In Which I Should Have Known

I came down with a cold last weekend. It started out with a touch of a sore throat and some swollen glands, nothing that I couldn't handle. Monday was my first at work out of training, and it hurt to swallow and to talk. The Boss had Monday off, so she got me some cold medication to help me nip this thing in the bud. 

I took the medication regularly for a couple of days and didn't see any improvements. If anything, I had gotten worse. The minor congestion I started out with progressed into full sinus blockage, spreading to both of my ears. The glands in my throat were so swollen you couldn't see my jaw-line, and it hurt to move my head even the slightest amount. I continued to take the medication The Boss had gotten me, figuring then that it was one of those things that had to get worse before it would get better.

Yesterday at work, I felt absolutely miserable. The congestion was at it's worst, and I couldn't stop coughing. I was drinking water like crazy and running through lozenges like they were going out of style, thinking it was just because of chest congestion and a dry throat. The coughing got worse, so much to the point where I could barely catch my breath. 

Gasping for air, I thought to myself, I haven't coughed this bad since that first allergy attack in August.

And then it hit me. 

I was having an allergic reaction to the cold medication I had been taking all week. 

Some of my newer readers won't know of this, but last fall I went through a crazy ordeal with allergies. You can find the links to where I talked about it in the archives if you care to read them (I'm not going to place them all here; that'd take too long), but the long and short of it is that I was diagnosed with an aspirin allergy, and because of my allergy to aspirin, I can't consume anything with yellow dye #5 or salicylic acid in it. 

Now, I had the smarts to check the box of medication before I started taking it to look for anything I can't have. The inactive ingredients listed yellow dye #10, but where I was informed that I'm only allergic to the #5 variety, I thought I was in the clear. Apparently that is not the case.

Once this all occurred to me, I ran out to the store and got some Benadryl. Two pills and 30 minutes later, I was feeling much better. The coughing stopped almost immediately, and a majority of my sinus congestion cleared up. I'll be taking my tried and true regimen of antihistamines over the next couple of days to try to clear the rest of it up.

This was a learning experience for sure. Now that I know that I'm most likely allergic to the family of yellow dyes, I'll have to be even more on the look out for it in things I eat or products I use, but it beats feeling like I'm dying. 

I feel like I should have known, but at least I know now. 

Have a good weekend, everyone.

In Which I Wonder

I saw a commercial for Klondike bars the other day. It was the one where this guy was given a Klondike bar for hanging out with his mother-in-law and watching TV. That seemed like a fair trade to me, but then the announcer asked what would you do for a Klondike bar with a new thicker, more chocolaty shell? Before I had a moment to think of my response, the commercial cut to a shot of the guy massaging his mother-in-law's feet with one hand and eating a Klondike bar with the other.

"Eff that!" I cried. "If I wanted a Klondike bar that bad, I'd just go out and buy one."

I always thought those Klondike bar commercials were weird. Sure, it's catchy and original, but it's not like there's someone stationed everywhere Klondike bars are sold who asks you what you would do to get one. The only time I've ever been asked what I'd do for a Klondike bar was when The Boss asked me what I'd do for the last Klondike bar in the freezer, and she wanted to barter it in exchange for some chores around the house.

In that case, I'll run a load of dishes through the dishwasher or empty the trash for a Klondike bar. I like Klondike bars just as much as the next guy, but they're not the greatest thing on Earth. I'm not going to bust my ass for one.

This should come as no surprise to you, but seeing that commercial got me to thinking. What if the question of "What would you do for...?" was applied to other situations? Specifically, what would you do for a limited edition Badass Geek pin?

Would you post an embarrassing picture? Would you make a video of yourself singing my parody version of a Lady GaGa song called "Pepperoni"? Would you share an embarrassing anecdote on your blog that you've never written about before?

I've got ten Official Badass Geek pins to give away, five in each style as shown above. They'll be awarded to the ten funniest/most awkward or embarrassing/creative/awe-inspiring examples of "What Would You Do?".

Here's how to enter:

1. Post an entry on your blog with your submission. Be creative! The ideas listed above are just suggestions, so don't limit yourself. Look up a few different Klondike bar commercials for some inspiration if you need it.
2. Comment on this post with a link to your submission before 9pm EST on Wednesday, February 10th.

The Boss will help me judge the entries, and a winner will be announced on Friday, February 12th. 

