New Years Resolutions, Not Included

I blog at night.  I drink large quantities of Diet Coke at night.  Sometimes, they overlap.  And considering that tonight is New Years Eve (Ya, I know, one of these kids is doin' her own thing), I feel compelled to preface this post with a warning.  

WARNING:  I will not be held responsible for any blog fodder that may or may not offend (the envelope, it will be pushed).  

There are a number of things that need to be discussed tonight.  Most of which I have a love/hate relationship with.  So grab your drink of choice (mine will most definitely be the brown bubbly), settle in, and let's make some memories.

In honor of the holiday at hand, let's start with new years resolutions.  I love/hate them.  The concept of making and reaching a goal is honorable.  Then reality comes-a-knockin'.  Dude, work out?  EVERY day?  Let me just save you the guilt induced binge attack you'll be facing in 2 weeks (if your lucky) and share with you a little secret:  baby steps.  I worked at Golds Gym for 10 years (the why and the how are still a mystery) and every year when January 1st rolled around I knew I had to gear up for my classes to be overflowing with all the new years "resolution-ers".  But I always knew that the challenge would be short lived.  Slowly but surely the enthusiasm would wear off and soon I'd be back to my original little pack of groupies (LOVE them).  Jab-Cross?  Round house kick?  Hellz ya!  So much easier without the crowd.  My point?  If I remember correctly, is that January 1st is kind of my nemesis.  My green goblin if you will.  So this year, I've decided to focus on my life's resolutions.  The stuff I want to do before I kick the bucket.  Because, guilt schmilt!  So here goes.  Don't laugh.......out loud at least.

1) See the space shuttle blast off 

2) Read the bible-cover to cover

3) Learn to really play tennis

4) Travel to Israel (this one's not looking good)

5) Meet a real live monk (I dunno, I'm curious)

6) Become an RN

7) Finish an Iron Man competition

8) Learn to make baklava

9) Join a bowling league

10) Pay off my house

If you have a second, tell me some of yours.  Or not.  No pressure.  Just remember, secret keepers never prosper.  Now SPILL IT homies!

Next on the list would have to be the cross-contamination of toothpaste flavors.  It's a problem.  In my world, it's a BIG problem.  Ryan's and my toothpastes despise each other.  Independently they're fine.  Fresh.  Minty.  But after we brush our teeth, we can't breathe within a 5 foot radius of each other (let alone go in for the "good morning" kiss).  Because what happens when our toothpaste breaths mix is really quite something.  It smells like hot, minty garbage.  Something must be done.  And switching to his brand is totally not an option.  Because me and Aquafresh?  We have a chemistry.  And I'll-Be-Damned if my marriage gets in the way of that.

Moving on.  The Jones's.  The hypothetical Jones's.  The ones we try to keep up with.  Ya know'em?  I considered stealing their cat and torching their house.  But then I watched "Lock Up - Extended Stay" on MSNBC and decided against it.  Have you ever seen that show?  And I thought I was hostile.  The Jones's.....right.  I recently read a quote by Dave Ramsey that kinda rocked.  It said: "We buy things we don't need with money we don't have to impress people we don't like".  I don't exactly not like anyone imparticular (it is too a word, so say-ith I).  Except for this one dude on my street that smokes cigars out in his front yard (that's like 2 feet away from mine) and when my neighbor friend asked him to please not smoke when the kids are playing outside, he was all like "it's a myth that smoking is bad for you", and she was like "really?  Is that why your skin looks like rotten leather and you can't take 3 steps before you hack up your own lung?  Fascinating."  No, I don't like him (and that may have been the LONGEST run on sentence I have ever written).  So let's wrap this up.  I might fantasize about that Master Craft sitting in your driveway or those Rockin' Republics in all of their rump-tightening glory.  But I have a woofel bat with life-long goal #10 written on it.  And I know how to use it.  On myself.  And my kids.  And their father.  And possibly the Jones's and their cat.

Lastly (c'mon, hang in there).  The vampire books.  I'm walking a very fine line here.  I'm not really for or against them.  I've read the first two books and dragged my husband to the movie (he's such a sap.  He LOVED it), so who am I to judge?  But I can't seem to engage.  What's wrong with me?  It took me an entire YEAR to read the second one.  The story line is intriguing but I can't handle all the "and then he breathed on my neck" crap.  It's probably the same reason Valentine's Day makes me queasy.  Something had to have happened to me in the embryonic stage.  I want to like the romantic stuff.  I even sometimes TRY to like the romantic stuff.  But I don't like it.  I end up feeling like a phony.  Like an impostor.  I'm looking into therapy.  Lot's and lot's of therapy.  But until then, Edward, easy on the icy spine-tingling caresses.  I only have so much Zofran in my medicine cabinet.  

Happy 2009!  Peace on earth.....n'stuff!

*I should mention that the hubs just came shuffling into the office because he feels it mandatory to kiss someone, anyone, when the clock strikes 12:00.  

