In the year of Our Lord, 2011...

I resolve to:

• exercise moderation in the pursuit of all things, particularly the quality of being moderate
• give a Dutch oven to a Dutch girl
• eat less cheese / destroy fewer commodes
• give without any thought of reciprocity, especially in instances of ass-kickings and STDs
• not rage violently about things such as cyclists, democrats, the New York Rangers, Texas' sodomy laws, the Amish, the lack of good bagel shops in Houston, my ever-increasing volume of ear hair, etc...
• see at least five films in theatrical release (the gauntlet is thrown... bring it on, Hollywood)
• make every effort as one man to bring parachute pants back into style
• be less overtly gassy in the company of friends and family (NEVER gonna happen)
• write more
• put more effort into grooming myself
• put more effort into grooming my dog
• put more effort into grooming the lawn
• put more effort into becoming a groom (grooming myself will hopefully help towards this end)
• be a bigger bad ass than I was in 2010 (a tall order, indeed)
• be more resolute

DAMN YOU, GIRL SCOUTS!

I received my eight (yes, eight) boxes of Girl Scout cookies at work this afternoon around 2:45 or so. With considerable help from my office mates, we had managed to consume two entire boxes of thin mints and all but a couple of one box of the peanut butter sandwiches by early this evening.

Moderation? FEH!

"If stupidity got us into this mess, then why can't it get us out?" -Will Rogers

So...

I'm at my folks' place, making myself something to eat (I am a growing boy, after all)... I have a lovely 12" cheese pizza in the oven, placed on only a couple of sheets of aluminum foil (I like a nice, crispy crust)... timer goes off... check the oven, pizza looks perfect... I unfold a dish towel and place it on the countertop so I have a surface upon which to put my pie... take it out of the oven, go to place it on the towel but, somehow, I manage to slip into a state of lapsed equilibrium... the pizza begins to slide off the foil, and is heading over the edge of the counter and straight for the floor... with cat-like quickness, I pounce... flailing for the pizza, I make the save... and plunge my left hand straight into a mound of molten-hot cheese.

Believe it or not, the pizza was not as badly mauled as you might think... it certainly fared better than my hand did. Hey... no pain, no gain.

Welll... maybe just one more!

A coworker and I went out after work last night, reassuring each other that we'd keep the evening low-key and call it a night well before last call... of course, we left the bar at 4:30 this morning. Sometimes, it doesn't help to be a regular.

A g(h)as-tly first!

I know a few other people that have been through this experience, but, up until today, I had been astute enough to avoid it myself. I'm driving down the feeder road after just having left the gas station... a car pulls up beside me, honking... the passengers within pointing and gesturing at me with wild, horrified fervor. Instantly, I realize what I've done... I glance at my passenger side rear-view mirror to confirm what I already know; to behold the handiwork of my profound oblivion. Sure enough, there's the gas pump and hose assembly, dragging along like some sort of garish piece of jewelry. So, I stop, remove the wayward mechanism, coil it up and place it on the floorboard of my car, return to the gas station, walk inside with it in my hand and an ear-to-ear smile on my face and inform the attendant that, "This belongs to you!" I then do as I am told, place the hose on the floor and head on my way.

I know it's so very wrong...

but I must admit, when I saw this headline today on the Yahoo front page, "New presidential limousine to be unveiled during inauguration", this image popped into my head instantaneously...



Yup.