Ramblin'

got too rowdy when we were playing and pretty much tried to maul me (as much mauling as a teensy dog can do, anyway) and Selma got angry and growled and moved him out of the way.

And it’s only just occurring to me how long it’s been since I let anybody fight for me.

I can’t even put into words how much I hate New Years.  Can’t even.  Every year I kick myself for not finding somebody who actually has plans and asking if I can please babysit their children because I don’t even want to bother.  In the movies it’s such a special day.  Sally is alone at a party and Harry sprints through New York City in his sweats just so he can get to her by midnight and tell her how much he loves her.  Really, rom coms?  Because usually what happens to me is I panic about not having fabulous plans and when I finally do get plans I compare them to the plans of others (“He’s taking me to LA!”  ”We’re renting a hotel room with fifty Ralph Lauren models and partying!”  ”I’m buying a private jet to fly me over to Paris!”) and mine, naturally, pale in comparison.  

Then I spend the next few days dreaming up ways in which my night will be sparkling and glorious, how this year, damn it, I will stick to that New Years resolution even though I haven’t had the best track record these past two decades (try 0 for 20), how I will look beautiful and he will look handsome and it probably won’t go as planned but it’ll all still be fantastic, blah blah blah.  

What usually happens is I have some freak out because I either a) have no plans and feel like a loser, or b) have plans that go dreadfully awry or fall apart completely.  I am perpetually Sally, only Harry does not come for me and I do not even get to the party in the first place.  So actually maybe I’m not Sally at all.  

I’m Erika.  And I can’t stand this stupid day.

For anyone to ever ever meet so as a result everyone gets hurt.

In another news I went nuts and dyed my hair.