A Snag in the Silk

My friends are dangerous, dangerous people. Seriously. They are great and fabulous, too, but totally dangerous. Why, you ask? They plant little seed bombs in my ear that breed paranoia and force me to change or give up things I love. And that's just mean.

First, let me start by saying that none of this would have happened if flipping Starbucks didn't change their soy milk from Silk to something that tastes like ass. Yeah, you, Starbucks. The company I've been loyal to for thirteen years. The venti-soy-no-foam-lattes that I made a dedication to in my book. You think that thing wrote itself? No. I was high on Starbucks the whole time. Why? Because writing is really draining, though somehow burns no calories and actually slows your metabolism, which is such a ripoff. And soy lattes made with Silk taste like heaven. Now, they taste like monkey butt. Thanks, Starbucks.

Anyway, I was in the car with a friend bitching, obviously, about the soy ass latte I was trying to gag down when she said to me, "You know, you shouldn't be having soy in the first place. It brings on early menopause."

WTF?!?

What kind of a friend tells you that at like nine in the morning? Well, she's a good friend, actually. One of my favorites. But, totally effing dangerous. Granted, she wasn't the first friend to tell me that. I have a lot of friends who are way into holistic, alchemical shizzel that are always harping on me to give up something. I have so few vices. Really. Booze and soy and chocolate. I get antioxidants with my booze (hello, pomegranate martini), and my chocolate is 85% cocoa. Healthy. Anyway, I was stubborn about the soy. Until my friend opened her mouth.

I couldn't even finish the latte. Not only because it was vomitous but because every time I brought it up to my lips "early menopause early menopause" echoed in my ears. Farg.

Now, remember that I have super powers, and the problem with my super powers is that once something is in my head, it usually happens. Jeebus. So, I have to put the brakes and the kibosh on this. I've given up all my soy. And as a ficaken (which is a lazy vegan who occasionally eats fish or cake), soy is a huge part of my diet. This removal complicates my already complicated, inconvenient diet even more. Sigh. Okay, I still let myself have soy cheese nachos, but those are medicinal for my friend dealing with It as a show of support. That's her favorite, and since she can't have them, I do when she has chemo for some extra mojo. For her, I'll risk it. But, for the rest of the time, I've got to find a way to fall in love with almond milk or the like. Effing Starbucks.

Wow

Wow. All I can say is, Wow! When have we ever seen anything like this? When have we ever felt such a swell of change and joy and optimism?

This is just the start. This is only the beginning. It's bright and shiny and new and mesmerizing. It is what we hoped for and worked for, prayed and begged for. It's a chance to hold our heads high -- proudly, again -- as Americans. Yes. We can.

We are still at war. Our economy is still in turmoil. This day does not change those realities. This day does not hide the work to be done...by all of us. This is just a start. But what a brilliant start.

I feel it in my core. In my heart of hearts. This is the beginning. The opportunity. The chance to live as we want. In a positive light. In a realness we haven't had in as far back as I can recall. With honor and respect, responsibility and ownership. We no longer need the smoke and mirrors of the past. Greed is not good. Debt will drag you down. Our environment cannot be ignored. It is time to innovate, change our outlook, our perspectives, our drives. We can change everything now. We've already started that process. Look at that man, the one we have as our leader and know that anything is possible. Like it or not.

Yes. We can. We can do anything. So, what do we really want to do? To have? I want more of this Wow to continue. For us to feel connected and strong. To be a country of community and fellowship and pride. To like each other. To come together. To know a time when things are easy because we aren't fighting for what we want. There's no need to fight or struggle when we work together. And there is much work ahead, work for us to do together.

I am ready, willing and able to do what I can to make this change permanent. To keep this Wow on tap. To remember this day always as the day we turned a heavy, leaden page to one that was crisp and clean and new. This is just the beginning. It's only the start. And I look forward to moving ahead and saying Wow often.

Control

Flipping through channels last night, I came across "Control". Whether or not you are familiar with or a fan of Joy Division, this is a must-see. The performances are astounding. The actors learned to play their instruments and sing, so the performances aren't dubbed. They are sublime.

This is the tragic story of a talented man, a short life, and an enduring impact. Put it on your Netflix. Set it on your TiVo. Do not miss this cinematic gem. That's an order.



