Ah, another New Year’s Eve has come. And thank friggin God, has gone. To me NYE is the cherry on top of the brutally stressful holiday season that starts at Thanksgiving and just keeps on coming, one hit after another, until the damn ball drops. I know. I know. Check out Debbie Downer. I should get out of the bitter barn and go play in the hay.
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| Star. Wishing on it. |
Whatever. Been there. Done that. Have the t-shirt. (Oh, no wait. I have the St. Patty’s t-shirt after a night of too many cocktails at the Pig & Whistle.) Either way, I’ve spent plenty of NYE’s out and about. I used to be quite the party girl. No joke. Now I’m all about quality versus quantity. And I’m kind of lazy. And my priority from 2011 which cruises right into 2012 is finishing this little old thing called my third novel. With the goal of it making it past a round one review with an agent of choice. Fingers tightly crossed. Knocking on wood. Wishing on a star that the third time in indeed the charm.
I remember reading or hearing somewhere (probably from some random teen soap or an episode of Murder, She Wrote) that how you start off the new year is a direct reflection on how your year will be. So if that means a year of writing, I’ll take it! In spades. (Kate? Still love you, even though I sent Noel away. Forgive me.)
So here’s my super proud news. I made a goal of writing 75,000 words before the ball dropped and I did it !!!!!! Weeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Woohoo! Hot damn and hallelujah. If I can pick up in the pace in January, I should have a very solid first draft done in another four weeks. But one day at a time.
As for the 75,000 word count, I celebrated it with a glass of champagne. I rang in the new year with a glass of eggnog. And the topped off this whole wild celebration with an Advil PM. I know. Step back. Someone knows how to rage. I resisted the two Advil PM dosage since I actually wanted to wake up before noon today. (Somehow crawling out of bed at ten o’clock and still managing a successful late afternoon nap feels like major achievement.) I even have some delusions of grandeur and looked up my gym’s operating hours, seeing as how it’s a holiday and all.
Excuse me.
I had to stop laughing.
Look at me trying to start the new year off on the right foot and makes plans to hit the gym. Could be the fact that Dick Clark’s less-than-rocking Eve was officially sponsored by Weight Watchers so for two hours I was reminded how fat I was getting just sitting here watching TV. Thanks for that ABC. Just what a girl wants to be thinking about as she’s watching the ball drop. Happy New Year, chub-a-wumba.
Anyissuewithmyweight, I’ll be waving hi to my Equinox peeps tomorrow since I’ll have to try to get my head back into the game. Ten days off and I am so checked out it’s not even funny.
So here I am. A full twenty hours into 2012 and you know what? Kind of feel the same way as I did yesterday. And while I’d love avoid being any kind of a cliche with a year-end recap or a list of resolutions for 2012 I can’t help but being a little bit reflective on the year that was.
What can I say, it was a hell of a year. New blog. New book in progress (from here on out I'll refer to it as The Great Mystery). New job. Ch-ch-ch-changes. I made it to Europe for a vacation for the third year in a row. (Words I never thought I’d type and vacations I never thought I’d be lucky enough to be taking.) I went to one reunion. (And skipped out on another.) The year hasn’t totally been without its drama but such is life.
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| Two weeks in Portugal? Twist my arm! |
Because I’m a bit a of a total control freak, I’m doing my year-end ritual of trying to get my apartment in order. Purging the clutter. Getting organized. Mapping out my planner. (Yes. I know. It’s moments into 2012 and I still use a paper planner. But I like to cross stuff off and highlight it and write in different colors. And it’s a cool little planner. (And it was free. Thank you J. Crew for rewarding my obscene spending habits!) Whatever works, right? And, well, this works so mock me all you will, I heart my planner.
As part of the purging, I started sorting through old pictures, trying to organize them better, and thin out a collection of duplicates and crappy photos that I never even look at. Blurry party pictures from 1997? Gone. Pictures of random people whose names I never even knew? See ya. Multiple shots of me making ridiculously stupid poses after a ridiculous number of drinks? (FYI, I typically only willingly pose after some liquid courage.) Well, I kept some because they really are funny or remind me of some great times with great friends. But the truly heinous did meet their death by ripping into tiny pieces.
