Tag: "Happy New Year" in Polish.
I can read that it says "milk" on the front (mleczko) but I will have to see what my fluent Uncle Jerry says when he comes over today to translate the rest of it. But it looks appealing!
New Year's Eve was pretty boring, though I did enjoy my first full viewing of "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" with my mom. The film is extremely powerful, the experience too close for comfort as to how mental wards really are and how little has changed in 40 years, quite frankly. I had taken my meds and Ma had gone to bed at 11, but I think I was up until midnight, let out a "Big Whoop," responded to well-wishing texts, and went to bed.
Avoided and deflected Guy yesterday, out of both pain and busyness. The only rationale any of us can come up with as to why he called me from home, used his last name, and dug my limp body into a giant, muddy hole was because he'd been drinking, heavily. I have no idea, but in any event, I referred him back to this song that I put on a CD for him some time ago, George Harrison's "Cheer Down."
He doesn't understand the song and never has. No, I'm not going to explain it any more than I already have. He texted me yesterday afternoon asking me if Dick Clark would come back & host New Year's Rockin' Eve, to which I said, "No, Phyllis Diller & Larry Hagman are hosting with musical guests Donna Summer & Davy Jones, with a special appearance by Richard Dawson. Produced by Don Cornelius, who at least offed himself." It helped that I happened to be on a web site that was listing all of the famous people who died this year. My memory's not THAT good. Guy then called me, Craig arrived to discuss money and pick up Luke, who I wish was staying home with me, and I hit "ignore" on my phone, and Guy didn't leave me a message.
I texted him amid my family shenanigans that in addition to being very busy at the moment, I didn't know what to say to him other than "a chagrined, unhappy, heart-torn-out 'Uh,' 'Ok,' 'Sure' and 'It's not me, it's you.'"
I'd further tell him that he could perhaps call me today, when he's not at home, after revisiting "Cheer Down," referenced Hilary Clinton's blood clot in medical terminology, & intimated that both of us were probably going to have very sedate New Year's Eves. I said we could attempt to talk today, "if you don't plan on scolding me from your house while your family has you behind the 8-ball." Later, I admitted I didn't remember half of what he said on the phone the other night, because my own drugs had kicked in, but that he sounded weird & told him he chastised me purely because of how strongly I feel about him and ranted about my church because I ranted (in my blog) about his, followed up by a "never mind that I went so far as to say to bring Lady GuyGuy, though "I can't imagine another round of her insulting and judging me with disdain again." (Which is true.)
So a crossroads. I have nothing further to say to him until he calls and explains what in fuck compelled him to call & bitch me out the other night & ask what he expected me to say to follow up with yesterday. Amid all the familial celebratory hoohah I have to once again endure today, perhaps he'll call.
Ringing in 2013 means little more to me than the inconvenience of scratching out "12" and putting "13" down when I write shit out. The most to which I'm looking forward this year is the badge of honor of saying I officially have a teenager and getting to be 33% away from my masters instead of 25% finished.
Whoop-dee-fucking-do.
Enjoy your day and nurse those hangovers.
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