Awards

For three years (up until the other day when I quit) I worked at the fitness gym of all fitness gyms. I worked with kids mostly, and every summer I was a camp counselor (including this summer.) I have gone through so many bosses at that place, I barely care to learn their names these days.  One after another they come in, change all the rules, and fuck everything up. Then they’re outta the place faster than a cheetah on bath salts.

 Currently in place is a whorebag boss, ( who from now on will be referred to as “Whorebag”) (tales of whom are in the shortcoming) and this summer she decided it would be fun to “Counselor of the Week.” 

“Well that doesn’t sound so whoreish to me...”  You say.

Well I say “SHUT THE FUCK UP SHE IS A WHORE.”

Anyways, every week I would have to sit through the fucking presentations knowing that there was absolutely no way in hell I would ever get awarded. Not because I didn’t work hard, but because the God of Awards has repeatedly shit on my face for the entirety of my life.

In all the years I went to school, I never once got a detention. I always paid attention, listened to the teacher, and made good grades. It worked for me in the beginning, as within the first couple of weeks of first grade I was awarded  “Student of the Week”, and this made me happier than a Asian in math class.

Every year at my school assemblies I would close my eyes, cross my fingers, and beg the God of Awards to please, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaassssssssseee give me an award for all of my hard work. And yet, EVERY FUCKING TIME it would be somebody else. Every birthday, every shooting star, every fucking 11:11 that ever occurred in the time span of my academic career, I wished that I would be recognized for my hard work. 

 It would be TEN FUCKING YEARS before I would ever become close to being recognized once more.

It came in the mail my sophomore year, a letter telling me I was going to be awarded something very  special in an upcoming award ceremony , and I went fucking crazy.

“FUCKKKKKK YEAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! THIS IS IT, CLAIRE. YOU DID IT! YOU ARE PROBABLY GOING TO GET THE AWARD FOR BEST KID OF THE FUCKING CENTURY! THAT’S WHY YOU NEVER GOT THOSE OTHER AWARDS! THEY WERE WAITING UNTILL NOW TO GIVE YOU THE MOST PRESTEGOUS AWARD OF THEM ALL!” I would say to myself in the mirror in the days leading up to the ceremony. I showed everyone my paper. “Look guys!! Look at this shit! I am going to be awarded! Fuck you all! I rock!” and they would just roll their eyes fully aware of what I had coming for me, (as I was apparently the only one who had never gotten this sheet of paper before).

So the night of the ceremony I was flyin’ higher than Snoop Dog in the 90’s. I got all dressed up and did my hair and I couldn’t even eat I was so nervous and excited.  My next door neighbor and I were going together, as she had gotten an invitation to the awards ceremony too. The whole car ride to the ceremony I was bragging about how hard I’ve worked and how I was so excited to finally be getting recognized, and she just nodded her head like you are supposed to when a pretentious asshole starts to brag about themselves. 

So we get there, and there are a hundred other kids seated with us.

Well, fuck. I thought. I’m going to have to make a speech in front of all these assholes that I hate.

When it started, our valedictorian made a little speech (I made sure to mock her in my head for being such a smart little high achieving stupid seal tit of a human being) and then the principle started calling up names of people to come get their certificates.  First my neighbor went up and got SIX FUCKING AWARDS for her achievements in debate and Latin or some stupid shit like that.  This made me nervous. I really had one-up her. It’s ok though, I thought, because I figured I was still going to receive best student of the century.

So my name finally gets called. My knees were shaking, I was so full of anticipation. My whole life I had waited for this moment, built it up in my head, bragged about it to everyone that I had come into contact with. “FOR OUTSTANDING ACADEMIC ACHEIVEMENT IN GYM CLASS!!!” He shouted into the microphone.

WHAT.

THE.

FUCK.

I was completely and utterly blindsided. Was this a fucking joke? GYM CLASS?? FUCKING GYM CLASS??

Tears were welling up in my eyes in embarrassment. They were giving me an award for not even ATHLETIC achievement in gym class (some other kid got that) but ACADEMIC achievement in gym class. What fucking bullshit. I was shaking my head, furious, as I walked up on stage. I might as well have been getting the award for biggest asshole of the year. All the kids in the front row were snickering at the embarrassment they knew was my life.

I grabbed the certificate, jumped of the stage, crumpled it up, threw it on the floor, and walked out the door right then and there. I couldn’t face my parents, my neighbor, anyone, I was in such a fury of emotions.  I walked home that night, two fucking miles in high heels and a dress.

