Hot damn. 2009 is hours from dead, and we’re just about ready to start using the much more comfortable phrase “twenty-ten.”

I’m the proud new owner of prescription sunglasses, my first pair. Not because I’m flush with cash, mind you, but due to asinine flex spending rules that require you to spend your balance by Dec. 31 or light the money on fire. These rules also limit what you can spend these pre-tax dollars on; abortions, yes, but toothpaste, no. My teeth have rights too, you know.

So risking a cart full of Tylenol and bandages (or much worse), I joined adulthood by protecting these fragile eyes of mine from the incredible UV assault shooting from that ball of fire in the sky. I got to the shop at 30 min. till close, rushed around looking for something that looks nothing like aviator glasses, and spent nearly every penny on a pair of nerdy frames. They arrive in a week.

Rather than brave the downtown madness tonight (a blue moon, ya’ll), I’ve decided to spend New Year’s Eve with those I call family almost every night of the week: my crass, bitter coworkers. Off to dinner, then madcap cleaning before the guests arrive. Maybe I should have asked if anyone needed pills. There might be $5 left on my flex card.