There’s a whole lot of navel gazing going on right now, but not enough of us are digging out the fluff and giving it a good and thorough sniffing. That’s because 2016 has been, for many people around the world, chronically shitty – in a ‘these are the end of times’ sort of way. I would be crazy not to agree that there appears to have been some extreme crapness going on, but I’m narcissistic enough to say that for me personally, it’s been a great year. I won’t dwell on that though because blogs are so much more interesting when they are miserable.
November, they say, at least in the the old US of A, should be a month of gratitude. Before addressing that, I’d like to reflect on 2016 without my personal rose tinted spectacles on.
Mohammed Ali, David Bowie, Prince and Leonard Cohen – Dead.
Britain shocked itself silly by voting for Brexit.
The USA elected a reality celebrity as President and is writhing in agony somewhere between childish sore winning, devastation, butthurt and shame. There’s a whole lotta whining going on.
The Orlando shooting that should have been a wake up call but instead people used a tragedy for one marginalised community to justify bigotry against another. Humanity at its finest.
Turkey is on its way to being fucked.
Syria is fucked.
There’s been Zika.
Poor Haiti never gets a break.
And well, France.
Yes, there are some damned fine reasons to feel ungrateful right now and I promise that I’m not about to say ‘but, hey guys, let’s think about all things we should be grateful for’ because that is fucking insulting and condescending. Those who know me well know that I save insults and condescension for those most deserving and dish them out as delicacies. I’m wasting none of that effort on 20 fucking 16.
What I am going to say, though, is that while it does feel like life and the universe are becoming inexplicably unraveled, especially to those who are still in a dark room listening to David Bowie albums, everything remains startlingly the same. That’s not something, necessarily, to be grateful for either, but it leaves the door open for possibility and, if we can get over ourselves for just a fraction of a second, we’ll grasp the concept that possibility is everything the human species craves, desires and needs to survive. The thing is that possibilities are…well…possible.
Notice, I don’t say ‘hope’. I hate that fucking word. It’s what you name your rescued puppy. Hope always seems like a trivial thing to me, a bit like ‘thoughts and prayers’. Possibilities are tangible and the odds are with you when you have possibilities. Hope always comes across as all that’s left in the absence of possibility. It’s your last straw to clutch when you have nothing else. OK. Time to stop my own fucking navel gazing here and start smelling the fluff.
So, let me share my own possibilities. This blog was an experiment – not at the expense of my niece and nephew, who are far too young to be able to read or, possibly even say the word ‘blog’ without it coming out sounding like ‘blob’. Blobs are probably far more interesting to toddlers so, that will do. No, this blog was an experiment to see if I had it in me to commit to writing, for no commercial gain or even the possibility that anyone might read it at all, for a year. You can congratulate me now. I made it.
What happens now? When I started on this journey, the plan was to end this blog after a year and focus my efforts into writing a book. The thing is, I’ve sort of gotten attached to this blog. I opened a Facebook page for it. If any of you wish to follow it’s here – Badass Auntie Facebook Page. I started the page some time back but Facebook’s algorithms make sure that things I post are rarely seen by anyone. If you’re into silly and sometimes rude humour, you’ll enjoy it. Lots of poops, penises and vaginas. My humour runs a gamut from juvenile toilet to sophisticated satire. Admittedly a fart joke will always make me laugh. Not even a fart joke. A fart is sufficient.
I also opened a Twitter page. I’m not going to share the link here. If you are into Twitter you’ll find me and you’ll understand that because Badass Auntie is a veritable troll vanquishing warrior, my feed is often R+ rated, sometimes even verging into X territory. I’m much more political and confrontational there. If you like your tea served with a hint of moonshine, it might work for you.
I have toyed with various manifestations of this blog and even though I’ve very much enjoyed writing about some of the more challenging issues and disturbing my mother with the number of descriptive expletives I use, I’ve decided to make make it a little bit more about my life and less about my ponderings. It was meant for my niece and nephew, after all, and I suspect a year full of lectures from me will suffice for now.
If you like chickens, dogs, stupid shit that people do and sarcastic observations, this will continue to be a blog to read. I’m pleased to say that I have, somehow, managed to accrue about 5000 individual reads of this thing. I don’t think my partner has that many accounts, so somebody has bothered. I happen to think my day to day life is amusing enough to keep you all entertained anyway. I find myself fucking hilarious. The rest of my creative juices shall be squirted in the direction of my book, which I’m very excited about and have been nurturing in my mind for this whole year. Know that it will be twisted and that I will be forming characters around people I know, some of them my friends and when they get their feelies hurt, I’ll deny it was based on them.
In honour of this change and because 2016 has been shitty for so many, I will dedicate December as Badass Auntie’s Official Month of Ungratefulness. I will provide a daily meditation of ungratitude and shall invite anyone else who wishes to contribute to join right in. So, roll on 2017. The possibilities are as exciting as they are timorous. If it’s not the end of everything, it may well be the beginning of something and metaphorically speaking, out of shit grows great things.