Don't you wish Dick Clark were still alive so you could make fun of him and feel terrible about yourself? Now there's only Ryan Seacrest to make fun of, and that's shooting fish in a barrel.
HELLO! HAPPY NEW FUCKING YEAR! Should I fill this post with hilarious "all year" jokes? We haven't talked ALL YEAR! I haven't blogged ALL YEAR! Oh, hoo hoo hooo hoo hooo! Wait, lemme stitch up m'sides! Whew! [slaps knee] [wipes tear]
Don't you hate people who email you and do shit like that? Like, they write something kind of scandalous and feel the need to add [grins evilly] or [rolls eyes]? I mean, say it, don't spray it, or whatever. If you have to add brackets, you're just an asshole. And a poor communicator. Hey, June, how's the be-less-crabby resolution going?
Actually, I have no resolutions. This year, unlike how Oprah's 2016 is the year of her best body and so on, Ima do nothing different. I really can't get any fabulouser without making the rest of you feel terrible about yourselves, so I'm giving you all a break. Hey, June, how's the maybe-you-should-look-into-your-grandiosity resolution going?
Anyway, here's some of the shit I've been up to.
The Poet's birthday is December 31, which is both really cool and really sad. I mean, the last day of the year. Zed. It's cool, right? It's a cool day to have your bday. On the other hand, no one pays any fucking attention to you because it's New Year's Eve, so. As you can see, I kept with the theme of that by taking The Poet out and getting her absolutely nothing. We just sat at a blank table for an hour and left.
Really, we got out of work early, and stampeded to the fancy hotel I like, which at this point the bartender there waves at me every time. I'm Norm on Cheers. Literally, if I don't do Tracy Anderson again soon. Anyway, The Poet got a fancy mixed nonalcoholic drink, and an order of mashed potatoes cause she's as weird as me, and I got brie because what hips, and we had ourselves a gay old time. Not literally. This isn't Personal Best, the poetic version.
Eventually, I went home and watched Tallulah do her frog impression. Is her face getting whiter by the minute? Because stop. Stop being white-face dog. If your resolution was to get a whiter face, I'm not a fan of the idea. At all. My little froggy girl.
While frogging happened in the living room, a meeting of The Needy Committee was happening in the back. Edsel took a break from his reading to record the minutes. I'm so glad these two idiots have become such good friends. They're perfect for each other. "lillee need attenshun all seconds of daaa." "edz toos."
Iris was out slaughtering Baby New Year.
The next morning I hauled my ass out to the park and did my annual kindness meditation. Please see above where I make fun of Dick Clark and my pets. And what's that Monica Lewinsky stain on the seatbelt?
Greensboro has had kindness meditations in the park on New Year's Day every year for five years now, and I've gone four of the five. In 2013, I was Nedding. Anyway, the point is, every year I go and get annoyed with people who stretch before the meditation. Seriously. They get out a yoga mat and stretch. We're MEDITATING. You don't have to STRETCH. It's right up there for me with people who shake their sugar packets. IT'S ALL SUGAR. Stop.
Am terrible person. Am wasting everyone's time at kindness meditation. Maybe if I didn't go to kindness meditation, I'd be an even worse person. I'd be Donald Trump or something.
After my pseudo-kindness meditation, I took my new man of color and headed to my friend Jo's house. She bought a new house, in a town called Pittsboro, and it turns out I have no fucking clue where Pittsboro is. I figured it'd be 20 minutes away. Hello, hour and a half. I missed Marty and Kayeeee, who also attended, and they did not get to meet my new boyfriend James Brown.
Jo had a whole christening ceremony where we watched her put up her Saturday Night Fever poster in the kitchen, thereby making it officially home.
So now it's my favorite day of the year: January 2. On January 2, no one expects anything of you. No one expects you to be anywhere, or act festive, or make cookies (like I ever do) (speaking of which, Jo made me a batch of her famous cookies with the raisins taken out JUST FOR ME yesterday) (making her the gardener and me the garden) (hello, all my relationships) or decorate anything or sing a carol. On January 2, we're all back to our regularly scheduled lives, and that works just fine for me. I like regularly scheduled life. I'll just go around being normal and thinking my kind thoughts.
I haven't heard from you ALL YEAR,