I tend to get excited about things prematurely.
Take my birthday, three years from now.
I have the dubious honor of having a birthday where the day of my birth coincides precisely with number of the month. Seriously, the odds are 365 to 12 that you can say the same. And what's more, in a few years the day, month and year will all be the same. The odds are quite unfathomable.
Mark your calendars for 12/12/12!!! Par-tay!!!
I'm toe-deep in the planning stages, until today when it was cruelly brought to my attention that the apocalypse has already booked the party room at every Chuck E. Cheese, Pump-It-Up, Dive Bar and beach-front resort of my dreams.
I've. Been. Foiled.
I knew the universe had it out for me.
Update: Doomsday potential pushed to 12/21/2012. So whew!
Another update: The odds are actually probably much higher than 365 to 12. But I'm not a math genius. Oh, and I think it would be really, really cool if you were turning 12 years old on 12/12/12 - which I'm not. But Hazel will almost be 12. Which means I will almost be a mother of a teenager then. Thinking about it all that way makes the whole 'the end is near' seem plausible.