I also decided it was time to go through the bookshelf and lighten the load. My Christmas gift to myself is always a new group of books. (Books are also gifts to myself for my birthday, to celebrate a success, and to commemorate days that end in a “y”.) And while I love my book collection and take a lot of pride in it, there are some real duds taking up some valuable real estate. And while I won’t poo-poo anyone by name (I KNOW how hard it is to finish a book, never mind to get it published, so would never shit-talk another author. Unless it’s Snookie, because the fact that she “wrote” a book, never mind got butt loads of money for it kind of makes sick to the point of rage), but the truth is there are some books I just didn’t connect with. Some that were so slow to get moving I had to abandon it. And some that were moderately entertaining but that I know I’ll never read again. So it’s time to pass them on to someone else who can love them (or maybe leave them). Godspeed to you.
And just like with the picture sorting project I also found myself flipping through some books, as I toyed with what stayed and what goes. I’m the kind of reader who highlights phrases or passages that resonate with me. I fold down page corners. I sometimes make little notes. (Don’t even lend me a book and expect to get it back and please don’t ask to borrow one of mine as I’m entirely too high maintenance to let a loving marked-up book go for fear of never seeing it again.)
I could quote lines from my bookshelf for days, but maybe it’s the sparkle of a new year or the fact that I’ve had the luxury of having a week to spend writing but these two quotes from Kelly Cutrone’s If You Have To Cry, Go Outside, resonated today:
“This is an important lesson to remember when you’re having a bad day, a bad month, or a shitty year. Things will change: you won’t feel this way forever. And anyway, sometimes the hardest lessons to learn are the ones your soul needs most. I believe you can’t feel real job unless you’ve felt heartache. You can’t have a sense of victory unless you know what it means to fail. You can’t know what it’s like to feel holy until you know what’s like to feel really fucking evil. And you can’t be birthed again until you’ve died.”
“Ultimately, if you’re doing what you’re mean to do - if you’re in your truth - doors will open for you.”
And if that’s a little too deep or too abstract or you’re all “what the hell does she mean these quotes resonated with her?”, well no worries. Go pull your own book off the shelf or flip on a song that means something to you. I fully believe in the power of words to inspire, to heal, to help makes sense of things that may not make sense, to give a little bit of love, a little bit of hope, a little bit of strength.
In all fairness I stole the last three things from The Alarm. If that means nothing to you, then take a listen to this (the plagiarism/me bowing down to lyrical brilliance is at 1:52). I'm just bummed the quality, isn't better:
And if this all took a way too big of a turn for the serious then I’ve got a song for you. I have Friends With Benefits to thank for this one. And at the time I thought it was tacky to include this in my Christmas post, but that seems silly now. Regardless, this song cracks me up. I first heard about G. Love and Special Sauce somewhere around 1994 or 1995. My roommate at the time was from Jersey and she used to see G. Love live, when he was playing small venues in the Jersey and Philly area. She had a picture with him, a very proud moment for her, and a perfect reflection of her - she was the cool, fun, chick that would not only meet the guy in the band, but have a picture taken and then have a story about hanging out and partying with the band.
So without any further ado, I give you some G. Love (and apparently I'm on a musicians-who-play-harmonicas kick tonight?):
So there you have it. Day one. I’m wishing I could stop the clock so that Tuesday doesn’t come, but I guess reality is part of this whole thing called life. The good news is there’s a new episode of Revenge on Wednesday night. Cannot. Wait. To. See. What. Happens. So there’s something to look forward to.
I have a massive case of too-much-TV going right now so perhaps it’ll be good for me to have a forced reason to get out of the apartment. The fact that there were marathons of The Lying Game, Murder, She Wrote and Psych today....well, come on. A girl just doesn’t stand a chance!
And lastly, how bad is it that I actually enjoyed Bieber’s “Let It Be” cover last night? I don’t have the fever by any stretch of the imagination, but was impressed by his piano playing and the fact that he actually has a good live voice. There were so many other people singing on these lame New Year’s shows and most of them sounded just plain awful. So well done, Biebs. I’m not going to run out and download you from iTunes but do have some more respect for you than I did twenty-four hours ago. (Though the way called out that crazy chick who claimed you were her baby's daddy...well I must confess, you had me a bit then too.)
And last, but of course never least there was GaGa.
Wacky outfit. Check.
Quality singing voice. Check. Check.
Live performance cut ridiculously too short so they could cram in even more Weight Watchers ads? Check. Check. Check.
Once more into the night....
Happy Twenty Twelve!
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