old lang sign, my dear

Happy new year! Welcome cosmic children!

By the way, how do we say 2010?  "Twenty-ten"?  Because "two thousand ten" just sounds silly.  What about "this year of our Lord twenty twelve"?  I like that.

Okay, (this is the explanation for "cosmic children".  I don't actually say that, you know, on a regular basis.) I've watched Shrek three one too many times. For someone who declares herself decidedly not a Shrek fan, I like it a lot.  Just the third one though, not the others. No way the others.

What a day.  Last night, in semi-celebration I drank an entire bottle of Martinelli's sparkling cider (which, surprisingly, contains only 420 calories a bottle) by myself.  It was, however, like I said, a semi-celebration.  I drank the cider mainly because my wisdom teeth had been pulled the morning before and, for some unknown reason, I like a bottle of Martinelli's when I'm feeling peaky. I can't explain it. I will also never understand why, until a few years ago, whenever I felt poorly I would invariably watch Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.  Every time.  Why? What a weirdo.
For the first time in eight years, I was thoroughly sick (as in, threw up twice, which I'm sure you did not want to know) the day after the tooth-pulling.

I think I can safely say that this experience has, overall, not been pleasant.  I was almost looking forward to getting the old molars out; seriously, I was.  My sister had her wisdom teeth removed a few weeks ago and was consequently showered with love, Jamba Juice and DVD rentals.  It didn’t look like a bad gig to me.

Yesterday I wrote self-pityingly in my journal, "But now here I lie, afraid to eat anything but Saltine crackers, while my face expands like the blob.  I am not a happy camper."

Today, it's not so bad. My face is definitely not as swollen as my sister's was (wah-ha! Victory!) and I've got a whole load of DVDs to watch. It really isn't a bad gig.

To finish the story of The Happy Little Tooth:

Anyways, now that my very long tangent is over, let's talk about something else. I didn't actually intend to blab  again about the tooth-pulling.  Shareshareshare indeed.

Guess what? I have never made any new year's resolutions in my entire life.  Why?  Because I know I'm a slacker and will break them.  I also refuse to join in the resolution making because, for about four weeks around new years, all the comic strips do resolution gags. And it gets on my nerves.  I mean, it's so sappy. So, to show my resentment, I refuse to resolve. (Does that make sense? Refuse to resolve? I think it does.) See if I'm going to make myself a better person - not on your life you stupid Grand Avenue kids!  Shut up Adam at Home! Die Drabble!

Sorry, I had some anger to release there. Whoooo.

Guess what? I am going through a 90's teen comedy movie faze. How pathetic is that?  I mean, there are some great movies on Netflix instant right now, ones I've never seen - Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, On the Waterfront, Doubt - stuff I have been dying to see.  Yet here I am watching 10 Things I Hate About You, Clueless, and She's All That. What is wrong with me?

watch, like, serious movies? As if!

On a side note: When I came out of the anesthesia after the tooth-pulling, I kept trying to mutter "I coulda been a contender".  I cannot explain this.

I guess I just don't want to think at the moment.  It's so much easier watching mindless things like Clueless than tense, meaningful dramas.  Less stressful.

I also have a lot of really good books checked out from the library - On the Road, A collection of essays by Orhan Pamuk, a biography on Coco Chanel, and three books by Ian McEwan.  And yet I read my sister's Teen Vogue yesterday instead.  I learned about blogging queen Jane Aldridge, how to wear the new denim looks, and that, "Cards, candy and hearts have never been your style, but don't be surprised if this Valentine's day turns you into a believer.  Expect your most romantic year yet."  Oo, I can't wait.

I have to confess, before anyone forms any false impressions about my culture and intelligence levels, I am only reading the Orhan Pamuk because I heard Emma Thompson mention him in an interview.  See? Completely obsessed.  Could be worse though, I suppose.  I could be obsessed with, like, Jon and Kate and their will-need-serious-therapy-in-later-life Eight.

What a dull blogger I am. Oh well.

Happy New Year, dear void.