Here we are. 2019. And it feels wonderful!

As I look ahead, with my confidence growing and fucks-to-give depleting, contemplating what I’d like to accomplish this year, I feel more empowered and readier than ever to turn this mutha out! There are seaux many things I want to do. But I must take caution. I don’t want to overwhelm myself with numerous and lofty goals that my over-analytical mind will churn from excitement to fear to procrastination to, finally, abandonment. A bitch does not have time to be abandoning goals in this,…

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 I’m looking forward to forty. But I want to be ready for it and in a place to receive it. And so I’m keeping my main focus on three incredibly important-to-me goals:

#1. I Will Attain 16% Body Fat by July 4th

My yearning to gain strength, build stamina, and stunt on you hoes with BAWDY knows no bounds. I’ve been trying and failing for years because, unfortunately, I hate working out. Like, I loathe it. Plus, snacks are delicious, cheeseburgers make my nethers rejoice, and booze just…well…baby needs his milk. The result is a now 24.1% body fat dad-bod of t-shirt-wearing-in-the-pool proportions. Yuck!

This year, again, I’m determined, again, to exercise and eat right. Again. But for real this time.

I’ve paused my gym membership, taking a suggestion from a friend, and downloaded Jillian Michael’s: 30 Day Shred for quick, 20-minute workouts at home. Starting there seems like a great way to foster some semblance of a habitual exercise regimen, without wasting dollars that could be much better spent folded over the band (or up the thigh) of a pelvic-thrusting-stripper’s underwear. Or contributed to an IRA or whatever. Anyway, once I’ve created a habit of exercising, I’ll rejoin a gym. I also want to try indoor rock climbing again. That was fun!

As for the reducing/moderating of snacks, burgers, and booze? Just pray for me, y’all. I’ll try. No; I will!

#2. I Will Write. Write. WRITE!

I am a writer. Period. I know that now. I may have been running from it for the better part of the last decade, and I may not entirely know what to do with this gift of mine, but I want to put it to great/better use in 2019. A writer writes, as they say.


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Jesus got jokes. Why would my celestial creator pair, in my being, talent in one of the most challenging forms of expression with a Bart Simpson work ethic? As Black-ish’s Diane would say, “That makes sense to you?!?”

Though I’m growing in the just-do-the-damn-work area(s) of adulthood, besting my anxiety around ideating, researching, drafting, editing, and (yikes) publishing a piece is an ongoing and cyclical process. I’ll have a great idea for something to write about and then spend the next week freaking out over whether I’m good enough to write it (duh); if it’s something people actually want to read (who cares?); and if the piece will make an impact on the world at large (bitch, what??). I want to work on at least minimizing this freak-out period and eventually come to a place where I crack my knuckles and jump right in. Because this year, I will:

  • Write and maintain this here website. Consistently.

  • Develop and write a web series: Characters, Theme/Plot, Pilot

  • Join a writer’s room*

*I’m manifesting that I will be invited/hired to be a part of the writer’s room for Kid Fury’s HBO series. Go, Universe, Go!

The only way to accomplish any and all of this is to just write. And write I shall in 2019!

#3. I Will Bow Chicka Wow Wow

Yes. I’m twelve. But I’m also vastly inexperienced in dating and relationships and severely under-fucked. There is no reason why, approaching 40, I’ve never been in a relationship and have only had sex 11 times my entire life. That’s fucking ridiculous! I’m way too dope and way too adorable for that to be my story.

 Here’s the thing, though…sex and relationships scare the fuck out of me! I almost desperately want to experience them, but my sexual and “romantical” education has been religiously misguided. I didn’t have any friends as a teen to talk about these things with, and at home I wasn’t encouraged to date by my parents. My sex talk literally went like this:

Mom: No sex ‘til marriage.
Me: What’s sex?
Mom: Don’t worry about it. No sex til marriage. Also, man should not spill his seed (re: masturbation).

You can only imagine how absurd my qualms and fears about having sex and securing a boyfriend have become over the years. I’ve got a lot of unlearning to do. And, just like with my writing, the only way to the other side is down the rabbit hole. Pun fucking intended. I’m calling on everything I got to make bow chicka wow wow happen in 2019!

Hail to the Guardians of the watchtower of getting laid; powers of “Boo’d up” and “Yeah, nigga, don’t stop.” I invoke thee!

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So, yeah…thems my goals. And I look forward to accomplishing each and every one. I just have to take risks, do the work, and trust my instincts. If you know me, hold me accountable, please. Cuz you know imma try it. ;)

Happy 2019, y’all! What are your goals for this year?