Cole’s favourite thing is watching youtube videos of other children playing with their Thomas the Tank Engine sets. It’s his thing. We spent the better part of the day doing this. And folding laundry. And pretending to be dinosaurs. For dinner, we pick up Taco Bell cause I’ll be damned if the kid starts another year without having had the great pleasure of a Mexican pizza. I’m doing him a disservice.
So we grab our bag of questionable cuisine and head home. Shortly thereafter, Karen joins us. She brings her new dog, Hamilton:
Hamilton is great. He farts all the fucking time, and it’s the worst smell you’ve EVAR smelt, but he’s great. Between the toxicity coming from this dog and Eleanor’s general Frito smell, I’m not living the best olfactory existence right now.
And now, this is the second year I’ve spent New Year’s Eve at home. With animals. Watching TV. This might bother me, but it… doesn’t. So last year, I committed to quitting smoking. I did, for like three months. Last year, I committed to doing more yoga. I did that, for like three months. And last year, I committed to writing that novel. I didn’t even begin.
2010 was gross. 2011 will not be.