Ten Things That Happened in 2016 That Did Not Entirely Suck (And Maybe Were Sorta Awesome)

As we sit perched on the edge of impending doom, a doom which this time feels more real, as if we can see the wave approaching, growing wider, taller, destroying trees and barns as it swells, rolling over our memories, taking our loved ones, even that old Honda — while we stand and hold each other’s hands, locking fingers and knowing it is over, over for real this time, we had a good run, me and you — we will remember. We will remember the good things, the moments that made our hearts break in two and swell with pride, although that’s not the word we’re looking for.

Here are some of those things for me.

1. I’m Not Giving Away My Shot
It was late in the evening on January 7 of this year, as I barreled toward Lancaster, PA, having left Pittsburgh later than I should have, like I always did, when I decided to finally listen to Hamilton. I’d been told it was great and trusted the voices who said that. So somewhere on I-76 East, knowing that I had at least two more hours left to drive, I found the original cast recording on Spotify and began one of the most memorable experiences of my music-listening life.

I don’t remember the first time I heard Tommy, or the first time I heard Pet Sounds, yet I will never forget the first time I heard Hamilton, alone in my car at 75 MPH, nearly rapping and singing along as if I’d heard it a hundred times, cheering to “My Shot,” hearing the Van Dyke Parks in all of King George’s songs, feeling as if they were singing about my own life in “Non-Stop,” and scream-sobbing, shaking my head, shouting, pounding my fists at the end.

On December 18, I was able to act on both my love of Hamilton and fascination with burlesque while singing in Pittsburgh’s Hamiltunes: A Winter’s Ball event at the Brillobox. While I didn’t don the Union Jack swimsuit I’d originally envisioned for my get-up, I did don a $19 bustier, a Union Jack pin from Slacker, red and black fishnets, Superman underwear, and white sparkle platform go-go boots.

I was satisfied.

2. Area Woman Quits Smoking, Lives To Tell the Tale
I used to think that Kate Daly could never quit smoking, because when Kate Daly quits smoking, she’s having a limb removed, see, and with that limb will go part of her personality, and not only will she not be able to drive, see, or go to Howlers, or take a conference call, but she won’t be able to speak or laugh let alone drink, my goodness.

And then on November 27, 2016, at 10:37 am, Kate Daly stubbed out her last cigarette.

To the best of my knowledge, she is more alive than ever.

3. Ask Your Doctor if Rage-Quitting Your Web Design Agency Job is Right for You
There are some things in this world that you imagine so much, for so long, that they feel more like memories before they’ve happened (yes, I will likely near-quote Hamilton throughout this entire article, as it happens on the regular IRL, subconsciously, it seems).

Quitting my job on July 17 was an imagined memory that became a reality. Each morning I’d wake up and throw up, a symptom likely not unrelated to the amount of alcohol I was funneling into my pie hole on a daily basis but certainly related to the sheer dread that flooded me each morning as I opened up my MacBook Pro. I’d walk out to my enclosed porch and fire up an American Spirit. I was little more than a corpse as I then fired up GoToMeeting. Each new Excel spreadsheet smelled like a tomb.

I knew I’d be in an actual tomb before too long if I didn’t do it, so I called a trusted confidant and informed him (he was not surprised), then called my asshat of a boss (he feigned surprise, but I knew he was relieved; to say we didn’t “click” is an understatement), and as soon as the words “I am leaving [this company], and today is my last day” came out of my lips, I felt the life rush back in. I was alive again, and I was free.

For as well as this worked out, the physical sensation of relief and my ultimate resurrection (I now work for a highly respected household-name company, doing what I love with the smartest people one can imagine, PhDs on every corner kinda shit) all considered, quitting your job with no other job on the horizon may not be right for you. I was one of the lucky ones. I spoke to recruiters that very afternoon (pro tip: post your shit on Monster before making the call to quit) and was interviewing the following week. I also sat idle and played Cookie Clicker more than I should have and had to pay out the ass for COBRA. Before you do it, make sure you can do it — but by all means, if your job is killing you, make sure you’re the one who shoots first.

