The Grapes of Past

And it's a new year. 

I wish all of you just enough success in 2009 so as to not make me jealous of you. 

If my hopes come true, expect a lackluster year. 

But my hopes never come true. 
Which is why I'll have a lackluster year. 

My new year's resolution?

Also known as an eventual broken promise to yourself?

Start eating grapes again. 

I used to always eat grapes as a kid. 

Now, it's not that I dislike them. 

I simply haven't been bothered enough to eat them. 

I'd say I haven't eaten a grape in at least ten years or so. 

And what lies are you telling yourselves this season?

Vomit after more meals?

Jerk off in the shower regularly?

You'll never make it. 

It's like Lent. Minus the piety and accompanying guilt. 

I'm less bothered by my own nudity when I'm subjecting someone else to it. 

My missus spent some of Christmas with the Warfords. 

Which involves being ignored in the name of video games. 

And hearing my parents talk about what Jim Saunders is up to. 

Whoever the fuck that is. 

"Oh, you knows Jim. He's married to Louise." 

"Louise...Now, did she used to be a Dawe?"

"Yes, up in Brigus..."

That sort of thing. 

She fared rather well. 

And the gifts that mom gave her didn't even turn out to be hideous. 

I gave her macaroni glued to stuff. 

Because I'm a shitty, yet adorable, boyfriend. 

I've never met anyone named Lucy. 

Unless I have and I've forgotten. 

In which case, Lucy will probably read this in a few days. 
And then she'll be pissed. 

But that's just like her.