Last day of 2018.

Let’s all try to forget the heinousness of this year, shall we?

Instead, I will just share my resolutions for 2019: I will be nice and not crap on other people, and, rather than shying away from the different, I will embrace the different. The exotic. The unique.

I will find something to appreciate in our differences rather than trying to make everyone the same.

I will love everybody, and try to treat every single being on this planet as if they mattered to me, rather than being something that is in competition with me for limited resources. We aren’t animals, competing for food. We are human beings, and most of us have plenty of all of our needs. I’ll try to keep that in mind, as I am fortunate enough to have everything I need.

And, finally, I’ll remember that since we weren’t put here to judge each other, I need to learn to be polite. If I don’t have anything nice to say, I’ll keep it to myself. Crapping on other people in public is super tacky, and it needs to stop. I’ll be more dignified in 2019.

These are the things I will be working on in 2019. We have to stop these artificial wars between ourselves. We don’t all need to be friends, but we really need to work on our manners. Because we’ve gotten all kinds of tacky. And I just don’t want to be tacky.

Happy end of 2018, everybody. Thank goodness this hot mess is over with.

Everyone and their dog has been asking me how my Dad is doing. Seriously, the dogs want to know, too. Probably because my Dad is the dog whisperer and they all love him immediately. Whereas they kind of hate me sometimes because I can’t hold back and then I get all up in their smooshy little faces and hug and kiss them because I have no boundaries with animals.

At any rate, I have been getting messages all week about my Dad and how he’s holding up.

In case anybody’s wondering, you are allowed to ask him. He won’t get mad or yell or anything. And he does subscribe to the “messaging and texts are better than phone calls” school of thought, so those are fine, too.

I know, though. It feels awkward.

I mean, it doesn’t to me because he’s my Dad and all, but yeah. I know all about the awkward conversations. Had a few myself with other people. But really, just shoot him a text.

In case you’re wondering, though, he’s great. Well, as great as anyone could possibly be under these craptastic circumstances. And it gets a little less horrible some days, so that’s good, too. Also, we don’t really talk too much about feelings in our family because they’re gross, so that’s fun. We just make jokes about things until we can stand them and then move on.

But it’s going okay. All the Christmasness and things. Everybody’s hanging in there, amidst all the poop that life has flung at us this year. And we are proudly standing, covered in life’s poop, throwing life the finger.

Not literally, of course.

Well, I am.  I’m not sure about everyone else. But that’s how I roll. Flipping life off behind its back.

So, back to the point (if I ever have one, ha ha), my Dad. He’s a champ. Don’t worry about him. He’s got his team of weirdos and we’re all hanging in there together. Plus, he has two Velcro dogs, so that’s also neat.

Sometimes, listening to all of the conversations happening around you in a restaurant pays off with a new family catchphrase. This past weekend, we added “American Classic” to our repertoire.

We went to Albuquerque for the monthly Costco extravaganza, and on the way, we decided to stop off at The Range in Bernalillo for some lunch. We always ate there when we lived in the area, so it’s kind of fun for us to go back and see if they have the same paintings on the walls or the same waitstaff. You know, old people fun times.

So we’re sitting there, looking at our menus, and we notice that there’s a guy with sunglasses and a very expensive shirt sitting at the table next to us, with a table full of people who are obviously his entourage, because they’re all hanging on to his every word and laughing at all of the things he says, even when they’re not that funny. They’re doing quite a bit of filming in this area these days, so we can only assume he is some kind of movie person or something because he is most definitely not a local.

At any rate, they get their order, and the guy goes off about his “f@$&ing BLT.” Seriously. He was mad. So he starts saying things like, “How do they mess up a f@#$ing BLT? This bread is absolutely the wrong thickness!” and other things of that nature, and gestures wildly for the waiter to come over to his table.

The waiter, who was a very nice guy, early 20s, good at his job, gets there and says, “Is there anything wrong with your order?”

Here it comes...

The movie guy goes, “How do you guys mess up a BLT? It’s an AMERICAN CLASSIC?!?”

Then he proceeds to outline that the bread is a fraction of an inch too thick, so that the insides of the bread aren’t toasted (how do you even toast the insides of a piece of bread?), and that the ratio of mayonnaise is wrong, and that the bacon isn’t “the right amount of crispy.”

Yeah. And he uses the term American Classic multiple times.

So the guy leaves, gets him a new sandwich, and all is calm.

Yikes, dude. Those movie guys sure are picky with their sandwiches.

But, after all, we did get to refer to pretty much every purchase we made in Costco as an American Classic, and also pretty much everything else we encountered that day. Even the people on the freeway driving like maniacs. American Classics.

It’s funny. Ha ha ha.

Whoa. This post is super important. I just found out the secret of life.

It’s napping. Ha ha ha...fooled you there, didn’t I? But, seriously, it’s the best thing ever.

So my thyroid is on the fritz again, and I’m a bit tired lately, so I kind of just feel like sleeping all of the time. Okay, maybe that’s just how I’ve always been, but even more so this year, so bear with me.

Two days a week I get to go teach and hang out with my Dad, and since we drive up so early in the morning, I get to nap on my Dad’s amazing couch.

It’s truly the best napping couch ever. I want to write poems to it and buy it flowers.

At any rate, yesterday, the sun was shining through the windows right onto the couch, and the dogs were up there and we all had a big sunny nap on the couch while game shows (oh, yes, you know that’s right) we’re playing in the background. It was flipping magical.

So, props to the couch. The napping couch. I shall call you Theraflu, because you never fail at putting me to sleep. Ah.