Fire, Booze, Cash and other shit that makes the holidays so much fun...

Although I’ve pretty much given up on organized religion, I love the commercialism and spirit of the holidays. Everyone seems to be in better moods, stores have awesome sales and no one really gives a shit if you get any work done while on the clock. It’s my kind of season! Well, except for the two weeks where kids are out of school. That part pretty much sucks ass. But, given the fabulous mood I’ve been in lately, I’m sure the kiddos won’t get me down this year… I’ll just ignore them or banish them to their rooms while I sip on spiked eggnog and watch trash on TV in front of a roaring fire.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was hunkered down in an efficiency apartment behind a barber shop with a rosemary bush for a Christmas tree and a toddler who liked to hide in the kitchen cabinets with the pots and pans. Back then, we lit the gas stove burners for warmth. It’s a wonder we didn’t burn the place down! Times were tough, but times were also simpler. There were no mortgages or car notes or designer clothes or private school tuitions to pay. And back then, we took pleasure in each other’s company and didn’t expect fancy gifts for Christmas.

It’s amazing to realize how much my life has changed in such a short period of time. Is it good? Is it bad? I don’t know. What I do know is that now I have more money for better booze… so that’s a plus!
Shit I'm Thankful For...  

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day and guess what I'm thankful for?  Not having to cook!  I got a fee pass this year after suggesting that we all meet at Luby's for dinner.  What the fuck is wrong with Luby's?  Evidently a lot, because sis was mortified at the thought.  So mortified, in fact, that she offered to host the festivities this year!  And guess what I was assigned to bring?  You'll never guess.  2-liter sodas and dinner rolls.  I'm making out like a bandit, y'all!  This lovely turn of events has put me in the holiday spirit.  I'm even doubling up on the anti-anxiety meds and taking my girls to the parade dowtown in the morning!

I'm also thankful for crossing over the mid-30's hump.  Evidently, I have exited postpartum depression and entered my sexual prime.  After doing some research on the internets, I discovered that I'm late...supposedly 32 is the magical age for women and sexual peaks. But, when I was 32, my youngest spawn was only a year old and already reeking havoc on my life...the last thing I wanted to do was take a chance on accidently producing another hellion.  Even with a successful tubal ligation, I had this nightmare that Freddy Krueger would reach his razor sharp fingers into my vagina and pull out another mini-me with firey red hair and shark teeth.  It was enough to make me turn celibate.  Or lesbian.  Or to yank Hubber's pecker off and flush it down the toilet.  Anyway, thank the sweet baby Geezus for prescription meds.  That shit has saved my life... and the life of the penis that I married.
Greasin' the Palm... 

There was this granny at Hubber's old folk's home who was reading palms at their Halloween party.  According to Hubber....she's really a psychic and takes this shit seriously.  Well, so do I! So, of course, I had to plop down and give her my hand.  I got the worst reading EVER, y'all.  Basically, I'm going to die young due to some illness....and if that's not bad enough, no one will really give a shit about me and I'll be all alone on my death bed.  She even got all teary-eyed telling me this shit...tracing her old, scrawny fingers along the lines on my hand.  "That's all I see," she said, and I wanted to smack her down and stomp on her face with my stilletto heel.

Do free readings always suck?  Because they're free?  If you pay for one is the news better?  If so, why didn't that wench have a tip jar or something? 

I should have prefaced this post by telling y'all that all my life I've had a feeling that I would die a horrible, violent death - possibly in a car fire / explosion type thing.  So, already, I'm all freaked out about dying.  This pyschic granny didn't help matters much.  Now I'm totally obsessed with palm reading and witchery and whatnot.  So, if I start sending voodoo vibes your way, don't blame me... blame that old granny!
Penis Schpenis

Well, peeps.  I've found some writing gigs.  I'm writing for a travel agency in the U.K. about places I've never been to before..... I'm composing marketing materials for a Body Armour manufacturer in New Zeland.... but my most favoritest gig EVER (not) is writing blog posts for a "male enhancement" product re-seller out of Australia.  Yes.  I now know more than any girl should ever know about penises. Tiny penises, thin penises, crooked penises....there is a remedy for all this shit, y'all.  I'm just sayin'. If the guy that owned the site gave me a cut of the sales, I'd tell you where to go to buy this magical stuff.  But he won' screw him.
It's "Back to School" time, bitches!

This past summer was particularly difficult for me. Since we didn’t go on vacation, the time seemed to drag on and on and on. I had grand plans of bringing J to work with me once a week to volunteer….and plans of working from home once a week to get in some bonding time with J while lil J and Hubber went off to school and work….and plans of sipping on tons and tons of fruity, adult beverages while sitting on a beach for a week without a care in the world. None of that shit came to fruition.

