All Grown Up and Nowhere to Go

We bought a car. A grown-up car. We bought it legitimately, from a dealership, equipped with smooth talking, mustache-wearing salesman, not from the old lady down the street. For me, it brings some sort of new sense of responsibility that I can't decide is comforting or terrifying. First of all, it boasts technology only Steve Jobs would understand. We own no actual key to enter it, the seats send jarring waves of heat to our bottoms and it actually speaks to us, recommending restaurants and nearby gas stations. I asked it to drive me to inner peace but I think that's a different option package.

In a month, we're moving to an area of the city that requires us to have a car. This opens up fantastic possibilities, including bringing groceries home without the bottom of the bags falling out while crossing Clark street, savings on constant flights and trains to visit loved ones, an overall significant reduction in frostbite and windburn. For now, however, I'm still a downtown girl. I can walk anywhere for anything I could possibly need. In addition, I haven't driven in 5 years and have skills that would warrant a "Student Driver" sign on the top of my very technologically advanced vehicle. The car symbolizes change. Scary change. Super Wal-Mart change. No Bloody Marys at brunch change.

I have one more month in our ungrown-up residence, walking instead of driving, eating on TV trays, storing pots and pans under the bed. It's time to grow up. And good gracious, you should see the new kitchen.

But for now, the car lives here. At least until I get my driver's license.

New

I’ve always hated January. I don’t feel the same way about it as I do about Sundays, which just generally make me uneasy, what with the seductive stress of the Monday ahead and that all-day feeling that you should disinfect something or go to confession. January, though, just has such high expectations.

Gyms overflow with dreams of visible ab muscles, cranky coworkers unsuccessfully hide caffeine withdrawal, our economic abyss is further solidified by tightening budgets. The Pasz’s are guilty of the same. We made the list. We made broccoli for dinner. It was actually brocollini, which is probably a lot healthier. The budget is in tact. We bought vitamins. We switched to potato-based vodka. You know, typical stuff.

What I’ve decided to do, instead, is resolve not to resolve. I don’t know if I’m just drunk on protein shakes but I’m a little angry at myself for always holding out for something better. I’m certain there are better kitchens, more money, spanxlessly beautiful bodies, answered baby prayers. I’m also certain my husband is a terrible hilarious dancer that keeps me screaming with laughter most days of the week. So, I resolve to appreciate that this year. With a side of brocollini.

I’ve discovered a blog, written by a woman I went to high school with, that you may find valuable. Diagnosed with breast cancer at 29, she faced it courageously and her honest, energetic account of the experience really affected me. If you have time between sit-ups this month, http://erica-battleblog.blogspot.com/. Happy, happy New Year.