In 2012, I was really killin' it with this blog. In 2012, you really got to see Emily play. Well, as much as someone my age could 'play' while living with their parents in a 55+ retirement community. So, mostly riding around in a golf cart, joining in on the Metamucil conversations and being tucked into bed by 9pm.
2013 promised much of the same fervor until I had to get a real job and my blog started sucking wind. Such was the trend for 2014 as well.
2015 was weak af. It's 1/17/16, and I managed to write one blog post last year. And, technically, it's not even a real blog post. It's something I wrote separately and was just like "let me do a little Control C and Control V action here and boom, tricky way to pass this off as a blog post." I mean, it's a swell blog post and I love my darling parents dearly, but it wasn't intended for here...until I needed to make myself look mildly better.
It's like I blinked and it's the beginning of 2016. I can't believe I've been in Florida for over four years. I'm 33 now. 33!!! Read my blog header/description and you'll realize how pathetic that sounds coming from someone my age. Oh well, as my jacked up/blown out tattoo says, "it's all an adventure." Indeed indeed.
Speaking of being old, a few days ago my mom told me the 'new age' to start getting mammograms is 40. I said "oh, ok, that's the age I thought you were supposed to be." And, her reply was "you haven't been getting mammograms??" She said this with the same inflection one might when berating another for leaving the milk on the counter overnight. As though I've been craftily maneuvering my way around the mammogram system for years. Uhhh, don't you think that's something I might have recounted with you mother dearest? Like "hey mom, I had my first mammogram today, it was the worst thing ever." My own flesh and blood, who I talk to and/or text with daily, thought I've been getting mammograms on the reg. She thought I was at the age in which I've already received at least one, if not more than one. I mean, in a certain regard, it's kind of flattering because the notion that my boobs might have enough volume to actually fit in a mammogram machine is rather complimentary. But alas, apparently I have 7 years to go before that fun adventure shall begin.
Anyway, it's the start of a new year - woo hoo! My new year's resolutions are always the same: avoid mammograms (jk, jk), eat healthier, exercise more and drink less. I'm not terrible with any of these things, but I can always be better. 17 days in and I've eaten the same, exercised the same and discovered I now like dirty martinis. So really, I've gone backwards. It's ok, at least I'm not like "I've really gotta start doing less cocaine and less stripping." I don't feel too bad.
Re: dirty martinis
I'm really a pretty non-picky eater, but there are a few things I hate: caraway seeds (straight from the devil), cilantro (a.k.a. soapy mint) and tuna fish with mayo (sickening). Green olives used to be on this list. However, they seemed the most palatable out of these four items, so every once in a while - let's just say every 24th bloody mary for those of you looking for specifics - I'd do a 'green olive check-in'. Pop one in my mouth and see if I still hate them. The answer always used to be 'yes, pure hatred through and through' until recently. I gave that green olive a whirl again and ta da, I liked it. I'm not sure why - I think it's just because I like salty food and maybe my taste buds are changing. Maybe I'll be eating tuna mixed with cilantro on rye bread in no time. OMG, THAT'S SO SILLY, I'D DIE. So yeah, then I made the small leap that I might like dirty martinis now too. And, I did. The End.
I'm going to be better with my blog in 2016. It's going to be one of my new year's resolutions. I've been very good with my new year's resolutions.