Ring Ding in the New Year.

It begins in 73 hours and 48 minutes. For about the fiftieth time in my life I will be starting a diet, a classic resolution. Happy New Year to me!

They say that referring to a weight loss endeavor as a "diet" can hurt motivation since the word "diet" is always so poorly received. Please. Everyone knows that any means of weight loss is a diet, and any diet sucks... HARD. Of course in my case, food is an emotional crutch. Not only am I going to have my cookies taken away, I'm going to cry about it. This tweaks the suck meter considerably.

My motivation? Smaller pants. I realize how sad this appears, but the instant gratification of going into a store and being able to pick progressively smaller sizes from the rack makes my mouth water. I continue to suffer under the delusion that smaller pants will cure my emotional and behavioral ills as well. Of course the health benefits of it all are just the icing on the cake. At this point I'd rather clean up the rubble than dwell on the cause of the fire.

So, Happy New Year to you all. Wish me luck because I'm sure going to need it.

While the rest of the world counts down from 10 with Dick Clark and sings that song they don't know the words to, I will be cramming a Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie into my mouth. I might even attempt two if I can fit them both without choking.