In which I answer why you'll never see me in a grocery store in Xmas eve.

I'm going to ask you to forgive me for writing this post, as at the moment, I am listening to "story" songs from the 70s by Dan Fogelberg and Harry Chapin. I don't know why, but anyone who is familiar with these pop culture gems from the 70s and early 80s, they are mind. numbingly. depressing.
I shit you not.
Right now, Danny boy is singing about how he meets a lost love in the supermarket on Christmas eve. So, let me put this in context. You are shopping on Christmas eve, alone of course, and if that's not sad and pathetic enough for you, you see a lost love you haven't seen in forever, and then both of you start to talk about how growing up has sucked and that nothing will ever match the innocence of youth.
Then, both of you get started drinking luke warm beer in a car, where you continue talking about the past and how good it was and how the present hasn't quite matched to what you expected. The conversation invariably begins to stall, and she kisses you goodbye. A goodbye of finality.
Then, of course, it begins to snow. Of course. Bloody typical. So, now you are left with the memories of a depressing conversation with a person you probably didn't want to see in the first place. Even though it's a loveless marriage, she at least is married, and you're shopping for groceries on Christmas eve.
Effin' hell.
Next up is "Taxi" by Harry Chapin. Are you at all familiar with this song? No? OK! Let's pretend you are a drug-addicted taxi driver. Are we there, mentally? Then, let's pretend you just happen to pick up a former lover, who of course doesn't even recognize you. And she's rich!
So, much like the the Dan Fogelberg song, you begin to talk about how life hasn't quite met your expectations. I mean, you were going to learn how to fly, and she was going to become an actress. Ha! The fates have intervened, as you get stoned in a taxi and she acts as if she's happy in a mansion.
Then, you get the joy of dropping her off at her mansion, where she pities you by paying you a 700% tip (I think I figured out the math right).
I don't know about you, but I think I'd prefer to pretend I was happy in a mansion. Getting stoned in a taxi sounds about as much fun as you'd imagine getting stoned in a taxi could be.
Now, it's John Mayer singing about facing the mortality of parents in "Stop this Train."
Why on earth would anyone set up an iTunes mix this masochistic?