Life happens: It's the end of the world as we know it
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By Aprill Brandon
It's about time.
The new year is finally here, folks. I think we can all agree that 2011 was overstaying his welcome, what with all the natural disasters, civil unrest and hogging the remote while eating all our Triscuits.
But now it's 2012, a bright new shiny year full of wonderful new opportunities and bright new shiny predictions of a fiery and violent end of the world as we know it.
For those of you who haven't heard because you've been too busy fist pumping your brain cells away (I'm assuming this only includes the cast of "Jersey Shore"), the Mayans made this wicked long calendar back in the day, and it ends on Dec. 21, 2012, thus making a certain portion of the population believe the Mayans knew the world would end on that date.
Personally, I think it's much more likely the Mayans just decided to blow off the rest of their math homework. But the theory does have some credible evidence behind it. I mean, according to the "official" Dec. 21, 2012 website, both Britney Spears AND Montel Williams are among the supposed celebrity believers, so ... yeah ...
But, BUT, if it is true, forget the future worries of a horrific death of all living creatures. This brings up a much more immediate concern. For days, I have been trying to come up with my New Year's resolutions. And I have to tell you, I am downright stumped.
I mean, if this is my last year on earth, I'll be damned if I'm going to spend it getting organized, being nicer to people and finally losing those pesky extra five pounds (OK, fine! 10! Not that it matters. Just more for the apocalypse to love).
For example, if the world is going to end, one of my resolutions is to stop paying my rent and then use the money to go on an exotic trip. By the time the landlord goes through all the proper channels to get me kicked out, we'll all be dust (as will my rental, actually, thus making rent moot). HOWEVER, if the world does not end, that means I am now homeless.
Likewise, if the world is going to end, I fully intend on eating bacon and drinking Scotch for breakfast every morning. But if Dec. 22 does dawn, that means I'm probably destined to die a painful and disease-riddled death at age 37.
It's a very delicate balance here. I want to live it up during my last year of existence, but I can't discount the fact that every single other prediction of the end of the world has been ... hmm ... how to put this ... 100 percent wrong. So for days I've been stuck weighing the possible repercussions of my potential resolutions. Such as these:
Finally buy that pet monkey and name him Winston/Be stuck changing Winston's diaper for, like, 40 years or however long those wacky creatures live.• Finally tell my high school nemesis how I really feel and how stupid her face is/Spend the rest of my days avoiding her.
• Stalk, kidnap and force Ryan Reynolds to make out with me on a daily basis/Have a very awkward conversation with my neighbors about how I am now classified as a "sex offender."
Don't bother with voting because it won't really matter or change anything/Don't bother with voting because it won't really matter or change anything. • Finally let my husband buy that 72-inch HD plasma flatscreen with pixel-something or other so we can watch the world burn on CNN in crystal clear clarity/Live inside the box the TV came in in some scary alley behind what used to be our house.
• Don't bother buying Christmas gifts for anyone/Be stuck shopping on ... (shudder) ... Christmas Eve where my chances of being trampled to death inside Kohl's is fairly high.
Like I said, this year is a particularly difficult year for resolutions. Luckily, if personal history is any indication, I'll forget and/or give up on all of them soon.
But just in case, Ryan, if you are reading this, you might want to invest in more bodyguards. Soon.
Aprill Brandon is a columnist for the Advocate. Her column runs every two weeks in the Your Life section. Comment on this story at www.VictoriaAdvocate.com.