I didn’t do much on New Years Eve, our wedding anniversary.
I spent most of the night watching movies – Bridget Jones Baby and Sausage Party – and a new to us TV series, Baskets (8/10 so far) and my head in a well situated cake cloche vomiting up some not so delicious the second time around aged cheddar dip and chips before I retired to the bathroom for the real fun.
Same as last year really.
I was hoping to be whisked away to an island holiday and be worshipped for the goddess that I am but the tickets must have got lost in the mail along with all of our motherfucking Christmas presents that still haven’t turned up.
Whatevz. We still have many more days in this glorious new year that people on Instagram and Facebook tell me is bright and shiny and new and going to be THE BEST EVER, if you just block all the references to Trump and Syria and Paleo Pete.
I don’t make New Years Resolutions any more because, well HAVE WE MET? Heh, so I just ride this life by the seat of my non existent pants and drag you guise along for the ride.
So lets go.
Ride on motherfuckers.