We saw movies. We ate food. I discovered the Best Cinnamon Roll Recipe Ever. We drank wine. And vodka. And whiskey. And peppermint hot chocolate spiked with whiskey. We cooked and dismantled whole dungeness crabs. We dipped that delicious crab in
And then my bra started squeaking.
This happens when my back fat starts seeping into my tummy wobble which starts seeping into that weird little chub pocket between my armpit and my boobs. It's all held together by a few eye hooks and sorcery. The squeaking is a warning that everything could come tumbling out in a moment's notice if steps are not taken. When I hear the squeaking, I know the holidays are over and I can no longer rationalize a breakfast of coffee and Oreos.
So, while my bra rested and regained some elasticity, I aligned my goals for the coming year. If all goes to plan, 2012 could be a mighty fine trip around the sun.
- I will do my own manicures and pedicures at home. I can paint my own nails. I'm just lazy and I really love having my feet and hands massaged. But, I'd like to reign in some of my "luxury spending" and put it to better use. Like pajama jeans.
- I will read one book a month. D.R. got me a Kindle Fire for Christmas and getting books is just so zippy and neat. I really have no excuse.
- I will blog once a week. Yikes! My track record with blogging has been spotty and inconsistent, at best. I know the only way to remedy that is to write more and get used to the feeling. My hope is that reading more will inspire more writing. My hope is that I will be able to empty my head here when I need to. My hope is that I can hone this as a way of expressing myself well. Then again, I may just write the cooking directions for that random box of rice pilaf sitting in my cupboard and call it good.
- We will move to a new apartment. It's time. It is SO time. I'm picturing a dishwasher and air conditioning. I'm picturing a landlord that is not drunk at 2pm and unwilling to fix our plumbing. I'm picturing walls that will contain sound instead of sending every conversation into the air like a friggin' amphitheater. I'm picturing . . .
- Run a marathon. I took a break from running knowing full well that I would eventually return. Something about new shoes, fresh air, sweat-wicking clothes and the opportunity for greatness will always keep me coming back. I have no idea what ME . . . and 26.2 miles is going to look like. It's a blurry, nebulous image that will take shape with each step and mile. Hopefully my hair looks decent.
- Put Frank's hot sauce on more food items. 'Cause that's just good sense.
Happy New Year, everyone!