Setting Yourself Up For Failure

or how I resolve to avoid the sticky web of resolutions this year...

Okay, so I was never big on resolutions. Very few are ever kept past...I don't know... January 3rd and it just seems like another soulless, societally dictated action whose entire purpose is intended to make you feel like a total loser by the end of the year since you haven't accomplished SQUAT except the realization that you're just one huge Asshat.

Ooo...I like that word, "asshat". That word reminds me of this guy at work who uses the term "like ass" to describe pretty much anything that is vile and disgusting. You know, like, "OMG! That smells like ASS!" or "Wow...that tastes like ASS." or "That show sucked like ASS." which doesn't even make sense, but..whatever. The question remains, exactly how much ass has he smelled or sampled to make him such an expert? No, wait. Don't reeeeeeally want to know. Really. No thank you.

Moving on...

So this year instead of making a list of serious resolutions I should actually keep, I'm choosing to make a list of resolutions I have no chance in Hell of keeping. Sort of a reverse psychology resolution list. This way at the end of the year my lack of ambition will actually be an accomplishment for which I can take pride. Get it? It's kinda like that game "I Never" we used to play at parties. You make a declaration that is actually true, but you put the phrase "I Never" before it and everyone else has to raise their hand if they also did the same stupid thing, and then take a drink. (of course it was a drinking game. we were in our 20s. sha!) For example, someone might say "I never smoked pot" or "I never threw up on your shoes" or "I never motorboated your girlfriend's naked breasts while you were passed out on the couch" ...and that's when the fistfight would start...and the party would be over.

So here goes. I "resolve" to...

1. stop swearing in f*cking general, and at work in f*cking particular.

2. stop using the phrase "that's what she said"

3. stop buying shoes

4. pay a bit more attention at work (well, okay, this one I probably should actually do)

5. stop chewing my lip and/or nails

6. stop using the phrase "in your pants" after titles (i.e. Big Bang Theory... in your pants)

7. start acting more lady like (snort! yeah, right! who would recognize me?)

8. write more entertaining blogs

9. end the dirty talk with my co-workers

and finally...

10. quit obsessing over my fantasy husband, Rhett Miller AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! SNORT!

I couldn't even keep a straight face for that one. Like that would EVER happen without the aid of a twelve-step program! Pa-Lease!!?!

Anyway, best wishes to all for an economically upturned, top-shelf liquor laced, resolution free new year filled with more of the folks you love and adore and far less of those who give you shit.

And just because it's the end of the year and I can, here's one of my favorite tunes from the Rhett concert at Hoboken. So bite me.

Bits And Pieces  

or random thoughts from an untidy mind 

Non-Sequitur #1:

Okay, so over the last week, several of my work friends have been saying all these nice things to me...about me. You know things like how much they appreciate my sense of humor, how they admire the way I relate to my co-workers and make our PTL guests feel at home, how I'm "always upbeat and fun to be around"...

Seriously. 

Like just today I had lunch with a bud who's hoping to retire early next year. He wanted me to know how much he appreciated all I'd done for him and how much he enjoyed working with me. 

While it's always lovely to know people care about you and don't think you suck to be around, I have to wonder...do I have a brain tumor (or as Arnold Schwarzenegger would say...tumah) or some other such ailment I don't know about? Really. What's up with this?

Non-Sequitur #2:

Okay, so let me start out by saying I'm not a buxom lass. Pretty average, truth be told. Anyway, we have this medicine cabinet with two doors, the larger of which is three times the size of the smaller one. I open this larger door at least...I don't know...seven times a day. Last night when I went to close the door, it was like my right boob suddenly became possessed by Pam Anderson's plastic surgeon, magically expanded to twice its size and leapt forward to get caught in the door. 

Damn!?

Kinda like one of those squeezy stress toys where the eyes pop out, except it was a mammary magnification. Weird. 

Non-Sequitur #3:

So I was reading FU, Penguin yesterday, opened the comments and stumbled upon an entry from another blogger FU, FU Penguin. It's a blog where the animals pictured in the original FU, Penguin trash talk back. You can check it out here. You may also notice it is a new listing on my sidebar. Naturally, I fell in love with this site and became a follower...because excessive  swearing and absurdity is apparently how I roll these days. 

Checking out the list of nine followers on FU, FU Penguin, I stumbled upon a blogger whose name piqued my interest, Hey Lola. Turns out she's a pretty hilarious and clever writer. Hey, anyone who's subtitle is "It's just chaos" has got to be fun, right? Well, she is. I'm following her, too. You can find her in the sidebar as well. 

You know, between Hey Lola, Hola Isabel and Innocent Bystander, I'm starting to feel pretty inadequate in this whole blogging arena. Perhaps I should stop searching out better bloggers before I end up in the corner, tucked in a fetal position, rocking myself back and forth crying out for the comfort of my blue blankey. As someone's boozy Mom might say, "Oh Honey! Pull down your skirt. Your insecurity is showing." 

