Told you I would vomit.
Now let's get a few things straight, 2013. I'm not going to make a new years resolution. Because why should I? You're just a baby, baby. So yeah, I'm not going to wear a bra as often as I should. I'm not going to get my shit together. I'm going to get hammered every time I have writers block and pray the combination of champagne and bud light creates some sort of creative elixir. (It doesn't.)
I'm going to remember how he didn't ask if I was okay during hurricane Sandy and how much I fucking hate him for that any time I have any ping of longing for that piece of shit. And you know what? I'm going to have sex again, and it's going to be sloppy, and weird, annnnnnnnd, sometimes (a lot of times) I'm going to be drunk. And sometimes (a lot of times) it's going to be with a guy I don't love (or even like) for that matter.
I'm going to vomit, a lot. I'm going to fart. I'm going to fart in public. I'm going to make fart jokes in public. I'm going to cut all my shitty friends out of my life, especially the ones that don't realize how fucking shitty they are. I'm going to admit that I'm not over it. I'm going to eat weird things, with other weird things.
I'm going to write. I'm going to write drunk, sober, naked, half naked, while having sex (I'll explain later), but I still won't call myself a writer, because in my mind, I am still not a writer. I'm going to use bathing suits as underwear, I'm going to accidentally dye my hair purple and cry about it for weeks. Actually I'm just going to cry, like, a lot. (Thank you, birth control). I'm going to be in a relationship with Hellmann's on facebook.
So basically, 2013. I'm going to stay the exact-fucking-same. You are not going to change me, because you are just a year, and let's get real, if I really wanted to change, you, good sir, would not be the reason.