Dear Sarah McLachlan,

Let me start by saying you, Ms. McLachlan, have an impossible name to spell. I spent upwards of thirty whole seconds trying to ascertain whether or not that word grouping was properly spelled or a jumble of letters. That, however, is merely my issues with words, Sarah McLachlan. See, Sarah, I’m sorta illiterate.

Anyway.

I’m here today, Sarah McLachlan, to talk, not about your complicated name, but about you. Namely, how you ruined my day.

I’ll admit, Ms. Sarah McLachlan, that I, like most people with vaginas in 1993, that your album, Fumbling Toward Ecstasy was a favorite of mine (it seemed that there were two types of girls in the world at the time. Those who listened to Tori Amos and those who listened to you, Sarah McLachlan. And I, if I may, never was a cornflake girl.).

Mostly, because your lilting voice sang about all of the angsty shit that those of us who were both angsty and in possession of a vagina felt. Sadness. Emotions. Lame-ish songs (sorry, not your fault) that we could be all, OMG SARAH MCLACHLAN KNOWS WHAT I FEEEEEEELLLSSS.

I can’t say I much followed your career after I sacked up, but I was proud that you created that Lilith Fair, because I like a powerful woman, Sarah McLachlan, I like them very much. I heard a few of your songs on the radio, and while I never turned them UP, I rarely turned them off – see, Sarah McLachlan, I’m a sucker for a pretty voice. And that, my friend (can I call you my friend? Great – thanks), you do have.

You and me, Sarah McLachlan, we were friends. Or at least I thought so, until you released this particular bit of horror that’s since haunted me. Picture this, Sarah McLachlan: I was at home with my wee new babe, and I had one of two options – I could watch television or I could stare at the wall while I nursed him. He was a boob man, my guy.

Postpartum and hormonal, not to mention sleep-deprived, imagine my horror when this came onto my television:

I’ve never, ever gotten over it, Sarah McLachlan – the sad puppies, the hurt kitties, it was too much for me. I began to weep, which annoyed the hell out of my baby. That commercial, starring you, Sarah McLachlan, and a bunch of pathetic animals, seemed to play whenever I was at my lowest.

And the tears, my good friend, Sarah McLachlan, they flowed.

It’s January, and aforementioned baby is nearly five, but I wanted to tell you that I caught the tail-end of your ASPCA commercial, Sarah McLachlan, and I wept. You have no way of knowing, Sarah McLachlan, that January is the worst month of the year for me – that I’d like to curl up in a ball and wake up sometime in February. But your commerical, Sarah McLachlan, it nearly broke me this time.

And at the very least, you ruined my day.

So, Sarah McLachlan, thanks for that.

Love Always,

Aunt Becky

Every year, right before Christmas, I go to The Target to buy myself an ornament for the tree. One of those absurdly expensive ones (for The Target, I should clarify) made out of the tiny hands of Ethiopian kids or by collecting the tears of the Unicorn that lives atop Mount Olympus. I’m not really sure. I’m not an ornament-maker.

It’s one of the more sentimental things I do. I mean, I’m the person that’s like, what the SHIT am I gonna do with all of these kids drawings? Sure, I love looking at them, but do I need to save every fucking one of the pages of scribbles just so someday, my kid can look back on it and be all, “Fuck, I was a terrible artist?” I think no.

We all know I’m not overly sentimental…until it comes to these ornaments. I try to select, from the supply that’s long-since been depleted because I am both lazy and cheap (sales make me happy in the pants), something that represents either the year before or the year ahead.

For both Alex and Amelia’s first Christmas, I bought them two crystal-studded “Baby’s First Christmas” ornaments – one in blue and the other in pink, clearly for the year that passed.

Of course, these remain locked into the box of nice ornaments for another year while I display the very cheapest of ugly plastic ornaments – I’m afraid I’d burst into the Ugly Cry if one of those got misplaced.

This year, the selection being “pink for breast cancer,” a smattering of initials, and a couple of “for teacher” ones, I found the one I wanted to represent the coming year.

2011 was the year of losses – both great and small. I won’t wax poetic about the lessons I’ve learned because I didn’t really learn anything beyond “I’m an asshole,” and “other people are assholes.” Frankly, I knew that going IN to 2011, so it’s not like I need to sit back and be all nostalgic about all that I’ve lost. Who does that?

Anyway.

I don’t want to sit around with my thumb up my ass being all *sad trombone* here. I’ve had enough of that lately (it’s January, after all) and frankly, The Ugly Cry is starting to break capillaries in my face.

