#not bricks

[fuckyousupremebrick]

Uuuuhhhhghghg my little brother found this blog and now he won't stop asking to let him join.... lmao does he even know anything about building materials he's like 10??? begone manlet --Mod Stone

[fuckyousupremebrick]

"little" might be a social construct but not going past the chest of someone who's 5'5" is very real --Mod Stone

[self-proclaimed-brick-expert]

wait what the fuck ooc i was sending a different blog an ask and-

i. me? them? huh?

[darlington-swiftie]

SEND hELp

[conniecorleone]

to 2013, with love

To paraphrase tumblr user rave sashayed, 2013 was a “curse box of a year.” In 2013, I worked long hours at my thankless customer service job, I struggled through my last semester of undergraduate work. I had issues with my mother and my grandmother. I gained ten pounds. I won absolutely nothing from my panel at my conference at Geneseo. My dad had a hard time recovering from his heart attack. My aunt passed away after a long struggle with what they finally diagnosed as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. I had to cut several people out of my life. All the gentlemen I found attractive had girlfriends. I finally had to admit to my OCD being more than I could handle at times. I tried to see Les Misérables with my sister and the theatre caught fire. A woman threw a broom at me and another screamed at my manager that I was rude, disrespectful, and that I probably solicited men in public restrooms. I got speeding tickets and parking tickets. I wallowed in old, useless thoughts. I drank so much whiskey one night that I threw up in a bar and couldn’t drive myself home. I fought with my best friend over something so unbelievably stupid, and even though we’re kind-of-sort-of working through it, I know our friendship will never be the same.

BUT!

In 2013, I spent ten days in Israel on the country’s shekel. I had my bat mitzvah while the sun was rising at the top of Masada. I was adopted as a “little sister” by one of the Israeli soldiers on my trip and scaled mountains and sang Bill Withers by a bonfire in the middle of the Negev. I started writing again – writing for real, writing for me. I graduated from college in December with a BA in History and a minor in Writing. Mike the Bartender bought me World War Z on DVD for my birthday. I went to a half-dozen Sabres games with my dad – more than Mike the Bartender, whose wife actually works for them – and got him to agree to writing out a Bradbury quote for a potential tattoo of mine. I got to tell nearly every person I encountered how interesting and important 19th century prostitution actually is. I worked hard on my papers for school, hard enough that I aced my historiography seminar, hard enough that I could send in that paper to a national historical journal. I got to be friends with the delightful Mollyhall and put my stress-baking to good use. My sister moved to Philadelphia for a real job with real benefits and vacation time and an amazing salary. My oldest cousin and his wife found out they were pregnant – a girl they want to call “Vera,” and who I plan on referring to forevermore as “Little V.” I finally got to the point where I can talk to that Goblin Kid like an actual person and brag a little bit about myself in the process. I read a story I had written at Drop Hammer to surprisingly great success. I met Mandi and Sonja – met them! really met them! got to hug them in person and everything! – in June and spent one of the best weeks of my life just wandering through New York City with them, browsing through bookstores and meandering through the Met and drinking with my cousin in his favorite bars in Brooklyn and making friends with the elevator operators at the top of the Empire State Building. My boobs looked great.

2013 might have been a curse box but I don’t think I would trade it – not the anguish, not the heartache, not a single inch of it. Carrie Fisher once said that if her life "weren’t funny, it would only be sad and true, and that is entirely unacceptable,” and I’ve got to agree with that. For as terrible as it is, you can’t have the sweet without the sour, can’t truly know just how good everything is if there isn’t a little bit of the awful, too. I lost a lot in 2013, but I gained, too, I learned things and loved people and laughed, laughed a lot, and finding humor in hardship is what I do best. Sometimes, it’s all I can do.

The new year’s coming without any means to stop it, and I’m ready for the change. Whatever you’ve got up your sleeve, 2014, you better bring your A-game.

I’ll be waiting.