Okay, it wasn’t so bad; after all, I did meet, you know, a special someone, and then her mom. Nevertheless, I like to kvetch and grumble, and fuck it, nobody’s reading this. So, without further ado, the top 10 things I won’t miss about 2008 are:

  • Twilight: Like all other teenage girls and plenty of grown ass women, Bella Swan is not sensitive, not wise, and she is not "that girl;" she’s just annoying and stuck-up. While we’re at it, let’s just toss out "young adult" literature. If you’re in college and you want to read a book then pick up a real fucking book. Grown-ups shouldn’t be going on and on about The Golden Compass when there’s all that Anais Nin sitting around in the Hale stacks. Priorities!
  • Mass text messages: Don’t even bother, unless you’re Cate.
  • Los Angeles: Nothing to do here. More importantly, no one to do it with (ha ha ha, double entendre. I’ve been waiting ages to unload that gem). L.A. is so over!
  • Sitcoms: Except for 30 Rock, nobody watches these.
  • Term papers: I just can’t do them any more. My brain no longer works that way. For the next "critical analysis" I turn in, no matter what the subject, I’m just going to sketch a big thumbs down on the page. Dr. Dodd will probably just copy the sketch into her gradebook, in miniature but with many more shades of defail. I mean detail.
  • Bisexual girls: I get it, I get it. You’re progressive, you’re hip, you’re special, you’re the life of the party, you take all those photos of yourself in bars, and you have lots of threesomes. But it’s all so difficult because of how much you’re socially marginalized! Except for all the threesomes.
  • Manic pixie dream hipsters: They wear faux-thrift store outfits. They think they’re magical and precious. They sprinkle condescension on you like gold coins, in convivial bon mots at parties at which you thought you were having fun until the next day, when you woke up and asked yourself, "wait, what did she really mean by that? No way!" Love you or hate you (usually both at once, and mostly hate), I’m pretty sure I speak for everyone when I say I’ve had it with all of you. Except Mackenzie. We want lots more of Mackenzie.
  • Pretentious literary douchebags: Tell the truth: we’re all thinking of the same guy, and it’s not me. Good god how I wish it was me. But it’s not. I’m not namedroppey enough. It’s a certain grad student. Yeah, that guy.
  • Snark: How can you ever say what you really think of somebody when you’re cowering inside that silly womb of irony? How is anyone supposed to understand the real you? Just come out and show your true feelings already.
  • Feelings: "People want to know what’s going on inside your head," so I’ve been told. Except no they don’t. Ever try actually talking to someone about these "feelings" things? Maybe a couple of times, right? And how’d that go? Did anyone actually listen to you? Did anyone actually accept you? Or did it just bring on more frustration, further agony, deeper rejection? And how was that? Was it fun, or would it have been better to just shut up and drink?

There ya have it! Kiss 2008 good bye; it just doesn’t love you any more.