I’m so fond of my attorney I spent a good bit of 2016 contemplating various crimes just so I could enjoy more confidential time with him.
First, I wanted to kill Wendy, the malignantly vapid real estate agent who botched the sale of my Mom’s South Hills condo.
The story of my involvement with Wendy, the months of work we did to fix the place up to her dictates, and the money her bungling — either deliberate or through native stupidity — cost my Mom is a story too epic for jiffy blog disposal.
No, that story will be relived in full detail when I write a book about who all’s in hell and cast Wendy as Satan’s wife.
And if Wendy is Mrs. Satan then that means even for Satan hell will be hell.
But my attorney said a long murder trial — he was confident of my acquittal — would cut into our precious bar time so he counseled against killing Wendy.
He offered a judicious alternative.
Kill her reputation!
I sent what I hope was a devastatingly thorough expose of her incompetence to the building manager at Virginia Mansions on Greentree Road. This woman loves my mother, is fond of me and will likely weigh my opinion before ever recommending Wendy of Keller Williams Realty ever again.
So I lost a whole summer with my family doing work with my friend Mark at Mom’s old place. The only good thing to come out of it was I got to spend a whole summer doing work with Mark at Mom’s old place (see Mark link).
Beating up on 2016 seems to be very popular this week. I get it. I had intended to headline this post: “Good riddance, 2016: Worst Year Ever!”
It’s true. It really sucked. There was the whole Mom thing, persistent money shortfalls and anticipated career breakthroughs were delayed.
And, damn, Arnold Palmer was proven to be mortal. Didn’t see that coming.
Figures, too, 2016 was a damn leap year so we had to endure a whole extra day of awful.
So, boo, 2016! Boo! Boo! Boooo!
But I always seek perspective and understand what sucks for me is likely someone else’s idea of their greatest year ever, particularly if that hypothetical is a blogger in, say, Aleppo.
In some ways, 2016 was a fantastic year. My Tin Lizzy office became a popular party station, I earned effusive cheers for my speaking engagements in places as distant as Nebraska, and I was elated by the euphoric reaction to my new book.
My wife still loves, my kids still love me and the stupid dog doesn’t pee on my foot with the regularity he once did. I have so many good friends to brighten even the darkest days.
I imagine you can check most of those boxes, too.
That’s a pretty good year.
And no matter how you look at it, you have to give 2016 this much.
It only has two days left! Even the very worst years succumb to term limits.
Because of that, I’ve decided to treat the New Year like the Earth birthday it actually is.
I do this so I can use a nifty line I’ve until now reserved for birthdays of Facebook friends.
I’ve had friends ask me if it’s an original or if I thieved it from Hallmark.
They should know me better than that. I’d rob banks before I’d plagiarize another writer.
And if 2017 doesn’t yield better results, felonious larceny will become a career option.
The line …
“Happy Birthday, Planet Earth! May tomorrow be the first day of your best year yet!”
It applies as optimistically to a 4 year old as it does to one who’s turning 2,017.
It applies as optimistically to a 4 year old as it does to one who’s turning 2,017.
The “yet” is key. It hints at even better years to come.
I hope that’s what’s in store for you, me, and the whole planet.
We’re all older, savvier and now know it’s wise to avoid Wendy.
So Happy New Year!
Welcome 2017!
As for 2016, you can take a flying leap year.
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