The next day at school was such an embarrassment, as all of my friends knew what I had received. Eventually they stopped harassing me, and my neighbor, god bless her soul, never said a word about it.

From this experience I learned a very important life lesson. The Award God whole heartedly enjoys shitting on people’s faces.

Especially mine.

GUESS WHO’S BACK! Just guess.

“I’m bored out of my fucking mind.”

“Go read a book”

“I’m sick of reading.”

“Go watch house hunters. You like that show, right?”

“Seen ‘em all.”

“Go do one of your hobbies”

“Done ‘em all”

“Go start a blog”

“I did that already”

“Well then go write a blog post.”

“...ok.”

This was a conversation between me and my hot boyfriend. JUST KIDDING. I don't have a boyfriend. It was just me talking to myself.

Wait. Did I already use that joke? Probably.

Anyways, I recently quit my job because my boss is a huge whorebag, which leaves me at home, all day, by myself.

And I’m poor. So that doesn’t help.

At first this was fun, and I enjoyed sleeping in and doing whatever my little heart desired. But it took three days before I had, in fact, done everything my little heart desired (which included getting a book from the library and taking my dog to the dog park.)  

It has gotten to the point where I consider putting on pants a “big ordeal”, so I mostly just watch re-runs on HDTV and sing desperate songs of loneliness to my dog.  

My favorite part of the day is going to the gym. Not because I like to work out, but because I have to sneak around to avoid my whorebag boss and it kind of feels like I’m a ninja-assassin-spy.

So that is fun.

Anyways, in order to save my sanity and make myself feel like I am being a productive member of society, I have decided to start blogging again. In other words, I’M BACK, BITCHES!

The last post

Hi friends. 

It is with regret that I tell you that I no longer have the energy and/or motivation to continue my blog:( 

My senioritis has stretched far beyond the means of homework and studying. Anything anyone expects me to do these days I can just no longer handle. Writing funny blog posts about my not-so-interesting life and making it sound cooler than it actually is was once incredibly entertaining to me, but now it's like "UGGHHHH WAHHH I DON'T WANT TO WRITE STUFF!!! I JUST WANT TO SIT IN MY UNDERPANTS AND WATCH RERUNS OF GOLDEN GIRLS AND EAT SPAGHETTI AND PRINGLES WAHHHHHHHHH!!"

Don't worry though! Whenever you feel in need of a good old chuckle, just come back and look at all those funny cat pictures I have put up!

I am also doing this because I need to catch up on some social interaction/time outdoors,as my daily experiences are pretty much limited to school and playing on the computer. I shall try to broaden my horizons by dipping into some new hobbies, such as archery, civil war reinactments, banjo playing, treasure hunting, ice sculpting, ghost hunting, or sewing pin cushions. Maybe I'll even open up my very own pawn shop!

Hopefully I will live a lot and do a lot and have a lot of fun so next time I start a blog I won't run out of stuff to talk about by the eleventh post....


I LOVE YOU GUYS <3

claire


P.S.-I want you to say goodbye to some friends:

(Garfeild)

(Middle finger guy--my hero)

(Butter cat)

They will all miss you vey much....


Especially this guy <3 (down here vv)

If I could I would have it pop out of the screen and lick you right on the face, because that is how much I love you :)

ok for realz this time....BYEEEEEEEEEE <3

Cell phones

I have only had two cell phones so far in my life, both which I bought with my own money.  

The first one was a small, square flip-phone that I bought when I was thirteen. It was about three inches big, and it conveniently fit in my wallet next to the imprinted penny I got from the zoo.  I referred to it as Tiny Phone, and it spent four wonderful, loving years with me. I felt so cool every time I whipped that sucker out. Everyone would say “Oooooh! What a little phone you have there!” and I would blush and say “Oh, it is very little, thank you.”

Then one day I watched Zoolander. I laughed and laughed at all the weird stuff Ben Stiller did; that is, until he whipped out his tiny phone. “HAH! LOOK AT HIS TINY PHONE!” I screamed out loud to my dog. “WHAT IS HE THINKING, THAT IDOT! HIS PHONE IS SO LITTLE! HAHAHA! WHAT A DORK!”

And then I stopped. “Fuck... ”

It was time for me to get a new phone.

I had finally grown old enough to get a real job, and even though most of my income was tied down to gas and burrito expenses, I decided to get an Iphone.