Control itself is a funny thing. We lose it, give it up, or it ends up making us freaks. It's something you love (when you have it) or hate (when it's out of your hands or lorded over you). It's one of my favorite things. It's also something I'm learning to let go of. But, even that's a form of control, no?

Things are in a little bit of a spin for me at the moment. In a good way, though. My pet project just got a huge boost, which means a lot of work to do in a short time. Thus, my posts here will be a little less regular...but hopefully a bit better. There are no guarantees on that, however. I'm just being honest. I hope you will stay tuned, though. There will be interesting developments I hope to share here.

A lot of things will soon be out of my control. It's wonderful and knicker-twisting. I just hope I'll wear the dark circles well.

Forget It

I'm the kind of girl who needs a kettle with a whistle. I can go out to make a cup of tea, go back to the computer to quickly answer an email or write another paragraph while the kettle boils, and totally forget about what's on the stove. I used to have a charming Japanese kettle. Then, one day, I walked into my kitchen and found a steam bath. "Oh yeah," I said to myself. Tea. I was going to have a cup of tea. Instead, I had a facial. With the quaint, floral pot totally destroyed, I went out and got a kettle with some lungs. It screams at me almost daily.

I'm really diligent about keeping my calendar up-to-date, jotting down each appointment, details, addresses, etc. Then I'll forget to look at it (because I think I've memorized it), or will leave it (and the addresses) behind when I go off to an appointment. This is how I learned to master the BlackBerry email search function and swear by Google Maps.

These are side-effects of Writer's Brain. Friends might say it's more like "Head Up the Ass" syndrome, but really I'm just stuck in the story. Either way, it can result in regular FAILS.

I really never know what day it is. I mean, I can register the number on the calendar, and guess what day we might be on (it helps that I have street parking and must be hyper aware of when Wednesday and Thursday occur), but I really don't relate to the fact that today is Thursday the fifteenth of January in the year 2009. I'm so far behind in my life, I'm like still in 2002.

There's a certain disconnection that *normal* people would rightfully be concerned about. You would seek a diagnosis for behavior like this. I kind of wonder what Writer's Brain hides. At what point should I worry that I am heading toward dementia? I mean, I would totally forget to call the doctor to make the appointment, but there has to be a line, right?

Forget it. I mean, I will in another twenty minutes. But, if there's a writer in your life, have a little sympathy for their *challenges*. Be forgiving when you have to repeat things over, and over, and over, and...well, if you have a writer in your life you know. We don't do it on purpose. That would take planning, and, well, we forget to do that, too.

A Fabulous Fortnight

This year is only two weeks old and I am so in love with it, I could lick it. And, yes, I type that tentatively because I know that so many people are having a tough time. Two wars and a rotten economy are affecting us all. Friends of mine are dealing with job losses, major health crises, even deaths of their most cherished. I can't hug them enough, even if that embrace can only come through an email. I blame 2008, though. 2008 was rough. I think we are all breathing a collective sigh of relief that 2009 is here. Or maybe it's just me.

Let me share with you, before you think me too glib, that I only know for sure I have a job through next month. I'm hoping it will be extended a bit longer, but there is an air of the unknown going on in my life, too. Everything is in flux. The Jello of my life is still a thick, unset liquid. Nothing is yet concrete. But, that has not has not diminished the shine this year has brought me.

What has this year delivered in such a short time? Contentment. I know. You just threw up in your mouth a little, right? I could hear your groans from here. But, for an A-type Aries personality, contentment is HUGE. I have only flipped off a stupid driver twice this year. I know. Pick your jaw up off the floor. Granted, now that I'm not commuting to the outer reaches of Malibu, I hardly drive. But still. The streets are littered with crap drivers. The short little drive to the gym could bring on Carpel Tunnel. But the middle-finger reflex is no longer automatic.

The last nine years have been *challenging* for me to say the least. Going freelance right before the economy dipped the first time and the internet imploded probably wasn't the best timing. I've been digging myself out of that crater since I made that move. Being utterly stubborn (and allergic to office air), I sort of refused to give up on the life I wanted. Which is one of independence. Many friends suffered along the way with me. Understandably, they grew a little weary of hearing me say, "Sorry, I can't afford it," or kindly picking up the tab. Believe me, I didn't enjoy it. There is a deep level of humiliation in having a friend subsidize your bar tab. You know you are low when you get a Trader Joe's gift card in a "Thinking of You" card (which was so perfectly timed, I cried). Finally, though, there is a shift. Not necessarily a material one, but one of perspective and actually seeing the opportunities in front of me. Yes, there remains some instability and unknowns in my world. But this is the year.