**Too much sentiment, can't breathe.

She's Totally a Chick

Tootsie turned 2 today.  If you ask her, she'll tell you she's 5 (she only knows two numbers, 2 and 5).  But I assure you she's 2.  She wanted to wear her tutu and her leg warmers today for reasons I can't begin to understand but since I put the kabosh on presents (dude, she's 2) I decided to roll with the outfit.  When I asked her what color she wanted her cake to be?  She said "pink".  And when we were getting ready to go tonight she requested her "bootiful shoes". She got two dolls for Christmas.  A boy and a girl.  She'll only play with the girl doll.  And her latest word is "spar-ky (sparkly)".  So if you do the math: tutu + pink + bootiful + shoes + girl + doll + spar-ky= Holy hell estrogen is a potent hormone!

But then she farted.  And laughed hysterically at herself.  So I think we're still okay.

Happy Birthday Peanut!

Hey Mr. Elf, How's it Hangin' Yo?

I'd go over the whole "our weekend before Christmas" thing but come on.  Haven't we all spent the weekend doing the same thing?  Ham, eggnog, cheese balls, ridiculously chintzy gifts for the over-paid, not authentic enough looking Santa to give the kids?  Oh wait.  Let's go back for just a sec.  I guess not all of us had the Santa came to the family party experience this weekend.  In fact, some of us got completely stood-up by Santa this weekend.  And by us I totally mean US!  Ya, he bailed.  So what's a host to do when the guest of honor is a "no-show"?  

Get ready.

This might be a little bit painful to see.....

Don't say I didn't warn you......

Apparently you break out the sunglasses and gold parachute pants.......

and you toss in some red fishnets to make yourself appear as "elf-like" as possible.

No. I'm not EVEN kidding!

I'd like everyone to take special notice of the Christmas booties

adorning Elfie's feet.

I'm a little hesitant to claim this man as my father but he is indeed just that.  I too sometimes wonder how I came out even slightly unscathed.  It's a mystery.  And when Dad plays a role like this, there's no telling what accent he will unintentionally throw in.  This year he seemed to flip-flop between spanish and hindu.  Although I think I detected a little german too.  "Vat you vant Sonta to breeng yoo dis yar?"  "Oh-kay,  I tall heem".  

Good effort dawg.....good effort.

And this is a fun little snippit of information.  My boys have been jammin' to Dani California by the Red Hot Chili Peppers this past week.  At first I was beyond thrilled.  Because Rudolf?  It's wearing on me.  But then I noticed how accurately they seemed to have memorized the words.  It goes a little something like this:

Black bandanna, sweet Louisiana

Robbin' on a bank in the state of Indiana

She's a runner, rebel and a stunner

On her merry way sayin; baby whatcha gonna

Lookin' down the barrel of a hot metal 45

Just another way to survive

And then we'z be kickin' it boyyyyyy!  Cuz, das whack!  

And have you ever played the game Bananagrams?  I kinda kick butt at that game.  My brothers may beg to differ.  But the truth hurts.

Don't Bother Me, I'm Reminiscing

And we thought they knew what they were talking about when they said "never go to bed mad". We were so sweet. And so stupid. And now nine years later we finally get it. Take an ambien, hit the sack, and if you as much as breathe in my general direction I'll punch you in the throat. But when the sun comes up? Odds are I'll be back to thinking you're kinda rad. Because you kinda are. Rad.     

  Happy Anniversary "Ry-Guy"....

or do most people just call you "Lew"

*Please ignore that there appears to be a large wad of Bubblicious in my mouth.

**And that obviously whoever made the jeans I'm wearing seriously misplaced the left pocket.  

Brownies and Boops

I'm quite certain that I've gained a solid 10 pounds this week.  I wish I could say that I've been working out relentlessly so it must be muscle weight.  I wish I could say I've inexplicably grown 3 inches.  Hell, I'd even settle to call it baby weight.  And by settle I mean sue the IUD manufacturers for a LARGE sum of money.  But what's actually hindering my ability to get my jeans over my butt is my last post.  I don't know where you people are getting these recipes you keep sending me but my ever-expanding waistline thanks you.  Not to mention my husband who now believes that dinner can be created from something that doesn't come out of a Totino's box and a tin can.  In all honesty, I have enjoyed every single over-consumed calorie.  There was Asian Orange Chicken, Lasagna Soup, and a curry dish that sent me into a state of euphoria.  Marshmallow Brownies, Carmel Corn, and Urban Legend Cookies.  Can you say "nom nom"? 

Note to self: get butt to gym!  Like SOON! 

Note to Amigos:  Mas! Mas!!!

Oh, and Ivie?  She's been interested in only one thing lately.  My bra.  No joke.  She puts it around her neck and walks around the house saying "mah boops, mah boops" (translation: my boobs).  And if she and I really are genetically related (the jury's still out on that one)?  She's in for a disappointment of epic proportions.  Because last time I checked, the proportions were 34 and A (almost).  Badum-CHING!  Sorry babes.  Start savin'.