Sound simple and fair enough? Good. 

Have fun!

In Which I Must Be A Magnet

I swear to God, I must be a magnet for this kind of stuff.

I came across this the other day, while scanning through the CVS website:

Nice pair. Sure, they may be a little crooked or lopsided, but everyone is unique, right?

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which I'm Glad It Wasn't Me

When you have a blog for a while, there are times when you struggle to find things to write about. You sit there at your desk and try to come up with something, anything to fill the empty page on your screen, but there is nothing but that blinking cursor, mocking you. You're just about ready to give up, preparing yourself to write a short post that says "I've got nothing to write about, be back on Monday" and then POOF, like manna from the Gods, something happens. Something you can write about. 

Don't you love it when that happens?

I was in the express checkout line yesterday at Walmart waiting to purchase a few items and, as usual, the store was crazy busy and the checkout lines were all running extremely slow. After standing in the same place in line for five minutes I began to wonder why Walmart even bothered to have express checkout lanes. They don't often get you out the door any faster because they put the strangest, slowest (and oldest) cashiers there, and it takes all of my restraint to not jump behind the register and ring up items myself. 

At long last there was only one other guy in front of me in line. He held whatever he was buying in front of him as he waited, so during our time in line I couldn't see what he was waiting to pay for. When it was his turn, he set his three items down on the counter: A six-pack of a local micro-brew, some EasyMac, and an economy-size package of 36 latex "ribbed for her pleasure" condoms. 

The guy shuffles down to the debit card device and digs out his wallet. The cashier, a middle-aged woman with hair like Lucy from Peanuts and skin and teeth like an ancient crocodile with a penchant for chewing on rocks, bares her snaggle-toothed smile and greets him loudly. 

"Heya!" she said. She reached up to the left panel of her standard-issue blue vest and adjusted one of the pins attached to her name tag. 

"Hey," the guy said quietly. He was looking down, seemingly very interested in the contents of his wallet. 

"How are you today?"

"Fine."

"Yeah?" she asked cheerily. She was very chipper. Almost creepily so. She paused for a moment, and then reached for the box of EasyMac. "I'm fine, too, thanks for asking."

She looked up at him as if she expected him to laugh at her wittiness, and then shook her head when she didn't get a response. She slid the EasyMac over the scanner and bagged it. 

"Looks like you're going to have quite the night," she commented. She rang up the beer next. "Can I see some ID?"

The guy looks up, startled. "Wh-what did you say?"

"I need your ID. For the beer," she said.

He dug out his license and handed it over. "No, I meant what did you say before that?"

"Hmm? Oh. I said it looks like you're going to have quite the night. What, with the beer and the condoms and the mac 'n cheese and all." She gestured widely at his purchases with one hand as she keyed in his date of birth. 

The color drained from the guy's face. He turned to look at me, and the expression on his face screamed "HELP ME". I shrugged and thanked my lucky stars that this was happening to him and not me. 

He stammered and tried to come up with a response, and eventually just decided to stay quiet. 

"Personally, I don't much care for them."

"What, the beer? The EasyMac?" the guy asked almost pleadingly. 

"No, the ribbed condoms. They say that they're for 'her pleasure', but I don't get it. Maybe I'm just too loose down there for it to matter."

All the color that had drained from his face now came flooding back, and his expression morphed into one of fear. She handed him back his ID and rang up the rubbers. He swiped his debit card through the device and frantically punched in his PIN number. 

"I guess when you pop out five kids naturally, that tends to happen," she continued. Having rung up all of his items and processed his debit card, the register spit out his receipt. By the time she pulled it from the printer and handed it over, the guy already had the bag with his items in hand and was walking away.

"Sir! Your receipt!" she called out. 

"Keep it!" he yelled over his shoulder. He cast one last frightened look back at the cashier, and then booked it for the door. 

I set my basket on the counter, and she turned to look at me. She crumpled up his receipt and threw it away. 

"Heya!" she said again, in her classic cherry voice. "How are you today?"

I responded immediately. "Good, and you?" 

---

I learn by example, people. Especially when it comes to snaggle-toothed Walmart cashiers who over share deeply personal information with complete strangers. 

Have a good weekend, everyone. 

