Photos from the olden days... the 70s

Thank you to all of you who expressed your condolences for the loss of our beloved Chuck. A part of me still can't believe he's gone, like I think he's on a business trip or something and will return soon.  There are so many of us in so much pain, but at least we have each other, just as we've had each other for decades. I am blessed to have to many old friends, and don't think I don't appreciate the new ones, too.  And the virtual ones I've never met.

There should be a word for that split second of time right after you wake up in the morning, before you remember the sadness. You know what I'm talking about?

I stole a couple of Facebook photos from Courtney, Lori, and my friend Tim that I thought you'd get a kick out of. 

This one is of me, Chuck, and Tim's wife, Susan.  Judging from my gut, I'd say this was taken in the summer of 1978 or 1979, when I was pregnant, had just given birth, or both.  (My kids were born in February 1978 and March 1979.)  It's a hideous shot of me, which shows you I don't just post pictures that make me look good.  Though that is, in fact, the case 99% of the time.

I know for sure this one was taken during the summer of 1978. All of us were at a wedding and OMG, did we get shitfaced. I was not yet 21 (you could drink at 18 back then). Chuckie was so cute.

Flash forward to I want to say the mid 90s. That's Chuck with three out of four of the Haber Honeys: my sister Lisa, me, and Lori. Chuck is holding a Pee Wee Herman magnet. Because we made him.

Since there was no friggin' way I could ever have have the big-hair style of the 80s, with my measly wisps of hair, I opted for the punk look. Oy. I remember when I got it cut, Chuck shook his head and said, "Linda, you're a beautiful girl. But that haircut... "

I could always count on Chuck to be honest.  Like the time a bunch of us were camping in Ithaca, New York, and Chuck and I decided we'd go for a swim.  I wore a brand new purple one-piece, and when I emerged from the water, Chuck said, "Hey, Linda! I can see right through your bathing suit!"  Awesome.  Alas and thank God at the same time, I have no photos of that.

Looking through the old pictures makes me long for the 70s again.  Here's a pic of Chuck and my first husband, Chris, playing guitars on our couch in our first apartment in Albany. I'll put these at 1979ish.

And one of Chris, Chuck and Tim around the same time period.  The boys are wearing ties, so something must have been going on. Chuckie always did color-coordinate his wardrobe with the surrounding artwork...

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little blast from our past.  And to anyone who ever thought, oh, Linda must have been hot back in her youth, you can see why I say I get better looking every day.

(Found that shirt in Ross a few months ago. I wore it to the hospital the last time I saw Chuck--so glad he got to see it. And he really did love Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers.  Sometime soon I'll tell you a little story about that...)

I love you all.

Sad.

My friend Chuck, who was very sick and in need of a kidney-liver transplant, passed away Friday night en route from a hospital in Albany to another hospital in Boston.  He put up a good fight right to the end. 

I'm back in Albany. I made flight arrangements Friday morning when I heard his condition was critical, hoping I'd cancel them when he got the call that there was a bed available for him in the hospital in Boston where the transplant would take place. At that point, he wasn't strong enough for the surgery, but the plan was to get him to Boston, where they would get him healthy enough to endure the procedure, and then he'd be there when the donor organs became available. 

So I was thrilled when I got word Friday afternoon that he was on his way. Yes, I knew he'd still have a long road ahead of him, but he'd be one step closer to the goal. Then I got a call Friday night from a friend who told me he'd gone into cardiac arrest on the highway and that I should wait before canceling my flight.  My sister Lori called an hour later to say our Chuckie was gone.

I speak for everyone who knew him when I say our hearts are broken. Chuck was the greatest guy--a "man's man" into the New York Giants and other manly stuff, and funny as hell.  I mean, look at him.  Is that a guy you'd want to be friends with or what?

Chuck's been a friend for a long, long time. We moved into 8 Lincoln Ave. in 1968; Chuck lived across the street at 7 Lincoln Ave.  My younger siblings don't remember a world without Chuck. He introduced me to my first husband, Chris--if it weren't for Chuck, there'd be no Christopher and Courtney. Or Connor or Hazel.

Lori, me, and Chuck

In addition to so many friends who loved him, Chuck leaves his wife of 27 years, my dear friend Carmela, and their daughter, Jess.  Lori, Chris, and I were at their house last night, and I thought about how every Sunday night I'm in town I'd sit myself in front of their TV to watch The Simpsons and Family Guy with Chuck.  Not last night, though.

