May Your Troubles Last Only as Long as Your New Year’s Resolutions

The holiday season is coming to an end and as always it’s a little sad that the year has flown by. We’ve eaten too much, spent too much and binged on too much spiked cider…okay, well, one can never have too much cider…the point is — now we’re at the finish line about to watch the big metal ball drop. As the clock inches ever closer to zero on 2015 my mind starts racing with thoughts of what’s to come and, more importantly, how I want the future to look.

Come New Year’s I have a pretty steady habit of falling into the inevitable pit of denial that is typically referred to as the “New Year Resolution.” Ahhh, so many grand plans, lofty goals, and stellar aspirations! You may be familiar with what I’m talking about. The affirmation that this will be the year that you stick to that fantastically slimming new diet or never waver from an unimaginably boring exercise schedule or god forbid just being more patient with all the other people in the world (yes, even the really annoying ones).

I make these plans as if the cycle won’t repeat itself and these resolutions won’t go down in flames by the second week of January. But, as history shows, while I’m awesome at coming up with these wonderful ideas, I am severely lacking in the follow through. And that’s kinda the part that counts. I’m reminded of Seinfeld… “You know how to take a reservation…you just don’t know how to hold a reservation.” The same could be said for resolutions.

So, why do we even make these hollow promises to ourselves? Why do this to ourselves year after year? More often than not, as we’re scraping the bottom of a pint of Ben and Jerry’s or letting loose a steady string of obscenities at the car ahead of us who wasn’t moving fast enough to let us speed through the yellow light, we end up feeling horrible. Okay, well maybe I don’t feel too horrible about the Ben and Jerry’s — have you even tried Karamel Sutra!? Oh my god it is sooo good! Who can resist? Certainly not me.

But the point is – with resolutions; we’re once again reminded that we simply can’t always stick to all of the things we feel we have to improve upon. And maybe that’s not the point. Perhaps just acknowledging that we’re not perfect is enough of a positive step.

Or perhaps that’s just a BS excuse that’ll make it that much easier for me to watch my new running shoes collect dust in the back of the closet.

 

calvin-hobbes-new-years-resolutions

Leftovers plus Cake

I don’t know about you, but I’m all for DIY projects, especially where food and drinks are concerned, and I saw this nifty article recently on things to do with leftover wine. I thought I’d give it a try, but I have just one question that maybe you all can help me out with.  What the hell is leftover wine?

 

wine box cake

Totally irrelevant I know, but can you believe this is a CAKE!?

Flying Purple People Eater

These aren’t quite available yet, so don’t get all excited, but they’re seemingly perfect for that special millionaire’s Christmas wish list once they are ready for production…with just a few hiccups.

I don’t envy anyone who lives in an area that sees earthquakes. All natural disasters frighten me…personally my area sees hurricanes and tornadoes. Earthquakes are freaky and scary, not to mention devastating, so it’s wonderful that someone is thinking of ways to protect people during such a terrible event. That said, I believe this particular invention might be just as scary as the earthquakes themselves. Check out the article, it’s brief, has lots of photos and even a video on how these beds work. But basically, they eat the occupant. Yes. In case of an earthquake, these beds swallow up the occupants…sort of reminiscent of your basic go-to terrifying nightmare that you struggle to wake up from.

Although I can see where these earthquake proof “beds” are really cool and might even make for a useful device — once they work out the kinks, such as possible amputations, decapitations, simple full body smooshes, and other scenarios worthy of a top-notch horror movie — I don’t think I’d get a wink of sleep from the stress and anxiety these beds would induce. Being consumed (ha!) by the thought of being eaten by my bed would not exactly be a restful state of mind for me.

Having worked in the construction industry for many years and thereby having come into contact with other, not so conscientious people and companies who built various things, I now realize that said “things” are only as good as the person who built them or inspected them. For instance, what if a particular worker in charge of an important component was hungover that day? Or angry at their spouse and distracted? Or just plain incompetent? What if the company cut corners to win the bid and bought material from a disreputable shop that sells knock-off, look-alike steel nuts and bolts that just can’t handle the structural load pressure of the job?  This is the same reason I don’t go on roller coasters or that insane horse-shoe shaped glass overlook at the Grand Canyon. I just don’t trust people that much. Of course my extreme fear of falling plays into it as well.

But I digress. Back to the people-eating beds.

What happens if a large, heavy work truck rumbles by your house, you know the kind I mean, the ones that make the windows shake, and the bed thinks it’s an earthquake and eats you? No-one’s home. There’s no emergency so people aren’t searching houses.  And you’re just there, living on rations until when?  Is there a timer on these things?  A code to get out?  I can barely remember my computer password; I’m supposed to remember a password for this thing when I’m under stress? Good luck with that. But hey, at least there’s food. I’d stock mine with cookies and Bailey’s. Just in case. Might as well enjoy the time I’m stuck in there.

Or let’s say, God forbid, there is an earthquake…the bed works like a charm, only now you’re stuck in a box that is covered with so much debris that you can’t get out (the article mentions this as being an issue). So you’re just sitting there, maybe for days, maybe for weeks, hoping for emergency personnel to show up and find you, meanwhile you’re watching your supplies dwindle. How do people know to look for you or even what to look for? Any alert sticker you may have put on the window is long gone. Is there an intercom on these things, so you can shout out, “we are here, we are here, WE ARE HERE” at random intervals à la the diminutive Whos from Horton Hears a Who? More importantly, where’s the bathroom?

Regardless of its functionality as a protective device, first and foremost this pimped out motion-activated, padded panic box should be a BED. It should be a place of rest. For me, sleep would be a moot point. I mean, really. In a torture device bed that looks like a waffle iron? Yeah. Right. I’d have nothing but fitful nights filled with images of Leslie Knope looming over me with a spatula in one hand and a bottle of Mrs. Butterworth’s in the other. Not exactly conducive to a good night’s rest. I’d wake up crankier than I do now, and believe me, no-one wants that.

 

waffle iron bed

click for a link to the Daily Mail article which shows how the beds work…prepare yourselves…

Christmas Bonding Time (or a Kick in the Head)

In years past, I’ve held solitary gift wrapping marathons on Christmas Eve night when everyone else is asleep. Surrounded by wrapping paper, cats, a dog, and drinking copious amounts of hot chocolate, coffee, or Baileys (depending on my mood), while quietly listening to Christmas tunes, I would wrap and wrap and wrap like I was a demented cute little elf applying for the Head Elf job at Santa’s North Pole.

Well this year, since the kids are older and sneaking peeks into presents is no longer an issue (I think…), and the whole “Santa secret” has long been out of the bag, and more importantly, I suddenly found myself with some spare time…a unique dilemma I don’t often face, I decided to wrap presents a little early. It goes without saying that it was still somewhat of a chaotic undertaking.

My 23-year old son joined me for this manic tradition. Jake was impressed with my mad gift wrapping skills….I mean, my corners on those presents are tight!

Thinking I was clever, I mentioned his age and then bragged to him that of course I’m good at it because I’ve been enjoying this Christmas custom for at least 23 years. It took about 10 seconds for those words to leave my mouth before it hit me. I’ve been doing this for 23 years. And just like that…. I’m old. Damn.

 

wrapping presents