The last time I actually celebrated New Year's Eve, I did so with a group of rowdy friends. We spent a good chunk of the evening drinking (a lot) while trying to blow up a Hulk Hogan doll with bottle rockets. The Hulkster proved to be quite the adversary, though, and we ended up only inflicting flesh wounds. It hadn't occurred to us that they design toys today to be inflammable. We succeeded with the drinking part, though. In the wee hours of the New Year I defended my Handstand Champion title and woke up the next morning with muddy feet, a hard-earned hangover, and the feeling that great things lie ahead.
I was right. Great things did happen that year. I graduated from college (finally), moved halfway across the country to a town I'd longed to inhabit, and, at the end of the year, I met the man I eventually married.
This past New Year's Eve was far less eventful. While we had planned to be in bed as early was humanly possible, we ended up awake at midnight, listening to our neighborhood erupt into a barrage of fireworks and hooting and hollering. I'll admit it made my heart ache just a little. While I was thankful to start the new year clearheaded and functional, there is a part of me that will always miss the shenanigans of days past. That said, I don't think I would last more than a day or two in my old life. These days I need to take a nap halfway through my first beer. Oh, to be young(er)...
Dinner on New Year's Eve was...
Huevos Rancheros! So easy and so delicious. Two baked corn tortillas topped with a scoop of seasoned beans, two fried eggs, and condiments including avocado, sour cream, cheese, salsa, olives, green onions. Round it out with some chopped romaine lettuce and you've got yourself a rich, filling meal.
So, this year...2010. I am not the type of person to make serious resolutions. I've tried, in the past, but I tend to forget what I've resolved to accomplish by about May, so why bother? I have, however, found myself on a bit of a health kick since the beginning of January. Over the holidays, I baked myself out of the majority of my jeans. I just couldn't stop with the Neiman-Marcus cookies. The Sour Cream Coffeecake(s). The Virginia Gentleman with ginger ale. The morning coffee with Carolans and the tiniest little scoop of Tillamook Vanilla Ice Cream. Oh, it was all so decadent, delicious, and totally satisfying. Couple the baking with the complete lack of physical activity and the fabulous disruption of Mr. Mallard's time off work and we've got a wardrobe disaster.
Since I'd rather workout than go shopping, I finally got our elliptical machine repaired and I've been kicking my own ass ever since. I get up early (woe is me!) to work out and shower before the Biggest Girl beckons. It's not easy, but it is so rewarding. Becoming the Prime Minister of Portion Control, I retired my baking apron for the time being and managed to work off seven pounds in the last week. Seven pounds! I would love to make a cake shaped like the number seven to celebrate, but I'm really loving this whole being healthy thing. I'm not going to call it a resolution, but I am going to hope I have the discipline to continue down this path.
Oh, and I've been working a slogan for 2010. So far, "Learn to pluck a hen in 2010!" is the only one that's sticking. I might need to put a little more effort into this. Or find a chicken farm...
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