Ah, but then again, who the hell reads this shit anyway.

Friday Photo #7 

or what's on top of your tree?

Every year my Card Club pals and I exchange hideous crap in a Yankee Swap. This beauty has been passed  around for years. After much liquor, merriment and mayhem at this year's soiree, we decided to leave our mark on our host, Duckie's Christmas tree. Kinda makes you in want to sing Silver Bells doesn't it?

Severed Head...

Severed Head...

Staring at me from my tree top.

Oh My God! Who's the knob?

You've ruined my Christmas day.

Tis The Season

in which I reflect on the blessings in my life

2008 started off inauspiciously.

Geo, my love, found himself on the receiving end of pink slip. His studio decided to downsize, and without warning we went from DINKs to SINKs. Unlike other times, however, he received a severance package as well as unemployment. Shocked by the sudden down turn in our fortune and a little depressed, he was still able to restart his free lance business, keep our coffers afloat and spend some quality time with me. We even got to go away to New York for his birthday in the Spring.

He has since been hired by a another graphics firm. I'm happy to say they love him and treat him very well indeed. It's nice to see him get the respect he deserves. His spirit is a lot lighter these days. What was at first perceived as a hardship has turned out to be a huge blessing and the cosmic kick in the ass he needed to move forward.

Our families are healthy and doing well. We had a scare with my brother-in-law this year. At first it looked like he may have a cancerous tumor in his lung, but miraculously the spot disappeared. The kids in our family are thriving in college and growing up nicely. My Mom, Big Mar is still kicking around at the ripe old age of 87. She's slowing a bit, but her mind is still sharp. She and her girlfriends still get together for cards every month. Now if we could only get her to wear her hearing aid....

We got to spend a lot of quality time with our friends this year. Our buds Doug and Bill both turned 50 this year. We were lucky enough to celebrate this milestone with each of them. Doug's wife threw a great party for him in February. 

Bill's was celebrated on the golf course at Seven Springs in September. Apparently 50-year-old white men can still jump :D

Old friends returned from living abroad to settle in as our neighbors. Now most of my favorite people live within walking distance. I even got to reconnect with an old friend, Nancy, who I haven't seen in nearly 30 years. It was as though we were never apart.

Our social life was completely filled with monthly wine tastings, baseball games, hockey games, dinners, weekends away with the gals, Broadway plays, Arts Festivals, neighborhood bar crawls, dinner and cocktails on the deck and lots and lots of music.

We got to spend another memorable evening at a house concert with the incomparable Francis Dunnery...

and cultivated a renewed interest in Old 97's from their free summer concert performance which grew into a full-on obsession (okay, only I obsess) by the time they returned in October (chronicled here, if you care to subject yourself to my frenzy), and capped it off with a spectacular Rhett Miller solo gig in Hoboken (a Christmas present to myself).

And I finally got off my lazy ass and started writing a blog. 

I was kinda nervous about putting my writings out there for public consumption, you know, because I might really, really suck at it. But I have to say I'm enjoying the process immensely. I appreciate all the support from my friends and family who read this daily or just from time to time. And for the two or three readers who have no personal connection to me, thanks. I hope to continue to earn your following. 

But by far my biggest blessing this year (and every other year) is Geo's presence in my life. His irrefutable love, support and encouragement is what propels me forward, keeps me on track and makes life on this crazy blue planet worthwhile. 

May your Christmas be filled with the love and laughter of family and friends. 

What Do You Get The Person With Everything?

Pete's delicious Schweddy Balls, of course! 

It's Christmas Eve. Enjoy this SNL classic. I never get tired of this! (Sorry about the advert at the top.)

Last Minute Christmas Goodies 

or ummmm...thanks? 

Okay so, Netscape.aol is our default home page on Safari. The other day they had a list of the wierdest gifts to give this holiday season. I must admit...I agree. Here are some of my favorites. Remember, these are all actual products available for purchase. Really. I kid you not.

Anti-Monkey Butt Powder. I thought we humans were evolved far enough not to smell of monkey butt, but hey. Whatever. This powder claims to "keep a certain region dry and smelling fresh". Wait there's more, it claims to take care of that dicey dilemma "whether you ride motorcycles or horses, play sports or just sit on your big, fat buttocks all day". It's long lasting, too. Sold!

Not for you, well maybe this will suit your fancy.

Subtle-Butt, another derriere directive is a disposable deodorizer which eliminates gas smells with the latest space-aged antimicrobial carbon technology. Don't you just love technology. You simply attach Subtle-Butt to your underwear and..Voila! you are free to pass gas until your heart's content and no one will be the wiser. "It's great for use in crowds or after a particularly gassy meal." Now that's a claim we all might want test. It comes in packs of five saving graces...and two Hail Marys.

But I think my favorite is this gem.

