Here we are, at the end of this damn year. On New Year's Eve of last year, Ned and I got into a fight, and I spent the entire night in my room, crying, with a bottle of wine. I watched the year tick down by Googling it.
Here's me, last year, 8 o'clock at night. Only 4 hours of sitting there angrily to go! Is that a blanket on the bed back there, or did I import some kind of large mammal into the sitch? I wouldn't put large-mammal-into-the-sitch past me.
Well, anyway. Tonight should be cheerfuller. It's my friend The Poet's birthday, so if they let us out early today, Ima take her to that fancy hotel I like, have my way with her, or alternatively get cream sodas with her. She's not what you call a big drinker. Then after my friend The Other Copy Editor is having a New Year's party.
You know, I feel like no matter what I do on New Year's, it'll never beat the time I ended up making out with my friend's brother while "Babe" by KC and the Sunshine Band played out his clock radio. It was just so unexpected, me and my double belt pressed up to Donny W. I was 47.
No, no. Ninth grade. It was ninth grade.
Then tomorrow I'll do what I always do on the first, which is go to the park downtown and take part in that group meditation. Then after THAT, my friend Jo is having a party, so hello, busy.
I hope your new year is full of surprises as wonderful as pressing your double belt up against an eighth-grader.
Yes, he was a younger man. June, a cougar even then.
In other news, last night my neighbor Peg came over. Peg, of the give-you-the-norovirus neighbors Peg.
One great thing about my year abroad is that Tallulah forgot she hated Peg. She's hated Peg since she was a puppy, and Peg had the nerve to lean over the fence into Tallulah's yard. But last night all was copacetic. She did not attempt to murder Peg even once.
The point of her visit was that she was gonna look at where I'd put everything and tell me what I did wrong. Peg is an interior designer, kind of a celebrated one around here, and I don't know how I score, knowing fancy authors and designers and poets and artists and also Marty.
See what I did, there? Hey, Marty Martin!
We spent three hours moving stuff around, Peg and I did. I don't mean we'd take a picture from the wall and jiggle it a minute and put it back. Why would we do that? But that's the image I got when I wrote that sentence, so. Welcome to my mind.
She had me move my books all over yonder, so it wouldn't be one full shelf of books and then one shelf of knickknacks. And she's really good at seeing something you have lying around in one place, like a damn pillow or basket, and telling you to put it in another place altogether.
I didn't even show you what she did in the dining room, and I'd get up and do that, but Iris is purr-pawing on my arm and I don't wish to disturb her.
You know what that reminds me of?
This kitten picture of Iris. Awwww. Kitten Iris. She was a ludicrous-looking kitten. Her eyes were all screwed up. But now she's such a beautiful cat. People are all the time saying how pretty she is, and I always say, "I KNOW! How is it a cat with no eyeballs can be so pretty?"
At least I'm ending 2015 in my usual linear fashion, where I take one topic and stick to it. I'm re-showing you my end-of-year video, because it's tradition to show it the last day of the year, and you know how traditional I am. Also, last time I showed it to you on the mobile version and this is the desktop version so allegedly it'll be clearer. My suggestion is you click on the title of the video and watch it on YouTube so you can make it bigger and not have to deal with that ad at the bottom. You can X the ad out. Stupid YouTube.
Talk to you next year! Thanks for sending me Dresscember donations, and coffee, and TVs, and for reading my bullshit all year. You made 2015 tolerable, you know.
Luff,
Joooooon
