At first I wrote a list of all the things I was thankful for in the past year - a summary of blessings bestowed on the 27-year-old version of myself. I thought rather than focusing on what I do not have, I'd start the 28 off with a concrete foundation solidified by blabbing it to y'all. When I wrote it all out, I realized that it might make readers gag or fall asleep or both. Wouldn't you so much rather read about how between all the shopping and writing and friend making and downward facing dog, I am continually emotionally tormented? Um, obvi.


This is so ridiculous, I should be embarrassed. So I told my current "emotional tormentor" that for my birthday I wanted a two-part date that included: A ) us having a birthday cocktail and B ) during the birthday cocktail scheduling a follow-up dinner date. He half agreed because he has some weird issues right now where he claims he is "not going out with girls" or something. (No, he's not gay. Yes, he likes me. There was mention of fear of commitment. Fear of commitment is a bullshit fear. You are committed to paying your rent, going to work, walking your dog. You are committed to your friends, mother, laundry guy, baseball team, lucky boxers, lucky stilettos, Entourage. You actually do not have a fear of commitment. You likely have raging insecurity issues and actually fear of abandonment, but I digress.)

From what I know he really isn't currently going out with girls; but he has to be sleeping with somebody right? So I pulled out my favorite vintage Dior Chapeaux detective hat and did a little poking around just to find out he isn't sleeping with somebody - at least not the same person consistently. That's odd, I thought. And he sure has hell isn't sleeping with me. Currently, we have been on 1 1/2 dates over an unacceptably long period of time. According to my detective calculations, at this rate we can sleep with each other sometime around mid-February.


For the love of god, can we hurry this along already? I mean whatever! I get it.  I'm intense, intimidating, yadda, yadda, yadda, but seriously? Get the hell over it and quit being such a... (I might make a nasty necrophilia reference, but I would never say the "P" word.) Thus, my unprecedented patience is in it's final act. The alternate ending being that I just get over it because it would be an absolute travesty to mankind for me to die of sexual deprivation. Although it would make for an excellent film.

In the filthy meantime, do I take Ms. Yessica's advice and drink from my tired trough? After all, I was president of my high school Planet Patrol because I am best in the world at recycling.

Emma Dinzebach