I can tell it’s a new year because I’m being very careful about writing the correct year. I know in just a few short weeks I’m going to screw up and my brain will slip in a 2014 before I’m able to catch myself, but for the time being I am carefully writing the numbers 2 0 1 5 at the end of a date and then staring at it for 2,015 seconds to make sure it’s right .
So new year, new stuff. Shiny new beginnings, a fresh start, a chance to begin anew and what have you. Blah. I’ve never bought that shit. I’m sorry, maybe I’m an asshole. (Maybe? ~Fran) The fact that someone at some point decided that on a certain day we’d all agree the old year would be over and the next year would began excites me not much at all.
It’s kind of like Christmas in my mind, (and no I’m not going to just dump on New Year’s for a full blog like I did on Christmas) it’s just that we could have put this holiday anywhere on the calendar, but some ancient asshat decided the dead of winter was the best time.
New Year’s would just rock more at the end of July or the start of August. It’s still hot out, chicks would be in like shorts and tank-tops and, holy fuck, we still have more summer to go before the winter doldrums set in!
Think about it. Which would you rather do — party with scantily clad members of the opposite sex or party with members of the opposite sex wearing parkas, gloves, hats , long johns and frozen private parts? If you picked the second one you have a mind I cannot comprehend, my friend.
We just had a major Fairy Party celebration last week, do we really need another so quickly? NO. Move that shit to August. That’s when we need one. When the weather is really nice out and everyone is locked inside climate-controlled production pods.
I could get behind a July New Year’s eve. Really I could.
But fuck this December/January shit. It sucks. I don’t want to celebrate any fucking new beginnings right now because there are none. Nothing is starting right now because the weather outside froze the car, the roads and my heart.
This is also why I hate fucking New Year’s resolutions. Fuck them all. Not one single New Year’s resolution has ever survived contact with the month of April. Sure there are exceptions, but they only prove the rule. New Year’s resolutions that actually work are like the lotteries that we have in the U.S. Sure someone wins, but it won’t be you.
Actually, didn’t I resolve a few paragraphs back that I wasn’t going to write another piece where I dumped on New Year’s like I did on Christmas? Well fuck, there goes that resolution already and we’re only a few hundred words into it.
Here we go. My resolutions for 2015.
I’m going to realize I’m fucking stupid
I am. I’m a fucking moron and I need to just look at it in the mirror and admit it. I’ve got a few accomplishments under my belt. I’ve done things of which I’m proud. I’ve done some really awesome things from time to time, but I’ve got to face facts — I’m a fucking idiot. At least half the reason I’m where I am today is because I’m a white-male American. Another 25 percent is just fucking dumb luck. The 25 percent of the reason I’m not homeless and living behind a convenience store right now is that I’ve somehow, magically, managed to not drive this crazy torpedo of a life into a ditch at the last second. Actually, I have no idea where I’m going with this resolution, I guess I’m so fucking dumb I forgot.
I’m going to stop giving a fuck about politics
Fuck politics. Really. I’m done. I’m out. I’m finished. It’s a fool’s errand and I’m out. Did you know I gave $25 a month to Hillary’s campaign before Obama was the nominee in 2008? I fucking did. See my previous resolution if you want to know why.
I thought she had better name recognition and that was all that mattered to me. The moment the Democrats picked Obama I was fully on board, although I never received a thank you from him for the $25 a month I gave him up until the election, but I was fully on board. The point is: I never, not once sat down and compared what their positions were on issues. Never. Not one time. All that was important to me was which one could beat the other side and that is politically stupid.
I used to laugh at people who voted for really obscure political candidates. You threw your vote away, I’d chuckle to myself knowingly.
“Ralph Nader,” I’d say with an eyeroll, “We’ll if you don’t value your ballot I guess you should vote for him.” Then I’d get punched in the face for being a dick, but that’s beside the point.
A vote cast toward a politician who can’t possibly win isn’t a vote thrown away, it’s vote that’s cast with belief and conviction which is a hell of a lot more valuable than my vote. I’m like a junkie at a horse track carefully studying the stats of each horse in hopes of finding some path though the fog. A vote for the obscure guy is someone standing up and stating they believe in something, damn the fucking odds.
Fuck politics. (Caveat: This resolution is null and void the moment I decide something political is interesting again).
I’m going to wean myself off Facebook
This resolution is pretty fucking funny mainly because most of you who are reading it are reading it because of Facebook. And look, who the fuck am I kidding, I’m not getting off Facebook. I’d like to, but I’m not. You’re all there and I like a crowd to play with. If you all decide tomorrow that you’re all headed back to some AOL chat room, I’m right there with you.
That said, I hate you Facebook with the passion of a wife in a relationship with an abusive man she loves. Facebook, you’re dicks. I’m smart enough to realize you have to be dicks to stay in business, but you’re still dicks.
I’m not even embarrassed or even regretful about my drunken Facebook posts. Some of those are my favorite moments on Facebook. Some of the shit we end up talking about when I’m waist deep in a drunken beer fog are endlessly entertaining to me. I might momentarily cringe in the morning, but then I laugh when I read what everyone has said. I mean sure, I regret a few private messages here and there. (Fran — I again apologize, not so much for the photo, but for the detailed description that followed.) (Todd — I had the photo made into a T-shirt — in Dagmar’s size. ~Fran)
It’s all the other stupid shit I see there. Which state are you? Find out what percentage of dork you are. Which flower best represents your soul? These are all Facebook trends I just made up. Fuck that shit. Look at all this technology, it’s literally brought the world together and what are we doing with it, discovering the beauty of our inner child with a quiz or whatever the current waste of time there? I’d bet our ancestors are pissed. I would be.
They’re like, “Hey fucktards instead of playing fuck-fuck games or sharing that 1,534th kitten photo, how about everyone umm, communicating a bit and try to work through some issues that face the world today, like how to resurrect long-dead ancestors.”
Anyway, fuck it. Welcome to 2015. Maybe I should’ve resolved to be less negative.