In Which I've Got Nothing

Between a triple-feature of stress dreams last night, a raging case of heartburn, and a few inches of fresh snow on the ground this morning, I've got nothing to post today. As I usually do when I'm in this situation, I try to distract you with cute pictures of my niece and nephew. So here goes:

My niece Clara is now seven months old, crawling like a champ, babbling like crazy, and in love with life and cats. My nephew Clayton is just over three months old, and doesn't do much other than scream and poop. It's an infant's life, I tell you.

Hope this works for you all today. I'll be back with my regular posting fare on Friday.

In Which I Give A Shout Out

I don't normally post on Tuesdays, but this is sort of a special case scenario. My good blog-friend Snotty has been working with a team of like-minded individuals on a new site for a while now, and it is officially launching today. She's asked me and a few others for help in getting the word out about it.

The site is called Navigating Cancer, and it's a site devoted to giving information and support to those who have cancer, have loved ones who have cancer, or know someone with cancer. As she mentioned to me in an e-mail about the site, just about everyone knows someone who either has or had cancer, or has supported someone with it. It's an almost universal subject, and this site offers some great tools. 

On the site you can create a profile and share your own story with cancer or supporting someone with it, or you can just read the stories of others who have gone through the tumultuous journey. It's all about reaching out to others and supporting people in the time of their greatest need. It's much easier to go through something difficult when you have support, and this site does just that.

If you have a moment, check it out. I think it's a great idea, and I wish the site all the success it deserves.

In Which I Might Consider Moving

When The Boss and I first moved into our apartment in June last year, we were surprised at how quiet the building was. This was our first time living in an actual apartment building setting, with neighbors on all sides and all, so we moved in expecting the worst and were pleasantly surprised. We bragged to all of our friends (well, to The Boss' friends; I don't have any of my own, at least in real life) and to our family how quiet our building was, and how pleased we were.

As it turns out, our building was so quiet because about a third of it was unoccupied.

Our landlords finished renting out the last of the remaining units in our building a little bit before Thanksgiving, and as we watched them move in, both The Boss and I wondered how the atmosphere in the building would change. The noise level now isn't all that bad, compared to what I'm sure it could be, but we definitely miss the good ol' days.

With the increase of tenants in the building, so increases the opportunity to overhear snippets of conversations as you walk down the hallway to the laundry room, or to take out the trash, or when leaving for work. It's amazing the things I've overheard here. Either the walls in the building are thinner than most, or the people who live around us have abnormally loud voices.

Overhearing things from our neighbors isn't anything new to us, especially after the last place we lived.

This will probably look like a list of odd Google search terms, but here are just a handful of the strange, terrifying, and sometimes upsetting things I've accidentally and unwillingly overheard in my apartment building:

• "Can you reach down there and shake it for me?"
• "Shut the fuck up! I've had enough of you!" "You haven't had even the tip of me in six months!"
• "I dropped my dentures this morning." "Yeah?" "Yeah. I used the plunger to fish them out."
• "Holy shit, you're huge."
• "Take it out! Take it out! TAKE IT OUT!"
• "I don't care what your mother said. Just put it in your mouth and swallow."
• "Did I tell you about my pussy?" "No, Grandma, you didn't." "I had to take it to the vet last week."
• (Yelling to be heard over the dulcet tones of a screaming baby) "How was your day?" "Same old, same old. You?" "About the same. Starting to get a headache, though."

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried, and these are only the ones that I can remember off the top of my head.

I laugh when I think back to the time a few months ago when I thought the neighbors I had then were strange. Strange doesn't even begin to describe it now. This is either going to be good because of the blog material it'll provide, or bad because of how overactive my imagination is. 

I really need to work on my selective hearing. 

In Which I Do Better Than I Expect

Today marks the end of my third week of training at my new job. Everything is going really well, and I thought I’d take a few moments to fill you all in on that.

As I mentioned earlier, my training started on the last week of December with a day of company orientation. After that, we broke off into regional training classes, with mine consisting of three other people. There’s the lady who smelled like KFC, the lady with no front teeth and the lisp, and another woman my age who is a black belt in karate.

We went through a week of intensive classroom training where we learned all about the companies policy and procedures, and learned how to navigate through the various programs we’d need to use to service the people who call in. There was a lot to learn, and to make sure we were grasping everything completely, we had a series of tests to prove our knowledge.

Last Friday was the customer service test. We ran through a couple of fake scenarios in front of the on-site Quality Department manager with our lead trainer and were graded. I passed with flying colors, meeting all the required points. All of my other classmates passed as well, but KFC-Lady and Denture Candidate didn’t score as high as Miss Karate and I did.

