I have to admit, I’m not a big fan of New Year’s Eve. So many expectations and the night never does seem to live up to the hype, does it? This year, however, was wonderful. One of my buddies from college had a house party with his girlfriend and it was really great to reconnect with old friends and to ring in the new year with a Michael Jackson dance party. So there was no one for me to kiss at midnight. I’ll live. I did call Jackson a few minutes after the ball dropped (after a quick phone call to my dad) but I felt he was rushing to get me off the phone. It hurt, but I have to convince myself that maybe it’s better that way. A new year, right?
So here we are. Another year, a new decade. No need for a resolution this year. I never stick with them anyway and then I feel discouraged. It’s not how I want to start off 2010—a year in which I have placed so much stock. I am, however, determined to really grab hold of things I’ve allowed to slip through my fingers for so long. Let’s face it: I’m not getting any younger. There are so many things I’ve yet to accomplish in this world and I don’t want to allow the next thirty years of my life to pass without anything to show for it. Maybe that will be my resolution for 2010: to grab the proverbial bull by the horns.
I’ve decided to make a mental checklist of the things I would like to accomplish in the next year (a “fuck-it bucket list,” if you will). On my list: Revisit Heidelberg, Germany, a town that will always hold a special place in my heart after I studied abroad there 10 years ago. Perform more random mitzvahs. Stand up for things I believe in and stand up to those who use their words as weapons. Remove myself from situations that cause me unnecessary stress. Participate in activities that make me happy. Laugh hysterically. Shrug off negativity. Focus less on what those around me are doing. Pay off debt but still have fun.*
*This may be the only negative I insert about Jackson but he was always less than thrilled with my spending habits. I could never fathom skipping a Phish show if they came to town, and he couldn‘t understand how I could be so frivolous with my hard-earned money. It was a major point of contention for us, and one we couldn’t really ever overcome. So, no offense, Jackson, but I’m planning more travel and Phish shows when they announce their spring tour. Take that, bank account.
- A few days later…
Despite my best intentions, I might actually be a big fat liar. Determined to shun all resolutions and the go-getters that stick with them (crowding gyms nationwide, I might add), I woke up on a Wednesday, just days after New Year’s Eve, and thought I should reconsider my 2010 checklist and take the “my body = temple” mantra a bit more seriously. I would like to regain control of myself, my late-night munchies, and the overwhelming desire to park the ass on the couch after a long day in the office. I tend to think my body needs the extra fat in the winter, but who am I kidding? So I hit up a Bikram class and performed an exorcism on the toxic ghosts in my body. I also stretched my muscles in Vinyasa and watched my troubles melt away. I added some clicks on the ol’ pedometer. I danced like a maniac in my apartment to terrible cheesy music. It’s okay, I’m not ashamed to admit it. This gal’s got some MOVES! This isn’t so bad. I’m feeling better already.
But I’m hardly at the finish line. There is much healing that must be done internally, but at least a tune-up makes me feel as though I’m accomplishing something.
I thought a night out with my single ladies might lift my spirits, but it dawned on me that many of my girlfriends are either in relationships, or married, or married with children. It’s funny. Of course I knew this in my head, but it wasn’t until I was boyfriend-less that it really started to sink in. I couldn’t think of very many that were currently unattached. When did that happen? Every girl needs a wing woman. Especially me, since I have come to the realization that I have zero game. I am completely incapable of striking up a conversation with a guy in a bar. Does anyone even do that anymore? Or does bumping-and-grinding on the dance floor constitute “nice to meet you” pleasantries? Man. I am REALLY fucked. I also can’t seem to shake the fact that it feels as though I’m cheating on Jackson when I so much as look at anyone else though part of me wants to sleep with half the town. I wonder sometimes if that might alleviate a small part of the pain.
I also wonder if the rules of dating have changed significantly since I’ve been out there. My instincts tell me yes. It seems that text messaging has replaced the conventional phone conversation, and I’m not so sure how I feel about that. Don’t get me wrong: I’m a fan of the text message. I send and receive them often from friends if I have a question that can be answered in under 160 characters. And maybe I’m old fashioned, but after exchanging phone numbers with a guy at a bar a few weeks ago, I was disheartened to find out he didn’t care to communicate with me over the phone at all. Instead I found this pearl of wisdom in my inbox later that evening: “we should continue this conversation when I’m not drinking. you seem kewl.” Wow. Put me in a time machine and take me back to 1998, please. Now THAT was a good year.