I could totally sit with you.

I wore a halter top to work today because I am classy as fuck.

But at least I can wear halters, because I don’t have man shoulders.

My pores are huge, but my hairline isn’t weird and my nail beds don’t suck, and I think my breath is OK in the morning. (I mean, obviously it’s not ideal, but no one’s ever run away or anything.)

So I think I’m orbiting the plus column today, appearance-criticism-wise.

P.S. Oh, and it’s Friday, so I’m wearing jeans, of course. It’s not like I’d wear the ugliest effing skirt you’d ever seen. I didn’t even buy that skirt; my friends weren’t around to ask if it looked good on me.

P.P.S. I’m not wearing hoop earrings, either—she told me those were her thing.

All about that baseline

I don’t remember where I heard that the way you bring in a new year sets the tone for the entire year. And I know, the way some people celebrate New Year’s, that would be ridiculous: “I want to spend 2016 drunk and freezing my balls off in Times Square, wearing a stupid corporate-branded hat and squished against a bajillion other people!”**

Still, if that idea is even a little true, I’m kind of OK with spending this year employed (two jobs, even), well rested, well sheltered and warm, reasonably attractive, and having a group of bad-ass, supportive people who love me.

See also: coffee, bourbon, hugs from friends’ kids, lipstick, and cookies.

Sure, there are elements of my life I’m trying to change. But if the above is my baseline, I’m not mad at it.

Happy official new year, you guys. I’m glad y’all are here.

** From a less snarky perspective, “I want to spend 2016 having memorable, once-in-a-lifetime adventures in exciting places with people I love” isn’t such a terrible plan.

Those hats are still the worst, though.

In which my squad won’t give me goals.

Email to Friend: “The therapist asked me to write about my accomplishments this year, and goals for the upcoming year and beyond. I’ve been struggling with it because I genuinely can’t think of much. (I assume ‘Keep breathing’ and ‘Stay employed’ are implied. Maybe ‘Don’t sleep with anyone dumber than me?’)

“But I’m finishing Judy Greer’s book, and coincidentally she’s talking about how she has an always-evolving list of goals, what’s important to her, etc., that she reads and revises as needed.

“And then Kelly Sue DeConnick sent this text yesterday to the Bitches Get Shit Done list, so it’s pretty much law now, right? List ahoy, Little Shark!”  

Friend: “I can think of at least three things you should be proud of yourself for, but I’m not telling you because you have to look back and be proud of yourself. You have to look in the mirror and see the good.”

Me: “THREE?! Shit. I’m pretty rad. (I think I had two. Will continue considering.)”

Six degrees of sluttiness

Me: “I just RSVP’ed for a friend’s wedding. I need something to wear that’s church-nice but still vaguely slutty. I’m actually looking forward to shopping for this unicorn of a garment.”

Friend: “Actual slutty or YOU slutty?”

Me: “Me slutty. I can’t rock actual slutty.”

Friend: “Yes, you can! You can be that slutty and more if you just believe in yourself.”

Me: “HA! Therein lies the problem — I don’t, so I’d just be all wonky and uncomfortable. I’m good with my nunnish sluttiness.”

#LadyOnTheStreet
#FreakInTheBed

In which I gaze intently at my navel.

I have no idea what’s going on in my brain this weekend, but it’s been a steady steam of tiny realizations, making me immensely grateful for the relationships (friend, family, romantic) I have and how they’ve shaped me as a person.

Also a lot of, “Why do people think this way about me?” “Well, because sometimes you act that way, and you never tell anyone when things bother you. Maybe try that?” If that fails, some classic advice from Greg Behrendt: “When you are around an asshole, it is your responsibility to LEAVE. You cannot wait for them to get better.”

And a dash of wondering if *everything* I’m doing with my life right now is the wrong choice. So that’s always a good time.

Could I NOT have a lifetime’s worth of introspection in 3 days? I know it’s a 3-day weekend, but goddamn, brain, work with me here. Can’t we just sleep late and clean out closets like normal people? Do you have to think this much?

Date night self-assessment

I know I’m finally ready to leave for a date when I look in the mirror and think, “Pssh. I’d bang me.”

Ain’t nobody got time for that!

I’ve been attracted to a good friend of mine for a long time (about a year), and there’s been some pretty heavy mutual flirtation, but he has a girlfriend. Yes, a serious one. And no, I’m not trying to break them up — first, I’m not an asshole; second, I wouldn’t win that battle; third, even if I “won,” I wouldn’t know what I wanted from him. I’ll just stick to dating/breaking up with transient morons, rather than someone I want to ensure remains my friend at a minimum for a long time. But our interaction was making me feel a number of things that were not OK for either of us.

ANYWAY. I sent an email to another friend about this, saying:

“He and I are OK, I think. We had a conversation, and now it’s possible we’re both faking it ’til we make it, but we’ve been talking normally and not flirting. It’s like a fog lifted: I’m still into him, but I’m too cute to place second. Plus, I have to get a fucking job (or a job fucking), but either way, I can’t be dealing with that right now. If it’s meant to be something else, it will be when the time is right. For now, I got shit to do.”

This discussion happened about 2 weeks ago. Even though he and I have both tried 100 times before to be “just friends,” I think we’re finally on the same page at the same time, so it’s actually working. Neither of us is goading the other into flirting, and I’m not being needy or throwing myself at him — aspects of my personality that I HATE but sometimes can’t control. If nothing else, I don’t want to be in any relationship (even a friendship) where I’m That Girl, so that needs to get settled first. I think it was happening as a byproduct of an otherwise restless time in my life, so I have to take care of me first. (Which, by the way, still feels absurd. I’m an “adult,” right? How do I still have so much to work on just to be the kind of person I WANT to be?) But I don’t want to be That Girl, I am NOT That Girl, and I’m not interested in the kind of guy who’d be into That Girl. So That Girl needs to get bitch-slapped.