January 1, 2008 (2)

Christmas is finally over, officially in 5,4, 3,2,...1! God, finally! Those little bratty nephews will be leaving later this morning and good ridden too. Spoiled little brats. You where a red robe and gain 20 pounds from my damn mothers cookies, and everybody thinks you look like Mrs. Santa Claus, or worse.
God, I hate my ass. *snorts*, or asses. Jesus you could stop a train with this thing.
I glanced in the wide mirror before me and let out an angry groan.
I’ve got so much cellulite it looks like someone built a damn road way on my legs. Start at fat, wrinkly knees and drive 20 miles up to get the wrinkled, round bum of a fat lady.
Shit, is that another roll on my hips? Oh god!
I hate sugar cookies, and everything else full of stupid sugar!
I glance at the clock. 12:16.
I’ve been staring at my wrinkly and rolly ass for 16 freakin minutes. God, I wonder if I can even fit into that skirt Aunt Lily got me?
Man, I want another cookie! I think mom left the cookie containers out on the table.
Glancing back at the excess 20 pounds hanging from my body, I sighed, tried to convince myself not to make it any worse and leave the poor cookies be, and then gave up, slipping out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen.
Cookies! Yes there they are! The sweet, sugary goodness.
Taking a bite, I paused. I want chocolate too.
But where oh where is the chocolate? Oh, yea. I make chocolate chip cookies 2 days ago for everybody. They didn’t last a full day. Chocolate. Where can I...oh....well, they were little brats this week and they did keep calling me Santa Claus. Too bad for them.
Tiptoeing into the living room, I saw my nephews stockings still hanging by the fireplace.


Chrissy Faye



Christmas is finally over.
New years--left in the dust.
The egg nog is finally spoiled (which is interesting because I didn't know it went bad) but in any case I suppose it
is time for the sour spot of the season.
My resolution.
Sure I could resolve to make myself atleast twenty thousand Fritos thinner. Maybe cut out the entire semi-truck fleet
of Coke and Diet Sprite.
But what exactly will that prove? That I will infact cheat my death by atleast 3 months? What good are three months?
Three months means atleast a dozen stop at the gas station, another 3 house payments, and atleast another
family birthday (God kill me please).
I actually must say that dying now would be the best thing for me. Go ahead, throw the thunderbolts; get the deed done & over.
But seriously, why resolve to stay fit when no matter what we will just be getting in better shape for the Grim & Mr. Reaper.
So anyway, note to self.
Resolution to be resolved: look up funeral charges. Cheaper to die or live?
--- End note----


Kay Greenfield