There are no words to describe the sadness we all feel.  The wake is Thursday night and the funeral is Friday. I'm afraid the city of Albany will be flooded with tears. Our beloved Chuckie has left us.

If there's any bright side, I get to spend some time with this little one. I don't want to say something goofy like, "Life goes on," but it does.  In time, the hole in my heart will again fill with happiness.

 Love every minute, my friends.

So back to Kim Kardashian's big ass...

Note:  Sorry to my gay and lesbian readers for this distinctly heterosexual post.  Please feel free to comment and enlighten us as to how things roll from your perspective.

I loved the comments everybody left on that "T vs. A" post last week. It looks like guys go more for the rack than for the back end.  And why I didn't post this photo instead of the one of Susan Sarandon, I'll never know.

Actually, at that angle, it kind of looks like I have a big ass myself. But I DON'T!!!

Reader TAD offered some valuable insight on the topic:

"Yeah, I really like a nice rear view. But what's up front counts too. But it's a package deal -- I also like a cute face, lotsa hair, a warm personality, a woman with a brain in her head & a sense of humor...."

Lotsa hair?  Oh, shit. But have no fear; TAD puts in all into perspective in a subsequent comment:

"P.S. -- This whole 'body image issues' area is a real minefield -- which unfortunately women take MUCH more seriously than men, whether due to societal pressures or fashion or whatever. As long as a woman Has The Parts, most guys likely won't complain much. Remember what Julia Roberts said in EAT, PRAY, LOVE:  'In all your vast experience of taking your clothes off in front of gentlemen, have any of them ever left, or asked you to leave? No. You're naked and you're in the room -- they've won the lottery.'"

That is so true!  If we only knew how little men actually give a shit about everything we fret over. We make ourselves crazy! I wonder if guys have similar insecurities when it comes to women.  They must, right? Well, here are three things that I personally think men can chill over.

Losing their hair.  Maybe it's because I have such shitty hair myself, but I think baldness is no big deal.  Bruce Willis is just as sexy as George Clooney. Please, I beg of you, don't lose sleep over your hair.

Their weight. I admit, I prefer a beefy boy.  Morbidly obese is not good, but a bit of a gut is manly. I've said this in a previous post:

"The male body in itself means nothing to us because a body is just a body; women don't get turned unless there's an emotional attachment.  Even when I was single, I never had any desire to see the Chippendale's or Thunder Down Under.  Why would I  be fawning over someone I didn't even know?  Besides that, too-perfect male bodies are intimidating to us; we're not secure enough about our own bodies to be with, or even appreciate from afar, a guy's body that's too sculpted.  Not to mention, we also presume there's underlying ego issues beneath all those muscles and all that time in the gym that we simply don't want to deal with.  Real men have meat--and fat--on their bones!

"Seriously, give me a guy with a gut any day.  To me, that's the sexiest part of a man.  I remember when the Crocodile Hunter died and they were showing a clip of him wrestling a croc in the water and his shirt came up and revealed his stomach--I was like, god-damn, that's hot!  Manly, yes!"

How much money they make.  First of all, wealth is measured not by how much money you make, but how much is left over after the bills are paid. A guy who makes great money must have a skill or area of expertise that's in demand--and that's attractive--but points off if he is deep in debt because of impulsive spending or poor money management. On the other hand, a guy who makes much less can actually end up with much more when you consider the bottom line.

On the other end of the spectrum, here are three automatic turn-offs:

Unkempt hands and feet. I think I speak for all women when I say that if a guy is dire need of a manicure, those hands are going NOWHERE! And long fingernails are as equally repulsive as dirty nails. Blech! And if your hands are good, but your feet are nasty, you'll never get us between the sheets.  We'll be worrying about those things touching us the whole time.

Hands that are always touching his nose. Two words: STOP THAT!

Bad table manners.  Now, talking with your mouth full of food is an obvious violation, right? Here's something else, and this drives me batty: Never, never wipe your nose with your napkin and then put the napkin on the table.  (That, of course, goes for everybody.) I can't tell you how many times I'll be in a restaurant and someone does this.  I wish I had the nerve to say something, but I just seethe in silence.  That's just gross.

So that's my little rant for the day.  What say you?

