Well, here we are. The end of one year, almost the beginning of the next. This will be, lets see... somewhere around my twentieth or twenty-first year of existence on this planet (the old guy who, together with mom waits on me hand and foot, my companion for all but a few of those in between), and I'm thankful for the chance to live and be as healthy as I've been for this long.
Though I won't admit it out loud I'm grateful for the brief time I got to spend with that little tyke, Grayson. I'll quietly admit he wasn't really that annoying.
I've seen and heard a lot in my twenty-whatever-the-hell years here, and I'll be grateful for however many more I'm granted. I've learned to live with less, learned to slow down some (although I can't really imagine I ever did anything at a pace different than that of my current way) and breath deep and enjoy what I have.
In the approaching new year I hold out great hope; for the discovery of cures for diseases and pain that have caused suffering and death for too long; for more people to take a good, hard look at the way they live, what they have and what they really need; for loves lost and faltered relationships rekindled.
I have high hopes that a child I know of will change the way she feels enough to contact the parent she mistakenly believes doesn't know or love her.
I hope that the great (and some not so great) minds in Washington can get their shit together and come up with a solution to the looming mess we'll all have to pay for.
I long to see a family I know (several, actually) learn to be more forgiving and come to the realization some day that life is way too short to be so selfish (good luck on THAT one).
I hope a bulldozing canine I know someday realizes that bullying is neither effective nor attractive, and that such corrosive behavior can haunt like a rolled newspaper if left unchecked.
I hope dad will be able to adjust his daily schedule so that he can sleep past 5 a.m. and stay awake at least a little later than six-thirty in the evening.
I hope mom will learn to give up her dependence on Diet Coke. She's working on it. Really.
I hope a cure will be discovered for a most common ailment- that of obsessive feline grooming- and its less than pleasant after effects.
In short (who am I kidding already?) I hold out lots of hopes- some beyond reach, I'm sure.
So anyway, Happy New Year. I'm being forced to put this ridiculous f*cking picture in here for your amusement. Certainly not mine. Mom went and dressed me up for a card and made it look like I partied too much. Whatever. May the coming year be good to you all...
Ahh, the sounds, the sights, the smells- I really love Christmas.
The joyous music, the overall upbeat mood, the smiles and friendly greetings all around, especially at any of the fine, bloated retail establishments sprinkled throughout this great land of ours.
I only wish for one thing this year. I wish Walmart, Target and Best Buy (I'm sure you could toss in several others) would offer, as part of this fine festive holiday shopping season free lessons in parking, driving, pedestrian's rights of way, and manners to all who enter their parking lots.
Once inside everyone should be required to take a test before shopping to prove that they've learned something from said lessons, and if they do not receive a passing grade they should be forced to stand at the back of any of the mile-long checkout lines at the four open registers only to come to the realization upon approaching the smiling associate with the what the f*ck do you want facial expression that they've forgotten to actually make their purchases.
They would then be forced to blend back in with the violent, buzzing multitude to complete their tasks and return to the previous step.
Okay, I'm done. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone!
I wish not to offend anyone, especially at this festive time of the year, but whoever the hell invented those oversized inflatable lawn ornaments you see everywhere should be forced to live with Honey Boo Boo and her family, along with every walking testosterone factory from every Bachelorette episode and those stupid insurance cavemen from that memorable, oh-so-long-lasting sitcom.
All in one snow globe, shoulder to shoulder. And no bathroom privileges.
And only each other for sustenance. And if they get thirsty, let them catch the swirling snowflakes on their tongues.
Apparently it's that time of the year again. Mom's busting out her creative juices, whatever the hell that means, and the chill in the air has that certain frostiness that- oh wait, we're not in New England anymore. Since I'm not allowed OUTSIDE (evil glare in dad's direction) I have no idea what it's like out there!
Mom's busy painting on the front door, packages are getting readied and wrapped to send off to the new grandkids, and she surprized dad with a hand-made advent calendar the other day.
As for that stupid picture of me up there, well, lets just say that I'm NOT very happy about it! I don't even like having my mug on here, nevermind doctored in such a stupid, childish way! Dad's an idiot.
This is dad's cartoon rendition of me. I'm lying. He's not really that talented. He couldn't draw to save his life. It's just something his stupid phone did with a picture he took of me sleeping.
Remember when phones were just phones? What the hell? Who needs all that crap? If I want to take a picture I'll use a real camera. I have all the apps I need with my parents. I don't have to do anything for myself. I'm in a pissy mood. I didn't sleep well. Humbug!
Not much to say lately. There's nothing going on worth telling about. I think I've come down with a case of writer's block. Oh, wait- mom and dad have been talking excitedly about the new Trader Joe's that just opened up down the road.
I think they're going to go today to check it out. Their (probably more dad than mom) enthusiasm for this momentous occasion is matched only by their reaction over the arrival of the new phone books. Seems someone needs a life if you ask me.
Lately, they've taken to going to the local Whole Foods, usually on Saturdays, and dad's excitement at the thought of sampling cheeses, guacamole, and other interesting-sounding things they have displayed throughout the store is on a level with when he got a raise. Or had his first child. Or won the lottery. Okay, the lottery thing I made up.
I can tell he's bubbling over with excitement, hoping that Trader Joe's will have similar offerings. Pretty pathetic, huh?
This, mind you, from someone whose idea of exciting is licking his own butt, getting up and turning around two or three times, and laying back down in the exact same position he was in previously and falling back to sleep. (I'm talking about me, not dad, in case it sounded confusing)
Bye.