This is the year for all of us. Don't you feel it, too? Even my friend who is going through chemo and all the *fun* that brings is loving 2009. There's just something in the air. And, even though it is only two weeks old, this is already the best year of my life.

Yes, I hear the groans. Apologies for inducing your gag reflexes. Deal with it. I'm happy. I hope you are, too.

Certain Things I Just Don't Understand

I'm not a hatemonger. Nor am I a country music fan. But with the return of Mann C^#tler to television, I found myself asking: How is that tacky broad allowed on the airwaves after all the lies and despicable things she has said over the years, but poor Natalie Maines utters twelve little words and the Dixie Chicks were made pariahs?


(Click here if you are viewing this from your Feedburner subscription.)

Sure, that happened in a different place in time. But so did this:


(Click here for the link.)

Haven't we moved beyond this type of hype? Didn't November show that we have had enough of that? And yet, there she is.

I suppose the Left has better things to do than boycott "The Today Show" and "The View" or picket the bookstores who bring that thing in to promote her particular brand of ignorance and hate. I guess all those who chose to vote for a man of color with the middle name of Hussein are able ignore the rantings of a loon and accept her freedom of speech, no matter how offensive it may be. Maybe that's the difference between the Right and the Left. We have better things to do, like bring down Proposition H8, welcome in a new President and era, focus on solutions to our economy and environment, and work on coming together rather than dragging us apart. And Mann should be most grateful for that.

Karma, however...well, that's something we can't help her with.

Happy

Okay. It spite of my Friday whine, things are going pretty good. Not much has changed. Nothing monumental has occurred. No lotto wins or such. No. I'm just happy. And oddly so.

It started on Friday, as a matter of fact. And it was just the little things. Beautiful day. Open pump at the cheap gas station. No line at the bank. And now, I'm getting miles on my debit card. For a girl who never has cash and will use her debit card to buy gum (and then get cash back), this is sort of fabulous thing. It makes me quite happy.

My venti-soy-latte from Starbucks was perfect. I had lunch over the Malibu surf and under blue skies at Gladstone's -- and was not shat on by the plethora of seagulls and pigeons that hover over the patio, which was sort of cause for celebration on its own. I had a nice dinner and was in bed early. I didn't even mind the midnight phone call that pulled me out of the deep sleep I just hit. It was worth it. I felt content.

The weekend was warm and quiet and easy and relaxing. Like I said, nothing monumental or anything in particular has happened to bring on this perma-grinned bliss. This isn't medicinal. Or liquid. As a matter of fact -- and not to be all TMI -- PMS didn't even bring it down a notch. See what I mean by odd?

Yes, things remain on hold. And, nothing's really changed. I didn't lose eight pounds overnight. I didn't wake up a multi-millionaire. I didn't win a Golden Globe or have dinner with the Clooney. A SAG strike looms (which could really put a hiccup in one of my projects), I haven't even begun to deal with my taxes (or input all my debit card usage into QuickBooks), and I'm super behind with work. None of that has diminished the happy. Which is terribly odd, don't you think? But, I'll take it. And, whatever this is, I hope it sticks. This simple form of happy is really kind of groovy. I hope it's like a new flu and you can catch it, too.

At Least There's Not Muzak Playing

I feel like I am on hold. Like someone pushed "pause" or something. And it's grating on my nerves. I'm sitting here, spinning my wheels, going nowhere, getting nothing accomplished. And it's putting me in a bit of a mood.

I'm from L.A., so I know about astrology. It's an elective in high school. Kidding. Seriously, people, we aren't *that* out there. Anyway, the dread Mercury Retrograde cycle is about to go down. From January 11th through February 1st things are going to go a bit hooey. No. I don't live my life by the moon cycles. Mercury Retrograde and my sign are the only things I pay attention to in astrology. I don't even check my daily forecast (though, I do a monthly *glance* here and here). I used to read about Mercury Retrograde in LA Weekly's "Rocky Horoscope". She would write about it and say, "We're all screwed!" I was all, What's she talking about? Everything's just fine. I was in the eight grade. Of course everything was fine.

