New Year's Meme

In 2008, I gained a condo, a dryer that vents into my living room, convenient access to the DC Metro system and a view of the Capital Building from my studio room.

I lost a best friend. (I know that sounds dramatic and maudlin, but, well, that's still kinda how it feels.)

I stopped writing meaty blog posts on a regular basis.

I started a new job with a 35% increase in pay.

I was hugely satisfied with the internet's capacity to continue to provide me with oodles of fascinating filth for thought.

I am so embarrassed that I now actually have, in case of further emergencies, a locksmith's personal number saved on my cellphone (yes, that would be replacement cellphone #4, as cellphones #1-3 all met their, ahem, Waterloos in various porcelain facilities. Yeah, I'm embarrassed about that, too. As I am about that atrocious pun I just made.).

Once again, I managed to impress boys with my repertoire of yoga-generated party tricks.

Once again, I did not show the slightest bit of self-restraint when faced with shoe sales.

The biggest physical difference between me last December and this December is, I think, the (benign) lump in my right tit is more like a jumbo egg than the small egg it was last year. Otherwise, I think I look the same.

The biggest psychological difference between me last December and this December is I am no longer nursing any crushes on inappropriate men. (YAY!)

I loved spending time developing fleeting crushes on impeccably dressed DC denizens while riding the Metro. I did not so much love smelling some of the other ones, however.

Why did I spend even two minutes debating whether to leave my old job? They so did not earn even the smattering of loyalty I gave them. I know this is particularly true after having spent the subsequent 7 months making a lot more money and doing a lot less work. And feeling a lot more appreciated.

I should have spent more time doing yoga, organizing my finances, cleaning my car, writing and fucking. One can always spend more time writing and fucking.

I regret buying as much gas as I did. Given, my gasoline expenditures decreased significantly once I got situated here in the city, but even anyway... buying gas makes me feel guilty. No matter what.

I will never regret buying someone's time and expertise to paint the walls of my new condo for me so that I didn't have to do it myself even though with that money I could have paid off a chunk of my post-moving, bloated credit card bill. Saving myself the added moving stress of having to paint myself? Beyond worth it.

I slept in late only with S.

I didn’t apply to grad school. That's what 2009 is good for. I hope.

Sporadic internet service in my building, a sometimes-surly, sometimes-smarmy internet service dude, and a general laissez-faire attitude from my building's developers about the whole situation drove me crazy.

The most relaxing place I went was work, during the middle of my move. That's the only place where I got to think about something besides freaking out at the prospect of becoming a homeowner.

Why did I eat so many fucking cupcakes? I blame a duo of enabling women with whom I work. Bitches.

The best thing I did for someone(s) else was let them go. All three of them. (This one's cryptic to protect the not-so-innocent. Sorry.)

The best thing I did for myself was learn to say the word "pussy" without blushing. Finally.

The best thing someone did for me was when my whole family, in shifts, flew out to DC to help me fix stuff in my new place, pack, move, and clean my old place. A million thank-yous to my parents and my big brother.

The one thing I’d like to do again, but do it better, is write about film.