Dear 2011

It appears as though you've arrived right on schedule, to find me the same neurotic fatass I was in 2010. Crazy.
No, I know, it's really not that crazy.  I didn't really do anything in 2010 to change anything although I vowed over and over that I would.  I went through ADD spasms of pretending I was going to be skinny one day, they just never really stuck. 

Remember in March, when I was riding my exercise bike like a million miles a day and then Jesus made me go to Las Vegas twice where I ate and drank a lot and ruined any progress I might have made? Or how about October when I uploaded a Nike fit app on my iPhone and had religiously done my workouts for THREE WHOLE DAYS and then Jesus made me sick for an entire month?  Or how about just recently, when Jesus had a birthday party and told me that all he wanted from me was to eat three cheese balls?

Maybe I should be writing this letter to Jesus.

2011, I didn't promise you anything this year. I've been reading all week the magical and glorious things people plan on doing to themselves during your reign. And good for them.  I guess all I can hope for is that you are as good to me as 2010 was. (Except for that entire month I was sick. Not cool, 2010.) (And the part about me still being a fatass.) (Oh, and maybe you could stop making my neighbors all move or die, I'm starting to get a complex.) (Unless it's the ones to the East. They could totally move.  Or die.)

I'd like to thank you in advance for my super awesome family and my hot boyfriend, and for providing me with badass friends that are mostly bad influences but totally mean well.  Mostly.  Also, my usually zit-free face and ability to drink beer before liquor and not be sicker.
Oh, and do you think I should cut bangs?
Is that one for Jesus?  I'm getting confused.

Sincerely,

ern