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1. It's a shame you feel miserable in the holidays. But you should get out and about and try and make new friends, or find something you enjoy doing and apply your time on that. Try not to drive yourself crazy just thinking you're miserable and lonely. Do something better with your time. And no your hobby can't be speaking to your girlfriend every minute of the day.
2. Your girlfriend is being unreasonable. Fair enough you may feel needy and feel like you're imposing on your girlfriend, but her saying things like "and she goes on this rant about how it's not her job to keep me entertained over the holidays and that I should get a life and shit" is not right. When you're with someone, you shouild feel safe to expose your insecurities without being told to "get a life". She doesn't sound very sympathetic to your needs. And needs they are . however annoying, boring, needy, whatever they may be. Fair enough she has her own friends around at the holidays and there's just so much to do but if she loves you, she should care and make the effort. She knows just how miserable you feel and yet she tells you to your face she feels burdened...if it's such a hassle, then why is she with you?
I don't think you're being an asshole. She's your girlfriend, the one person you should be able to count on if you're feeling down. Just one more question....how old are you guys? No intention to patronize, but that could indicate the level of committment you guys are at.
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Whether we write or speak or do but look
We are ever unapparent. What we are
Cannot be transfused into word or book.
Our soul from us is infinitely far.
However much we give our thoughts the will
To be our soul and gesture it abroad,
Our hearts are incommunicable still.
In what we show ourselves we are ignored.
The abyss from soul to soul cannot be bridged
By any skill of thought or trick of seeming.
Unto our very selves we are abridged
When we would utter to our thought our being.
We are our dreams of ourselves, souls by gleams,
And each to each other dreams of others' dreams.
Fernando Pessoa, 1918
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