Happy New Year?



Jslow gave me this snowglobe for my birthday.

You know you want one.

You know how bad 2016 sucked.

You mourned the death of Prince and David Bowie and George Michael and Leonard Cohen and Gene Wilder and Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds and the many more beloved soulful artists that left us. You may have mourned the death of a parent, family member and/or friend.

You got older and maybe got laid off because as one friend lamented, “women of a certain age are under siege”. You had a hard time fitting into your pants. You had a hard time fitting into a world where Millennials multiplied overnight.

You got divorced and no matter how many friends told you you’d be okay and your best days are yet to come, you’re sad and pissed and petrified about what comes next. You got tired of Tinder and Match and the debacle of dating. You got tired of raising kids glued to their phones and detached from you. You got tired of looking into the mirror to see a tired stranger looking back.

You got angry at Kellyanne Conway. You got angry at the awful orange puffy buffoon who spewed hatred towards everyone and everything we hold dear, including women. You got angry and sad and sick and shocked when he beat Hillary. You continue to get angry and sad and sick to your stomach every time you read his tweets or see his face. You still can’t believe this actually happened. You hate him. You hate 2016 with everything you have.



2016 was so bad that there is a Bitmoji for that.

I’m sorry, but are we really supposed to celebrate a new year and greet it with fake optimism when there is no way to sugar- coat the fact that 2017 just does not look promising?

I’m going to try my best to keep a sense of humor. I’m going to play a lot of tennis. I’m going to practice a lot of yoga. I’m going to draw and write and spend time with people I love. I’m going to get more involved in causes I believe in. I’m going to really really try to cut back on MSNBC and the Huffington Post and the avalanche of bad news that depresses me above and beyond my natural depressive baseline. I’m going to eat a lot of pizza and bake a lot of cakes.


And Trump? You can wipe my ass.

Happy Fucking New Year.


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