Right now, I'm straddling my bathtub with one foot in water hot enough to cook a lobster. Why am I doing that? Because last night, I attempted to jump, and in doing so, landed extremely painfully on my right ankle. It's now swollen to about the size of a swollen ankle, so I'm trying the old "scald your foot with boiling water and a little bit of Epsom salt" trick. So far, all it's done is make me worry that layers of skin are just going to slide right off my foot.
Tonight is New Years Eve, my least favorite holiday. I don't understand why people celebrate the year ending, it seems like it should be more along the lines of a funeral, since December is kind of the annual sputter-and-die month for our calendar. But tonight I'm going with two of my best friends to Sacramento in an attempt to party it up and get my mind off the fact that a grapefruit is chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool on my synnovial hinge.
They say champagne dulls the pain everywhere but your head. Or maybe I say that. Either way, hopefully the light and bubbly concoction will redistribute the pain elsewhere, and I can maybe kind of stand and toast when the ball drops and Snooki plummets to her inevitable death.
Did you know that Snooki is going to be inside the ball when it drops tonight? Now you do. And I'm sure you're wondering, how low has our country sunk that a drunken, orange Chilean is worthy of invading one of the most iconic symbols in American culture, the Times Square New Years Eve Ball Thingy? The answer is very, very low.
So, Happy New Year, everyone! Take this opportunity to get drunk and potentially forget 2010 altogether. My resolution for the new year? Become the most famous person ever that's ever lived in the history of everything. I can do it. Maybe. Probably not. There's always 2012! At least until the Mayans get sick of our bullshit and kill us all.
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Preemptive strike: I love you too.