2017

Well happy fucking New Year, am I right?
We sure did have a great 2016, what with David Bowie, Prince, Carrie Fisher and her mom and George Michael dying.
And oh yeah: Trump.  I still feel like I'm living in the movie Idiocracy (again: if you haven't seen this movie, you need to rent it immediately).
This shit is fucked up.  But I do what I always do when shit gets fucked up (Bush being elected, 9/11, the Boston marathon): I just try and live my life the fullest and happiest I can and try and make positive changes where it seems like I might be able to make a difference.
I have lamented of late that I don't have any friends, but when I was heading over to Island with my mom the other day to babysit Declan I ran into a friend and former co-worker who all but invited himself and his partner over for dinner at our place, and I will take them up on it because whenever we all get together it's like a four or five hour night of great stories and excellent conversation.  It's nice to know people like that.

Love this posture: what does it say to you?

And once this goddamn ice is gone I will - I swear to Christ - get back into running.  But after falling a few weeks ago I have been a little leery.
For Christmas we went to visit Michael's mom and sister in Penticton.  We lucked up with the drive up and back because the weather on either side of our trips was treacherous.  Ate too much.  Shopped too much.  Sat around too much.  But, as people that don't often eat, shop, or sit around, I guess it's okay when it has to do with your family.
It was odd: this year I felt that we were cutting it short even though we had been there for a week.  Every time we go there it gets harder and harder to leave.  But it was a nice, relaxed, social, food imbued week with no agenda and it's good to have one of those every couple of years.
For New Year's Michael and I just watched some Jim Gaffigan and laughed our asses off.  We had watched some Louis C.K. and - I AM NOT A PRUDE - it was petty disgusting.  Plus, with the weird, Cosby-esque rumours floating around about his supposed actions, I'm not entirely on board with him.  I know: one shouldn't give in to gossip, but with this much of it lurking in the ether, and with womens' reluctance to come forward when something untoward has happened to them, it kind of gives one pause.
I'm just saying: most women never speak up (myself included).  And of the women that do?  Not much comes of it.  So... I like Gaffigan because he is married and has five kids and doesn't swear and makes me laugh harder than Louis C.K.  I will be saying "hot pockets" for weeks to come.
That said, my mom bought Michael and I tickets to Mr. D, so we bought some tickets for the three of us for Jim Gaffigan.
It's going to be a hilarious new year, isn't it?
Especially when I try to fit into my 2016 pants tomorrow.
I ate too many hot pockets.