A new world was opened to me, a world where a girl can ask her phone any question, anywhere, anytime, and have an answer. I finally have internet on the go, a luxury Tiny Phone did not allow. Also, I now have to option to take pictures bigger than an ant’s wiener  AND actually get those pictures onto my computer (without having to buy a seven hundred dollar graphics transferal wire that is made only in a remote area of Bangladesh), which is extremely convenient.

It is amazing how many questions pop into my head (SIDE NOTE: I accidently wrote “poop” first instead of “pop” right there. Just imagine what would happen if I didn’t edit these things...) on a daily basis.

Let’s take a dive into my recent search history, shall we? In the past forty-eight hours I have Google-searched the following:

- “how to make glass”

-“Blobfish”

-“how to get out of a ticket”

-“fluffy puppy cow” (my biology teacher used this term once to describe some baby arctic ox or something, and I wanted to see if its picture would come up...)

-“butt socks” (In my dream everyone used this word instead of “underwear”, and I wondered if my sub-concious had invented a new word)

-“giant rabbit”

-“giant foot”

-“how to build a catapult”

-“biggest dog in the world”

-“Santorum” (I had heard there was a something gross about his name so I Googled it...)

-“black Stanley”

- “What’s the big deal with Amish furniture?”

-“turks and caicos”

-“is it weird to call someone a ‘butt spider’?”

-“is it weird if you sing to your dog in a British accent on a daily basis?”

-“what if you marry a guy that turns out to be your long-lost cousin?”

-“weird things people eat”

-“what’s bigger than a bazillion?”

And I’m going to stop right there, as things get more inappropriate further down the list.  

Is it just me, or do other people do this too?

Anyways, I hate being that person that’s all like “I LUV MY IPHONE SO SO SO SO SO MUCH XD <3 <3” but I have to say, it comes in handy.

**UPDATE: I’m sorry this post sucks such big hairy elephant balls. I will do better next time, I swear.

Also I ran out of funny cat pictures so you just have to deal with stupid cat pictures for now:

Perfection

Words cannot express the the emotions I felt when I came upon this ecard...

It's just...so...perfect.

Periodical Obsessions

I’m one of those people who gets really into things. I’m pretty lazy and I don’t do much on a daily basis, but when I do, you bet your ass I put my all into it. You could say I go through “phases”, but I don’t like that word, so I call my “phases” periodical obsessions.

My periodical obsessions can be over anything, for example, when I like an actor or actress, I will stalk them out the whazoo. I read everything about them on every gossip website, watch every interview with them on YouTube, and watch every movie they’ve ever been in on Netflix.  After I have done all of this, my obsession wears off, and I am back to normal.

The same thing happens with hobbies. I move through my periodical hobby obsessions fairly quickly; the following is a list of hobbies that I have been obsessed over within the past six months  (in chronological order):

-collecting old records

-photography

-clay pottery

-skit shooting

-yoga

-fossil hunting

-kayaking

-guitar

-microscopy

-sewing

-bird watching

-competing in 5k’s

-fishing

-snorkeling

-gardening

-movie making

-wire sculpting

-learning French

-magic

I have just about ZERO patience, which is required to successfully execute most of these hobbies. Most of the time, my experiences don’t end well. But you know what? I can tell you that I now am the proud owner of 26 records (and no record player), a microscope, a 10^th place 5k medal, some hand-made pajama shorts, a couple fossils, a wire bird, a broken guitar, an unusable  clay pot, and a camera full of pictures. I can also play “twinkle twinkle little star” on the keyboard.

Here are some of my latest adventures:

Last week I was obsessed with paper mache and I made this fun little bird.

Then I was like “What the fuck do I do with this?” And I moved on.

So here we are this week.

I decided I wanted to be a professional baker like the guy on “Cake Boss”, so I bought a hundred dollars’ worth of baking supplies and ingredients and spent the last two days in the kitchen.

I was aiming for this:

I came out with this:

It didn’t come out as I had originally planned, so I tried again.

I was aiming for this:

And came out with this:

FUCK MY LIFE.

Now I have two butt-ugly cakes and negative one hundred dollars in my bank account.

Well, whataya gunna do.

NO SCHOOL FOR ME :D

Hello everybody! How are you today!? Good? Well, me too!

I’m sitting here nice and comfy in my bed watching Benjamin Button and enjoying some cinnamon oatmeal with sunflower and flax seeds. (<--look at me! So healthy...:) The best part is, it’s Tuesday!

