And So It Goes

So, here we are, on the edge of yet another new year. I won't bore you with solemn reflections of the year soon past. Nor will I waste our time with hopeful outlooks on the year to come. I will only say that I am hoping for brighter days, bigger paychecks, continental experiences, and for that someone to kiss when next year's ball drops.

Happy New Year!
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Happy Christmas, folks.
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For the first time since my drinking debacle on my sister's birthday in September(a rather unpleasant weekend spent huddled on the floor of the bathroom after a rather naughty run-in with a bottle of tequila, two shots of vodka and a glass or two or three of wine) I went out drinking with some friends. The bar was dark and smoky and filled to the brim with lawyers and bankers, assholes and rejects, liars and short men overcompensating for their size. I, too, was dark and smoky- clothes were tight and trendy, boots were tall and pointy, hair and makeup were properly primped and flawlessly styled. The night went well, compliments were plenty, drinks were free, and former MTV competitors were friendly and forgiving of my over-enthusiasm. Eventually, though, as final call ticked closer, I watched as friends paired up and left me to nurse my import and make polite conversation with strangers about college and unemployment. I suppose I don't really mind coming home alone at the end of the night. After all, who wants their fairy tale romance to begin, "Once upon a time, in a bar far, far away, I was totally wasted after a night of drinking my troubles away when, all of a sudden, this random guy told me he could see himself in my pants and I knew. It was love." Avoiding that nightmare, however, doesn't make the hurt of romantic voids and an empty bed any less.
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This morning, as I was lying in bed and attempting to draw myself out of comatose, I was terrified to realize that I have no direction for the coming year. For 22 years I followed a rather distinct, well-cut path and now it seems as though I've taken an awful turn and have no idea where to go. I find myself in this situation far too many times, though in a less symbolic manner. I'm terrible with directions and often have to think much to hard to distinguish my left from my right, only in these situations a simple phone call to my father, a human atlas of sorts, seems to fix things quite well. I've been living under the same roof as my father for seven months now, an amazing feat all in its own, and am no closer to finding my way. Human atlas my ass.

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So, a few weeks ago, during my weekly trip to Target, I ran across this little diddy. That's right folks, now that US Weekly and ABC have successfully branded the chubby cheeks and charming smile of Bachelor Bob on the innermost recesses of America's memory, we can, for only $13.99, also ingrain his schreechy voice and poorly written, overly sentimental musings on love, loss and the heartbreak of rose ceremonies.


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Have you ever been looking at yourself in the mirror, thinking you look unbelievably hot, when your mom walks in, flicks the switch and asks why you're sitting around in the dark?
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