So as we kick the last of 2012 to the curb, it’s traditionally time to make lists that review the year that just passed, singling out the key and memorable moments of the past twelve months.
But if that’s what everyone else is doing, you know I won’t be doing it. Instead, although I did accomplish quite a lot in 2013, and all sorts of things happened to and around me, I thought it would make sense to ruminate on
The Top 10 Things That Did NOT Happen to Me in 2012
10. I was not attacked and eaten by cannibal clowns, even though I had a few nightmares about it.
9. I did not celebrate a New York Jets Super Bowl. Again. Nor did I have an actual aneurysm—it only felt like it at times—while watching games despite Mark Sanchez’s “best” [read: “worst”] efforts.
8. I was not abducted and spirited away to a Caribbean paradise by Salma Hayek, where she would’ve lavished her … attention … on me for weeks on end. (Despite all the letters/emails/telegrams/telepathy I sent to her requesting this).
7. I did not find Bigfoot, although I was hardly alone on this. Ditto Nessie, the chupacabra, aliens or a clean hippie.
6. I was not mobbed by dozens of adoring fans at any of my book signings, although given the average age of those who did show up, it’d be more likely that I was cheek-pinched, ribbon-candied and gummed into a early bird nap.
5. I did not click on any links leading to sex tapes of Octomom or Hulk Hogan—or of Octomom *and* Hulk Hogan. [*shiver*]
4. I did not steal a car being used to deliver Chinese food and finish the route, make urine cupcakes, fake my death to throw off a mistress, get overcharged for 25 years by CL&P, discover a severed cat’s head in my yard, get struck by lightning while brushing my teeth in my bathroom or give birth on the side of the road during rush hour traffic, although living here in Connecticut, any of that—and all sorts of odder things—could’ve happened to me.
2. I did not have my rectum probed by a teenaged girl posing as a gastroenterologist … oh wait. Never mind. At least I did not have my rectum probed by a semi-coherent Gary Busey posing as a gastroenterologist.
1. I was not smited by the Mayan apocalypse (although the Maya never actually predicted an apocalypse), nor was I destroyed by a fiery asteroid impact, eradicated by a Frankenstorm, swallowed by zombie hordes or eaten by Honey Boo Boo. Or her mother, the human thumb.
Well, here’s to 2013—maybe I’ll have a few of these things crossed off the list for next year …
Or not.
Happy New Year to all!!!