The following happened instead:
  1. I spent four long, excruciating weeks at home without central air conditioning
  2. After said air conditioning was fixed, the one in my car went to out. So I spent another 2 weeks driving in 100 degree weather without air conditioning
  3. Hubber’s car broke down
  4. We spent all our vacation money on fixing a/c’s and cars
  5. Our pool pump broke and the water was thick and green for 3 weeks
  6. J finally got braces
  7. Our pool was infested with ducks. Twice.
On a positive note, though:
  1. lil J didn’t say “fuck” once all summer
  2. When my car was in the shop, I got to drive around in a brand new, pimped-out Tahoe
  3. Although I didn’t have them on the beach, I did have many fruity, adult beverages
  4. My dog didn’t die of malnourishment
  5. My grandma celebrated her 90th birthday
  6. lil J learned to write her name
  7. J finally got braces
  8. My tires are bald, but still rolling
  9. Now Hubber’s car’s a/c is out. Ha! ;-)
Well, school is back in session. For me, this is bittersweet. Sweet - because now I can quit trying to come up with shit for J to do while she’s home alone all day. Bitter - because I fucking lost my free housekeeper/dog sitter. And extra bitter because now I have to tote both kids around to extra curricular activities again…which cuts into my ME time. These people are lucky I love them.
Will Blog for Food

I haven’t posted on my blog in forever and ever because I have spent non-work hours and many sleepless nights scouring the internet for “work from home” opportunities. As it turns out, this is a monumental task. There’s a lot of bullshit out there, y’all. I’m here to give you a little advice on some of the shit I’ve learned so far.

First, participating in paid surveys is totally not worth your time and energy. The average payout is like $1 for 2 hours of your time. Basically, YOU are paying them. And I don’t like paying for shit, so I quit. I did, however, find J a gig through my survey research that pays $60…all she has to do is monitor her snacking habits on a palm pilot (which they supplied her with) for 2 weeks. Don’t ask me where I came across that shit, because God only knows, but she’s kinda excited about earning some extra cash by doing close to nothing. Plus, it’s good for me because she owes me $60…it’s a win/win.

Another scheme you should avoid is this google ad thingy you can put on your blog. See it? Yeah, well, unless you have 9,000 hits a day, that shit doesn’t pay off, either. And, although I’d like to think people are actually reading this shit…you’ll see on the right there that I only have 4 followers. And, at $0.00034 a click, it’ll be 62 years before I see $1.

After figuring that the money ain’t gonna roll in while I sit on my fat ass by the pool with a good book and a pina colada, I decided to get serious. So, while I'm whoring myself out doing contract work and making hair bows in the evenings, I'm still juggling my day job and all the fun shit is falling by the way side.  Which is sad, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.
Not having a properly functioning air conditioning unit in Houston is like TORTURE... 

And, when I say TORTURE, I mean it. Literally.  It's like poor Daniel Craig in that James Bond movie where he's naked and tied to a seatless chair and some guy is whipping his balls from underneath.  It's like that.  Except I have no balls.  Well, figuratively I do.  Anyway... I'm not sure why our shit is taking so long to get fixed, you'd have to ask Hubber.  But, after two nights in a plush hotel room, we did a little math and figured we better take our asses back home before we did too much damage to the bank account.  So, we bought a couple of window units.  WINDOW units.  To cool our 2,800 sq ft home. Because THAT would work.  Sure.  Turns out, those bitches can only cool two parts of the house: the master bedroom and the livingroom/kitchen/dining area.  We have to close doors and put sheets up in hallways to keep the coolness in.  It's very ghetto.  And cozy.  I'm shocked that my children haven't killed each other yet.  They're sharing the living room...which has turned into a quasi campground of sorts.  The sofa bed has been out for days. The big couch is fitted with sheets and stuffed animals. The coffee table is littered with empty juice pouches, half-eaten pieces of fruit, empty chip bags and crumbs.  Lots of crumbs.  I'm just waiting for the ants and roaches to appear. And we can't cook anything on the stove or in the oven that takes more than 15 minutes or so to cook because that shit will kill the coolness with a quickness. And I've resorted to screaming at anyone opening a door, "CLOSE THE DOOR, YOU'LL LET THE COOL AIR OUT, DAMNIT!"  because those heifers can't seem to remember that it's fucking hot in that mofo if you leave a door cracked open!

And, god forbid I turn my blow dryer on!  My hair has looked like shitballs for a week now.

