Oh hey. I’ve been tremendously busy and important. Okay fine – busy but not important. I’ve been absent for like, two months. You could’ve let me had that one. Whatever. Let’s move on.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve hit the point of “BLOGGING IS DEAD TO ME” at least six or seven times. Mostly because I got so into doing things that somehow carving time out in my day to write about the things being done felt so efforty that it just made me want to hide under the bed with a jar of peanut butter and a spoon…spoon optional.
I’ve hit the point of needing to block out time in my calendar reminding me to do things like brush my teeth, or eat an apple, or twirl around in circles while singing an a capella version of ‘Stronger.’ Everything’s so awesome lately that I can barely talk about it without sounding like a sorority sister who showed up for the reunion and realized that everyone else gained weight but her. That is how excited I am about the world.
But hey – I may (read: will probably) fall flat on my face again at some point again in the future and wouldn’t I feel silly not having a blog to drunkenly ramble to after being kicked in the kidney by life. So I’m not leaving yet. But I am phoning it in. Thus? I give you a very superficial recap of everything you need to know about the past little while:
I rediscovered drinking: now with more bourbon. Wine has become a cruel and expensive habit wherein I either drink entire bottles by myself in one go, or I let it go bad on the counter and get scolded for being wasteful. The solution? Bourbon, baby. Which I drink on the rocks in these sassy glasses I bought last month. It’s all classy and gentleman-like if you overlook my use of the word ‘sassy’ to describe the habit.
I made a Hair Bucket List. Despite my hearty Acadian roots giving me thick and unmanageable hair so that I could presumably survive another theoretical deportation, my hair follicles are getting lazy to the point of untimely deaths. Thus, the Hair Bucket List was born: “rock a side pony.” End of list.
I flirted with overexposure again. As if #benspotting weren’t enough, I spent a week assaulting Atlantic Canadians across all media. I managed to pull off ‘enthusiastic’ at 6:20am in a radio studio, I avoided swearing while wearing a CBC mic for 90 minutes, and I survived a middle-of-the-street photo shoot. And then I slept until the end of time.
I became dangerously obsessed with the show Happy Endings. It started with an accidental viewing after Modern Family and blossomed into a full-fledged marathon of the first season, a weekend of seeing how many abbrevs I could work into daily conversation, and a complicated spreadsheet ranking the order in which I would marry each of the main characters: Brad, Jane, Dave, Penny, Max, Alex. Duh.
I threw a lot of parties and wore a lot of costumes. And now that I’m starting to feel a little confident in my ability to do my job, I can actually enjoy them. Oh what’s that? You didn’t realize that my job is to hang out with all my friends, drink cocktails, eat cheesecake, dress up like Clue characters and 90s clubbers, and pose for photos? Sorry. That’s some harsh truth to take in all at once. You should be Yelping. That is all.
I realized that art galleries are the best places to ride out a hangover. I had the best intentions to behave myself on my most recent San Fransisco trip and in all honesty, I did pretty well aside from two horrible, horrible nights. The first, I underestimated a craft cocktail bar’s ability to make strong Old Fashioneds. The second, well, it was just a mess. Luckily, the hotel was right next door to the Museum of Modern Art – a quiet, safe space where it’s socially appropriate to stare vacantly at the wall for as long as you please. Yeah girl.
I publicly admitted that my three biggest fears are tsunamis, botulism, and whales. With honourable mentions to math, lactose intolerance, and high school reunions.
And with that, we’re all caught up. I hope you feel as good as I do about all this.