For 2012, I bought a simple ornament. It has one word on it.

Hope.

This year, I hope.

And I do.

Back when I bought this house, when dinosaurs roamed the earth and Jesus played beer pong with me in college (He’s fucking better than I am), I thought that the living room was the least offensive of all the rooms in my house.

The tiny downstairs bathroom had three (THREE!!!) types of wallpaper. The upstairs bedroom was painted Pepto-Bismol pink. The dining room was Cat Pee on Plasterboard colored. The kitchen was (is) some variation of taupe that (still) makes me want to heave whenever I look at it. The family room is painted 3 different motherfucking colors.

So the living room? Not on my radar. Like pants!

That was, until, of course, I had two babies and major abdominal surgery and had to stare at the walls in the living room (also known as the “front room” to those of you who come from places that start with N and end in Dakota). The white looked dingier by the moment. There was a single roller swatch of pure white behind the french doors. The ceiling was a fucking mess.

Take this shot, from the day I closed the deal on the house.

Looks fine. Besides, of course, the awful furniture, which IS NOT FUCKING MINE.

See? It LOOKS not…so bad! Probably because you’re distracted by the fug furniture.

That wall needs something…else. But I don’t know what.

Sorry, no shot of my ass this time.

I’m still not entirely certain what the room needs, but it needs…moar. Cowbell? Vodka? Perhaps. Or perhaps I should go score that sweet couch on the side of the road, for old times sake.

Thoughts, Pranksters?

I’m afraid that if you don’t help me, I’m going to end up with a Fat Head of me on one of the walls.

I don’t do politics. Which is why this is kinda a weird change of pace for me. But go read it (and comment if’n you have time) because it’s also funny. Or, um, it was in my head.

The more I thought about the depression critters, the more I realized that they were another example of false advertising. Which is bullshit.

Here are what OTHER campaigns tell me.

This depression ad is supposed to say:

But what it REALLY says is:

But…is it just for us wickedly depressed folks? Nope. Not so much.

Take this Geiko Ad, which is supposed to say:

But what it REALLY says is:

And one of my all-time favorite campaigns:

Actually says:

And a personal favorite. Who can resist those Charmin Bears?

Yet, what this REALLY says to me is this:

What about this Chick-Fil-A billboard?

It’s supposed to say:

What it REALLY says is this:

And who out there could forget this favorite?

Which, much as I hate to say it, says THIS:

So, Pranksters, what other commercials out there lie?

I feel somehow cheated by my depression. No, not out of “living a full life” or “having fun” or even “being happy,” none of that stupid feely bullshit.

I feel cheated because, like every January that I sink into this pit, I don’t get any of the cool depression critters following me around.

Sure, I have the omnipresent sadness, but do I have a cartoon raincloud following me as I listlessly select some apples at the grocery store? NO. No, Pranksters, I do not.

As much as I’ve tried, I don’t have that wind-up blonde lady toy either. You’d think, with as bone-crushing and soul sucking as it is, I’d probably be at LEAST entitled to that. A wind-up toy in exchange your soul? Seems fair.

I don’t, as much as it pains me to admit this, even have that chokey fuzzy bathrobe, either. I’m not partial to bathrobes, myself, so it’s not a huge loss, but that’s what the commercials say happens when I barely have the energy to slog outta bed and brush my teefers. SO WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT BATHROBE TO CHOKE ME?

But what really fucking pisses me off is that I do not have the Abilify black hole to follow me. I could use a constant companion, like a black blob, to hang out with me while I’m at the doctors, or laying in bed after a nightmare. I had real plans for having him be my BFF. We’d go everywhere together. He’d fetch me soda while I laid on the couch, hating life. He’d rub my feet and offer me pedicures while I sobbed about nothing at all. And what do I have?

FUCK NOTHING.

I haven’t seen hide nor fucking hair of that black blob since the depression hit.

I’m starting to think that we’re NOT BFF after all. That depression doesn’t come with a cool bathrobe that chokes you to death or a wind-up toy, or even a black blob.

I demand a recount, depression. That’s fucking bullshit.

It’s clear that I’m not very smart.

Shit, I got myself drunk on almond extract for weeks before I realized that I was, in fact, doing so. I regularly walk into walls. I’m hopelessly convinced that I’m going to live my life married to men from television. I write a blog on the Internet.

But I do understand some things – not many, but still.

What follows is a list of things that continue to baffle me – keep me up all night, tossing and turning as I try to comprehend them.

