Month: December 2014

Year Of The Curmudgeon

Among the cold avalanche of opinions in this fictional world we call the ‘internet’, I, for one, believe that resolutions are for complete and total hacks.

Putting goals off in November with the excuse ‘There’s always next year!’ is an ill-executed (not to mention lazy) way to think. You may not even get a next year, for there is always that chance you’ll choke on a turkey bone at Thanksgiving dinner, or get run over by a an irate relative who had way to much rum in their eggnog.

Why do we do this to ourselves, anyway? Why do we set goals knowing that we have a whole 365 days to pretend we still care? Most of us forget what we had even promised ourselves by day 47, as we plunge deep into another sugar-coated coma of ‘exiled’ dietary goodies, or neglect the duties to renew a dusty gym membership crying as an unused plastic tab on your key chain.

The point is, humans are not machines, and we beat ourselves up daily for the one ability we excel at the most: Failing.

So as we raise our hands in an oath to cut-off, take-up, or just-try-once, remind yourself that we can’t do everything to our hollowed hearts desire. Don’t worry about the have-done’s so much as the actual doing part. You’ll thank yourself, your friends even more, who are sick of you talking about Crossfit when you haven’t gone to a single session yet.

For those of you who do aim to fail, fail beautifully and repeatedly – Because if New Year’s resolutions were a race to lose, we would all be winners.




as subtle as a cocaine fix
as brittle as a tick
excuse my poor vocabulary
i am running out of shtick

this terrace can’t confine
our secrets
our wine
we’ll let God judge our indecency
he could surely use a laugh


Merry Christmas x

Here’s Hoping

Find a beach that isn’t eaten by the overflowing Atlantic, jot down cuss words along with a few romantic, dark, and fanciful ideas, smoke a joint, drink gin out of a giant bottle and pretend that everything I feel is more or less a pin prick in a world filled with actual walking ones, and maybe, just maybe, fall in love, live like there is no tomorrow, show creations to the masses, cry in terror, laugh in response, and die happily ever after, face-first into a garden of rhododendrons that had been planted early that spring shortly after husband decided to fade away, but not before making a pass at the attractive Ecuadorian nurse as she replaced his catheter for the third time that morning.

Easy, right?