Three simple goals are on my list this year: Get enough sleep, moderate exercise, and staying the hell away from any self-help guru who has the answers to my problems. This is the year I stop the insanity(with apologies to Susan Powter, who by the way has disappeared off the radar screen, but maybe that's a good thing). This is the year I stop reading memoirs from tortured women who had the sheer good luck of having a publisher send them on a multi-nation journey of self discovery. This is the year I kiss Oprah goodbye. This is the year I never again spend my hard earned money on another stupid diet book.
I am done, done, DONE!
There isn't a freaking face or body lotion that will ever make me look like America's top model. I can run my ass off and I still won't be a size six again...or a ten, for that matter. But I can be a relatively healthy size 12, and that's okay, too.
I no longer have a desire to make friends or influence people (sorry, Mr. Carnegie) and now that I think about it, I don't think that was ever my goal. You don't like me...who the hell cares!
Your kid is on the honor roll? Big whoop. My kid could open a bottle of wine by the time she was ten (relax, she never drank any, just served mommy and daddy a glass with dinner).
I'm done with real housewives, the Kardashians, and any other group of idiots who decide to tell all on reality t.v. The Soup, with Mr. McHale, is pretty entertaining and its main goal is to make fun of stupid talk and reality shows, so I'll probably still watch it. But everything else...done, finito.
And with that, I'm taking my sagging, middle-aged butt off to bed. Sweet dreams
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