0) Why Jimmy Wales didn’t realize that putting a picture of his minions directly under the title of the page was a bad fucking idea.

See also:

1) Why anyone still uses Internet Explorer.

1) Why Donald Trump’s hair doesn’t have it’s own reality show. I’d watch that shit.

2) Why The Fresh Beat Band ditched the cute redhead and replaced her with another not-as-cute redhead like kids are too stupid to notice that they are not the same person.

3) MySpace. It’s as bad as saying you still use your Friendster account. PS. this is mine: Myspace.com/hotterthanyourwife

5) Why are sausage links so much tastier than sausage patties?

8 ) Why is the word “patty” so vomit-inducing?

13) Why was the Homeland season finale so lackluster?

21) How did Glee go from being a fresh, snarky show to a very short LifeTime Movie of the Week?

34) Why do people walk around with their blue douche headsets in all of the time?

55) How orange can be both a color and a flavor while purple cannot. Purple should be a flavor, dammit!

89) Whatever happened to that gigantic Kool-Aid pitcher who was all, “OOOOOH YEAH?” Sidebar: I think I’m gonna be him for Halloween next year.

144) Why disco went out of style. Disco is for LIFE.

Okay, so Pranksters, your turn: what don’t YOU understand?

Image via my rad friend Joslyn

Since I’ve been too busy drinking port and eating Captain Crunch, I will, instead point you to this, which is funny in a very sad way, and this, which needs comments. (I hate asking for comments. I feel like a cheap (er) whore)(I’ve got something awesomer for you guys tomorrow to make up for actually having the audacity to ask for comments).

*slinks off into corner*

How was YOUR New Year, Pranksters?

It’s unsurprising that my middle son and I are exceptionally close. For a whole year, that child (then baby) refused to allow anyone but me to touch his Royal Majesty, and while most parents would’ve been screaming and pulling out their hair, I loved it. Certainly not every day, but most days, it was so unbelievable that a child could love me.

I had a first son, of course, but, thanks to autism, his love has always been something expressed more delicately than Alex, who simply loved me. It was pure, untainted, and one of the most religious experiences of my life. I finally understood what it felt like to be a parent. I’d clung to the notion that I was a parent, yet never felt like it, for so many years.

He’s closing on five now, one of the most intense people I’ve ever known, and still my best small friend. When he’s sick, he crawls into my lap, nestling in like a baby bird, and allows me to bask in memories of those baby days. When he’s well, he scampers around with his brother and sister, stopping briefly to hug me before spinning off to do something else.

For Christmas this year, he got a new butterfly costume. I’ve been anxiously awaiting the day he somehow broke the wings or tore the tutu, so for Christmas he got a second set. He fluttered around the house, stopping only to put on the boots he’d lovingly selected:

May your heart always be joyful, Alex, may your song always be sung.

Always.

Once a year, every year since dinosaurs typed out blog posts with their wee flailing dinosaur hands on their gigantic Stone Age laptops, I do a Meme. Generally speaking, I do not like Memes. I do not think that my Pranksters give a fucking shit how I best like my coffee or what is in my purse right now. HOWEVER.

I am compulsive. And since I do this every year, I do this EVERY YEAR.

(As proof that I do not actually have a life, I offer this: 2010 here,  2009 here, 2008 here, 2007 here, 2006 here. I have 2005 somewhere in an email list, which is where I’d gotten this stupid meme in the first place)

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?

I started a non-profit organization – Band Back Together. I also ate a cheeseburger but that sorta pales in comparison.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I wrote this last year, “I hope that 2011 will bring me less bullshit and more happiness. More orchids and less backstabbing. More writing and less email. More cowbell and less synthesizers. Clearly.

There’s always room for cowbell.”

The Universe laughs at your (read: my) plans, Meme. Haven’t we learned that by now?

So I’ll go with something that’ll never happen: “Total World Domination.”

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

If my timeline is to be believed, I’m pretty sure The Twitter was pregnant. All of it.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

Yes. My great-aunt Ruth and my (insert twice-removed twice-baked qualifier) cousin John.

5. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?

A bathroom break where three children plus assorted cats did not hang on my legs while I peed.

6. What countries did you visit?

Bwahahahahaha! I have three kids, Meme. I’m lucky if I can take a shit without an audience.

7. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why:

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Year after year, you insist upon asking me this, Meme, like I have some kind of knowledge of these “dates” and stuffs.

