The Future's So Bright

You're absolutely right. I've been neglecting you. I blame today's violent blizzard. (I mean, really, Georgia, really? It's supposed to be in the mid-70's by Friday. I feel like we're living in the End Times here.) So, sorry about that. Blame the weatherman.

I have for you today something I wrote in my little blog-planning Word document on December 31st, but apparently forgot all about until New Year's was good and passed and it was deemed irrelevant. Well, here at Isle of Everything, we pay no heed to silly things like time and date. Pretend it's the eve of 2009 for a sec, okay? Starting... now.

In the vein of every magazine ever published, I present to you my predictions for 2009. But I'm a little short-sighted and a lot self-absorbed, so instead of prognosticating about the next 365 days of America or the state of the world, I decided to think smaller scale-- about me. And I'm no Nosferatu (or Nostradamus, for that matter), so I thought I'd just give you a time traveler-style sneak peek into what's not in store for Amy in '09. Here goes:

In January, I will probably not win tickets via a radio station contest to Obama's inauguration. I will proceed to not fly myself and two friends up to D.C., where we will then not get a little tipsy and wind up hitting on a few young, strapping Secret Service agents. Those Secret Service agents will go on to not offer to give us a "private tour, if you know what I mean," of the White House, and myself and my two friends will not wind up sharing a moment with Michelle Obama where we're mistaken for White House dog-walkers. Hilarity will not ensue.

In February, I will not have a bevy of suitors knockin' down my door in time for Valentine's Day. This will make February '09 like most every other February that ever there was.

In March, I will not, at the last minute, enter a bracket into a high-stakes March Madness contest worth $20,000. I will not pick Kentucky to win the whole shebang, as I always do, and I will not be awarded $20,000 in the form of a giant cardboard check.

In April, I will not remember to plan a series of elaborate pranks for my roommates resulting in one or both of them not speaking to me for a week. I will not remember to turn this blog into Isle Of Jesus or Isle Of Republicans or Isle Of Nicolas Cage.

In May, I will not lay out on my roof, then proceed to fall asleep and accidentally roll off, thus breaking several bones and my foolish pride. I will not enjoy the subsequent hospital stay.

In June, I will not take a trip to Destin with a few girlfriends only to wind up staying at the same hotel as some MTV summertime beach house reality show, and will not wind up entering a competition in which I have to eat whipped cream off a stranger faster than anyone else can eat whipped cream off a stranger. I will not be the fastest whipped-cream-eater and will not win the prize of a gift card to FYE and bragging rights.

In July, I will not be thrown the Super Sweet Sixteen style birthday party that I know I've always deserved. I will not come up with a creative yet cruel way of publicly handing out invitations to those deemed worthy. Sasha Fierce will not perform.

In August, it will be hot.

In September, I will not decide to finally cash in on my birthday present from my parents from three years ago-- skydiving. I will not be too distracted by my cute tandem instructor to remember to pull the cord and we will not plummet to our doom because he was too distracted by his cute skydiving instructee to pull the damned cord, too.

In October, I will not dress up as something politically or pop culturally relevant for Halloween. I will instead dress up as a cow (again).

In November, I will not be shopping at Lenox Mall when a talent agent happens by, recognizing my raw talent and devastating good looks and not casting me as the romantic lead in a new film opposite Robert Pattinson. We will not fall madly in love on set, despite our sizzling chemistry.

In December, I will not get my Christmas shopping done until several days after Christmas has passed, which will not be unusual for me. I will not receive Christmas cards from Michelle Obama, that MTV deejay guy, Sasha Fierce and Robert Pattinson. I will not write another list such as this one in the wee hours before New Year's Eve, 2009.

In 2010, though, all those things are going to happen to me. Just wait and see. 2010, man, that's my year.

So far, my predictions have been accurate for January and February. I have high hopes that I'm wrong about November, though. I have a feeling Robert Pattinson and I would share some sizzling chemistry.