2016: A Space Oddity 

“No one feels another's grief, no one understands another's joy. People imagine they can reach one another. In reality they only pass each other by.” - Franz Schubert

I've never had a particularly hard On for Schubert, but I have always appreciated this quote. Try as you might, the only person who will ever really Get You is You, which is fitting, because at the time of your death, the only person you can be sure will be in attendance is...YOU guessed it! But I don't mean to start off my 2016 predictions so (Ed) Griml(e)y. Let's begin! 

I see my coffee and I want to drink it Black...

In case you weren't aware, I began drinking coffee for the same reason I began smoking cigarettes. I thought it made me look more grown-up and it complimented my feigned interest in the newspaper nicely. Over the six years I have been drinking the stuff, I have kept to a fairly usual formula - Two creams, Three sugars. Why two creams? I don't know. I guess I just like dual-wielding tiny packs of creamer. I have never given much thought into the effects of coffee. The supposed benefits. The various stains. I just sort of do it for the sake of doing it, but beginning January 1st, 2016, I'm going to take a major step towards Grown Ass Womanhood. I'm going to start drinking my coffee black. Oh, I know it'll probably taste like an ashtray for a while, but imagine the impressed look on my mechanic's face as I pour myself a cup of his run o' the mill Joe and sip that bitch straight from the tap. Adult As Fuck.

Did you know that by turning off the light in your bathroom, staring into your mirror and saying "Bloody Mary" three times, some spicy bitch dressed like a celery stick will appear and cure your hangover?

While I have heard such tales, for whatever reason, I have never thought to actually try one. The ingredients seem very unappealing. I'm not big on tomato juice. I'm not big on celery. I'm not big on horseradish. I'm not big on vodka. Mixing all these things into a cloudy red pubescent mess just seems like a bad time. However, in keeping with my Grown Ass Woman theme, I figure now is probably as good a time as any to acquire a taste for it. Much like my venture into Scotch and Bourbon, both of which have been delightfully successful, I'm hoping to climb up the tasty pole of variety until I reach some sick flag of appreciation where I actually Want to be hungover, just so I can suck down a delicious Sporty (Level Protection) Spice drink. 

I'm on a plane/I can't complain.

Oh, I could complain good and plenty, but I'm told there are magical drugs to knock out folks like me who would rather drink something that looks like an aborted fetus than step foot on a fucking skypedo. I have a serious problem with heights, ipso facto - I have a serious problem with planes. But it's not just the 30,000 feet that scare me. It's how goddamn precarious the whole situation is! It's a machine. It's a fucking flying machine with a million moving parts all designed to keep this chunk of metal in the air. This should really frighten more people. What's more is that there are no unnecessary parts on a plane. All those moving things I just said? You need Alluvem. And if one should fail, you get some fuckin' inflatable assurance that everything will be alright if you'll simply remain calm. And that's just mechanical fears! What about the pilots? Those so's and so's who work for hours and hours, losing sleep, drinking martinis between flights, fantasizing about what must have happened to Amelia Earheart? Factor in compact rows of strangers and the relative unpredictability of the weather and you have yourself what most people consider to be the normal hazards of flying. Well, I am going to try my very best to overcome my very reasonable fear of heights/flying, though I don't know yet where I'll be floating. Somewhere close to get my feet wet, perhaps. Maybe Lubbock. 

Living with Depression

That's right. I'd like it if someone else lived with me. Well, I should rephrase that. Nick and I have talked about taking on a roommate to ease rent costs with the recent addition of our Liam Nissan and, very recently, our Tit Van 8. We have lived in our cozy little apartment for nearly four years now and while it has served our every need, both in space and relative location, it sure would be nice to get a bigger place for less money. Do things like that exist? I'm not getting my hopes up, but if you're reading this and you're a responsible adult with a steady job, no warrants, and a willingness to bond with a dog who smells like pee, then give us a call! I sort of envision it this way... There is a sort of Creation Room where myself, Nick and whoever can go to make music or write or sketch or whatever the hell. Then we have our respective bedrooms and a full bar waiting for us in the kitchen. I want all this for less than what I am paying now. I sometimes have unrealistic expectations; living with me is not easy. 

I suppose that's really all, as far as what I think might actually happen in the coming year. If you'll notice, I arranged these in order of likelihood, starting with Very Likely to Yeah, Sure..ly. Wish me luck this December as I prepare for dark brews ahead.