What I've been up to since last time

Feel like I've been busy as hell lately.  I'll start with today and work backward.

Did a glorious 5-mile walk this morning out at Lake Mead with my friend Gail...

 ...and then went into Boulder City for lunch at the Boulder Dam Brewing Company. Oh, what a gorgeous day! And there' nothing like sipping a Black Canyon Stout on an outdoor patio in the sun. Especially on January 21.  How lucky we are!

Last night I did a set at the open mic at Boomers.  If you read my book, you know why Boomers holds a special place in my heart. There are a whole new set of comics hanging out there from when I started nine years ago (tells you how far I've come in my comedy career), and I love them all.  You know me and the black audiences--they're my favorite.  I really don't do open mics much anymore, but Boomers has been a blast in the past few months and last night I had a ball.  I'll probably head there next Sunday as well and try out some new material. 

Saturday night Mike and I saw the Motown tribute band Spectrum at the Smith Center in downtown Las Vegas.  OMG, what fun!  My friend's husband is the second guy from the right.

The show was fantastic and the Smith Center is truly a world class performing arts center.  Absolutely beautiful.  Mike and I had never been there before--I can't believe it took us this long.  If you live in Vegas, or are just visiting, get on their website, pick a show to attend and just GO.  You won't be disappointed.

The show started at 7:00 and we were out of there by 9:00 with no plans for the rest of the night.  I suggested we have a drink at Dino's Lounge, my favorite karaoke dive bar, or at the bar on the top of the Stratosphere, but beloved husband doesn't enjoy the suds as much as I do (he's no B.H., that's for sure, but is there no happy medium?), so we ended up going to the movies to see Argo. 

My assessment:  Meh. It wasn't as good as I hoped it would be; a typical overly dramatic Hollywood product with an over-the-top score.  Just my opinion. But after seeing it, I love the Canadians more than ever. And you know I freakin' LOVE Canadians.

That brings us to Friday night. I participated in the last of the first round of the Put Up or Shut Up comedy contest in downtown Las Vegas (I know--downtown two nights in a row!) and made it to the second round.  It's not a huge contest, but hey... it's exposure. I'll let you know when I find out the details about Round 2.

And then last Thursday night, Mike and I went to see my comedy coach, Michael "Wheels" Parise perform at the Comedy Stop in the Tropicana. Mike had never seen him perform, and I said, "Wouldn't it be funny if here he is, my comedy coach, and he totally sucked?"  But no, he was a riot. I sat there thinking, okay, this is how the pro does it.  I could see in his act where he utilized some of the techniques he shared with me, stuff that no one else would pick up on. Funny as hell.  "Wheels"just started a podcast; you can check it out here.

So, yeah, it's been a busy few days.  Tonight I'm heading over to the Artisan to see if I can get some stage time there soon, and tomorrow night I'll be doing a very short set for TickleMe Entertainment at Las Vegas Grille at Sahara and Buffalo at 7:30.

So that's how I'm staying out of trouble.  What have YOU been up to?

T&A -- Is it more about the "A" than the "T" now?

One night I was hanging out with two other comics before our show at the LVH and one of the guys said, "Today I saw a woman with the worst ass implants ever!"

I thought he was kidding.  Ass implants? Who the hell would spend good money for something that could be achieved much more economically by a daily diet of Milky Way bars?  They assured me that buttock implants are not unusual these days. God help us, ladies, have we not spent our entire lives logging thousands of hours of Buns of Steel and trying not to eat total shit just so we wouldn't get a fat ass? 

"Are guys really attracted to a woman with a big ass?" I asked.  They glanced at each other and smiled. Now, I'm shallow enough that if they were two blacks guys, I'd say, "Yeah black guys are into big asses. Not a newsflash." But one was a big black guy in his late 40s and the other was a little white guy in his 30s, and they both went on and on about how important a meaty ass is.  Wow, that was a real eye opener. 

I should have known, since the most popular ass in history belongs to that no-talent Kim Kardashian. The appeal of the entire family is a mystery to me, but I really don't get why that big ass is attractive. Plus, she's only 5'2" tall!  That's a lot of bulk for a woman of that height, no?  And now that she's pregnant... it's only gonna get worse from there.  Yikes.

