Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Happy 2012, The End of the World
Yes, the end of the world is coming this year, so says the Mayan Calendar. Do I believe it? Naw. There's a pretty simple explanation for all this: The Mayans ended their Calendar in 2012 because they didn't want to make a Calendar THAT INCLUDED ALL OF FREAKIN ETERNITY!!! I mean, at some point one has to stop and say, I AM FREAKIN DONE CHISELING OUT THIS FREAKIN CALENDAR!!! Even though I expect this prediction to be just as relevant as the Y2K one, it makes one stop to ponder and re-assess their life. To look at the failures and successes of the past year, and to see how one can improve. I have never made a bucket list, only because half the things on there would take so much money, and it would require me to work another job, which I am NOT willing to do. There are only so many paper routes that can fit into an evening, and I've had enough crack house cleaning, bum wiping, and barrette painting to last a lifetime. My first inclination is to say that in 2012, I will finally lose the weight. At the very least so I can fit into the standard casket when the world ends. Wait, there will be no one left on the earth to put me IN the casket, so skip that one. But seriously, I hesitate to ever publicly say I am going to lose the weight, because when you fail, everyone once again thinks you are a HUGE knucklehead for ever announcing it. Or better yet, earn the title of the biggest LOSER by gaining it all back. So, it suffices to say . . . I'm going to try to be happy with who I am, whatever that may be. And if I lose some weight along the way, well better yet. A wedding with family photos is always a good motivator. Randee is marrying Adam's brother Spencer on March 30th, so I'm going to have to approach this with "Biggest Loser" gusto. (As in the show). Oh, I am capable of dumping weight FAST, (I have done it hundreds of times) but the price is losing all my hair. Please try to spare my feelings when you come through the reception line . . . its okay to notice I am wearing a wig, but act like you think it looks marvelous, instead of poking your spouse, and whispering out of the corner of your mouth "Her wig looks like a mangy scrat". Hair Loss Club for Men never really cared whether we women had an ounce of self esteem left when our heads started looking like a cat with a bad case of ring worm.