Happy New Year my little Love Doves! I hope the start of your year has been far better than mine. To provide a brief brief update, my holiday season was absolutely fucking ruined because I, like the thousands upon thousands of others, got Covid right before Christmas. Apparently, this year baby Jesus decided to give us all the gift of isolation and suffering. All and all, not much different than any other day of my year. I got one begrudging Merry Christmas text from an aunt while I cried into my campbells soup and that was that. However, as I always say, every cloud has a silver lining, and my silver lining was that boyfriend decided to bestow onto me the gift that keeps on giving. Botox. Just like the Three Wise Men brought Mary.
I woke up this morning, or I guess technically this afternoon, as I have so many other mornings. Hungover. Disoriented. Gasping for air. I launched myself out of bed in desperate search of an Essentia and ready to conquer the day. Unfortunately, my dog had other plans. He is, and I say this with love, as dumb as a doornail. So when I noticed him panting and shaking, which is completely out of the ordinary for a loveable pooch who has walks into walls on a daily basis, I launched into my own panic attack that not even the strongest of xannybars could fix. Unfortunately, Blue’s dad was otherwise indisposed from a night celebrating New Years Eve and not necessarily firing on all cylinders, so I had to pack both dogs and an unconscious 130 pound male into the car and drive at 100 mph to the nearest emergency vet taking patients (White Plains). In typical fashion that is mirrored with everything else in my life, after screetching up to the vet hospital like my hair was on fire Blue proceeded to hop out of the car with his tail wagging and tried to roll around in wet mud on the ground. I then spent another 30 minutes on the ride home stewing with rage while he stuck his whole head out the window.
I thought that this would be the worst thing that happened to me today, the start of 2022. I was wrong. After being suckered into yet another soul crushing three way facetime with my father and sister, we were just about to hang up when my father said “I have a piece of mail here from the HR department at your job. I’ll save it for the next time you stop by.”
Initially I thought it was nothing more than the new Covid-19 protocol stemming from Omarion running rampant in Stamford.
“You can open it, if you read the word Omicron just throw it out.”
The sentences which followed were delivered by my father with 0 hesitance and in the jubilant tone of a person reading Cat in the Hat to their toddler.
“Dear Ms. LaBella,
As you are aware, your time with the us was contingent upon Mayoral Administration. Although we were able to find a temporary position for you, we are afraid that we do not currently have any openings that adhere to your skillset. Your termination will go into effect at the close of business hours on Friday, January 7th.”
And just like that, I was fired by my father on Facetime on New Years Day.
In honor of the holiday, I also want to have a brief moment of reflection by touching on my past blogpost from January 1, 2021. It reads as follows:
“We have escaped the dumpster fire hell scape that was 2020 and have embarked on the new year a little fatter, a little drunker, and a little more depressed. My resolution’s, in no particular order, are as follows:
- Lose weight
- Drink less
- Get a job that doesn’t require me to wear an apron
- Write everyday
- Think positive”
Spoiler alert, the only thing that I have managed to accomplish is “get a job that doesn’t require me to wear an apron” and that was just torn from my early onset arthritis ridden hands exactly one year later. And to add insult to injury, by none other than my father. Fucking phenominal.
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