I was trying to think of something quippy but I am having major digestive issues and can’t be bothered with mental stimulation. I kind of fucking hate New Years. Firstly, bodycon dresses with mesh inserts hurt my feelings and the pressure associated with the holiday gives me anxiety. My best New Years was spent in a onesie with a vintage Bravo marathon and sexual spooning with my dog. We are forced to reflect and think about things we are supposed to change for a better “new year” and it all reads very basic.
Girls in Uggs and Michael Kors watches EVERYWHERE start posting cryptic Facebook statuses and video collages of their 2014 highlights. Gag me. To be completely honest, my year has been the best of my life romantically, career-wise and digestively. If it ain’t broke don’t fix it right? Sure I could start caring about my physical health, drinking more water and be a more compassionate being but that all feels a bit pushy. I believe we all have minor room for improvement and in the spirit of all things basic (and nothing else to write about) I have compiled a bitch-approved list of New Years resolutions.
Be kind to kind people. I am not that delusional, I know I can be a huge bitch. I like to think I am just overly direct but sometimes I have a razor tongue and heightened adrenaline levels that turn me into fucking Medusa. I often get stereotyped as some type of Regina George life ruiner and it’s just not true… count the homecoming princess tiaras. I am the most verbally abusive to people I really love. I am currently working on this with my therapist. How you treat people who can do NOTHING for you says more than how you treat anybody else.
Good Credit is kind of important. My father has permanently ingrained that “if you don’t have good credit, you have nothing” this statement is incredibly dramatic and fueled by serious Judaism. My credit hasn’t been stellar but my shoe game has always been incredible. I was on a Neimans Most Wanted list for a solid 4 months and it was a rough go. This is something I have been tirelessly trying to improve despite the fact that I am still toting a 3-year-old Time Warner Cable box a la Kristen Doute… I will do just about anything to avoid going to Camarillo (that is where the drop-off location is… Google it).
Talk shit, get hit. If there is one pearl of wisdom I have learned from watching The Real Housewives is that people will almost ALWAYS hear what you say behind their back. For some fucked reason, people use gossip as a bonding tool. I prefer discussing my digestive system and extensively analyzing Vanderpump Rules over dirty martinis but whatever. Expect anything you say about someone to be pulled out of a manila folder at a reunion special and read to the subjects face and you will be a much more careful bitch.
Remember, most of the shitty things that happened in 2014 are your own fault. Deaths and natural disasters aside (too real?) most of the things we complain about in retrospect right before New Years are our own fucking fault. Still harboring tumultuous vibes with an ex? Your fault. Unhappy with your career? Your fault. Working a grade a muffin top? Your fault. As soon as a bitch realizes that she is the sole CEO of their own fucking life, you can rid yourself of the less than fabulous factors and strut forward into 2015 (hopefully in shoes that you didn’t have to bounce a check for).
HAPPY NEW YEAR BITCHES. NEW YEAR, SAME BITCH.