. It’ll be about the fact that you get to see your forever person with their family. Hugging their nieces and nephews. Helping their grandparents take the turkey out of the oven. Getting on the floor to play with their childhood dog.

One day, you’ll have someone special to bring home to your own parents — someone that swaps jokes with your cousins and compliments your aunts’ cooking. And if your family has already fallen apart, if time has eroded your love of Christmas, then you won’t be as disappointed as you used to be when the holidays roll around, because you’ll have a new family. A family with your forever person.

One day, you’ll end up spending Christmas with the love of your life. And every single year after that, you’ll get to do it again. TC mark