So the week before Christmas, there was a day when I had hit a real low. We had just come from seeing Santa-- which I usually love. But my 11 year old humiliated me by being that kid who, in one breath, asked Santa for a laptop and an ipod touch, and an iphone, and some new ugg boots, real ones, not the fakes. She deserved to be cuffed. But I didn't cuff her, I just went home and sat in the car, depressed. I waited. In the car, in my garage, putting off the impending chores and messed around on Facebook.
And I stumbled onto this.
How can you not smile at that? It's really impossible. Diva, children, Fallon. What's not to like? I left the car with happy tears in my eyes, vowing to be happier and do better. I felt so great that I turned on some more Christmas music and blasted my all time favorite Christmas song, Let It Snow, the extra jazzy version by Harry Connick Jr. And I felt so great that I started dancing in the privacy of my own kitchen. Jazz hands and Fosse grapevines and all. I felt so good that I busted out a high kick. And that's when things took a turn for the worse. My injured leg and skinny jeans just couldn't keep up with my festive enthusiasm and I collapsed into a heap. And then I was right back where I started.
This year I am going to try to not be so hyperbolic and bipolar in my thinking. I am also going to alternate my Dostoevsky and Tolstoy with a little Bravo TV, you know, to try to be a little more well rounded.
A very Happy New Year.