End of Days

I'd almost forgotten about the Mayans.

On the news this morning they reminded us that, according to the Mayans, the world ends next Friday.

Honestly, I never really got all the fuss.  Yes, the Mayan calendar ends next week.  Guess what?  Our calendar runs out too, about a week and a half later.  Happens every year.  And you know what we do? We buy a new calendar.  For next year.

The Mayan calendar runs over 5,000 years.  When your calendar runs for five millennia, I'm guessing there's no great rush to start working on the next one.  The Mayans probably figured they'd take some well deserved time off (like, 1,000 years) before jumping on the next one.  And then the Spanish showed up.  Shit happens.

At any rate, I think it's best to get all that Christmas shopping done beforehand because I'm guessing a lot of morons are going to wake up on the 22nd and suddenly realize they need to buy gifts after all.

And So It Goes

No good deed goes unpunished and no good time doesn't get immediately swamped by bad news.  Or so it's seemed these past four years.

No sooner had I posted about out wonderful, magical day at the beach than we got word that the boyfriend's father had suffered a heart attack.  He's scheduled for quadruple bypass surgery later in the week and we've been scrambling to make arrangements to send the boyfriend east for a week, maybe more.

Luckily we'd had some money saved up.

Sadly, it had been set aside to do something special for our tenth anniversary in September.