God knows I'm full of myself and you know it, too, so I'll be honest.  I've always thought I had a great ass, like it was always one of my best features. (Sure as hell wasn't my hair...)  I even had a boss tell me I had one of the all-time best asses on the planet (before all that killjoy sexual harassment crap came into vogue).  Unfortunately, that was about 25 pounds ago, and even though right this minute it's bigger than ever, I'd say my ass is still pretty decent.  But I don't want it to get any bigger! If it starts to creep into Kardashian territory, I swear I will start drinking Coors Light (!).

Ever since J-Lo made the scene it seems to be all about the ass.  You never hear about a celebrity with a great set of knockers anymore... who's the modern day Susan Sarandon or Adrienne Barbeau? Huh?

So guys, I'm curious.  Do you go for the Kardashian-sized variety, or for a much smaller model?   Is ass the new tits?  Or are you satisfied with a nice rack and the ass is secondary?

And ladies, it seems we now have one more body image issue to worry about.  Now we need to have a "Goldilocks ass"--not too big, not too small, but just right.  Splendid.

Keeping an open mind is totally overrated

"I hate looking on the bright side, just as I hate compromising and keeping an open mind.  With any of them, I know that ultimately I’m not getting my way."  -- p.180, Bastard Husband: A Love Story


The older I get, the more I am convinced that keeping an open mind is something that will never work out for me.  When I was in Albany, my sister Lori was after me to check out her Zumba class at the Y.  The first Sunday I was there, she was like, "You have to go, it's so fun!" and I was like, "No, I'm gonna hate it" and she was bummed.  Then the next week, she was all, "Come on, it'll be fun!" and I was thinking, well, Lori is such an awesome sister and she really wants me to go and our friend Donna was going and I've done nothing but eat and drink since I've been in Albany and so maybe I should keep an open mind and go to her friggin' Zumba class. 

I lasted 5 minutes. 

Actually, 30 seconds into it I knew that I did, in fact, hate Zumba just as much as I thought I would.  First of all, although I love Mexican people, Latin music drives me batty. I know I sound totally geriatric, but it's just a lot of racket to me. Like every time I'm in Baja Fresh I think that being deaf wouldn't be all that bad.  In fact, I can't stand any type of high-energy music. I'm a Highly Sensitive Person; I can't handle too much stimulation.  Second, I've never liked aerobics. The step-step-clap and wave your arms around shit is goofy to me. I took years of ballet--I'm too serious for that frivolity.

So I left Lori and Donna in the class and walked and jogged around the track for a while, but you know how indoor tracks are so small you practically get dizzy and they're also boring as hell, so I bagged that idea and explored the facility a bit.  I found an empty room downstairs and did some glorious yoga stretches in relative silence, with the boom-boom-boom of the Zumba class above me only faintly bleeding into my sacred and peaceful space.  

So yeah, I knew I wouldn't like Zumba and guess what I was right. Linda-1, Open mind-0.  Remember my trip to Disneyland? (aka "Nightmare on Buena Vista Street")  That, too, was everything I knew it would be: noisy, full of Disney shit, and full of kids.  Duh! But you know, you have to have an open mind...  Linda-2, Open mind-0

Sometimes the open mind concept bites you in the ass at restaurants.  I'm the type of person who if I really, really, really like something I will order that same thing over and over and over.  Like I love, love, love "The Perfect Combination" crepe at my favorite breakfast place, Crepe Expectations.  I order that every. single. time. I go there. And then one day, I thought, "I should have an open mind and order something else for a change." And so I did. And guess what?  It wasn't as good as my Perfect Combination. And I was pissed.  Linda-3, Open mind-0. 

I'm pretty good about resisting the evils of the open mind when it comes to movies, though. If I don't think I'm going to like a movie, there's no friggin' way I'm gonna give up ten bucks and two hours of my life to sit there and stew.  And I don't care how great everybody says it is or how many award nominations it got.  In fact, aside from Argo and Amour, I probably won't see any of the major nominees.  I can't tolerate violence, so Zero Dark Thirty and Django Unchained are out of the question. Lincoln seems like too much of a "homework" movie. Les Miserables?  I don't do show tunes. Life of Pi? Not interested. Silver Linings Playbook?  Rex Reed said it was overrated and I betcha he's right.  The Impossible? Looks too depressing.

