Welcome to the annual Regrets Issue! Now, gurl, you know that I usually totally deny that I entertain anything so base and useless as "regret" every single year that we do these silly "Regrets Issue" thingies, right? (Google that shit—it's fact!) I'm always all like, "What? Regret? ME? Pfffft. Gurl, you CRAZY!" I mean, who has the time? Who has the patience? I take a strong stance against such nonsense, politically and personally, and urge you to do the same. But of course, I guess I am occasionally human or whatever (LIES!), and how can one help but NOT not regret some little thing or other from time to time? So fine, okay, um, Jesus, I regret stuff. Sometimes. YEAH. SURE.
WHATEVER. But I'll have you know that all of my (ahem) alleged "regrets" are broad and sweeping, not personal and petty. For instance! I regret that we're all going to die, you know, like, any fucking second. The seas are rising! The corporate oligarchy is preparing to attack! It snowed in fucking EGYPT! (BTW: That tickle in the back of your throat? Radiation. Fukushima. Bzzzzzt!) So yeah, that sucks. I also regret that the poles are gonna shift and the dinosaurs come back or something, or at the very least, we are all facing a future that looks a little too much like The Hunger Games had a baby with The Handmaid's Tale. (OMG—Michele Bachmann just had an explosive orgasm. First ever.) I regret Vladimir Putin and all those Richard Simmons pictures I posted on Facebook (#thatgurl). But far be it from me to wax (if you'll pardon the expression) "political" or any crazy shit like that. I write about gay bars and drag queenz! Shezus Christ. Which I do not regret one little bit, for the record. I LOVE IT. Every minute. Hot damn.