That's right. Chicken Poop Lip Balm, because nothing says "Kiss Me!!" more than a set of luscious lips lined with fecal matter. Not just any fecal matter...eco-friendly, free range fecal matter. Available at Walgreens.

Happy shopping.

"This Is What Christmas Is All About, Charlie Brown"

or how I spent my week trying to get my Christmas spirit back

Okay, so I've been in a real funk the last couple of weeks. Totally devoid of any sort of Christmas cheer. Normally I'm the kind of person who really gets into the whole spirit of the season. You know, like obnoxiously upbeat and in your face with all the happiness and good cheer...baking and decorating and buying lots o' stuff for others and generally overly enthusiastic.

But this year for some reason, the Christmas crunch season pissed me off. I really didn't give a shit. I did everything half-assed. Seriously. The decorations were half up...the empty space where the tree should be, mocked me...Geo hadn't finished painting this year's card...I hadn't even wrapped anything even though I had three soirees in one week to attend requiring wrapped packages. And yet I really, REALLY didn't care if any of it was finished. Not like me AT ALL.

I couldn't even stand to be near myself.

My recovery effort began on Thursday. Our hip, local public radio station, WYEP (the very best station in the whole-wide-world I might add--now downstreaming on the web, check it out) held its first ever Holiday Hootenanny Members Appreciation party. They had cookies, cocktails and a band named "Silver and Gold" comprised of members from about eight or nine local bands to play Christmas music.

It was great fun. They covered all sorts of festive songs...from classics like Silver Bells and Sleigh Ride to less traditional fare like the Kinks' Father Christmas and Bruce's Santa Claus is Coming to Town. They even had a couple (she about two hours from giving birth, swilling a pseudo Cosmo and "smoking" a cig, him wielding a martini shaker) sing the boozy duet Baby It's Cold Outside. The evening ended with a rousing rendition of Do They Know It's Christmas replete with audience participation.

The place was jammed. My sister and I were in the middle of this mixed-age pack, singing, dancing and clapping our hands even though hardly anyone else was joining in. That's one of the things I love about being my age...I get to ignore the dominant practices of public decorum. If I feel like singing along and dancing down the aisle to what's playing in the grocery store, I do it. It's all about lightening the hell up and having fun.

On the ride home, I actually started to feel a little bit better.

Friday was all about doing the Christmas lunch/presents thing with my dear KD Twisted Sisters. We convened at Beets' house, ate tons of tasty chow and polished off a huge bottle of champagne in our Mimosas. The tunes were festive, the gossip juicy, the liquor flowing. I was definitely starting to come around, but not quite there yet.

Saturday was a two-fer. Lunch and holiday shenanigans with my Card Club pals (for the record, we don't play cards--we eat, drink and go on vacation. we don't need no stinking cards). We do this crazy Yankee swap where you find the most hideous thing in your house, wrap it up all purty-like and then fight over them. It's great fun. Mood feeling lighter, but still a ways to go.

Part deux was a Caroling party with the neighbors. We've done this for the last several years now. We drink a little, parade around the neighborhood singing tidings of comfort and joy (to the discomfort of most folks) then return for some noshing and more liquid lubrication.

As an ex-Catholic, we rarely ever sang more than one verse of any song. I don't know..maybe it's some kind of concerted effort to get the folks out of church ASAP, but we just never sang other verses. So anyway, we're at a house singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing, when we get to the second verse:

Late in time behold him come

Offspring of the Virgin womb

Veiled in flesh the Godhead...WHAT?!?

What the?! What are we singing? Is this for real? These are really the lyrics? No wonder we only sang the first verse. That's somewhat disturbing. Let's never speak of it again.

As we were pondering what the heck that all meant, I heard someone behind me. There was a young man sneaking out of a dark car and running as though he was being chased by wolves into an equally dark house where upon he slammed the door with such force it shook the picture window. I swear he thought we were zombies come to munch on his brains, that's how much he did NOT want us to sing in front of his house.

Naturally we sang in front of his house.

We launched into Deck the Halls, in tune I might add. The door opened wide. A different, larger shadowy figure stood in the doorway.  

"Deck the Halls with Bows of Holly.. Fa La La La La  La La La--"

SLAM!!

He actually slammed the door on us. Seriously. What's up with that?

So we kept singing.

The door opened about six inches...

SLAM!!

I laughed so hard, I tinkled a little in my pants. Still we kept singing. We finished one song, sang another then bid Capt'n Curmudgeon a Merry freakin' Christmas.

And that my friends, is what restored the sparkle to my tarnished Holiday spirit.

Sure the friends, carols and liquor consumption certainly helped...a lot. But it was the outrageousness of that singular slamming door that put the bounce back in my step, the life in my lagging elan. I'm back, BABY!

So a tip of the hat to you, my cantankerous neighbor. For you have shown me the true meaning of Christmas. Humor.