Completely indifferent. *Updated with an embarrassing confession.

Happy New Year, y’all.  Out with the aughts, in with the teens or whatever either one of those decades are supposed to be called.  Has anything been decided on, officially?  ‘Cause if not I’m going to just go ahead and declare them the aughts and the teens and call it a day.  Feel free to steal the terms that I made up all on my own without any help from the Internets or a dictionary or an expert panel or anything. 

I’ve heard a lot of people complaining about how Sucky McSuckerton 2009 was, where “heard” equals “read” and “people” equals “semi-anonymous, practically faceless, online-supplementary-personas”.  These “people” weren’t big fans of the final year of the aughts for reasons I’m not sure of because I didn’t read anything but the title of their complainy blog posts.  Not that I’m against complainy blog posts, I produce more than my fair share, I’ve just been so busy doing not much of anything important that I’ve taken to viewing the titles that pop up on my RSS reader as more like summaries of blog posts, rather than introductions.  It’s a bad habit that I’m going to pound into oblivion as a part of my list of New Year’s resolutions, which up to this very moment consists of:

1)  Stop reading just the titles of blog posts.

2)  Wear track pants more often.

And seeing as I couldn’t possibly wear track pants more often than I do, unless my work revises it’s dress code dramatically, I’m pretty sure I can completely bang off that list before January 2.  That leaves the rest of the year to do not much of anything important, which is really what I’m best at.

Two thousand and nine wasn’t sucky for me.  It wasn’t fantastic, either, I don’t think.  I mean, nothing bad happened, if memory serves me (which it usually doesn’t – I’m taking Memory FX because the test literally* laughed at me for having the memory of an 89-year-old Alzheimer’s patient**), but I don’t remember*** anything Super Duper Fantabulicious happening, either.  Nobody was born, I don’t remember anyone dying****, neither of us lost our jobs, we didn’t win the lottery*****. 

So, meh.  2009 is over.  It’ll go down in infamy as the year I almost instantaneously forgot ever existed.

I’ve heard it said that the opposite of love isn’t hate, its indifference.  Not only do I not even care that 2009 is over, half the year I wrote the date as “2008”.  And not out of spite for a crappy year; simply because I didn’t care that 2009 existed.

I win. 

Did I start that thought inside my head and let you in half way through again?  Well, to catch you up, there was a contest between me and the 2009-haters and I win because I’m the one who opposite-of-loved 2009, not them.

***

* Not literally.

** Not really, but close probably.

*** Quelle surprise!

****  I hope this is true because that would really suck to forget something like that.

*****  This is a complete lie.  I scratched my way $5 richer not a week ago.  I don’t even know how I’m going to spend my loot.  Oh, that’s right.  I bought lip balm.  I’m literally****** rolling in my bounty.

******  Not literally.

***

*UPDATE – See the thing with having a horrible memory is that sometimes you forget things that make you look like an anus for forgetting.  A stupid, thoughtless, uncaring, clueless anus.  Because after sleeping on it, my memory was all “DUDE!  I REMEMBER NOW WHY PEOPLE HATED 2009!  THE ECONOMY THAT WENT SWIFTLY INTO THE CRAPPER AND LEFT HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE JOBLESS AND PENNILESS!  AND THAT THING WE ALL ARE STILL PANICKING ABOUT WITH THE DYING AND THE VACCINES AND THE PIGS!  WHAT WAS THAT CALLED AGAIN?  OH, YES!  H1N1!  I REMEMBER!  Now go update your blog post before people think you’re a real idiot.” 

Too late, memory.  Too late.

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4 thoughts on “Completely indifferent. *Updated with an embarrassing confession.

  1. You used “quelle surprise” as the ending to a sentance. I love you. No, really.

    I do that all the time and my husband just rolls his eyes at me.

    • I’m not sure if this is going to force you to retract your love, but I purposely pronounce it wrong. Like this: Kell Serpreeze. I also like to call french fries frites, as an homage to our french neighbours to the east. But, again, I pronounce them phonetically ’cause lets not get crazy here.

  2. Eh…pronunciation isn’t important … that, by the way is my favourite french word “prononciation”… or even better is how whenever I want to borrow anything I ask if I can “emprenter” it. No idea why, just do.

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