Thursday, January 7, 2016

new year's micro resolutions i might actually achieve. (but probably not)

i broke my thumb on monday. two fractures on my goddamned dominant hand because i slammed it in an uber door. currently typing this with my middle fingers and pinkies. i also got a TDAP in the arm attached to the broken thumb because the sadist at the ER suggested it (was sticking two needles and a burning hot cautery pen in my purple thumb not enough!?) so the whole right side of my body is in searing pain. plus i already fucked up the splint they gave me at the hospital so yeah 2016 is definitely going to be the year my dreams become a motherfucking reality. lol what dreams. LIVING IS A MISTAKE.

1 find a use for all these chia seeds in my goddamn crib. i just watched that oprah winfrey weight watchers commercial while savoring the last remaining bits of the skinny woman i have trapped inside me (she tasted like diet ham, btw) and who cares. everyone makes the same vows every january: 600 jumping jacks every night, no sour cream on the burrito, replace gallons of gin with the recommended 8 glasses of water. maybe we will, probably we won't. i already gave up medium rare T-bones: WHERE IS MY PRIZE. my gym membershit (typo, keeping it) expired and it's freezing anyway so nah, as much as i'd love to be buying swiss chard all the time i hate going to the store, and 99% of virtuous shit is a total fucking snore, so the only thing i am willing to commit to is trying to use up the 37 mason jars of chia seeds i somehow ended up with because i know too many well-meaning health nerds. i'm already bored.

2 write one thing in the daily planner i foolishly insist on purchasing every year, not doing it, then never using the damn thing again. someone who doesn't know me very well told me i should buy something called a passion planner and at first i was all "O RLY!?" because i thought it was on some dirty sex shit but then i looked at the website and rolled my eyes all the way to the back of my skull at the idea that i would be capable of keeping up with something like that. because it is not possible for me to be the person who color codes her hair appointments and actually crosses shit off a working checklist every day. everything i finish is practically by accident, and planners are for people who have shit to do and Get Shit Done. i only have the one job and writing shit like "do laundry" and "buy cat food" is fucking boring so what on earth would i even put in there!? i prefer not to be mocked by my failures. saturday march 12 stare despondently at bedroom wall; tuesday august 23 turn off phone and pretend to be out of town. but it's another new year which means yet another moleskine date book gathering dust on some cluttered corner of my desk. but it's JANUARY 7 AND I ALREADY FUCKING DID IT I AM REALLY LIVING MY BEST FUCKING LIFE: get dry swiffer cloths from family dollar. written with my own hand, on this day in history. i will never do this, yet i will think about doing it a lot of times. i will likely never touch that calendar ever again. swollen with pride nonetheless.

3 wash my face every single day. i'm sure you're all "BITCH, GROSS" and yeah i am too but let's talk about what we actually do on the days we don't have to leave the house to make money or irritate strangers on the bus or buy wine. sunday i: woke up, gazed at pictures of nachos for an hour while choking down my soaked oats and cacao nibs and praying for death, listened to alec baldwin's podcast while daydreaming that he was actually purring in bed next to me, called carl (secretly hoping he wouldn't answer, which thank fuck he didn't), read a bunch of shit on the internet about the hateful eight, drank a couple of vodkas while chopping vegetables for pasta sauce, spent an inordinate amount of time scrolling through my netflix choices without actually watching anything, thought about tossing all my old medicine, did some very careful instagram stalking, fell asleep on the toilet. when did i have time to scrub my face, when i was standing with my ear pressed to the door waiting for my neighbors to go in their apartment so i could take the trash out without having to talk to them? when i almost sprained my neck trying to contort myself into looking decent during an ill-advised facetime!? this year i'ma do better.

4 read an entire magazine from start to finish. usually i'm all flip flip look at a lipstick flip accidentally sniff too close and rub the perfume sample off on my nose flip, but in 2016 i am going to sit the fuck down and read a whole goddamned magazine from cover to cover, including the article about some 23 year old who launched a profitable tech start-up then packed a backpack and moved to botswana to empower young women by teaching them how to start their own capital investment firms and also krav maga. i want a medal for putting these pants on when i don't have to go to work today, so my self-esteem does not really benefit from reading that kind of shit. oh you're 19 and you already bought a house? well bitch i tipped the grubhub dude twenty percent on a pizza puff and two bottles of beer so i guess we're all just out here winning. nevermind not doing this ugh.

5 listen and respond to all of my voicemails. nothing equals the crippling anxiety i feel when faced with an incoming phone call. if it's from someone i know: why not just text me? if it's from a number i don't recognize: HOW MANY DAYS UNTIL YOU SHUT MY FUCKING LIGHTS OFF, PAL.

6 remember to set the tivo for shit i can't find on demand. i wish i was talking about something cool like fargo or the walking dead but nah bro mtv's the challenge is my appointment television. what can i say, i fucking love CT. he's my original justin bobby. (does anyone even know what those words mean? HOW FAR DOWN THIS RABBIT HOLE ARE WE REALLY TRYING TO GO.) i'm usually never home wednesdays because it's the best night for most of my people to make ~plans~ (see below), so then i'm all squirmy and stressed out at olive garden because while this bitch is talking my ear off about her insurance deductible i am probably missing a juicy fight on love and hip hop. i'm still waiting to get to whatever age it is that you stop caring about who went home on top chef but i'm practically forty and it hasn't happened so now what. this is the year i stop googling tv spoilers because i missed the fucking broadcast. also i need to stop being so emotionally invested in vanderpump rules. ugh i'm a fucking monster.

finish a chapstick all the way to the bottom. IS THIS EVEN FUCKING POSSIBLE.

8 never make plans to do anything, ever. this is how it usually goes down: 
casual acquaintance: "hey sam, you wanna [get brunch/grab a cocktail/smoke some heroin] next week?"
me: "okay, sure! sounds fun!" now let's pause here. because, in theory, i would kind of like to go. i enjoy a couple of people; there are a handful of places i don't absolutely despise. and it's so easy, snugged under the covers with the computer in my lap and king krule on my headphones, lulled into a false sense of optimism by the warmth of the clanging radiator and entire box of those trader joe's fig and olive crackers i just housed, to think that next tuesday at 830pm would be a great time to brave public transit and dirty slush to meet that person halfway the fuck across town for a salad i'm going to have an hourlong wait to eat. in my cozy crib in the middle of the day when no one is bothering me everything seems like a good fucking idea. yes i will go to trivia at that bar i hate on the most crowded night of the week! of course i'll go to that standing-up-and-small-talk party hosted by that chick i don't know in real life who seems rul annoying all over your facebook! oh your experimental noise band is playing a midnight show in an abandoned building three miles from the nearest el stop? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP.
fast forward to next tuesday, approximately 230p: it's fucking cold, man. i got to work at 725 this morning. a dude sneezed over my desk and i felt it get on me. this woman on the phone referred to me as "the nice colored lady." i ate too much lunch. my bank balance is a smooth ($17.23) and payday is next week. this shirt is ugly and what if you try to force me into a selfie. my head hurts. i forgot to put a phone charger in my purse. black-ish is coming on and i forgot to set the tivo. i need to take all these magazines down to the recycling center. i need to listen to this voicemail. i didn't put this dinner date in my schedule. I REALLY HAVE TO WASH MY MOTHERFUCKING FACE.
me: "yo i gotta raincheck."