And as if all that weren't bad enough, our fucking swimming pool is out of service.  And by that, I mean: the goddamned water looks like pea soup!  So, we can't even escape the indoor heat by tooling around in the pool.  We have to all sit huddled together in front of the window unit air conditioner...all the while getting on each other's last nerves.
Parks just aren't what they used to be...  

This morning, we went to the neighborhood park at the butt crack of dawn.  Being the first ones there today, I expected to see remnants from the night before strewn all over the place - the way inner city parks are.  Boy was I shocked not to find anything spray painted or empty beer cans or syringes or the smell of piss.  Because, in town, that's the kind of shit you have to look forward to bright and early in a park... and you're lucky if you don't bump into a homeless person who made a park bench their bed for the night. At our suburban neighborhood park this morning, here's what we found:

that is a kid's shoe up on the pavillion roof....proof that somebody had one helluva party last night!


three shoes and landscaping stones that some kid probably wanted to steal and their parents didn't let them because their parents suck ass (yes, we took one home with us)...


Yeah....those bitches LITTERED!   For shame...


instead of graffiti, there are nicely printed signs with exercising tips and famous quotes! 
George Washington can suck my left tit!   

I learned quickly that explaining what death is to a three-year-old is not easy. And I’m not smart enough, evidently, to explain it in a caring, round-about way. I blame George fucking Washington for this shit. Because, y’all, why’d that fucker have to die?! If he were still alive, the conversation I had with lil J about death would not have even happened.

Lil J: : Mommy, who’s this old guy on my money?
Me: George Washington. He was a president a long time ago.

Lil J: Oh. Well, where is he now?

Me: He’s dead.

Lil J: How’d he die?

Me: I don’t know…I guess he was just old and crusty.

Lil J: Oh.

Then, she got out of the car and went to school. And, I went on my merry way to work, figuring that was the end of that conversation. *whew*. But, when I picked her up from school, we picked right back up where we left off.

Lil J: Mommy?

Me: Huh?

Lil J: What happened to the old, crusty guy after he was dead?

Me: What do you mean?

Lil J: Where’d he go?

Me: I guess he was buried.

Lil J: WHAT?! BURIED in the DIRT?!

Me: Yes, but then his spirit went to heaven with baby Jesus.

Lil J: Poor guy.

Me: Well, everyone has to die some time.

Lil J: But, I don’t want to be dead.

Me: You have a loooong time to live, you’re not old and crusty.

Lil J: Ok.

Then, we got home. And I figured that was that. No more talk of death. We had dinner. We laughed. We played. We argued. We let the dog out. Same ol’ shit. I got Lil J in the shower, scrubbed her down, washed her hair and left her there to play a little while I washed my face and whatnot. That’s when the crying started.

Me: What in the world is wrong?!

Lil J: I don’t want to be dead!

Me: Oh, for pete’s sake. No one lives forever. It’s ok. Really.

Lil J: But, I don’t want to buried. I don’t want to be dead. I don’t want to be old and crusty.

Me: Oh, baby. It’s ok. You’ll be an angel.

Lil J: I don’t want to be an angel! I want to be a person!

That’s when I noticed Hubber in the doorway looking absolutely mortified.

Hubber: WTF?!

Me: Uhm. It’s all because of George Washington!

Hubber: What is wrong with you?! You don’t say shit like that to a baby!

Me: Baby?! She’s almost FOUR!

Hubber: Don’t listen to Mommy, she’s crazy. You don’t have to worry about dying. Ok? I promise.

Lil J: Ok, Daddy.

So, basically, I’m the bad guy and Daddy is the hero because in his little made up world, no one dies. They just go away to Neverland or some shit. What happens when someone she knows actually DOES die?! What then?! And we can’t even explain this shit in a religious type of way because we haven’t introduced Lil J to CHURCH or GOD or anyone except 8 lb, 6 oz baby Jesus for crissakes!

Anyway, so now….NOW….I’m sticking to the story that: NO, we won’t die… because, she asks me at least once a day now whether or not we’ll die. I say, “no,” and change the subject quickly. That seems to do the trick. For now.

Holy shitballs, y'all...I just got this over it a sign?? 

Who done it?! 
The paranormal shit in our house is totally out of fucking control. Now, when a door is supposed to be locked and isn't.... or water is left running in the kitchen... or closet lights are left on all day... or dog hair is mysteriously all over the sofa... or the thermostat is supposed to be on 72 and instead is on 70... we all blame the damn ghost because NOBODY else "did it".  The ghost is fucking with us, I think.  Because nothing irks Hubber like someone jacking with his A/C thermostat.  Well, accept for maybe me poking him in his arm pit.... or someone parking in front of the mailbox... or dog shit in the front yard... or empty wine glasses.  Oh, wait. Forget that last one. That's one of mine.  I think we need to set a trap and nip this ghost shit in the butt once and for all. Too bad that little squeaky lady from Poltergiest died...she would have been an awesome trap setter!
Needing a Permanent Vacation... 