Why am I not at school, you ask? Well, I was thrown off with the MLK holiday and I mistakenly forgot to study for a GIANT biology test that is today that I thought was tomorrow.  So I woke up at 7:30, dreading another long day at school and I was like...FUCK. TODAY IS TUESDAY. I HAVE A BIOLOGY TEST TODAY. And then I was like you know what? FUCK IT ALL. So I have decided to stay home from school today. YAY!

It’s not really that big of a deal, because I have a perfect attendance record so far this year AND I’LL BE DAMNED if I have to embarrassingly accept another perfect attendance award from the principle like a huge nerd. (While my fellow peers say to themselves things like “WOW HAS SHE EVER HEARD OF NOT GOING TO SCHOOL?? WHAT AN ASSHOLE.) Also, I only go to school for like three hours a day anyways, so I’m not really missing much. (Other than a GIANT biology test, of course).   

What shall I do today!?? The whole world is at my fingertips! Should I go skydiving? Bungee jumping? Maybe fly a turnaround to NYC? Oh, the possibilities!

“You are not old enough to do that,” you say, “and even if you were old enough, you would not be able to afford those things because you spend all your money on burritos and movie tickets like an asshole.”

Well, my friend, you are probably right.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA OMG BRAD PITT AS OLD MAN HAHAHAHAHAHAHA WRIKLE BABY HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Sorry I got distracted by the movie. I also just got oatmeal on my Carter Blood Care pajama shirt. FUCK. Kbye.

**UPDATE: I did not end up going skydiving. Instead I got a tasty sandwich for lunch and a nice pedicure afterwards, so all-in-all, it was a pretty good day.

Shit My Mom Says

I am going to write a book. I will call it “Shit My Mom Says” and I will make a million dollars. I will write down all the ridiculous nonsense that comes out of my mother’s mouth and sell it to people desperate for some comedy in their incredibly un-funny lives. Maybe my book will even be turned into a mediocre TV series!

Unfortunately, I do not have the patience, motivation, and/or energy to do this at the moment, but I will share with you a conglomeration of quotes my mother spewed out of her mouth whilst watching the 2012 Golden Globe Awards last night.

First though, I will give you a little background information about my mother. She is the spawn of old money, and she grew up in a mansion in Chicago which she demands I look at on Google earth at least three times a month. When she was in high school, her parents moved to a beach house in Cape Cod and she condo hunts for a place there every morning while drinking her coffee out of a 1920’s coffee mug. She was a premature baby, and currently has an array of medical problems including a fucked up back (which is her excuse for not helping put up all the Christmas decorations in the attic), allergies to everything on the planet, and terrible eyesight. I don’t know for sure if this is related to her premature-baby-ness, but I like to assume so. Everyone in my family refers to her as a “broken record” because she has about six phrases which she repeats about eighteen times a day. Not even exaggerating about the eighteen times. These phrases include some form of “I hate my job”, “I’m tired”, “I can’t see”, “I have allergies”, “I hate Texas why am I here”, “Sit up straight”, and some sort of a back handed compliment. She is also nuts and on the verge of Alzheimer’s, and god forbid we ever host a Christmas party, she turns into fucking Godzilla for the entire week beforehand.

So back to the Golden Globes. I am pretty used to tuning out her voice, as she will talk continuously over the television for entire programs, but after reading the book “Shit my Dad Says,” I realized that writing some of her quotes down might come in handy in case I ever wanted to turn her ridiculousness into a money-making gold mine of a book.  So the following are phrases and/or conversations which took place last night.

As the show was starting:

“claire, get up. I want to sit on that chair. Yes, I know there is another chair, but I want THAT chair. How about I sit in your chair and you can sit on my lap! Come here. Come sit on my lap. What are you talking about! That’s not weird at all! No? Well, your loss.”

During the Introduction:

“Look at that Ricky Gervais! How cute! I love British people! Did you just hear that!? He said “off the rails”! LOL. British people have silly phrases.”

During the Show:

“Leonardo Decaprio is not into women, if you get what I’m saying. I know he has a bunch of girlfriends, claire. Are you stupid? It’s totally a cover up.”

“Look at Madonna and those arms. She looks like a frog.”

“HAH! Did you get that guys!? That was a joke!”

