Scurvy and Other Tales

Conditions in Tennessee have deteriorated significantly.
My home is a sea of boxes that I have collected trip by trip from the liquor store. In my pajama bottoms.
It looks like we're having the Christmas of a lifetime, complete with a roving band of thirsty Russians.
This is not the case. Each box is filled not with Goose and Jack, but oven mitts and candles, books and serving plates. And then there's me, shoving all my clothes into them as well, listening to good ol Ke$ha all the while. And the people buying our house? They seem nice, to be honest, but they're a little ridonk. They keep asking my parents to replace lightbulbs. And they want cash for all the "home repairs." Sketchy much? I would love to tell them where they could shove their lightbulbs, but this is an all-ages blog. Also, I'm pretty sure I have scurvy. You see, the sore on my chin has passed the realm of acne, and has entered the "boil" stage. This is bad news, as it prevents me from ever wanting to go out in public again until it disappears. And I am just too dang social for that bull. Plus, I haven't eaten fruit of any kind in probably about 5 months, so that could be a problem. I am unfamiliar with the symptoms of scurvy, but I'm pretty sure "boils and lesions" is right up near the top of the list. I will Web MD it at my earliest convenience. My room is a pretty boring place. The walls have been painted, and all of my personal effects were put into storage. Apparently, potential home buyers would be put off by my extensive shot and martini glass collection, Megan Fox poster, and the framed Entertainment Weekly covers on my wall. Beats me. My armoire and my closet are empty, and I just recently got all my new Virginia clothes put away. All of these tiny distresses are augmented by the fact that I am currently #Thug-less. I miss my SVU friends so much. You guys have no idea. And I have been on exactly zero dates since I've been home. All the while, my parents are busily preparing to move into a new house, and it's sort of legit. Too bad I am pretty much the only person in my family who cares about nice things and I will never get to live there. In no time there will be sidewalk chalk all over the circular driveway, and my 13 year old brother will be trying to cook Ramen Noodles in the bidet. Mark my words. But it's all good. My family's not pretentious enough for that nonsense anyway. At least the holidays are approaching! And by holidays, I mean Christmas. Chanukah is over, people. And Kwanzaa? Meh. I'm gonna sweep that one under the rug. Sorry. I hope I get to see all my family and friends. And some awesome presents would really make my day too. I wish I could give presents to my peeps, but my ca$h money is low. My parents can't help me out either. They're too busy buying lightbulbs, and financing a trip to China for their bratty, ungrateful son just so he can sit around all day, eating up all the good cheese and pissing them off to no end by blogging about all their family business. But I promise I'll buy stuff for you fine people someday. Until then, I suppose you can consider this whiny, poorly written blog post to be your Christmas present. I promise I'll do better next year.