Being John Malkovich Goodman

Christmas 2008 was everything I hoped it would be: family, friends, great food, relaxing. It was also stressful, uncomfortable, tiring, and humiliating. But if there's one thing I've learned this year, it's to appreciate the things in my life that have real value, and by that I mean expensive Christmas gifts. What did you think I meant, love and goodwill towards man? Well ha, ha, ha. I laugh in your face.

It feels too early to make weight-related resolutions for 2009 that I won't actually keep, but I'm comfortable with that. It's time. And when I say "it's time", I mean "it's time for me to publicly declare my intentions to do something that I may or may not follow through on". So let's do this.

My goals in 2009 surround money and weight, two of my least favorite things; they are also my least favorite things to talk or write about. Sometimes I feel like my bank account can't get any redder, or the clothes in my closet can't possibly get smaller, but then they're all HA HA FUCK YOU YES WE CAN. But Denial is a powerful ally when salad is your sworn enemy; Denial is the kind of friend who says you look great while hand-feeding you bacon cheeseburgers. It's the accomplice who keeps all mirrors and bank statements out of my home, the verbally-abusive boyfriend I continue to make excuses for. Well from now on--or maybe just today, or possibly just until lunch--I'M GOING TO TAKE A STAND. Although truthfully, standing takes effort, and I just don't have that kind of energy.

The money thing just has to do with finding work, which is challenging right now; I've sent out 79 resumes since September, which ends up being about five per week. All for naught. But, as the Esq said, Obama will be in office soon, and candy will rain down from the heavens. When I heard that, I laughed for so long, it almost felt like exercise, or what others have described to me as exercise. And it kind of hurt.

Speaking of hurt, I sat down on my grandmother's custom-made redwood bench at Christmas dinner, and the fucking thing broke; my ass karate-chopped the shit out of that bench, clean in half. Granted, two other people were on the bench, but THANK YOU HUMILIATING WAKE-UP CALL. Brockoli was on the opposite end of me, and the unfortunate Esq was in between us, the thin white meat to our brioche-like bodies; he went down like the Titanic. Luckily, we had inquisitive little people at the Kids' Table, wondering why I broke the bench and ruined Christmas. I waited to sob my fat, ironic tears in the bathroom later, which was good because they would have broken my dinner plate, too. I'm glad my computer keyboard is made of stronger stuff.

Enter all of the hideous holiday party photos of me; when did I start looking like John fucking Goodman? Whoreleen even has video of me, and I can't handle video of me, not even when I look GOOD; I thought there was nothing worse than looking like John Goodman. Then I saw myself dancing. So I'll just use those mediums as motivation, although right now it just motivates me to live by myself in a self-cleaning cave filled with an endless supply of cake. Cake and fifty-dollar bills.

Chef Em had the logical observation that if someone doesn't like how they look in photos, they should get out of the picture. I agree, in some cases. But I have a friend who avoids taking photos in the same way she would avoid an army of zombies heading straight for her, and it's SO. ANNOYING. At a certain point, you're spending more time avoiding cameras--which, with today's cell phone capabilities, are EVERYWHERE--than having any fun. And my friend has become That Girl, the one with major social issues that play out in front of everyone; it's tiresome after a while. Just take the stupid picture, or stay in your room if you can't play nicely with other people; I don't want to be like her. So I might as well lose a few pounds and keep my social skills, is what I'm saying.

The Esq and I have been talking about our future, and I'd like to be around for it. I'd like to feel healthier, and assume that having confidence would be better than thinking of it as a concept for other people. I say it every year, but this time I mean it (I say that, too):

2009 IS MY YEAR.

I would also like to win the Lottery. Thank you.