4. Jyn Erso, Feminist
I won’t post any Rogue One hashtag #spoilers, I promise. I wasn’t all OMG MUST SEE BOUGHT MY TIX ONLINE SQUEEEE! when I heard it was coming out, but yeah, I dug The Force Awakens and know that this beloved mythology is in good hands with JJA.

But when I saw it on December 28 with as much Star Wars in my mind and life and heart as I had at that moment, mourning Carrie Fisher’s death being only part of it, I was overwhelmed with delight, sadness, and sheer badassery. I think it’s perfect, even better than ESB. (Don’t @ me bro.)

To quote my amazingly eloquent daughter: “Mom, I like Jyn better than Rey because Rey cries too much and Jyn keeps going, even when her friend falls down.”

Yep, she does, honey. She sure does.

5. That Makes Me Crazy
On October 28, I fell in love with the person I intend to love and enjoy for the rest of my breathin’ days. I won’t go into it here, but to quote Deadpool:

Wade Wilson: Listen, I’’ve been thinking.
Vanessa Carlysle: Really?
W: About why we’’re so good together.
VC: Why is that?
W: Well, your crazy matches my crazy, big time.
VC: Mm.
W: And, uh, we’’re like two jigsaw pieces, you know, and we have curvy edges.
VC: But when you fit them together, you see the picture on top.
W: Right.

BTW this person ain’t someone I will likely ever watch Deadpool with, as we’ve got better things to do IF YA KNOW WHAT I MEAN but Deadpool is fucking awesome and you should totes watch it but for chrissakes do NOT let your kids watch it. No matter how woke they are, this movie is rated R with a capital Raunchy Realness and unless you’re ready to explain the “Happy International Women’s Day” scene and the “that’s a face I’d like to sit on” scene then wait a few more years. Plus, they’ll find a way to see it anyway, and you should just be a good mom or dad or guardian and let them have that secret, ‘k?

6. I FUCKING RAN A FUCKING 5K
Yep, on November 24, Thanks-fucking-giving morning, I drove to Sewickley and handed over $50 bones (a companion joined me) and put in my earbuds and listened to City Steps which is a band I’m not in any more but that is awesome and started running. Then walking. Then skipping a little. Then running some more.

I’d gotten it into my head that a 5K is only 2.3 miles, not 3.1, so the sensation of them making the course longer than was necessary was quite present after mile 2. And while my companion beat me by a solid 15 minutes despite our significant age difference (I’m May, my companion December) I still fucking finished a fucking 5K. I know I fucked up my hip during the whole deal but I was set up for hip problems anyway.

Fuck!

7. Bring Forth the Mollusk
On February 14, I flew to Denver via MSP and struck up a conversation with a coupla cool dudes headed the same way and who didn’t much seem to mind having some random chick tag along. I pitched in on a rental car and some hotel rooms in Golden, CO, from which we drove to Red Rocks, had dinner at Casa Bonita but not at the Cartman table, enjoyed a bit of legal green, and walked into a hazy herb-filled venue to see the two boys that Henry Rollins himself said were the best band on the planet.

Ween played for over 2.5 hours and I swear did ALL my favorite songs, even “Stay Forever,” the quintessential Ween Wedding Song (contrary to popular opinion, the Ween Wedding Song is not “LMLYP”), and “Piss Up a Rope.” Every second of that show was pure brilliance and true rock and you can watch the whole damn thing on YouTube!

On February 15 and 16, I spent my days skiing at Breckenridge and my nights eating Czechoslovakian food, drinking dry martinis, talking to bartenders about Pittsburgh, and singing Fleetwood Mac songs in a hot tub. I still keep in touch with the dudes via social media and the whole thing is a testament to the fact that you never know who your next friends will be if you don’t open your mouth.

It was the trip of a lifetime.

8. Dude, I Think I’m in Buzzfeed
I was enjoying a lunch on the client with a co-worker around noon on March 3 when my Twitter notifications started blowing up. They’d blown up just over a week earlier on February 22 (my 41st birthday, as it were) when I posted a photo of a cross stitch piece I’d made of a deleted Kanye West tweet, Twitter UI and all.

