Happy New Year

Ok, I've never been one to make New Year's resolutions, mostly because I'm probably one of the laziest, easiest distracted people out there. Why set myself up for failure? But this year I don't have a choice. After trying on like 6 different shirts last night to go to a party and realizing that I looked like a whale in each and every one of them, I decided that I need to lose a little weight. Ok, more than a little. I've got the gut o' doom going on right now. Would you like proof? I'll give you proof. Why the hell not. Let's just throw it out there for the world to see.

The ciiiiiiiircle of liiiiiiiiife.

Cute picture, right? Me holding my brand new neice in the classic Lion King pose. I should be standing on a cliff in Africa, but my grandma's living room will have to suffice. So there's me who looks like I didn't bother to look in a mirror that day, and baby who of course is adorable. Then your eyes continue down and you gasp and think:

"Is Melissa 8 months pregnant?? How is that even possible when she has a 9 month baby? Look at that gut!"

Then I crawl into your thoughts and say:

"No, no, no. That's not a human baby in there. That's the recent medical phenomenon known as the Food Baby. It's made up of grease, salt, sugar and high fructose corn syrup. And there's no nine-month gestational period as with a regular baby. This one can bake in you for years. And it can spontaniously turn into twins, triplets, or octuplets. I think I shall name mine Jabba the Hut. Hopefully his twin sister Fatima will get nipped in the bud."

Well, it's either a food baby or this evil little dude making my stomach expand disgustingly. Hard to tell at this point.Feed me, bitch!

I just hate my stomach. Here is another perfectly good picture ruined by the Gut From Hell.
I just look like all kinds of out of whack there. The funny thing is, at this New Year's party I was at, just about all the women were standing around at one point comparing problem areas on their bodies and pretty much ripping their physical selves to shreds. I think it's a woman thing...we always end up either talking about our labor stories or bemoaning or lack of waistline. The guys, on the other hand, stood on the outskirts of our little Circle of Self-Hatred and guzzled beer while rolling their eyes and generally staying as quiet as possible. They know to not say anything. That's a husband thing.
But moving on. Am I the only person who thinks this is one of the funniest thing ever?

Rudolph the foot-headed reindeer.

There's nothing like artwork made from your kid's bare foot. I can't stop laughing at it. That thing is never getting thrown away because I love it.

Happy 2009, everyone. Feel free to harangue me at various points this year about keeping my resolution. If I scream at you to mind your own damn business I don't really mean it.