J.J. Goodman: Writings, Musings and More

So, um, heh heh… here's the thing. About that 200 th post? Well, er, it, uh, seems I may have miscounted. In going through my post history over the weekend I discovered that one of the numbered entries had never actually been published. The blog website, however, still counts it as a post even though it's in draft form. Therefore, it turns out, the last post, which I thought was number 199, was in fact number 198 to actually be published.   (So what you're saying is….)   What I'm saying is… THIS post is actually number 199 and not 200 as I originally anticipated.   (So you're an idiot, is what you're saying….)   Ye…HEY! Back off, man. I've said it before and I'll say it again; I went to law school so I wouldn't have to do math. Besides, I could have ignored the unpublished draft and simply gone to 200 and you'd never have been the wiser. Although now, my obsessive-compulsive disorderly friends will be going back ...

So here we are. 2015. This post is the one hundred and ninety-ninth entry of this blog.   (Holy crap on a cracker! You're up to 200 posts already???)   No, I'm up to 199. Pay attention.   (*gives stern face*)   As I was saying…. This is the 199 th post, and the first of 2015. Ergo, the next post is either going to be epically dripping with awesomesauce or completely anticlimactic. I won't know which until the inspiration to write it hits me. Until then, you get this. And this is your 2015 wake-up call.   (On a Monday, no less….)   Misery loves company. And today, my misery loves your company. Now shush your face and let me continue. Otay, Buckwheat?   (Otay, otay, jeez….)   Each year at this time people make resolutions and plaster social media with things like "I'm going to work out more" or "I’m going to be a better person" or "I'm going to stop making fun of Keanu Reeves....

Watch Christmas Vacation ? Check.   Watch A Christmas Story multiple times during the 24-hour marathon? Check. Watch A Christmas Carol starring George C. Scott? Check. Make out with Rachel McAdams under the Mistletoe? A gentlemen never tells.   (Wait… WHAT???)   Just seeing if you were paying attention. While all of those tasks were on my Christmas list, sadly I was only able to complete three of the four. Each of the aforementioned films is a staple of my holiday season, and yes I can quote directly from each on demand. There's something to be said for tradition. Although, in recent years past, tradition has basically told me to kiss its silver bells sideways.   (That's, um, what does that mean, exactly?)   It means that the changing landscape of my life has rendered tradition a thing of the past. Let's face it; two years ago I was wandering around Washington DC by myself in blissfully mournful solitude. Last year I enjoyed ...

Danny waited impatiently as, one by one, passengers from her flight strolled through security en route to baggage claim or the waiting arms of their loved ones. Those that noticed him standing there, with a large bouquet of flowers in his hands, smiled and imagined the happy face that he'd be greeting that Christmas morning. What they didn't know was that the letter he'd sent her, together with the plane ticket, still sat in the envelope in which he'd sealed them. She needed to find herself, she'd told him. That was three months ago. He told her that he loved her and tried to give her space. Perhaps she shouldn't have said 'I love you' back. Though she meant it, it was the words she didn't say that meant more. She wasn't in love with him anymore, and when the FedEx envelope arrived, she signed for it, set it on her desk, and never looked at it again. When he glanced at his watch it became obvious that she wasn't on the plane; she wou...

It's not always easy to admit your faults, though there are those times when it's a very difficult task. Generally I try to account for my own actions, and I think that, for the most part, I do a pretty good job of it. Although, there is one colossal f*cktard that, through no fault of my own, was the direct cause of a great deal of my consternation over the last several years, and that magnanimous pricksh*t can eat hot death with arsenic sprinkles. And then there is that certain female friend of mine that made me get my last tattoo.  ( *ahem*  She  made  you get a tattoo? Really?) Yes. It's all her fault. *whistling* Carrying on…. I bring this up because we are now knee deep in the holiday season which, for me, kinda sucks rocks. I used to love the holidays, from the turkey and gravy and my sister's green bean casserole on Thanksgiving, to the twinkling lights of the garland and wreath hung outside my front door, to decorating the tree while sipping eggnog a...