(NOTE: Cross stitching this tweet was NOT my idea, despite enjoying my 15 minutes as a result of it. The idea came from my friend Dylan, who will eventually receive the original piece in the mail, as promised, but only after I make an accurate pattern from it.)

Nonetheless, the tweet-of-a-cross-stitch-of-a-deleted-tweet went viral, as the kids say, and if you want to talk all things viral you go to BuzzFeed, right? Well, BuzzFeed came to me, I suppose, and published this hilarious article, citing my handiwork as inspiration.

LOL, amirite?

9. Weight Watchers Is the Real Deal and Cannot Be Ignored
I consider myself to be fashionable. One could describe my personal style as Posh Spice had a baby with a vintage tee-shirt and that baby wore locally-designed jewelry while shopping for base layers at Cabela’s. So after I quit my work-at-home job, where my wardrobe consisted largely of yoga pants and dresses from REI, and needed to get up every morning and present myself to people, my presentable clothes, well, ahem.

They didn’t fit, ok?

I had a closet-full of dresses made by friends and shirts made by little girls’ hands in some foreign land and found myself going to Target to buy size L Merona tops just to have something to wear the next day. (Nothing against size L, or Merona. Some of my best friends are size L Merona tops. The point is that I wasn’t getting much ROI for all that I had already.)

I joined Weight Watchers on September 15, just nine days after starting my new job. I’ve lost 17 pounds so far. Most of my good shit fits again, and all of it will fit again soon. I set a goal to lose 30, which should get me to just the right side of gaunt. We’ll see. I’m working out quite a bit and enjoying the muscles I have, so I’m pretty much at the weight-is-just-a-number place, but I feel better when I look better, you guys.

‘Taint nothin’ wrong with that.

10. Meet the New Bass, Same as the Old Bass
I have many friends who are musicians, and when they quip, as they do often, that they have to play nearly every day, I simply understand that I’m not really an actual musician. I’m more of an actor. Not a method actor like they are, but someone who can memorize the lines and be convincing, sure, but no one who would go gettin’ a nom from The Academy or anything like that. I’m recognizable, I suppose, not Pittsburgh’s Carol Kaye (that’s Erin Snyder, FYI), but maybe Pittsburgh’s Kira Roessler?

I digress.

My companion is a musician. All of them have been to a certain extent, so this is not unusual. Fits my archetype. But something’s different this time. I was married to a guitarist and lived with another guitarist after that. I never wanted to play with either of them very much. But for some reason, I want to play now. On November 5 I opened up the case and pulled out my Hofner. I played all morning and recorded silly videos. It was coming back to me. On November 15 I drove out New Ken and bought a ’78 Musicmaster from some old dude. It’s the cutest, most punk thing I own, and it sounds sweet AF.

On December 1 I took my ‘ofner (the H has fallen off, thus making it even more European, but I’m getting a new-old-stock raised logo shipped here from The Netherlands) to a local luthier for a set-up. Like having a good hairstylist, having a good luthier is essential. My guy is legit, too. We’re talking photos of his parents onstage with Louis Fucking Armstrong legit, makes guitars for Joe Negri legit. He put some spendy flat-wounds on it, fixed the nut, and fixed the wonky switches, and now it plays like a hot knife through butter.

There’s talk of the band reuniting. We’ll see what happens. Even if we don’t get together all the time, or start booking shows at Hambones, I’m still playing again. I might just be a musician after all.

Still can’t play that “My Generation” solo, though.

I’d like to say that’s all, folks. But it ain’t. So many more amazing things happened this year — I reunited with an old friend, who is my angel; I connected with my kids as people, not just kids; I helped launch really pretty websites; I sat on a closing panel, and gave a presentation, at two different but prominent events in my professional field. A lot of good shit went on, and nothing, not November 8, not the deaths of so many people we loved, not that fucking wave of doom can take these things away.

We are now the leaders, y’all. We are the grown-ups now. We are the ones who will die and make the news, and millions of kids and adults will post our photos with sad emoji on whatever social media thing is popular that week. And just because we feel it’s soon going to be over — we kind of know it, don’t we?— doesn’t mean that we can’t live our lives like we’ll be here another 50 years.

As Bob Pollard said, don’t stop now.

I love you.

See you next year,
Kate