Aren't I the fussiest pain in the ass?  Can you imagine being married to me? Mike always says that I'm stubborn, and I don't give a shit. I know what I like and what I don't like and what I won't like even if I keep a freakin' open mind.  No, I'm not gonna try sushi. I tried guacamole once and it was awful. (How's that for reasoning?) Although I have to admit, one time I did try a light Japanese beer and it was actually okay. 

So there you go. I'll keep an open mind when it comes to beer.  Everything else... fuggetaboutit.

Yeah, whatever.

How about you? Have you ever been pleasantly surprised by something you tried after much resistance?  Or do you, too, think the open mind concept is totally overrated?

Sometimes you have to forgive yourself for being an asshole

I fancy myself as being a really nice person.  I have a lot of friends who truly seem to love me. Co-workers over the years have thought I'm awesome. God knows I definitely have some asshole-y qualities, but I still think I'm nice. Coming home on the plane from Albany, though, I started to wonder.

Usually I get a direct flight from Albany to Las Vegas, but on Tuesday I had to fly through Chicago. About halfway through the boarding process in Albany, they announced that there was something wrong with the aircraft and so we all had to get off and wait for another plane to become available. That would be in about an hour.  The people at the gate assured us that our connecting flights would be held, so I didn't have to worry about getting stuck in Chicago. (Otherwise, I would have just stayed another night at my sister's.)

I did make my connection in Chicago with not a minute to spare; fortunately, my arrival gate was just two gates away from the plane leaving for Vegas.  The problem is, when your plane gets in late, you're the last person to board. It doesn't matter if you checked in the day before as an A or B--when you're late, you have the shittiest choice of seats.  It was a full flight and so I knew I'd be stuck in the middle.

I walked down the aisle, looking for an open seat.  I like to sit toward the back of the plane, so I passed the first couple I saw.  Then I was like, shit, I'd better grab something soon.  I tried to make a snap decision as to who I would sit between. Anybody who looked grumpy or overweight was out of the question. (I know, that's terrible.) Young Asian women are the best--they're thin and quiet. (Don't judge me.)

Well, I'm nearing the back end of the plane and still haven't found a place to park myself for the next 3 hours and 50 minutes.  The cute male flight attendant says,"There are a couple seats back here," pointing to middle seats on either side of the aisle, one a row ahead of the other.

I considered the seat in the row closer to where I was, until I got a look at the guy sitting on the aisle.  I'm not kidding, he had a purple face. Like some terrible skin condition. I don't know if it was acne or a giant birthmark or both or something else entirely.  His looks startled me, and I'm afraid my face involuntarily screamed, "Oh, Jesus Christ, no! I'm not gonna sit next to that guy!"

Addressing the flight attendant, I said something lame like, "I'll sit with the party girl's," opting for the middle seat in the very last row between two young women (one of them Asian) who I don't think were old enough to drink. The plane took off shortly after I settled in. Ugh! I was miserable, claustrophobic as hell.  Of course, the seats in the last row don't recline and I swear they're even a little more upright than those in the other rows. The (non-Asian) girl on my right at the window seat started playing music, and I could hear the beat in that annoying way through her headphones. You know that drives me batty. Cue the eye rolling.

From where I sat I had a good view of Purple Face Guy.  I could see his expression when he interacted with the flight attendant and he actually looked nice. Very pleasant.  I felt like shit. Guilty for being so... judgmental?  Afraid? Superficial?  I should have sat next to him. Maybe he was super nice or had a great sense of humor. Maybe he was Canadian.

So I just sat there hating myself.  And then I was like, you know, sometimes you have to forgive yourself for being an asshole.  As soon as I thought that, things got better.  I ordered my usual flying cocktail--two Bailey's on the rocks--from the flight attendant and when I tried to pay, he waved me away with his hand.  Later he came by and slipped me another one.  The girl next to me turned off her music. My seat got more comfortable (no doubt the Bailey's helped). And the rest of the trip wasn't quite as intolerable.

Can't get my act together

I have a post that's about 80 percent done, but I don't like it and am just not ready to publish it.  I really try to stay on this posting schedule as much as I possibly can, but I'd rather go off schedule than put up a piece of crap. I need to go to bed and take a look at it in the light of day.

Be back soon!

In the middle of the night... I think of you

I've been a mental patient these past few days. If nothing else, I'm pretty self-aware, and one thing I know for sure about myself is that I cannot freakin' handle stress.  You'd think that with 15 years of yoga under my belt, I'd somehow manage to come up with coping mechanisms, but no. Everything is a million times more intense to me than it should be; there's no such thing as "no big deal."