“You know who that is? That’s Will Smith. No, that’s not Cuba Gooding Junior claire, it’s Will Smith with a shaved head. You know, the guy in ‘Snow Dogs’?”

Throughout the entire thing:

“Oh. My. God.  Another foreign winner. I know what this is. The Hollywood Foreign Press is only giving awards to the foreign people.”

“Ok look at this. The Hollywood actors have made a pact not to clap for any foreign winners. Are you noticing this? Oooh I’m onto something, claire. What a conspiracy!”

“You see? They were also told not to smile during the speeches of the foreign winners. That’s why none of them are smiling!”

I must note that they were in fact smiling and clapping, and there were Hollywood actors that won awards...

You see what I have to deal with on a daily basis? 

Blood Donation

I had always wanted to donate blood. Why I had always wanted this, I have no idea, but you can imagine my excitement when I found out that Carter Blood Care would be setting up some donation booths in my high school gymnasium. It was towards the end of the school year, and not only would you get a free T-shirt and a bag of Oreos for participating, but you would also get to skip TWO WHOLE CLASS PERIODS and that in itself was worth it for me. I found a friend who shared my enthusiasm for blood donation and when the day came we skipped on over to the gym during the time slot we were given and waited with nervous excitement for our names to be called.

It took forty-five minutes to get through the paperwork, (they wanted to be EXTRA sure I didn’t have AIDS  and/or hepatitis), and finally I made it to the nurse lady who would check my blood pressure and iron levels  before sending me to “the chair.” I had recently gotten some sort of booster shot and made the mistake of telling Nurse Lady that, and she made me call my doctor to see which shot I had been  given. After a whole debacle of having to Google the name and phone number of my doctor, Nurse Lady pricked the fuck out of my index finger and told me that my iron was too low to get blood taken. This was one and a half hours into the process, by the way.  “FUCK YOU.” I said, under my breath to Nurse Lady, and with that I slowly sauntered back to class with no Oreos or free t-shirt in hand. I met up with my friend, and learned that she too had been denied. We were both incredibly pissed off.

***

So skip forward three months. It was now summer, and my friend and I had just finished volunteering at a pet shelter and we were feeling extra good about ourselves. The windows were rolled down and we were listening to some pumped up radio song really loud and obnoxiously.

“Look at us! We are such good people!” My friend said.

“I know!” I screamed back, high with the feeling of volunteering goodness.

“We should do something else good! We should go chop off all of our hair and donate it to a wig shop!” She said.

“Um, no.” I returned. But then I thought of something else we could do.

“HOLY SHIT BEST IDEA EVER!!!!!!!!” I was screaming really loudly now. “WE SHOULD TOTALLY GO DONATE BLOOD!!!!”

This was the same friend that was with me when we got denied donation at school, and she agreed that it was indeed the best idea ever.

**Listen to me when I say that this is NOT the best idea ever.  Please, if you are going to do anything on a whim, don’t let that thing be blood donation. (Or haircuts.)

We were incredibly enthralled.

After having a discussion about how many calories a bag of blood takes out of your body, we decided it must be a shit ton and went to CC’s Pizza Buffet where I downed an entire alfredo pizza plus seventeen cinnamon rolls. I was feeling like an unstoppable machine of human goodness, and I could not wait.

“LOOK AT THIS!!!” I screamed at the restaurant. “LOOK AT ALL THIS I’M EATING!! AND IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE I CAN EAT IT AND NOT GET FAT BECAUSE ALL THE CALORIES WILL END UP IN THE BLOOD THAT IM GIVING AWAY  YAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!!!”

I now understand that this is not exactly how it works.

We did not even wait for our food to properly digest before heading to the local Carter Blood Care clinic. This time we both made it to “the chair” without a sweat! A fun loving African American man stuck that huge ass needle into my arm, and as payment for hurting it, my body pulsed out a jet stream of blood right onto his face.

“Oops.” I said, not really meaning it. That shit hurt.

“Happens all the time...” He said, frustratingly, wiping his face with his forearm. He finally got it in (THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID) and my beautiful, cinnamon roll tainted blood started filling the bag.  

Halfway through, I was feeling pretty good about myself, so I alerted Blood Guy. “I’M FEELIN’ GOOD BROTHA!  DOUBLE BAG THIS BITCH! I BET YOU I CAN FILL THREE OF THESE FUCKIN’ THINGS!”

“No.” He said.

After about ten minutes I filled a pint and he sent me on my way.

