Well, shit. Here it is, the end of another year. If you came here looking to read delightful recaps of a life gone completely sideways, or me waxing poetic about making it through another year despite some pretty heavy blows and some awfully deep, dark holes I found myself in without a rope, well, I apologize: that’s not happening here. I’ll bet it is at other blogs, though, so if that’s the kind of schmaltz you’re craving, just do a quick Google search, putting in any combination of the words “2018 blog recap” or “I made it through 2018” or “2018 pity party” and it’ll take you right the fuck outta this space. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, but do me a favor and hit the Like button. It’s the least you can do for assuming that I’m like all the other blogs. I’m a loner, and a rebel.
If I seem a bit ambivalent, a tad, let’s say, combative, it’s probably because I am. I abhor playing by the rules set forth by whoever made the rules that we must feel nostalgic, and list all of the ways in which we were anally violated by 2018 without lube. After doing so, then of course we say, “Let’s drink to the end of 2018 and toast to 2019!” After all that reliving the shit sandwiches we ate throughout the year, the raw deals, the sad situations, and the tragic circumstances, who wouldn’t want to drink themselves unconscious? It never occurred to me, until now, that this is the real reason why people drink on New Year’s Eve. It’s not really to welcome the new year, but to help you forget the old one.
Of course, you’re reminded, every time you look at social media, that this a time for reflection, soul-searching, and to wipe the slate clean and start fresh. Resolutions abound; New Year’s Day is the day to begin anew.
Except, it really is just another day in which the year has changed. The shitty things that happened to you in January, March, and June 2018 still happened. The bills you owed on December 31, 2018, were the same ones you owe on January 1, 2019. The weight you gained because you ate like shit over the holidays didn’t magically disappear. Your problems are still there, hanging on your back like whatever monkey is proportional to your problems; maybe you have a spider monkey, maybe you have a gorilla, and, most unfortunately, a few of you have one of those chimps that will eat a bitch’s face off.
And then, there’s this meme:
Thanks ever so much, Robert Downey Jr, for making this face so that people could make memes about being so over whatever it is that they’re over. Granted, it’s a very effective face, and it’s been used by just about everyone, for everything:
Every year since this photo was discovered, my social media is flooded with this image by the same, jaded, glass-is-at-an-ambiguous-level people. The nihilists, the ones who’ve seen it all, the loners; the rebels, Dottie.
Then, there’s this slightly newer, snappier one:
Thanks for the warning.
I know, those who post this one are delighting in their level of blase, devil-may-care, flippant attitudes about the whole, messy New Year situation. It may actually be true! But unfortunately, it was only true the first few times I saw it; now, it is merely redundant.
Why can’t the New Year memes reflect the truth? You know, the things we think, but politely refrain from saying even though we pride ourselves in being the awkward, sarcastic, foul-mouth delights that everyone has come to know and love? I’ve come up with a few that I think have the potential to really catch on and blast me into the stratosphere of “Famous Meme Creators” because if this writing gig doesn’t ever take off, at least I’ll be posthumously known as “that crazy cat lady with the worst example of resting bitch face who made some pretty honest memes that said what we were thinking, but were too busy cultivating a reasonable degree of sarcastic wit to even dare to post because let’s face it, those memes were true AF but who is that savage?”
I think they’re brilliant and I encourage you to share. In fact, I dare you:
My craptastic year is all reflected in this collection of writing. The craptastic year before that is, too. If you’re hankering for my musings about a life gone wrong, or upside down, or veered slightly off course, it’s all there. I don’t want or need to recall, with a rueful chuckle, the strange and unsettling things that happened in my life. I don’t need to reread the happy stuff, either. I lived it, and I wrote it down for you and for that guy in the back who’s been sitting there with popcorn, waiting for the movie to start while he picks the cat hair off his clothes. It’s all a part of what makes me who I am, that delightfully awkward, sarcastic foul-mouthed mess of a crazy cat lady who says what you’re thinking and who has a great future in writing memes.
Happy New Year, my friends, and please, be yourself in 2019. I happen to think you are pretty, fucking cool. (Except you, voyeur guy in the back. Go home and watch Netflix.)