You know those Facebook Memories where it shows you what you were doing on this day however many years ago?
The one I just saw might as well have said, “Ha ha, remember that time you were about to fuck up your whole life? MAN! Good times,” and then punched me in the stomach.
Eat a dick, Facebook.
All things considered, my life has turned out pretty well, but damn — between careers and homes and relationships and assholes, that was a lot of progress to process before I even finished my coffee. This probably explains why I’m so hesitant to change very much in those realms right now.
Unless Robert Downey Jr. calls. Then all bets are off. And so are my panties. (Joking. I would never have on underwear if I were anywhere NEAR Robert Downey Jr. I would always wear dresses and trampy nightgowns and go commando, so he could have a 24/7 all-access pass.)
I’m thinking about where I was last New Year’s Eve, mentally and physically, and… son of a bitch, that IS real, tangible progress. I suddenly have a li’l extra swagger this evening — 2016 is gonna be the year of Dat Ass.
Happy almost new year, my lovelies. My bourbon cider and I salute you. Have fun, be safe, and thank you for reading my silliness this year.
I can’t decide if it’s progress or pathetic that I’ve become a woman who’s wearing saucy things to bed “just for me.”
It’s one of those things you see women on TV wearing to bed alone and you’re like, “The fuck? Don’t you own yoga pants? They’re great. Or better yet, do you know how good it feels to sleep naked? Or am I woman-ing wrong, as always?”
Progress, sure, because “for me” is the main reason I should be wearing anything.
But there’s also the subtext of wearing it “for me” by default because no one else is interested in seeing it. (I know, I know — not fishing, just in a weird headspace. I’d want to see me. I’m adorable.)
Edited to add: This thing is actually massively uncomfortable, so screw it, back to naked. But I’ll wear pretty underthings tomorrow. For me.
Holy shit, you guys. I heard that “Cups” song on my way into work, and I could finally leave it on and sing along, instead of changing the station and feeling sad because I associate it with a boy who, alas, did NOT miss me when I was gone.
And thank YOU, Anna Kendrick. Nothing personal, you are glorious. I want to be deadpan bestie bunnies with you.
Heart: “We should send the ex a Valentine’s card.” Brain: “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Heart: “Why not? We’re friends. I’ve sent one the past 2 years even though we were broken up.” Brain: “Yeah, about that…” Heart: “I want him to have a good day. A card will make him smile and let him know I’m thinking of him.” Brain: “OK, then. Are we sending a card to any other friends just because we care?” Heart: “…We are not.” Brain: “Do you really think he’s ever NOT aware that you think about him?” Heart: “No…” Brain: “Well, then…” Heart: “We probably shouldn’t. It’s probably one of the 347 unhealthy habits we’re trying to get past.” Brain: “Right. Step away from the Hallmark.”
P.S. I’d like to credit The Awkward Yeti for the “Heart vs. Brain” construct. If you don’t know the comic, you should.