I never heeded the warnings Rocky put out. Never paid attention to it. Until I was an assistant production coordinator on a low-budget horror flick during film school. Principle photography started on the day Mercury turned, and I've never been part of such a fustercluck in my life. Everything that could go wrong did. In spades. It was unbelievable. From that point on, I've paid attention to this little phase and simply batten down the hatches. I'm not looking for trouble, per se, I'm just *prepared* for it.

I don't know if what I'm feeling now is the MR influence, or just M-E. Things have already started to lag. Hence the griping about feeling stuck. But there are things on hold, and I find that I am kind of holding my breath. I have a meeting next week that may or may not change my life. I may or may not being going to New York the week after that. I may or may not have work after next month. None of that is particularly earth shattering. None of it is giving me angina. Which is the weird part. I'm not tense or nervous. I'm paralyzed, in a sense. I'm certainly stuck creativity wise. Not writer's block. I don't believe in that. More like constipation. Everything is just stuck in my head and I can't get it out. This sucks.

Whether it's a planetary influence or my own shizzle, I just want things to get moving again. I've got deadlines and whatnot.

Crazy 8

Eight years ago, on January 8th, I started this blog. I didn't call it a blog then, because nobody did. I wrote "columns". Because I didn't know what else to call them.

Back then, I has a fabulous, multi-page website -- replete with a rotating coffee mug -- built by a very generous friend. I loved that website. I kind of miss it (but Blogger is so much easier to deal with than HTML, especially at two ayem). I had loftier aspirations for RUAWAKE in the beginning. But I had two jobs and...well, this happened instead.

January 8th was no accident, though. I chose to launch on that date because: (1) I thought everyone would be too hungover to read on January 1st, and (2) the 8th is David Bowie's birthday. I'm a fan of the man and thought it would put good mojo on this little endeavor. After all, he didn't do too bad for himself. (Yes, I realize this is Elvis' birthday, too; I just prefer David's awesome sauce.) But...well, this happened instead.

I've written over 500 posts now. I know. I should be really super fricken good at what I do by now, right? There's been so little improvement because I always do it at the last minute. I'm a night writer. And I work best under deadline pressure. Not that this stuff is my "best". It's more like "done", which is, of course, the next best thing.

There's nothing more boring than a blog about blogging. And you would think that I would have come up with something a bit more *dazzling* for this mini milestone. But, it turns out that I didn't have to go for the gold because bronze is the appropriate gift for the eighth anniversary. See, it all works out. But, what I really wanted to say is, Thank you! Cheers for coming by and reading my rants, leaving comments and sending me emails. I adore the friendships I've forged within the blogosphere. What an amazing (if not crazy) community of very kind, funny and talented folks. Thank you for making these past 8 years much more interesting. I hope you'll continue to stop by. I think I just might be getting the hang of this now.

xo

Lick It

On Tuesday nights, I go to a Toso and chant with a group of fellow Buddhists. I know. You aren't supposed to be spiky or opinionated when you're a Buddhist, but I like shattering myths. Besides, it's my karma. And I've got a lot of it to work out. There are times I think I'm working off stuff from a future life along with the stuff I accrue by the minute. I know. What the hell do you care what my religion is, right? Seriously, do we all have to announce our religious and political affiliations all the time? (I'm a Democrat, by the way.) I usually only mention that I'm a Buddhist because of the bitter irony. (And, after two years of chanting, I'm still spiky and opinionated, but more aware of it.) Buddha rocks the humor, though. Like ninety-eight percent of his statues and other likenesses have him smiling/laughing. The rest, he's totally Zen.

Anyway, the Toso starts at seven and goes on to eight-thirty. If I'm not careful, I can easily miss the right time to have dinner, and then I'm left to grab grub way too late to be eating, especially when it comes out of a bag (because I'm so not going to cook at nine o'clock at night).

Theoretically, I'm on a diet. Usually, this means that I'm steaming up green veggies and eating tofu and brown rice. Right now, it means I'm having a green tea soy latte for breakfast, eating organic raisin bran cereal for lunch and having a Boca burger on Ezekiel bread for dinner. Not because I'm test driving an eating disorder or anything, I'm just really not in the mood to cook, I'm tired/lazy, and this menu gives me the illusion that I'm kind of being healthy. (Let me enjoy the denial/delusion at least until I catch up with work.) I am for sure getting my fiber, though.