(As an aside, I'm pretty much convinced that the people who tell you to "just relax" are most likely the very ones who are causing you to stress in the first place.  Just a random observation.)

The holidays always freak me out, and starting a new job with a frustrating on-boarding period didn't help. Travel--no matter how fun--adds to it all.  I've developed a pain in my scapula area that I'm pretty sure is a combination of too much time on my laptop and, of course, stress.  I'm not sleeping well; most nights I wake up in pain and can't get back to sleep for at least an hour.  Neither Advil nor Aleve seems to help; applying heat worked for a while, but not anymore.

Last night I was a mess; I couldn't get to sleep at all.  I know that I can consumed with worry about my friend Chuck who is on the waiting list for a kidney-liver transplant.  My sister Lori and I visited him in the hospital yesterday. It's so upsetting to see him in such tough shape. I know that's weighing heavily on me, and there's nothing I can do about it.  I'm just so sad.

So at 4:30 this morning, I was wide awake, depressed and in pain and unable to get comfortable. I had talked to Mike earlier, and would have called him again, but it was 1:30 a.m. Pacific time.  I needed something, I needed somebody to talk to, somebody who could help me put things in perspective and offer words of encouragement. Nobody in the country would be up at that hour--who could I reach out to?

I thought of you, my readers. I could peck away at my iPhone and create a post there in bed. I could talk to you. I decided to take my phone downstairs to my sister's couch and create a post from there, where I might be more comfortable. And I was more comfortable, so comfortable I... fell asleep.

I didn't post last night, but I knew you were there for me.  You, my blogging buddies and readers in Las Vegas, some of whom I've had the pleasure to meet.  You in Regina, Saskatchewan; you in Sioux Falls, South Dakota; you in Bloomfield, Indiana; you in Brookfield, Illinois.  Edmonton... Chicago... Port Coquitlam, British Columbia.  Irving, Texas.  And of course, you in St. Francisville, Louisiana. You're all over.  And I know that you're there for me.  And last night, I really appreciated that.

Tomorrow night I'll be back in Las Vegas in my own bed.  Things will look different. And you'll still be with me.

Real life does NOT start yet!

For most people, the holidays were officially over yesterday and it's back to real life. Not for me. I'm in Albany until January 8, so real life will resume for me next Wednesday, January 9.  I am able to work while I'm here, but by no means do I feel like I'm on top of all the other aspects of my life.

I have GOT to get my shit together, people. It's hard when you're traveling and eating and drinking and not walking because it's like 20 degrees out and the wind is blowing and even though you can go to the gym with your sister you don't because you can't friggin' stand gyms. You know?

Whatever.

On New Year's Eve Courtney, Hazel, and I stopped at the beverage center to pick up some beer (duh).  They had a Christmas tree in the middle of the place, and Hazel's standing there in her snowsuit looking at it and clapping.  Courtney says, "She's trying to turn it on and off. Our tree at home is hooked up to a Clapper."

"You might be a redneck if your 2-year-old granddaughter tries to clap on the Christmas tree in the beer store..."

Look at this photo I stole from Courtney's Facebook page.  How freakin' cute is that little Hazel?

I am mental for that kid.  It's SO great to be here, but I was bummed not to kiss Mike at midnight on New Year's.  I miss him!  I'll be back in Vegas before I know it and then will be missing all my people here.  It's so hard being away from them all.  I'll post more pictures when I can--my iPhone is crap when it comes to taking photos inside, so I have to get them from other people.  And God knows I don't want to go outside when it looks like this:

 OMG, I so do not miss this stinkin' weather.  I have to admit, though, there's something about stopping in a neighborhood bar with your sister on a snowy Saturday afternoon.

So yeah, if it snowed like one week out of the year, I might be able to handle it. Other than that--forget it.

It seems that 2012 was a tough year for a lot of people. I have so many friends who were confronted with health issues--I feel lucky that the only negative in my year was being out of work for 6 months.  The Bell's Palsy event was weird, but that came and went within three weeks--nothing to complain about.  But I think the overall collective vibe is good riddance to 2012 and let's hope 2013 is a lot better.

How about you?  Was 2012 a good one for you?  Or are you happy to see it go?