I had originally hoped to write a blog on New Year's Eve, sending off 2012 and recapping, perhaps, what I learned from the year. I sat and opened up my laptop and started trying to think and write and then I realized that every single thing that came to mind-- the deaths of Grandmama and Maddie, Mom getting married, all my friends moving away, the entire family getting the flu over the holidays--BLEW DONKEY BALLS. So, I gave 2012 the finger, closed my laptop, and made a martini. THEM'S THE BREAKS, 2012. THANKS FOR FINALLY FUCKING OFF.
Now it's 2013, and I'm eight days into the new year. I survived Sunday, which was the fourth anniversary of Dad's death. I survived the day BEFORE Sunday (also known as "Saturday") when my Mom somehow managed to forget that my Dad died on the 6th, Facebooking about how it was "bittersweet" to leave on her honeymoon on the same day anniversary of Dad's death. Jesus, woman, get your shit together. You left on the 5th. IT WASN'T THE SAME DAY. AND THOSE TWO THINGS ARE HARDLY COMPARABLE.
By the time THOSE two days were over, I was DONE WITH IT ALL, so I spent yesterday afternoon drinking two bottles of champagne and getting caught up on the new season of "The Walking Dead." (Side note: I LOVE ZOMBIES.) The kids came home to find me happily propped up in bed, two glasses and half an episode in, taking notes about things I would need to collect, store, then carry on my person during a Zombie Apocalypse (hatchet, wet wipes, and a backpack with Mimi in it). It was a good afternoon.
Today is the 4-year anniversary of my Dad's memorial service. It is the 7-year anniversary of Sutt being diagnosed with meningitis. (At this point you're saying, "How do you REMEMBER this shit? I'm like Rainman with dates, yo. I JUST DO. I remember the dates of EVERYTHING, both good and bad, including but not limited to the birthdays of everyone I've ever known, --ironically, for the record, there seem to be an abundance of assholes born on July 18--first kisses/get together/breakup dates with exes, and start and end dates of all the various jobs I've held except for my brief stint as an assistant to a pot dealer-- I measured and bagged--although I KNOW that was sometime in the fall of 1995.) ANYWAY, what I'm getting around to saying is that today is historically not a good day but I plan to slog through it despite that because that's what I've learned to do. Slog, that is.
And if I can just keep on keeping on, I will be rewarded at the end of the month. As a Christmas gift, my sweet B gave me a trip to Vegas from January 23rd-26 to see Coco Austin (my favorite celebrity/entrepreneur/significant other of rapper Ice T) perform in the burlesque show "Peepshow" AND to renew our wedding vows, hopefully at the tackiest wedding chapel in Vegas, and hopefully officiated by a cross-dressing black Elvis impersonator or something similarly fabulous. IT WILL BE EPIC. But then, everything I do pretty much is epic. Likely, I will blog about the trip despite the mantra of "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas," if for no other reason than to reassure you that I did not die of alcohol poisoning or get arrested for prostitution, unless of course one or more of those things happen and if that's the case, well, I've got bigger problems than you wishing I would blog.
Which reminds me that I should blog more often. I've collected some GREAT stories over the past couple of months.
But for now I gotta go. Time for some slogging.