Sadly, I had run out of cereal, and I'd had the Boca for lunch. Sigh. Going off to chant without dinner isn't fun. So I swung by a Starbucks for a half-calf soy latte to tide me over. Only problem was, they accidentally gave me real milk, which gave me a mild asthma attack about fifteen minutes into the Toso after only a couple of sips (and, yes, I did think to myself, Hmmm, this tastes a little off). Chanting while wheezing is totally good times. (I did go back to that 'Bucks and got a kindly refund, and a coupon for a freebie. See why I can't stay off the sauce?)

After leaving the chant and returning the tainted latte, I was starving and exhausted from trying to breathe. And so, I went to the Baja Fresh on the corner of Lincoln and Wilshire to get two shrimp tacos. Kind of lo-cal/healthy, right? (Go ahead, lie to me. When I'm on a diet, that's the only time I want to be lied to.)

As I was walking toward the entrance, I looked into the car making the corner and heading toward me, and saw this chick in the passenger seat licking the seat belt strap. I stopped in my tracks and took a closer look. Yep, she was licking it. She stopped when we made eye contact.

Can anyone tell me why someone over the age of three might do that? She was definitely over twenty and looked like a typical local collegiate. Seriously, WTF?

I lost my appetite for about five seconds, then recovered. It had been a long time since lunch. As I stood waiting for my tacos, I recalled another weird sighting I had a couple of years ago, and a reminder of why you really shouldn't look too closely into nearby cars when you are in L.A. (or Santa Monica, which I was technically in at the time). You never know what you might catch a glimpse of, and the EEEWWWW! factor it might bring.

Click here if you care to join me for a stroll down that memory lane.

Little Miracles

I believe in magic. I always have. I think it's the best part of life.

My paternal grandmother was a pray-er. She got me started on the "Now I lay me down to sleep" prayer early. I said it looking at the nightlight she gave me, because I was also afraid of the dark. I believed in boogie men, too. I was also terribly shy. No one believed I was shy, because I was also brazenly bold. It's tough being a dichotomy when you are two and three years old. What can I tell you? I'm a little complicated. And it was a miracle for me to leave my room sometimes when we had company (if newbies were involved).

I think it was one of the goodie-goodie girls who went to the Southern Baptist Church I lived next door to who enlightened me to the fact that you could pray for stuff. I remember being about five and praying really, really hard to wake up with the powers of Jeanie (as in "I Dream of..."). When that didn't happen, I went for the nose-wrinkling mojo of Samantha (as in "Bewitched"). Another fail. So I requested/prayed for/demanded the power of flight, or at least to be invisible when I wanted to be. I was also rather nosy as a kid, and I hated it when I was sent out of the room so the grown-ups could talk. Finally, I realized I was destined to be a mere mortal without any supernatural talents. I'm still getting over the devastation.

That didn't stop me from believing in magic, though. Not like the silly pull-money-from-your-ear magic (which I never bought), but the stuff that angels and fairy godmothers could bring about. Little things like getting an A on a test I didn't study for. Or walking a straight line from the kitchen door, past my mother sleeping on the sofa and to my room without her noticing I was a tad tipsy. You'd think the hiccups would have given me away, but that's magic for you. Or maybe parental denial.

I've always gotten a kick out of getting a call from the person I was thinking of, or finding a parking spot when I'm desperate, or somehow defying physics and being on time when I was running so far behind. This magic can be miraculous.

I've gone big with my prayers and had those answered, too. Regularly, I recite my gratitude for each. But it's the little miracles that happen all the time tickle me so. Nabbing that perfect parking space is always a blessing in L.A. Or when The Gap gives you an additional 30% off when you had no business shopping anyway ($8 jeans are a miracle no matter how you slice it). A job offer right when you need it. An email announcing another step forward. A phone call that goes from tears to laughter. Being so connected to someone that you feel them even though they are hundreds of miles away. Realizing your mistakes and weaknesses, and moving to a place beyond that. Opening up and letting go. These are the little miracles that I adore. And they are what keep me believing in magic. Even if I still can't fly or turn invisible.

Happy Monday! (And that's not dripping with sarcasm.)

Oh. My. God. I never thought I would ever say that I was happy to see a Monday (that wasn't my birthday, Christmas, New Year or any other national holiday), but I am so glad today is here. Because it's like now the New Year can officially begin. Now, we can really start on a new page and embrace the clean slate that we perceive January 1 provides.

It's kind of exciting to get to do it all over again, only better and perhaps with more wisdom. The days will all be the same, only the number of the year has changed. The events will differ, unique challenges will come into play, but there will also be wonderful surprises. And that's what I love about New Year.

