…something something something something. Does anyone actually know the words to Auld Lang Syde? I didn’t think so.
Obligatory end-of-the-year blog post! Let’s look back and reflect and look forward and plan for a new year! Yay!
In general, I don’t do resolutions. I am of the thought that if you want to make a change in your life, do it. Don’t wait for the new year. However, I also see the reasoning behind making resolutions. New year, fresh start and all that jazz.
I went on a vision quest of sorts today; an impromptu road trip to Kansas City, Missouri. Well, a vision quest and to eat barbecue at Arthur Bryant’s. Let me tell you what: that was some damn fine grub. I had burnt ends and french fries all piled high on a plate and smothered in spicy sauce. It was madness in my mouf and I loved every artery-clogging, sodium-increasing, bouts of fire butt-inducing goodness. If you’re ever in the KC area, check the place out.
Anyway, I’m off topic. So, I left on this road trip without a purpose, but yet I wanted to do some thinking. I’m thirty years old now and perhaps entering a pre-midlife crisis. I’ve been at my current job for four years. I’m separated-slash-getting divorced. This holiday season has been rough for me for some reason. I don’t recall last Christmas/New Years because I just had foot surgery and I was doped to the gills on pain medication. I was thinking about that today when trying to decide if and what I wanted to do tonight: “what the heck did I do last year?” Oh yeah…slept on my mother’s recliner and had spontaneous fits of coherency and consciousness.
That’s kind of what this past year felt like to me: in a daze followed with moments of clarity. I wanted to have one of those AHA!! moments today while driving, and I admit I did not. I did, however, make myself a list of things I want to carry out in the coming year.
I was randomly looking online the other day and found some freelance writing jobs that piqued my interest. Freelance is far from glamorous. It’s actually pretty ridiculously tough, actually. Most ads I looked at require submitting at least 3 to 5 articles a day with a 500+ word count. I was turned off by the idea at first because SWEET BABY JESUS THAT’S A LOT OF WRITING, but the more I think about it, I’ve been pretty lackadaisical with writing this year, especially the last few months. If I were to have a freelance gig, this would force me to write more and as the old saying goes, “practice makes perfect.” Goal #1: look for a suitable freelance writing job.
On Christmas Eve at my mom’s house, I was watching Netflix while everyone slept and watched “Backdraft.” If you’re unfamiliar with the premise, it’s about two brothers who are firefighters and the wacky shenanigans involved with fightin’ fires. I was laying on the couch and during a particularly intense scene, I thought, “you know, I should look into becoming an EMT.” I have the utmost respect for emergency medical staff–firefighters, too–and think I might be pretty okay at it. I’m usually calm under pressure…I’ll stop right there. Some of you reading are probably busy snorting whatever liquid you just took a drink of up your nose because you know me and are thinking I’ve lost my damn mind. No, just hear me out: I am calm under stress. It’s AFTER the stressful event that I lose my shit. Big difference. Jerks. Goal #2: look into my options going back to school to become an EMT. (addendum: even if this EMT thing isn’t what I want to pursue, I need to go back to school. If I have any wish to advance in my current field, I need a bachelor’s degree. I do not have a bachelor’s degree. Sure, I have four years experience and my adorable good looks, but that only gets you so far. So regardless, I’m planning on going back to school. Plus, I love school. And I really want an excuse to buy new notebooks and pens and shit again.)
And now, The Girl Who Cried Wolf. I will quit motherfucking smoking if it’s the last motherfucking thing I do, goddamn motherfucking fuck. As I was driving today, I also sucked down a pack of cigarettes and as I was yelling-slash-singing along to songs blasting over my car stereo, I was also coughing and hacking because sweet Jesus Marie, my lungs are probably the size of two used condoms full of tar and arsenic and the lost souls of whaling ship fishermen. Dudes, when I walk up the stairs at work, I am short of breath when I reach the top. Now, that’s also a combination of being about fifty pounds overweight, but still. What a goddamned double-edged sword I have against my throat: fat and a smoker. Uh, hi–I work in a goddamned cardiology practice. What are the two things we try to hammer in our patients heads when they come in with heart troubles? DO YOU SMOKE AND ARE YOU OVERWEIGHT? STOP FUCKING SMOKING AND EAT A CARROT, FATTY. Oh, what’s this? What do I do? I smoke. I am a chunker. Shush up, I am. I complain about my shoddy knee hurting all the time and being tired and I get bronchitis at least once every two months and the laundry list of health complaints is too long and I’m fucking smarter than to keep smoking and eating like a freak, but what do I do? Oh, that’s right: I keep smoking because it “helps relieve my stress” and I keep eating stupid stuff because “I’m an emotional eater.” TTTHHHHHPPPPBBBBFFFFTTTT!!!! I know better. I need to stop smoking and eat like I used to and I actually weighed a respectable weight for a woman of my freakish Amazonian stature. Goals # 3 and 4: Quit smoking and eat a fucking salad.
Then there is the issue of finding a man. This one is tricky. I don’t want to be one of those women who think they don’t amount to jackshit without having a significant other because hi, this is 2011-going-on-2012 and that kind of thinking is toxic to women. You don’t need some guy(or gal) to make your life complete. Sure, it’s nice to have someone. I know I sound like a bra-burning uber-feminist, but seriously. Sure, I’m lonely and sure I wish that it was a man licking my face in the morning and not my dog and sure I haven’t had sex in like, well, it’s been long enough that technically, I am a born-again virgin and sure I want to come home and jump on my significant other’s bone and ride him all the livelong day and the next day and the next day. I want those things. Especially the last part. Oh, dear God…yes a thousand times over to the last part. I have an Indian–pardon me, Native American–name for myself: “Sexually Frustrated of the Needs To Get Laid Tribe.” I digress. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, the man thing. Heh…thing…ANYWAY, what I’m trying to say is that I WANT TO HAVE SEX AND I AM REALLY NICE AND I CAN DRESS UP FOR YOU IF YOU WANT IF THAT’S YOUR THING AND I CAN CALL YOU BIG BEAR OR HOT POPPA OR SAY YOUR PENIS IS THE BIGGEST ONE I’VE EVER SEEN. Oh my…you know what? Let’s just skip this part for now. I need a cigarette. HEY. BACK OFF. YOU’RE PROBABLY HAVING SEX WHILE READING THIS. MY DOG LICKS MY FACE. LET. ME. SMOKE. MY. CIGARETTE.
Okay then. There you have it. My four simple tasks for this coming year.
I would like to be serious for a moment because you all knew this was coming (…except for me…ahem…): I want to thank you all for reading this blog, so that’s what, my mom and Tommy Pluck? Does that about cover it? To those of you who have stumbled upon this blog randomly…even you, Mr. I Was Looking For Real Naked Women Pictures But Google Sent Me To Your Blog Because Of The Falsely Titled “XXX NUDES” Page: thank you. Thank you for your comments and feedback. Thank you for your support and love and kindness and generosity and I could go on and on. I don’t think a simple “thank you” suffices, but it’s all I can offer you, but please know it’s heartfelt and sincere and without you, I wouldn’t write. It would stay that dusty trinket on the fireplace mantel that you forget is there until you randomly happen upon it one day and remember you have it. Thank you for encouraging me to write. Thank you for everything and I hope this next year brings wonderful things to you all.
And with that, I bid you all good-bye and as always, I faithfully remain,