Attention Doomsday-Sayers!

Blonde Ambition #14: Bitch Slap a 2012 Doomsday-Sayer
We all know one of these eternal let-downs. They're the people who complain that they get wet when it rains, but also complain that it's too sunny when it's fine out. They're a bit like Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. They whinge and bitch and moan, and then they wonder why nobody came to their birthday party.

Attention, Doomsday-Sayers: 2012 will not be the end of the world. Martians aren't set to invade the planet, no giant asteroid is going to smash into the earth, the sun will not burn out, no enormous tidal wave will consume every coast in the world and the government are not planning a mass culling of humanity. All that is happening is that some idiots have an overactive imagination and that mental hospitals are naive enough to allow patients access to the Internet.

All this 2012 nonsense stems from the Mayan calendar. Somewhere in the world, a single Doomsday-Sayer stumbled across some misinformation about this astronomical tool, and decided to spread the rumour that the sky is falling in... oh, I'm sorry, that the world is going to end in the year 2012.

Now, the Mayan Calendars are a subject in which I have a lot of education. I don't mean that I signed up to some dodgy Internet "university" lead by money-hungry con men, either. Proper education, in history and in astronomy. While the Mayan Calendar is far too complex to explain to you in a few short sentences, I'll post a link (to a reputable site) where you can get some more information for yourself.

The theory goes that because the calendar ends in 2012, then so too must the world. Can someone please explain to me why it was expected that the Mayans continue drawing the calendar forever and ever? It had to end at some time. Sooner or later, someone was bound to say, "you know what, we've drawn really far in advance, my hand is sore now, I think I'll stop." The calendar on my wall ends on December 31, 2010. Maybe that's the end of the world? It surely must be - there's nothing thereafter, just a white wall! I'm terrified. Seeing as it's my birthday, I guess I'd best party extra hard this year, right?

That is why I would like to slap the ignorance out of every Doomsday-Sayer who is silly enough to irk me with their wacky theories. Particularly if such theories have no roots in science, but are based purely on the whimsical fantasy of UFO nuts (which I'm also not particularly enamoured with), new-age "witches", or some Internet weirdo with more free time on their hands than is good for them.

OK, follow this link to learn more about the Mayan Calendar: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maya_calendar

Blonde Ambition #15: Absolutely WRECK Buenos Aires (Argentina)
I'm talking a full-on crazy night-out, where we see everything, do everything and are too embarrassed to talk about it the next morning. It's going to be extreme. It's going to be memorable for all the wrong reasons. It's going to be my One Night of Supreme Glory, the night when I can look back and think, "I've never been so embarrassed in my whole life."

Blonde Ambition #16: Stop Biting Nails
Worst. Habit. Ever. I only really do it when I'm stressed, or, more frequently, when I'm thinking deeply about something. Perhaps this ambition should then be titled, 'stop thinking altogether', as I suppose that's the only way this goal will ever be accomplished...

Blonde Ambition #17: Be More Emotionally Honest
Fact: I have an enormous crush on a beautiful man. For all I know, he's playing me just as well as he plays polo. Then again, maybe he isn't? Who can tell with men? I'm not complaining, however, I find the whole game of seduction utterly thrilling. I'm not afraid to put on a pair of proverbial cement boots and jump right into the deepest part of a (proverbial) ocean, and then try to learn to swim. I've always jumped in fearlessly where others fear to tread, and I always will. Passion is the key for living a good life, but passion is extinguished when you doubt.

Another Fact: I still have a boyfriend. Thus, I am not only being dishonest with him, I'm also showing all women in a negative light. This sort of behaviour, this emotional-bashing using all low-blows, is why men develop a fear of women. They start to associate the sound of heels clicking on the tiles with the ticking of a death watch beetle, or a bomb. This is how misogynists are programmed to loathe women. They hurt, their hearts get shattered and never properly repaired, and they're so scared of women thereafter that they think they hate us.

There are two obvious solutions to this predicament. The first possible solution is to break up with my boyfriend immediately. This is difficult. If he were truly awful to me, breaking up with him would be effortless. The difficulty lies in the fact that he's only ever been exceptionally nice to me. Nice is good, I suppose, in the same way that sugar in tea is 'nice', and that fluffy kittens are 'nice'. Most girls seek nice, but for now I just want nasty. I want dirty tie-me-up-tie-me-down-with-the-polo-wraps, Mr Polo Man. I want the boots left on without regard to the mess they'll make on the white sheets, and I want no-inhibitions-no-regrets fun with a man who is more brazen as I am.

The second possible solution isn't as much fun: Look and lust, but don't dare touch. But how can I not? He's there like a cake on a windowsill, and nobody is watching. He's there looking all good and I have to leave him be? That hardly seems fair. Or fun. This is hard, 'Jeopardy' last-question hard!