I feel like I can finally exhale. Ahhhhh. There are so many irons in the fire that were put *on hold* until the first of the year (which actually means the second week of January, because no one wants to deal with anything right away; they are all afraid of what they will walk into when they get to their desks). Either way, now we can start making some progress and catch up from the lost time. This pleases me to no end (and please remind me of this when I am pissed off next week that no one has picked up the balls -- thanks).

This is going to be a great year. I can feel it already. And, no, it's not the sugar high from the Christmas candy. This has to be *the* year. Like I said, I'm demanding that it will be groovy. I know you are just like me (I don't mean that as an insult), and you've been working hard on your goals and you want to start seeing some progress. Nothing is as frustrating as having your fate in others' hands. I effing hate that. But, it's a fact of life. Patience isn't a virtue of mine -- but, it's forced upon me quite frequently. This year, however, I'm taking fate and life by the bollocks and shall squeeze, ever so gently, until they hand over the goods. Because it is bloody well time that happens. For all of us. And, why not? What have we got to lose? (Easily said for a single, childless chick who rents, I know.) It's just time. And today starts it off.

Happy Monday. So glad you are here. Please get us off to a fantabulous start (because I'll be so embarrassed if you blow).

Just in case, here's some Happy Mondays that don't blow. xo

Every Day Was Like Sunday

Let me just start off by saying that I was never a fan of The Smiths (or The Cure or Depeche Mode). I know. That's blasphemy for some of you. And God created KROQ just for you. They were just too whiny. Blah blah blah gloom. Blah blah blah love. Blah blah blah gloomy love. Give me Bauhaus or Bowie if you want androgyny in your music. Reznor if you require a synthesizer. But that's not really what this post is about.

For the past two weeks, I've been feeling like every day has been Sunday. And that damn Morrissey song has been ringing in my head. Every night I would go to bed thinking, "Crap. Tomorrow's laundry day. Do I have quarters? No, wait, today was Sunday. No, that can't be, because yesterday was Sunday. Farg, what the hell day it is anyway?!?" And you can't rely on television to guide you, because all the shows are on hiatus. Everything just slowed down. But there's still work to do the next day. Yet, you can't really get any work done because some people are on vacation, but others are on deadline. It's been confusing as all hell. And I'm looking forward to getting back to business as usual.

Jeebus. I can't believe I just typed that.

I've never had so much time on my hands and been so unproductive. Maybe it's my heater. I should probably have it checked for fumes. These past two weeks have been a massive, pseudo-hibernation, and I am so over it. And I've been craving brunch martinis like they are going out of style, but everyone was either out of town or at work, and some were questioning why I wanted a cocktail for breakfast on a Wednesday. "But it feels like Sunday, doesn't it?" Then I was told that the first step is admitting you have a problem. Well, the only problem I'm having is that the days drag on like a month of Sundays. But, after this Sunday, a proper Monday will finally arrive. And it scares me just a little to think I'm actually looking forward to that.

2009 Will Be Mine! (And yours and ours.)

I don't make New Year's resolutions. Phooey on those. What's the point? Aren't they always the same: Eat better, exercise more, pay off bills, get a better job/home/partner? Throw in travel, weight loss or quitting smoking and I think you run the gamut of the resolutionary game. And, while you might start off with a bang, by the time those twelve months pass, one would be lucky to check off a single item on the to-be-resolved list.

Instead, I would make "goals" for the year. That's a bit different than resolutions. More direct, I would say. Write X amount per day. Finish specific projects. Actually take a vacation. Get a new sofa. Do something with backyard. I tend to check off about three or four of my top six. Last year, however, things were only half done. Not that I got half the list accomplished. No. More like everything on the list made it to mid-point then...

For 2009, I'm changing my ways altogether. I still won't make resolutions or even a set of goals. I am making DEMANDS! Really. Why be nice about this? Where have all these namby-pamby resolutions and goals gotten us anyway?

So I am demanding a very fine 2009. Free of BS of any sort. Opportunities galore. Dreams realized. Fortunes made. Losses cut. Love reigning supreme. A wonderful twelve months full of joy and granted wishes. We've had enough hard times, setbacks and disappointments, don't you think? Just enough gray to tarnish the gold. Now, it's time to shine again.

Happy New Year. May it be all you want it to and more. Dammit.