So here we are, kiddos and kidlettes. End of the year. And it’s been one crazy-ass year, right? I’m going to go out on a limb and say 2011 might be one of the most insanely awesome I’ve had, all-told.
In another life, I was a statistician, I’m pretty sure. So I was playing with some numbers tonight. Here’s what I came up with:
I read 107 books (this is actually a total disappointment, I really have to be better about this next year, possibly an all-time low for me)
I saw a lot of plays, but I didn’t keep track of it as well as I should. Let’s say between 2-4 a month? So approximately 24-48 plays this year. And worked crew on 5. And worked three jobs. What? I’m nuts? Yes. Do I ever sleep? I don’t know, explain what that is, to me, again, please?
I sent almost 7,850 tweets (and if you think this statistic isn’t directly correlated to the one above, well, you’re wrong, Slappy – also, this is how many I’ve sent as of this writing…I’m pretty sure this number will go up by the end of the night. I so have a bottle of wine I plan on drinking. Oh, damn, and it doesn’t include DMs. Well, let’s say I’ve sent 43 kabillion tweets in the past seven months, that sounds about right, right? RIGHT.)
I wrote, combining all three of the blogs I write for, 213 blog posts (that’s a lot of words, if you’re playing along at home! Do you think eventually I will use them all up and it will be a silent world like the “Hush” episode of Buffy? If Spike will be there, I’m all over that. Oh, also, this one has a lot to do with the “I’m not reading enough” one.)
So that’s my year in weird and kind of insane numbers that might get me checked into the looney bin at some point, which might be nice, because don’t you think that padded room looks the most restful? I do.
Also, listen, so on the last day of every year, I do a Tarot reading to kind of end the year and see what’s ahead? And last year’s was kickass. And totally kind of accurate. So should I be concerned that this year’s contained things like “your love is waning, you are feeling insecure, someone is gossiping about you, there will be sneaky behavior, there will be bad news about money, laziness, procrastination” – and, AND, my favorite, “ALL HOPES ARE DASHED.” Um. Thanks, Tarot, I am totally psyched to face the new year right now thank you. I think I might have better luck reading tea leaves or something. Wait, I hate tea. Sorry. That’s not going to happen. Then my house would smell like tea, and I’d have to vomit.
So anyway. 2011 has been really the best thing. There were new friends on top of new friends on top of new friends (EW NOT LIKE THAT. Seriously, Pervy Pete? Even today, with the filthy mind? You can’t take a holiday?), and there was blogging, and there were minions, and there was a lot of laughing, and there was time spent with family and friends.
Anyway, I kind of covered all this, to some extent, in my squishy Thanksgiving post, so I won’t bore you all with my totally graphic-novel-eque origin story all over again, or how much I love my internet people, or my book club, or Twitter, or my phone, or all of that. It’s only been a month. I don’t think your memories are all that short. But here, in case you want to refresh your goldfish-minds, here’s the Thanksgiving post.
Were there sad times? Sure. Sure there were. For all the wins, there were some losses: people and things, and minds and hearts, from time to time. You could do worse than listen to The Bloggess about this. The crocodiles are always there, and I count it a good year when you know they’re there, and can still laugh, you know?
This is the year I found my people, or my people found me. Either way, we’re found. It’s much more of a year of finding than losing, a year of not feeling alone anymore, even when I was. And to top that off: it’s the year of my barbaric yawp. It’s the year of not going quiet and not staying silent. It’s the year of saying “No, you know what? That’s not acceptable, because I deserve better than that” and having it be heard, for the first time since I was 13. It’s the year of douchecanoe and asshat and ALL-CAPS and open letters and book death-matches and Loser’s Tables and magic no-hangover Olive Garden wine and Android phones and geekery and book clubs and honey badgers and Tyrion Lannister and the Rubber Man and THE NEPHEW ZOMG (listen, every year will be the year of The Nephew, let’s be frank) and singing along with a crowd in the street to Company of Thieves and having someone introduce me to Marian Call and someone else introduce me to Robert Kirkman and more happiness, seriously, and without a shred of snark, than a person should probably legally be allowed to have in a twelve-month span.
2011, I loved you more than anyone could love a year. Sometimes I look around and I just grin with the delicious possibility of it all. And I kind of feel like my beloved honey badger: equally taking what I want, and not giving a shit.
2012: I expect more of the same. Screw the Tarot, I think probably the magic left them when Dumbcat decided to plop down on the spread and start licking his ass because he wasn’t getting enough attention.
I’ve got big plans for you, 2012. Don’t you dare let me down. You know how I get when I’m angry. You totally wouldn’t like Hulk when she’s angry.
And minions? You’re the cherry on my sundae; you’re the apple in my eye; you’re the top, you’re turkey dinner, you’re cellophane. Thank you for being here, thank you for making me laugh, thank you for reading and thank you for commenting and thank you for being the most awesome blog readers anyone’s ever had in the history of ever. You’re my happy New Year, you guys. But not that Rudolph’s Shiny New Year garbage, who needs that shit, anyway.
Happy New Year to you all. I won’t sing “Auld Lang Syne” to you, and you can’t make me, because do you WANT to go into 2012 with punctured eardrums? I thought not. I’m glad you’re here. Be careful tonight, and best of all things in 2012. Let’s do this together, what do you say? I’ll bring my caps-lock, it’ll be a blast. Sorry. IT’LL BE A BLAST.