Happy Friggin' New Year.

So, it's 2007. Whee.

I guess I'm officially of the age where one realizes with certainty that New Year's Resolutions are so much bullshit. Seriously, I don't even make the attempt anymore. It just sets you up for failure.

You've heard of the Freshman 15? I've picked up the Northwest 40. If my friends or exes from Hungary could see me now, it would bring an immediate "WTF?!" response, quickly followed by the usual and socially acceptable "Hey ... so, yeah ... great to see you!" I mean, if I were seriously motivated enough to actually get up off my fat (as opposed to phat) ass and get back to my previous ass size, would I really need a certain date to do it?

Does January 1st bring some kind of magic willpower in the night? Well, maybe so, for about a day, while you're recovering from too much tequila and fireworks and dancing in the streets in sexy-ass heels, so the thought of eating makes you want to hurl, but after that? No. I've never personally experienced any lasting willpower as a result of it being Jan. 1st.

The coming of Jan. 1st no longer brings excitement, let alone tequila and dancing in the streets.

Damn it.

What it brings now is more endless, grey, rainy days with a 4pm sunset; the knowledge that I'm getting older and not better (yeah, that's bullshit, too); and New Year's Eve spent with my two remaining children, their significant others, some sparkling apple cider, and DVDs.

I'm sorry, but when the only people in the house with significant others are 17 or younger, that's not exactly cause for a toot on the old New Year's horn.

Resolutions? Please. The only resolute feeling from all of that is a hardened desire for another bowl of macaroni and cheese, rather than the desire to hop on my dusty bike for some brisk exercise in the dark, cold rain. Which, predictably, sucks my (fat) ass farther into the black hole of my vicious circle.

Happy friggin' New Year.


So I'm getting over bronchitis. Missed an entire week of work last week. Other people use their leave for vacations in the sun; I have used my leave to cough up a goodly portion of my lungs and watch endless hours of the Discovery/DIY channels and the Dog Whisperer.

I love his dog, "Daddy". That is one dog who pulls off butch and cute all in one go.

BTW, ladies (and gents), Cesar Millan is so goddamn hot. SexSAY! He could be my alpha male, Whisperer, whatever. And I am not a gal who's into the whole alpha male thing. My dogs know I'm the alpha bitch in this house. But. If you haven't seen him point sharply at a recalcitrant canine with a quick Shhht!, you're seriously missing out. It makes you want to sit and stay right there on the spot. Roll over, whatever. It tempts me to purposely encourage my dogs to misbehave just so I can call him and be on his show. Since he is married, however, that would just be foolish.  In all seriousness, there are things I don't agree with in his training methods for dogs, but whatever.  Still sexy.

-sigh-