HI! So, what’s up? I apparently went on hiatus but neglected to tell anyone about it.

Anyway, a few things have happened.

My new New Year’s Resolution

You may not remember this but, several years ago, a co-worker asked me what my New Year’s Resolution was and I replied “To not kill anyone this year.” And, amazingly, this is a resolution that I have managed to keep since 2005! Isn’t that awesome? Considering that I can be, in the vernacular of the street, a real bitch sometimes (okay, I just like writing the word vernacular. It’s fun!), the fact that I have not actually stabbed anyone to death with my fork is pretty great.

Well, I’m here to tell you that I have a new resolution. One that I will hopefully be able to keep for many years to come. It is simply this: To not set myself on fire again.

So Beth and I are in her car, headed to Michael’s because we are scrapbookers and must feed our addiction. I am enjoying a refreshing cigarette (menthol so that’s where the refreshing comes in). The window is open, the (really, really freakin’ cold) breeze is rushing in and all is good. Until I drop the cigarette.

Remember aforementioned breeze? Yep. Lifted that sucker up and blew it right back at me. And somehow managed to end up inside my coat, on my shoulder.

I start slapping frantically at myself.

B: Are you on fire?
DM: Apparently! Ack! It burns!* I can’t reach it!

*Note that I am a master of the obvious. I am on fire and it burns. Who knew?

I continue slapping at myself in a most futile manner.

B: Did you want to get out of the car? We’re at a stop sign.
DM: Good idea! ARGH! I can’t open the seat belt! How does this work? Oh my GOD!

Beth, who obviously can remain calm in a crisis, leans over and releases the seat belt button for me.

I fly out of the car and do a strange, hopping little dance. The cigarette removes itself from my skin. All is right within my world again. Except, of course, for the huge burn that is starting to throb!*

*Okay, it wasn’t huge. There was a very slight welt. I don’t even know if this would count as a first degree burn. Is there a half of a degree burn? But I have a low tolerance for pain (you should hear me complain about paper cuts) and was somewhat of a whiny baby for a little while.

DM (getting back into the car): Well. Let’s not do that again.

Later, when we are walking into Michael’s (or possibly Walgreens), we are discussing the game we were playing the night before (Password. Seriously fun. Especially when I’m involved because I am horrible at explaining things). The phrase was rock star and, while I can’t remember exactly what I said to Beth, I believe I used Astronomy or constellations as part of the clue.

Beth mentions how I could have used Mick Jagger as a clue. Then we discuss how something (can’t remember what it is) is rock star.

DM: Do you know what is not rock star? Setting yourself on fire!

Someone gave my nephew a sword. We are doomed.

Last night, Josh received his blue belt. Apparently that means he’s now training with a sword, according to my brother-in-law’s Facebook status. A wooden sword, but still…this is a bit alarming. Unless, of course, we are attacked by vampires. Then it would come in handy.

Overheard at Work

So yesterday, Co-worker Carla and I are discussing clothing (one of the few things that we can discuss without having to cut our conversations short (she’s a Republican. I am so very not a Republican. We have agreed to never ever discuss politics. She ignores my Coexist bumper sticker and I ignore her shrine to Ronald Reagan).

I mention how I will continue to wear sleeveless shirts, regardless of the fact that I have arms the size of Christmas hams (which is a slight exaggeration. They’re not the size of hams. Maybe a big old turkey drumstick).

DM: I figure, you know what, if people don’t like it, that’s too damn bad. Life is too short to worry about this stuff.
Carla: True (like she has to worry, Miss I Could Be a Fashion Model).
DM: Besides, if my semi-evil android boyfriend is ever invented, he will love me for who I am. Well, maybe not love. Since he won’t have emotions.

Co-worker Jessica chooses this time to fall on the floor, laughing. Apparently I discuss my future (semi-evil) android boyfriend often.

Hey, can I help it if Gene Roddenberry ruined me for real men? Between Data and Captain Kirk (plus Bones, Sulu and Spock (from the new movie), I am afraid my dating needs will not be met until sometime in the far, far future. Oh, well, I can wait.

Possible reason why I am going to Hell

Beth and I are watching the last few minutes of Dick Clark’s Rocking New Year countdown or whatever the heck it is called. It’s tradition; even though they insist on letting Ryan Seacrest co-host it with him (I hate Ryan Seacrest. However, if you were to ask me why this is, I can not give you a logical reason. Other than the fact that he irritates the heck out of me).

Dick Clark comes on the screen.

I know. He had a stroke. I think he’s actually quite brave and this is very sweet that he’s still doing something he absolutely loves. But I am somewhat evil.

DM: You know how I said I wanted an android boyfriend?
B: Yes.
DM: That is not what I had in mind.

I am so going to Hell. Sigh. Oh, well, at least Satan is my fake boyfriend. I won’t be too lonely.