Auld Lang Syne.

6:21 pm, January 3, 2005

All right, you want a fucking resolution for the New Year? I got your resolution RIGHT HERE!

And, I suppose this would be where I point at my crotch in a vain attempt to flaunt my masculinity, followed by you rolling your eyes and making some comment to the effect of there not being much to point at in that region of my body and me coming back with a vague threat of whipping it out and slapping you upside the head. It never ends, so let's just not go there.

I gave this a little thought on my 40 minute drive home from work. See, a resolution is different than my list of goals. My list of goals I give myself an unlimited amount of time to achieve, and I'm not necessarily actively pursuing the accomplishment of these goals on a constant basis. A resolution is a life change for the year, something you're continually striving to keep. Invariably, most, if not all, of them fail because people have too grandiose asperations at the beginning of the year. They've just gotten a buttload of presents, eaten a buttfull of food, and sat a buttlength amount of time watching television. In response to such laziness, and the fact that their waistlines have expanded exponentially over the year, they resolve to "eat better and exercise more" in the coming year.

Grandiose? Not really. Vague? Hell yes. Regardless, people never have the discipline for such endeavors because they simply don't have the will to execute. Unless you sit down and make a detailed attempt at what your plan is for the year, resolutionwise, you're going to invariably forget about it.

That in mind, on my drive home, I figured out what I want to do. There's 365 days this year. 300 is a nice round number. My resolution is to run 300 days this year (with a "run" constituting no less than two miles). But, then I thought about it. It's January 3rd and I have no ambition to do any running tonight. I didn't sleep well, I worked all day, and it's cold. A bad triple threat. Plus, I didn't run on the 1st or 2nd for obvious reasons. But, I didn't want to lose that 300 runs, so I figured, okay maybe not 300 days, but just 300 2-mile runs over the year. But, really, that's just a fancy way of saying I want to run 600 miles this year, and what if I want to run a little longer than two miles at a time?

So, that's the deal. 600 miles in 2005. Starting tomorrow. Morning. 5am. In the dark, at my old middle school's track. With my mp3 player and hopefully an absence of rain.

Now, on to other matters.

December 31st, 2pm - I get off work. Drive straight to Redmond to pick Kon up. We watch the Huskies handle they bidness, a little college football, and we're out the door. In preperation for the evening, I have purchased three bottles of Andre's Cold Duck Champagne. Smells like ass, tastes like slightly tastier ass. The plan is to complete a Half-Century Club with the champagne before we go to the party (originally, it was supposed to be AT the party, but that turned out to be a terrible idea and we axed it).

There was three of us around the 7:43 mark that evening. Let's just say this, Kon and I easily finished our two bottles of champagne in less than 100 minutes. Schaarminator did not, opting for a little pukey pukey half-way through. No problem, though, 'cause Jake was there for the last half to participate.

Now, before we go any further, I'd like to happily exclaim that I DID make it past midnight this year. I know last year I was about 15 minutes short, passed out in the hallway in a most awkward and, under normal circumstances, uncomfortable position curled up against the wall minutes before the ball dropped (and, I'm assuming a couple more balls dropping in the form of a tea-bagging, though I can't confirm; still, I wouldn't put it past Kon for a second). And, before you go crazy wondering how much I could have possibly consumed after finishing two bottles of Andres, rest assured I only nursed one more bottle the rest of the night (and perhaps sampling a smattering of other people's drinks).

Here's what I remember as the night gets kinda hazy (but not too hazy until the end). Kon had a certain lady "friend" there that you KNOW I have opinions about, but won't go into at the present for want of space. He was too busy entertaining, so really, the douche label was on him all night long as he never left the kitchen. Interestingly enough, the kitchen was where the bulk of the action was unless you're REALLY into bored games (board games, my bad, but seriously, that's why I didn't play. I can't get drunk and focus on anything for longer than a minute or my mind explodes).

The house was abuzz with excitement for the new year (maybe, I dunno, I really wasn't paying attention to the house). Julie Lund was the hostess of the evening and two of her brothers were there. I got the one known as Eric (I'm assuming it's not Erik, but who knows?), who is a Freshman this year, highly intoxicated to the point of throwing up as everyone rung in the new year. So, I was in the bathroom giving encouragement part of the night. I was apologizing to Julie part of the night for killing her brother. At one point I talked to one Crazy Amy on the telephone, but I can't really remember too much of what was said (sadly enough, I failed in my mission to give B.S. a drunken, obscenity-filled call, though, I never actually called Crazy Amy either, the phone was just handed to me). I hung out with Mark and Mario as we met a few of their friends and brought them back to the party. And then, there was the wrestling.

I don't know HOW I always get roped into wrestling as I'm the crappiest, douchiest, wussiest wrestler this side of Screech Powers (and I don't look NEARLY as sexy in those wrestling unitards). And, of course, I end up wrestling Colivers, the soberest man this side of . . . well, Colivers. He's got height on me, he's got weight on me, he's got modest ability on me, and despite all that, I had him RIGHT where I wanted him (even though some observers noted the fact my knees were up by my head with him on top of me and every part of me pinned to everything around me warranted me the loser, I say we still wrestled to a draw). Anyhow, with that supposed defeat clouding the evening, I knew I had to do something about it.

Schaarminator and Crazy N8 decided it would be optimal to have me wrestling outside, instead of the kitchen floor. This time, I would take on Jake in the back parking lot. Oh, you better BELIEVE I took his ass to town. In the process, I ripped all the buttons off his shirt and lost his Nordstroms name tag (which I was wearing at the time), and we both got insanely muddy, but I whooped some ass. And, the only witnesses to my glory? One would think the entire party would be clamboring for a matchup like this. Me and Jake, this is like Hulk Hogan and The Rock on Wrestlemania! Are you kidding? But, no, only Schaar and N8 saw the sheer domination.

After that, I'm truly at a loss for the evening. I'm pretty sure that all transpired after midnight, because when we got back inside I noticed confetti every which where. Seriously, I have no idea how I made it back to the apartment without falling on that path, but we did. Passed out on the floor only to awaken to a monster of a hangover. Champagne is truly the devil's juice.

Current Mood: Almost finished with my Looney Tunes DVDs
Current Music: Led Zeppelin - No Quarter

2005-01-05 01:18 am
600 miles?!? You are absolutely insane.