This past Monday’s training class was our final chance to review of all that we had learned the previous week, and then we were given two tests: One to test our product knowledge, and the other to test our knowledge of the half-dozen computer programs we were trained on. These tests were serious. On either exam, if you scored between 74 and 85 points, you’d be placed on a probationary status pending a re-test the next day. If you didn’t get higher than that minimum score of 85 the second time, you’d get let go. If on the first try, though, if you scored less than 74 points, you were immediately terminated. There was considerable pressure with that threat of termination, but before I left that day, I learned that I passed both exams.

The next day, (this past Tuesday, this would have been), I showed up for class and it was only myself and Miss Karate. It appeared that KFC-Lady and Denture Candidate didn’t score well enough on either the Product test or the Technology test to be able to continue further.

Since then, Miss Karate and I have been on the phones, getting used to what kind of calls we’ll be receiving once we get out on the floor and into production. Normally the procedure is to have the new-hires sit with a seasoned agent to learn the ropes, but apparently our trainers feel that Miss Karate and I are advanced enough where they thought we wouldn’t need it. We’ve been taking calls by ourselves all week with our trainers in earshot in case we have a question.

I feel pretty comfortable with what I’ve been doing on the phones, but I am going to give it another week before I go out on my own. That extra week will help boost my confidence some more, and I’ll get more exposure to the different types of calls that I’ll be getting on a normal basis.

It’s been a long couple of weeks, but the end is in sight.

Have a good weekend, everyone.

In Which It Needs Clarification

Just in case you didn't know this already, the internet is a crazy place. I mean, where else can you bid on a priceless Spiderman comic, get a college education, and satisfy your fetish porn fix all in one place? Although I'm sure they might have tried, Walmart can't even compete with that. There are so many sites out there that cater to the endlessly varying demographics of people that browse the web, and with those millions of sites and billions of visitors comes the presence of advertisements.

At one point in time, internet ads consisted mostly of those annoying pop-ups that screamed at you through brightly colored, rapid-flashing, seizure-inducing graphics that said that you had won a prize because you were the site's One-Millionth Visitor! and all you had to do was Click Here To Claim Your Prize! The ad often had a picture of a big-screen television or a fancy computer as a sample prize, and yeah, you'd click on it. For a while, it was the Venus Fly Trap of advertisements.

If you didn't wind up brain damaged from twitching uncontrollably on the floor and sending strings of spittle across the room while in the throes of a grand-mal from the flashing graphic, clicking on the ad and filling out the resulting form meant the end of your care-free leisurely moments that you used to spend checking your e-mail. From that day forward, just as you were beginning to realize that you had been taken for a ride by the "one-millionth visitor" gag, your inbox would be flooded with spam messages hawking generic boner pills or discount beauty supplies or mail-order hypoallergenic German Shepherds.

All spam aside, I used to despise advertisements because they were distracting and had nothing to do with what I was doing or looking for at that moment. And like everyone else, I built up a tolerance for it and eventually was able to ignore them. Lately, though, the advertisements seem to have gotten smarter.

In some ways, it's kind of creepy. They're targeted to the content of the page you're looking at, or by what internet browser you're using. They're populated by your browser history, by your searching trends, or by what pages you have bookmarked. With all this technology, it lets companies advertise to those who would be more likely to be receptive to it.

All that technology doesn't mean a thing, though, if you can't put together a coherent and believable ad. When marketing departments fail, we get accosted with ads like this:

Where do I begin...

Let's start with the most obvious. Look at the size of that kid's hands. I highly doubt that is normal for an eleven-year-old kid living in Zimbabwe. They look freakishly disproportionate to me. Like maybe they were photoshopped in, perhaps?

The quote they use from little Thabani makes little sense, too. Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't being an orphan mean that you don't have a family? Looking past that, what exactly should we take that quote to mean? Did they use the goat to produce milk and cheese? Did they sell it or barter it for other goods? Did they sacrifice it in some religious ceremony and were blessed with some groceries? Or did they simply slaughter it, cook it over their fire pit, and eat it?

The only thing that I think is good about this ad is the slogan on the bottom right corner. "Give A Goat". If you ask me, it just has a certain ring to it.

