Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Not A New Year's Blog

Most of my friends seem to be penning blogs reviewing 2010, as of late. They rehash happenings of the year, reminders of the happy times and sad, the things they like, the things they don't. They wax poetic on the loves gained and the loves lost, the material items acquired, the lands to which they have traveled.

This is not one of those blogs.

I thought about writing one of those, but then I thought, "Why in the hell would I do that?" I don't like anything, and I only blog as an excuse to drink and swear even more than usual (as if that's even possible). Therefore, this is the anti-New Year blog. No, no, wait. THE ANTI-FUCKING-NEW-YEAR BLOG, BITCHES. Yep, that's better.

So it seems January is upon me again. Per the usual, I can't ever feel my hands or feet (luckily, this is due to the frigid temperatures and not diabetic neuropathy, in case you are wondering). I greet most people with a hiss and a sneer (if I greet them at all) and avoid leaving the warm cave of my house whenever possible. (Note that this is NOT possible often, as I work and--more frequently--find it necessary to make frequent trips to the ABC store for hard liquor. They really should set up a home delivery system, those fools. What a priceless service that would be.) I like to camp out in my favorite chair buried under my dog and my blanket, a stack of books and a martini shaker nearby. If I keep it low key like that, I tend to be less of a menace to society (though far less entertaining). As a result, thus far I haven't clubbed any baby seals this year or stolen food from starving orphans, but 2011 is still young, my friends, and there is hope for me yet. People never really change, you know.

My aspirations for the month would seem pretty reasonable. I just want to make it through Thursday and maybe read the new Anita Shreve book at some point (damn library, dragging its feet on ordering it). I'd say I have about a fifty-fifty shot of the Thursday thing if I start hitting the vodka around 8am that morning, the book thing is kind of a long shot. The library is short of funding and the closest Barnes and Noble is further than my hibernative tendencies will allow me to venture, even if I do have a Christmas gift card from my sister-in-law. Compared to my normal goals (master the German language! learn landscape design! finish a complete sentence without being interrupted by a minion!) they seem pretty tame. Unfortunately, that doesn't count for much in January.

Last night I was terribly bored and flipped on the television only to see that a new season of The Bachelor was starting. I do not watch The Bachelor (nor do I watch The Bachelorette) and think it is a ridiculously stupid concept--this square-jawed, narcissistic man moving into a special house to spend his days being pawed by multiple dimwitted bimbos whose main goal in life is to snag herself a husband. Seriously? This is the kind of woman they want to spend their lives with? Regardless, I was feeling too damn slack to change the channel so I watch for a few minutes, most likely killing at least a handful of brain cells. Oh, Sweet Jesus. It hurt. I'll never get those wasted moments of my life back. However, I did glean something from it-- a Deep Thought, of sorts.

The point of my meandering little story is this: (well, actually, there are several-- pay attention): 1) I was right, The Bachelor is ludicrous; 2) My January has not been improved by any amazing new television premiers; and 3) This is life. This is our new year.


We all want a new start sometimes. January 1 seems like as good a time as ever to reach for that start. The spray-tan covered dimwits want a new life with a new husband. People want new television episodes (even if they are pathetic excuses for such, as in The Bachelor). I want a new life where my Dad is back and I don't hate January so much. People want cars and babies and bigger houses and different jobs. Want is a staple of our lives. I can't have what I want, which is why I decided to downgrade to living past the 6th and reading a book. It's time for the world to become more attainable. I need the world to be more attainable. Attainability is my new start this month. It won't last past the 31st, but it's as good as I can muster for January.

That's gotta come easier than snagging a husband on reality tv. At least, I hope so. And February? Well, February will bring new things, better things. It has to.

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