Ooooh. I did EAT some bacon wrapped dates. Those were fucking tasty.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

I can use the microwave. WITHOUT causing small fires.

9. What was your biggest failure?

I still cannot use the coffee maker without causing small fires.

Also, I broke two teeth. That’s a pretty fat failure RIGHT THERE.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

I broke two teeth, one of which had to be yanked from it’s socket. I’m 31 – no one should be losing fucking teeth. Also: The Daver lost his appendix in a haze of glory.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

The nitrous for my tooth extraction. Don’t give a shit if my insurance won’t cover it – I can’t go all balls to the wall, y’all when I’m getting shit yanked out of mah head.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?

Um, that Old Spice Guy? He’s pretty fucking full of the awesome.

Also: everyone who has had the balls to submit to Band Back Together.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

Siri, that miserable slut, who did NOT find my pants for me.

14. Where did most of your money go?

See also: 1) I started a non-profit.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

There was a sale on Uncrustables. Also: I got nominated for a Bloggie this year, against all odds, which is a gigantor honor. I didn’t win, but seriously, that was huge. So did Band Back Together, and they actually WON. #fuckyeah

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?

Britney Spears – Criminal.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

i. happier or sadder? You know, I keep expecting you to get more original each year, but no.

ii. thinner or fatter? Thinner.

iii. richer or poorer? That’s tacky, Meme.

Okay, Meme, let me take a stab at that:

i) more or less like Justin Beaver – less, obvs. Don’t have the kicky hairs.

ii) more or less likely to decide inanimate objects looked like boobs – more. Bring on the boobs.

iii) more or less likely to watch Glee – Less. That show has gotten depressingly bad.

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

Pranking The Internet.

Also:

Taking over the world.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

When you go into the dentist to have a tooth yanked out and they give you nitrous and you can actually feel the stress leaving your back and neck and suddenly you’re the least stressed you’ve been since you can remember, I’d say you have a problem. With not doing enough nitrous. Also: stress.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?

Let me be the 9238r23746 person to say, “Thank God it’s over.”

21. There was no #21. I don’t know why there was no 21.

I’ll make up my own question because I like to hear myself talk.

What’s up with your book, AB?

Well, I parted ways with my agent (my idea not theirs) and so far, the future is hazy, try back later. I may just be a blogger 4eva. And frankly? That’s not so fucking bad. I love what I do.

22. Did you fall in love in 2011?

If  “with myself” is an answer, I’ll choose that one. If it’s not, I’ll go with yes, with my Keurig (no I did not get one for free or anything). Now I can make coffee without burning the house down.

23. How many one-night stands?

If you count making love to the Keurig, at least a dozen.

24. What was your favorite TV program?

Didn’t love Dexter this season, so I’m gonna go with watching reruns of NBC’s Life. Fucking shame that show got canceled.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

Nope.

26. What was the best book you read?

Pshaw. Like I have time to read books. We all know I’m illegitimate illiterate.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?

That special song, “Pants on the Ground.”

28. What did you want and get?

Nitrous.

30. What was your favorite film of this year?

I watched Precious. And was only mildly suicidal by the time it was over.

That sucked. I’m going to make up a new question:

Where are your pants?

Like I fucking know. Ask Siri. They’re probably on their way to Vegas with my sanity.

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 31. And I have no earthly idea what I did this year. We’ll go with “pants off dance off”

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

More cowbell?

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?

“Holy shit, I have abs again.”

34. What kept you sane?

Um, I write a blog on The Internet where I call myself “Aunt Becky.” I haven’t been “sane” in years.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

The ShamWow guy.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?

The great “Get up” or “get down” debate.

37. Who did you miss?

My sanity? Oh, you said “who.” Hrms. My pants? Wait. No. Um.

OH LOOK A BLUE CAR!

38. Who was the best new person you met?

You. You, mah Pranksters. Always you guys.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011:

Never underestimate the importance of a good set of sheets.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:

(God, that seems so MySpace).

I just, I can’t. I’m sorry, Meme.

—————-

The rest of the meme says I should tag some people but, eh, I don’t tagging people. It makes me twitchy. Mostly because I’ll forget someone and then, then I’ll feel sad in the pants.

INSTEAD.

I’m tagging each of you. If I can do one Meme a year, SO CAN YOU, Pranksters. DO IT. It’s full of the awesome. JUST like 2012 is going to be. Even if I have to beat it into submission and make it my fucking bitch.

Happy Happy New Year, Pranksters.

I added a linky for you guys to add your posts, if you do this one! Why? Because obviously.