I've got nothing against the company this ad is for. They do a good and noble thing, and I've donated to them in the past. I just think they should spend a little more time on their ads next time.

What's the craziest advertisement you've seen?

In Which It Sort Of Makes Sense

I was at the store this weekend getting a few essentials (peanut butter, ice cream, and toilet paper) when an end-cap display caught my eye. The particular grocery store I was in prides itself on not participating in any gimmicks in regards to keeping their prices low, and unlike other grocery store chains, they don't require people to have Rewards Cards to get the sale items at the advertised sale price.

That said, I found this end cap display to be a bit amusing:

No card games, they say. Interesting.

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which I'm Givin' The Dog A Bone

I was listening to a classic rock playlist on my iPod the other day when AC/DC came on. The particular song was the title track to their "Back In Black" album and, this being one of my favorite classic rock songs, I promptly turned the volume up. A few songs later, another track from the album came on, and something in my mind clicked.

I highly doubt that I'm the first person to have thought of this, but have you ever noticed, excluding the lyrics completely, how a majority of the song titles on this particular album can be used as innuendos?

"Shoot To Thrill" and "Givin' The Dog A Bone" are just two possibilities. Some others are "Shake A Leg" and "Have A Drink On Me". Of course, there is "Let Me Put My Love Into You", but that's not very subtle at all.

This is coming from the guy who saw the Twitter trending topic "#whoremembers" on Sunday night and immediately saw "Whore Members", instead of the intended "Who Remembers". A few other people agreed with me, which made me feel less bad for having my mind so firmly planted in the gutter. I guess when you're down there, it helps to have company.

Have a good weekend!

In Which I Interpret

I received an odd comment last week. It was on the entry where I talked about starting my new job, and how Christmas went for The Boss and I. I've gone back to re-read the comment a few times to try to understand it, but as it is written, I think understanding it would be like trying to make Paris Hilton seem intelligent. It's just not going to happen.

The comment was left, of course, by Anonymous. It reads as follows:

Today is the way he was perfectly lovely the first rate. Hit seemed like he would rip and motivate me. I suppose it, and the river a-fishing, and I'd be lying if I am nervous, and when he could do it, but it'll be sentimentering. We was just born for the river a-fishing, glad to him, and the cellar cupboard and mighty soon the job I don't know Arkansas. I'm a-saying'. Fur as that excavating my new that I get home late to supper, and when he. Working around other people will have to challenge and took my breath and the cellar cupboard and I'd be starting something new job, glad to him. I'm a-saying'. Fur as that he could do it, and I'd be sentimentering. I'll just glad to be moving on Aunt Sally's dress that I wasn't nervous. Well, but jist this n s a while prior to him, and most fainted. You prepared to, so I'm a-saying'. Fur as that I don't know Arkansas. If that excavating my breath and I'd be sentimentering.

Talk about confusing. I think my toenail clippings could come up with a more coherent comment than that.

I thought I'd offer my interpretation of the comment so it'd actually, you know, make some sort of sense:

Perfect. Today is the day he's going to make "first-rate" love to me. It seemed like he would rip me, which didn't exactly motivate me. I suppose that if the river is for fishing, then I'll let him do it. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous, but maybe I'm just being sentimental. I was born because of river fishing, and I should be glad to have him. At least it's not happening in some cellar cupboard in Arkansas. The mighty job will be over soon. I'm just sayin'. Walking around other people will be a challenge afterwards, he says. It'll take your breath away, he says. But like I've said, I'm glad to have him. It's like a new job. I'm just sayin'. I'm sure he can do it, and I'm just being sentimental. Or is it sentimentering? I'll just be glad to be moving on, even though I'm nervous to be doing this while wearing Aunt Sally's dress. Well, I tried to do this prior to knowing him, and I almost fainted. I'm prepared now, so I'm just sayin'. Here in Arkansas, I don't know if it's worth excavating, but I'm not holding my breath. I'm just sentimental. 

Good gravy.

Through this, I think it's safe to assume that the gender of the ever-popular Anonymous is female, and she's nervous about losing her virginity. It sounds like the guy she's with is packing a five-dollar-footlong (if you know what I mean), so I'd be nervous, too.

I'm just a saying'.

In Which I Parodize

"Pepperoni" - (sung to the melody of "Paparazzi", by Lady GaGa)

(Click here for the music video, so you can listen along.)