“Make sure you eat something in the lobby!” said Blood Guy, as he cleaned is glasses with a paper towel.

“Sure thing man! Let’s hope I don’t have AIDS!” I yelled across the office. I held up my hand really high to show him that I was crossing my fingers.

He then ran furiously to the sink and started spraying water directly into his pupils.

You know how he told me to eat something in the lobby? I didn’t. I wasn’t hungry, as I had just eaten enough food to satisfy a hippo for three days.

I probably should have eaten something.

When I got home, I paraded around my house, making sure everyone knew how good of a person I was. I was super pumped, and felt like I could run ten miles.

It was a Saturday, and earlier that week my parents had sat me down for a long conversation about how I didn’t appreciate them and that they were sick of me completely avoiding them in public and blah blah blah. I had told them that I would go with them to a movie, if we could go to a theater at least 45 minutes away, as to avoid seeing anyone I would possibly know. Also, I made them pick the most expensive theater in that specific radius, and that is the explanation as to why each ticket was $17.50. 

I had been home for an hour or two after my blood donation, and my adrenaline and excitement from being such a good person had quickly faded. At this point, every time I would attempt to stand up, my line of vision would go black around the edges. I thought I should probably tell someone this, so I got up to go walk to the kitchen to tell my mom.

That was the last thing I remembered before for waking up three minutes later with my face in the carpet.

My mom was on the phone with an EMT, and rushed to my side as I lifted my head up.

“Oh fuck, don’t call an ambulance mom. That is completely unecess-“

And then I woke up sixty seconds later with my mom spraying water on my face with an old Windex container.

“Man! Did I just do that twice!? Sweet.”

My dad then walked over.

“Get up. I just spent eighteen fucking dollars on your movie ticket. You are going to the movies with us.”

I couldn’t really walk at that point, so my dad threw me over his shoulder and into the back seat of the car and said “Stop being such a baby.”

I didn’t really know what was going on, and somehow managed to get into my theater seat with my parents holding both my arms. I still had a giant blue bandage taped to my arm, and I’m pretty sure it looked like I had just come out of a coma.

We watched “Crazy, Stupid, Love” and all I really remember about it was the fact that the colors were extraordinarily pretty.

It took a good six weeks for my body to return to normal operating conditions, as it did not handle blood donation lightly.

And that is the story of the one time I donated blood.

**authors note: I do not have the patience and/or artistic ability to draw pictures of all of this, so I will just draw you a picture of a red blood cell:

I have named him Rodger.

The end.



Warbleblobbernismasdkf??

“Due to my extreme case of senioritis, I have encountered a lack of all motivation to do anything. Ever. All the time.”

Remember when I said this?? (here is proof)

This is the reason as to why I don’t post as often as I should. I know senioritis typically applies to school work, but in my case it applies to everything anyone ever expects me to do, for example, unloading the dishwasher, or writing good blog posts in a timely manner.

I tend to accumulate an unusually large amount of guilt over this, and I don’t know why.

I kind of just sit in my comfy chair and stare at the wall, feeling this guilt and doing nothing about it simply bess;dfmvwe[rfpl fporpfoerlksd;fvlfkvfdsl;askf;w eorrkjwl;kasdna;sldk, uuggghhhhhhhhhghghghuhghghguhgughguhguhgughughg 

Nope.

Maybe a picture?

Nope.






bye.

**UPDATE:  Sorry, folks. I had a larger-than-normal amount of apathy at the time I wrote this, and as you can see, I lost motivation halfway through. 

Welcome to the New Year!

Well, it is the new year, 2012! Here are some noteworthy resolutions I have heard so far:

“My new year’s resolution is to be the best wife and mother I can be!” –some lady on the news

Ok first of all, this should not be a new year’s resolution. This statement is equivalent to something like “This year I’m going to try not to be a douchebag!” Do you get what I’m saying? This is more like a personal rule of life, not something you just decide when you’ve been married for 15 years and your kid is starting his freshman year of high school…

“My resolution is the same as it was last year! I did not eat a single french fry for 365 days and I plan to do the same thing this year!” –Dad

I interjected at this point.

Me: Dad, you ate Chick-fil-a waffle fries last week

Dad: Yeah, those are WAFFLE fries. I said FRENCH fries.

He was not kidding.

And this, my friends, is why Americans are so god damn fat.



“I will work out six days a week for the entire year!”-pretty much everybody I know

Day 1:

Day 2: