'll be honest with you. (and why not? we've come this far.) 2007 was kind of a drag. i spent most of the year broke, fishing for change in couch cushions, and waiting anxiously for the mailman to come. one morning, i arrived at the subway, ready to spend a day working in the nerve offices, something i was happy to do twice a week. at the turnstile, i realized that i was in something of a pickle: my wallet was empty, my bank account was overdrawn, my credit cards were maxed out, and i had no money left on my metrocard. i briefly considered asking strangers for two bucks in change. instead, i called in sick.

i did not have two dollars. anywhere. no, it was not a banner year.

but now -- but now! -- i'm typing to you from the warm, hushed living room of the man i am madly in love with, and in 15 minutes I will tip-toe back into his bedroom and wake him up, and we will drive to a part of louisiana i have never been to, because those are the days I like to have. i have become so happy that i really don't flinch typing silly and entirely too personal phrases like "the man i am in love with," because i can't really imagine any other way to describe him. (black hair, brown eyes, about 5'10".) and this is what we all should remember, when we're balling up our fists in the darkness. it doesn't last forever. it doesn't have to. does it?

But now I want to tell you some of the other things that made this year good. This is in no way a "complete list," or even a "well-considered list," because like i said, I have somewhere to be in 15. It's a list off the top of my head. Here is where it starts:

Michael Cera, Superbad
I wrote a review of the reality show 'Beauty & the Geek," in which i asked the question: Could a female Superbad even exist? I'm pretty sure the answer, sadly, is no. To be the hero of your own tale, as a woman, it apparently helps to wear heels. And this is a discussion we should have more often--because a female Superbad should exist. And though my Salon colleague Rebecca Traister has some excellent points about the misogyny of director Judd Apatow's "Year of the Schlub," I have to tell you that I LOVE the Year of the Schlub, I love Judd Apatow, and mostly, I love Michael Cera. He's cute, and kind, and self-deprecating, and shy, and adorable. Basically, I feel like my high school boyfriend just got really famous. No offense to Zac Efron, but come on. Cera is obviously the dorky drama girl's pin-up boy.

James McEvoy, Keira Knightley, Atonement
I cried buckets watching this movie. I should really read the Ian Mcewan book, especially after a civil debate with my mother yesterday regarding whether or not the little girl actually knew what she was doing was wrong. But what made the movie for me was James McEvoy and Keira Knightley, and i adore them both, and I don't care if you don't.

Feist, the Reminder
Last night, while i was waiting for my boyfriend to come home from work (unpacking suitcases, hanging up dresses in the closet, sipping wine, futzing with my hair and then deciding to stop), I put on feist's reminder. It's a good album, and i've been listening to it for a while now, and that's probably the part that staggers me the most. I haven't gotten sick of it yet. I'm not sure what it does to me, except that it sort of calms me inside. I feel a little melty listening to it. and that is the kind of description that will get me an editing gig for pitchfork! ("melty"!)

The Onion, Our Dumb World
The Onion is a publication i actually look forward to reading--unlike almost all other publications, which I read with a mix of grief, envy, obligation, with occasional bouts of transcendence. And i read it every week, as soon as it hits the box near my subway. and i adore it with the kind of pure, unadulterated love one might feel for a special-needs child, and briefly, this year, i considered applying for a job there. and you know what? i didn't want to ruin the Onion for myself. that's how much I love it.

So anyway, this satirical atlas is hysterically funny -- like, it hurts me to read it sometimes. And two months ago, I went to the Texas Book Festival in Austin to moderate a panel for the Onion. There I met Dan and Mike, the head writers for the book, who basically confirmed all my suspicions about them: They are stupidly young, stupidly hilarious, and anyone would be lucky to call them a friend. And now I can!

oops, did i just drop those names? sorry, i'll pick that up.

And now it's been 15 minutes. Gotta go. Happy new year. Happy next year. Happy whatever, whatever.