Been a while since our last post. We’ve been busy failing to stick to our New Years Resolutions. But the gym is so crowded with New Years Resolutioners, who will only be there for one month before they quit going, that I had no choice but to quit going. Now I finally have time to write. Congratulations on surviving a year of Mayan apocalypse jokes, #YOLO at the end of every facebook update, or worse, Mayan apocalypse jokes involving YOLO (YOLO, until 12/21/12…. #bullshitjoke). I certainly won’t miss being forced to watch long distance running, water polo, or synchronized swimming on TV. Thanks a lot Olympics! And I won’t miss election coverage, which forced me to actually watch CNN in real life instead of just pretending that I do to seem smart. Thanks a lot Obama!

But at least we got some solid animal photo bombs this year. Obviously this one was the best.

Indeed, while 2012 was a great year in general, it definitely had some not so great moments. The most terrible of all being when I accidentally watched Battleship on a plane. But it was something else in 2012 that truly haunts me to this day. On New Years Eve, 2012, I drank 500 glasses of champagne, and woke up the next morning with what felt like pneumonia, dysentery, and fever combined. Basically all of the deadliest Oregon Trail diseases joining forces to destroy my body from within. If I had to rate this hangover between 1 and 10, with 1 being a sneaky hangover you got from drinking two glasses of Merlot at dinner with your parents, and 10 being that sledgehammer of a two-day hangover which triggers your 35th vow to never drink again, this would have been an 11. I This is Spinal Tap’d it. It was a three-dayer, and no amount of pho or gatorade could cure it. At one point I contemplated pouring a gatorade into a bowl of pho, then cracking a raw egg into it, and tossing in a shot of whiskey for good measure. Then I realized this was disgusting and would surely make me vomit. Such was the seriousness of my condition.

I took this as a sign that I may actually be aging. Despite my best efforts. The extent of a hangover is a good indication of ones age. An 18 year old can probably chug six Zimas, take shots, stay out all night, and wake up the next morning feeling a little tired, but otherwise OK. Oh to be young! At 25, any shot will result in a mandatory five minute recovery period where everyone makes a scrunched up face while hunched over with hands on knees. But fear not! I have a solution. I propose that people just start drinking heavily when they turn 12. They’ll party hangover free for years before they finally hit terrible two-dayer territory. By the time they’re 18 they’ll have matured to the point of only drinking a glass of scotch at night to take the edge off. No hangover. I know what you’re thinking, “12-year-olds are too young to drink, they’ll get themselves into trouble!” You have a point. Better start at ten. What are ten-year-olds going to do? Get wasted and go play with legos? Actually, that sounds kind of like what I do now. Point taken. Either way, lets hope 2013 brings a kinder, gentler hangover. Happy New Year folks!

-KE