I know it’s a week away from New Year’s Eve and all that sort of nostalgically looking back at the year that was, but I’ve been putting in some thinking on this topic early (always the trendsetter!) before CNN, MSNBC and E! to say that overall, I think that 2009 really sucked it. The news cycle was like a hangover of 2008—the economy! Health care! The War!—with no real resolutions to any of it. Everyone seemed to not only be in a pissy mood but be too broke to do anything about it. And there’s still an asshole on my street who lets his dog shit all over the tree in front of our house and never picks it up.
Here’s a few more reasons why 2009 sucked:
January—Just at beginning of Pipe Dream to become a published author. Continue hawking my literary nonfiction collection of essays to agents. Here’s a suggestion: If you’re going to sell a book, kids, call it “Nine Steps to Living a More Fulfilled, Happier Life” or “Twenty Reasons You Will be the Bomb” or “How I Got Oral Sexed Every Day for a Year.” Do not bill it as a “collection of essays.” That’s like walking into the Whiskey Sky Bar with a big cold sore and Mom jeans to the publishing world—sudden death.
February—After some positive feedback (“Hey, Michael Ondaatje’s agent really, really likes me!”) to lukewarm (“Uh, it’s good but not for me. I can’t sell this.”) to the downright ugly (“Quite frankly, it’s truly un-extraordinary.”), I continue my Pipe Dream, but also decide that I may need a back-up plan and decide to slap together a proposal for a fellowship in environmental journalism.
March—Continue hating life. Decide to fly to Jamaica and smoke some weed to take care of that.
April—Final, awful rejection comes through e-mail. Decide to quit trying to sell book, focus on having fun. Let the Summer of Evil Molly commence.
May—Did this month happen? Really, no recollection of anything here. Oh, rejected for fellowship, i.e. Free Money to Jerk Off Like a College Student for a Year.
June—Continue Summer of Nothing—swimming, street hockey, drinking. Repeat.
July—Poke my head out and go on first Nerve date in years…with a dude who was clearly gay and still in denial. I am like, “Dude, you’re 36 years old and in New York City… Be gay already!” Like Punxsutawney Phil, go back into hiding.
August—Visit Chicago for first time since I left nearly four years ago. Realize that I am probably not going to be moving back there anytime soon. Cover Lollapalooza. Realize once again that I hate—no I despise—writing live show reviews. Surrounded by 20-year-old idiots from Michigan and Indiana drinking Bud Light Lime all weekend. Fuck an ex-boyfriend a few times. Verdict? Still an asshole. Have to regulate that motherfucker to retain dignity and self-respect.
September—Nothing much happens here. Try to write again on so-called Book Project. That’s not working. Decide instead to start this shitty blog.
October—Feel up some stranger’s balls. Dress as Joan Jett, nearly get into street-hockey fist fight (yeah!).
November—Things are gonna change, I can feel it.
December—Lose job (yippy!). Go out on second Nerve date of year, decide early on not really interested in guy–who’s pretty nice, just not my style—and get him drunk and dispelling embarrassing facts about himself just to see if I’ve still got my supersecret talent of getting anyone to tell me the most disparaging details of their lives—yep! Still got it. Start plotting out game plan, which will include much travel and intrigue, for 2010.
So, when you get all drunk and sloppy and pretend to be having the time of your lives next week, think about all that you’re saying goodbye to—one of the shittiest years on record. Oh, and Happy Fucking Holidays.