So, we're in the throes of planning our next vacation. I know what you're thinking, "Damn, didn't y'all just get back from vacation a few weeks ago?"  And, yes, we did.  And the day I went back to work, I immediately began anticipating the next one. As did everyone else in my household, evidently, because every single one of them have a different idea of what we should be doing.  I wanted to chill at the beach.  With my dog.

J: I want to go to New York City to see a broadway show and the Statue of Liberty.

Lil J:  I wanna have a baycayshun!

Hubber: I'd be happy just having a staycation so there's no money spending and debauchery involved.

Me: Y'all are nuts. We're going to the beach.

Lil J: I wanna go to the beach for baycayshun!

Sis: Hey, we want to go with y'all on vacation!  Why don't you ever invite us to go?!

Me: You can come, shit.

Sis: Good. Let's go on a cruise.

Me: WTF?!

J: Ooooh....I know what would be totally like awesome!  Let's go amusement park hopping!

Me: Yeeeah....we can finally go to Dollywood!  And Graceland!

Hubber:  Graceland is not an amusement park, you're thinking of Neverland.  Besides, there are three parks in Texas...if you count Sea we could save tons of money on gas!

Lil J: I don't want to go to Texas for baycayshun!!  Texas is dumb!

Sis: If we go on a cruise, we'll never have to see our kids!

Me: Where the hell is my passport!?

I have a feeling we'll never agree on what to do, so I might have to flex my mommy muscles soon in order to get shit to go my way.  There's got to be a way to incorporate my dog, Elvis, amusement parks, kid-free zones, AND the beach in this plan.
Feeling Kinda Bitchy...

My allergies have been kicking my ass lately. Evidently, Houston is experiencing historically high pollen counts and it’s that shit that is wreaking havoc on my sinuses. I am now on antibiotics for a sinus infection which means no booze for 10 days. That shit is fucked up. How’s a girl to get her thrills? And my jackass doctor said that wine counts as booze. So…basically, it’s ok for a pregnant woman to drink a couple of glasses of wine a day, but a totally UNpregnant woman with a sinus infection can’t?! WTF? Something ain’t right with this picture. And, as if that piece of news wasn’t bad enough… I had to do blood work while I was at the doctor. I try to tell those bitches that I have only one good vein, but they don’t listen…so now I look like a junkie with track marks all over my arm from where they poked me and no blood flowed.

In other news… Work sucks, y’all. I’m finding it hard to listen to these yip yappers without getting the sudden urge to poke them in the eyes with my pen. Maybe being sick has drained me of patience, I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m about to go postal if they don’t get out of my face with all their nonsense. Smiling and nodding and NOT listening to them seems to work for a few minutes…the trick is to get them out of my office before I lose my shit. I’ve tried singing songs in my head. I’ve tried imagining the yip yapper with a tiny Beatlejuiced head. I’ve tried imagining I could do a Chuck Norris kick to their head and snap their neck in two seconds. I’ve tried counting the number of times they blink their eyes…or look at my boobs… or say “like”…or “and uhm”. All the while, smiling and nodding… like I give a shit. Maybe I’m just jonesing for some booze. Since I KNOW I can’t have any, it makes me want it even more which makes me irritable and totally intolerant… or intolerable… or both.
Excessive Booze, Paranormal Activity, Police Searches, Road Trips, BBQ Cook-Offs, Golf Tournaments...and all the other shit you've missed out on since my last post... 

So, let's see....where to start....where to start...?  I'm thinking the "excessive booze" doesn't really need explanation.  Because, really, y'all?  It's what I do.  I mean, I show up at my sister-in-law's house in Colorado, and what's there waiting for me?  Two bottles of vodka...HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!! 

Then, I put on my STFU shirt and pop into a bar on St. Patty's day and what do I get? Green beer.

Nice, huh?  Sometimes I wonder if I should be offended because everyone sees me as a skanky lush....but then, I think again....and I say, bring on the booze peeps!

