2009 Year in Review: Shit that Sucked

I'm already sick of seeing, via Facebook status updates, how awesome everyone's 2009 was. It's much easier to bitch. So here are the shitty things that happened to me this year.

• I started the year off with a bang by having an allergic reaction to hummus on New Year's Eve. I spent the night curled up in a little ball in my friend's bed, wishing to die. Limped home in really shitty snow/sleet early on Jan 1 (kind of peed my pants a little) hoping the year would not be a reflection of it's shitty beginning.
• After roughing it apple picking in New Paltz, a spider crawled into my Steve Madden cowboy boots and my foot turned deep purple and swelled so large I couldn't wear footwear or put weight on it, OR GO TO HIP HOP CLASS : ( and was positive they would have to amputate. POSITIVE.
• This year saw a record number of vag issues, and I became way too palsy with my Lady Doctor.
• My landlord broke into my apartment while I was at work, peed, did not flush, left the seat up, turned on all the lights, and did not lock my door.
• Buddy died, which led to my lamest Facebook status update ever.
• Worst hangover/drinking injury ever: after taking the waiver-required "Punisher" tequila shot, my mouth was painfully swollen and I pulled a muscle in my side so hard (still unclear how this happened) that the next day I could only get one drink when I went out drinking again, which was also a poor decision.
• The Balloon Boy.
• After jumping out of a cab full of puke, I found myself stranded lost and alone somewhere in Harlem at midnight wearing a really slutty skirt. I was just trying to get to Mojave.
• I fell and scraped my knees while sprinting across the street wearing my Minnie Mouse shoes, which caused a line of people waiting to get into the Regis & Kelly Show to burst into laughter. When I stood up I got hit in the head by a pigeon.
• On Halloween I had to pull a walk of shame in a Tinkerbell costume. Across Central Park. On the morning of the New York City Marathon.
• I leaned how hard it is to break up with a psychiatrist.
Me: I don't want to talk to you anymore. You're boring.
Him: No, I know you better than you do. I'm good for you.
He also said bullshit like, "you have unresolved issues with your father" and "I'm boring because I have cancer". Both untrue.

In all seriousness, I had a wonderful year and I'm incredibly lucky and grateful for everything. Like some PR company sent me a massage chair for my work chair and I am sitting here right now, my buttcheeks warm and all massaged, and somehow, I feel that compensates for the spider bite, drinking injuries, and near-rape incidents in Harlem. God bless you and yours, kiddies, and smoochies from me!

-lp