Skip to main content

A New Year's Something or Other...

I'm so burnt out on parties. Isn't that warped of me to say?

I am sick of planning them.

It's New Year's Eve tomorrow and, this is going to come out wrong, but I'd cancel all my plans with friends to curl up on the couch with J.M. and watch Anderson Cooper and Kathy Griffin on TV if I wouldn't look like a total bitch for it.

It's just that last weekend I got a brutal taste of what it feels like to go unappreciated and that thoroughly burns me. But I'm moving on from that as best I can.

I just don't feel like working for this fiesta at the ONF House. I don't want to put in any effort. But as shitty as this is going to make many of my friends sound, I can't count on them to provide the things any party would need -- like food.

Every time we get together I request that people bring things. No one ever does. Every time we get together the party's at Angela's apartment and her food gets eaten, her drinks are had. And I'm the only one who ever provides any food that doesn't come directly from Angela's pantry.

I can't say enough how much easier it is on everyone involved if the people attending a party would just bring something digestible. I am not wealthy. I can't afford to feed myself every day, much less ten people around a bonfire for New Year's. And neither can Angela.

And I don't know how my friends (only some of them) think I can. The reason we have games nights at Angela's apartment is because no one wants to blow thirty bucks going to dinner and a movie. We get that. Everyone gets that. But sometimes I end up blowing thirty bucks anyway on food for everyone. And I definitely know Angela does -- because people eat straight out of her kitchen. And no, she's not complaining. I am.

I just don't get it.

And this year everyone wants to do something for New Year's and I'm more than excited about that, I even volunteered to have it at my house. But why do I feel like if I don't stock my kitchen with shit for everyone to eat then we'll all go hungry through the celebration? Oh yeah, because no one's ever come through on the food thing before.


meh.


it gets me real pissed off and it makes me wanna say . . . fuck.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Someone busier than you is running right now.

I have a confession to make to my spark buddy, Melissa: I did not go for a run last night. I'm terrible, I know. Here's what else I know: 1. I have never made such great progress in getting into shape as I did when I was jogging regularly. 2. My knee starts to stay in a constant state of noticeable discomfort after I've jogged for over a week. 3. I miss the liberating feeling of running. 4. I miss the empowerment of cross-training (biking, swimming, running) So I've been perusing the intarwebz for motivational media this morning. And while I hate Nike for their shoddy work ethic, jacked up prices, and apparently tiny clothes, I love them for their motivational material. I just have yet to find any media more inspiring to me than the following advertisements. And ... "I am addicted. I've collected footsteps before dawn. Seen places I never knew existed. Run to the moon and back. Been a rabbit for the neighborhood dogs. Obeyed the voice in my head. Let music carr

The heat is on...

I've got to admit, now that people are actively involved with following and commenting on this blog, I feel pressured to write legitimately interesting stuff. Some things that peeve me: 1. I typically don't complain about misspellings of my name, but after three years, my co-worker still doesn't know my name is spelled with one L. Whenever he writes a message for me, he directs it to "All-" ugh. Initially I thought, maybe this message is for ALL of us. Wrong. It's specifically for me, he just doesn't know it only has one L. And I bet a million pesos he also doesn't finish spelling it out because he doesn't know it ends in i-s-o-n. I mean, it is a tricky name after all. 2. I went grocery shopping yesterday. I had a list of five things to get in Publix: dog food, dog treats, Gatorade, wine, toilet paper. I came out with 15 things (I counted because I wondered if I could squeeze into the express check-out... nope). I came out with 15 things -- NONE of

603.

I never told you this story, but when I was a three, I had to have physical therapy for a broken femur. Every single day we drove to PT, we went over a small, fairly insignificant overpass with had a shopping plaza below it. The address for the shopping plaza was just barely visible over the bridge. And it was 603. And every single day as we went over, I would excitedly blurt out the numbers to show my mom I recognized them. This turned into a game for us. And eventually, a tradition. Fast forward into my "more grown up" ages ... like ... high school. And, if you could be a fly in my truck, you would have without a doubt witnessed me driving over the overpass by myself and, sure enough, I'd just say it ... "six oh three." Shortly after high school is when I met Seth, Tommy, Leif, Troy, and Jonesy in Gainesville. Still, there was no connection. Their friends and families came to visit, we then bonded, they returned home, and still, nothing. It wasn't until th