Verse One:
Sitting at home, not c-coming out.
Got no pants on, it's true; got this menu for you,
it's so magical,
you'd taste so fantastical.

Toppings and cheese, I don't care what it costs.
Delivery please, tonight it's just us;
it can't have a price... ready for Italian spice.
'Cause you know that baby I

Chorus One:
I'm your biggest fan, I'll order you until you love me,
Pepper-pepperoni.
Baby there's no other topping you know that I'll eat,
Pepper-pepperoni.
Promise I'll be kind, but only if he delivers you on time.
Baby you'll be tasty, wash you down with sweetened iced tea,
Pepper-pepperoni.

Verse Two:
Open the box, open it nice and slow,
Pull off two slices now, yeah, 'cause I'm hungry now.
In between the seats, moldy crusts and poppy seeds.

Your crust is burnt; I don't care if it's burnt.
First serving is gone, but there's no need to cry,
I'll just grab a slice, going down so very nice.
'Cause you know that baby I

Chorus Two:
I'm your biggest fan, I'll order you until you love me,

Pepper-pepperoni.

Baby there's no other topping you know that I'll eat,

Pepper-pepperoni.

Promise you'll be kind, and that you won't give me any heart burn this time.

Baby you are tasty, order you at least once weekly,

Pepper-pepperoni.

Bridge:

Real good, you fill up my stomach and
*click*, change that shit on TV and
(I) won't stop until it's all gone,
I'm flabby but I only live once!

Chorus Three:

I'm your biggest fan, I'll order you until you love me,

Pepper-pepperoni.

Baby there's no other topping you know that I'll eat,

Pepper-pepperoni.

Promise that next time, I'll be sure to order you online.

Baby you are tasty, there's no other food group for me,

Pepper-pepperoni.

---

Happy Monday, folks.

In Which It's 2010

On New Year's Eve 2008, I hoped that the year 2009 would prove to be better than 2008 had been. Now that 2009 is officially over I can't really say that it was any better, but I also really can't say that it was any worse. Better to break even in that case, I suppose.

If you look back in the archives, you'll see that my first post of 2009 was a list of things I wanted to do differently in 2009. As I was reading through the list, I realized that I actually accomplished some of them. Who would have thought that would actually happen? Aren't New Year's Resolutions made to be broken?

Here is the list I made last year, and whether or not I managed to make it come true. The resolution will be in italics, and the result will be underneath it.

---

I will put on my pants with my left leg first, instead of my right.

I don't really know if I did this or not, but I'm assuming I did. I tend to be left-footed in addition to being left-handed. Success!

I will alternate picking my nose between my left and right index finger.

Same as above. I don't really know if I did or not, but I'll say that I did. Success!

When sitting on the couch with The Boss, I'll aim my farts at her instead of away.

I'm pretty sure that have a perpetual bruise on my shoulder from this goal, but yeah. Success!

I will shave more than once every quarter-year.

I shaved probably five times during 2009, three of which in the past 45 days. Fail.

I will ignore The Boss' pleas to not burp in the cat's face.

For the part of the year that we had a cat, I burped in it's face daily. Success!

I will say what I mean, and mean what I say.

Success!... I think.

I will let my voicemail answer calls from family members who I don't care to talk to at that moment.

Due to certain members of my family over-sensitivity... Fail.

I will sing along to music while driving without holding my cellphone to my ear so it seems that I'm actually talking on the phone, not singing.

Despite a few embarrassing moments... Success!

I will blame my lack of politically correctness on ignorance.

Ignorance is bliss, and I am on cloud nine. Success!

After dealing with asshole doctors at work, instead of fuming silently, I will page their beeper's to telephone numbers for explicit phone sex.

Although I had dozens of instances where I was tempted to do this, I valued my job too much. Until I quit. Fail.

I will not tolerate watching anything that has, in any capacity, Ms Looks-Like-A-Foot herself, Sarah Jessica Parker.

I am most proud of this one. Success!

I will not feel guilty saying "No" when my employer calls me on my day off and asks me to work.

Not once did I feel guilty, and not once did I work extra hours on my day off that I did not sign up for myself. Success!

I will stay up to watch the ball drop on New Year's Eve next year, instead of going to bed before 10pm. I had to take a nap, but I made it. Success!

---

Success on ten out of thirteen points. A pretty good success rate, if you ask me.

Happy New Year, everybody. Have a good weekend!