But seriously, let's get down to biddness.  Turns out our house is haunted.  And, I blame my sister, because before she moved in, there were no ghosts here. But now, all kinds of crazy shit has happened.  We hear the shutters opening and closing....the attic fan vent opening and closing...knocks on the wall... and most recently, locked doors opening.  Yeah.  So, get this.  My obsessive, compulsive sister who checks 6 times to make sure doors are closed tightly and locked was the last person to leave the house one day.  And, we all rest easy knowing that she's the last one out the door because that means we can rest assured that all the doors are closed and locked...all the faucets are turned off...all the chi irons are unplugged...etc.  So, when J was the first to get home that particular afternoon, and the back door in the garage (leading into the house) was slightly ajar, she knew something was up.  Someone or SOMETHING had opened that door. 

Of course, we reacted like sane people and resisted the urge to call Ghost Hunters and called the cops, instead.   They searched the house and found no one there and nothing missing.  Which made me regret not calling Ghost Hunters afterall.  Mofo. The police search DID, however, make me aware of how ridiculously filthy my house was.  J had panties on the floor (what else is new)... Lil J had so many toys strewn about her room that the floor was nowhere to be seen and dog hair was an inch thick on the house floors that were actually visible....and let us not forget what "toy" was accidentally left on the master bathroom counter. Because, evidently, no one thinks it's their job to wash the damn thing and put it away! Do not get me started.

Enough about that.  So, the road trip we took was to Colorado to visit Hubber's peeps....who were great and showed us a fabulous time.  On the way back, we hung out in Amarillo to see Cadillac Ranch and to visit Palo Duro Canyon...both were awesome, by the way.

When Spring Break was over, it was back to work as usual.   Which meant a bbq cook-off that took place over the course of 3 days and consisted of an attendance of over 5,000 people...half of whom were drunk off their asses one night....then the planning of upcoming golf tournaments, a motorcycle/auto rally and a new subscription service newsletter.  Yippee.  Shit just never seems to slow down around here. It is nice to be able to stop and smell the roses once in a while, though, and that's what our road trip was to me.  I wish I could take a permanent road trip.

Teenagers, toddlers and other things I don't really like to talk to...

I'm not sure I like this new video chatting thing the kids are using these days. When I barge into my teenager's room half dressed, dropping f-bombs and tossing her dirty panties at her face because she keeps leaving them on the bathroom floor after her shower....I'd prefer not to have any witnesses present.  Especially little perverted boys. And especially when it's cold and I'm wearing a wife-beater tank and no bra...and there's a hole in the ass of the boxers I have on.  It kinda defeats the purspose of my dramatic exit.  But, it mortifies my kid.  And that ain't a bad thing.  Maybe it'll make her think twice before giving me a reason to burst into her room during her chat session.

J: MOOOOM....I'm on skype!

Me: I don't give a need to quit leaving your stanky drawers on the floor!

*snickering is heard from the computer*

J: And, why didn't you KNOCK?  You have no clothes on!

Me:  *looking down that the complete wreck that are the rags hanging from my body*  This is MY house, I can wear whatever I want.  And, until you start paying rent to live here, I don't have to knock on shit!

This is basically how all my conversations with J go these days.  Her, wanting her privacy. Me, reminding her that she has no privacy and embarrassing the living shit out of her. 

Conversations with lil J aren't much better, though.  Here's what happened when I asked her how her day went yesterday:

Me: How was your day?

lil J: It was awesome.

Me: Really?  What made it so awesome?

lil J: I didn't even get in trouble...and I did't have to sit on the blue rug OR go to the office ALL day!

Me: ??

lil J: guess what?!

Me: what?

lil J: fuck.

Me: uhm...

lil J: is that a bad word?

Me: yes.

lil J: oh, ok.

This is my life, y'all.
Long Duck Dong

My hair stylist's name is Duc. The first time I met him, he said, "My name is Duc - you know, like Long Duck Dong."  I fell in love with him immediately.  I quickly learned, though, that if Duc does your hair (or you want him to do your hair), you best be prepared to be broken and beaten down...and dragged through the muck that is your fucked up hair (because, until you have a fresh Duc do, your shit is fucked me).  I like to go 12 weeks before touching up my highlights and color. And in the hair dresser world, that is the hugest NO-NO ever.  Well, that, and having a long, nappy, fried mane.  So, if you don't want to hear "DAMN, GIRL, your hair looks like shit!" the second you walk through the door, Duc's not your man.  I happen to think his brutal honesty is refreshing.  If Duc's thinking it, you're gonna hear it.  Period.  And when I tell him that I hadn't been in to see him because I've been soooo poor lately, he says, "Yeah, it shows....I hope you don't go around telling people I do your hair when it looks like THAT!"  He's a straight-up Jackass. But I love him. And I miss him.  I did my own color this past weekend. He's going to kill me.
What's YOUR life plan?

That is the question J recently asked herself. She shared her plan with me once she had it all figured out...
  1. Find a high school sweetheart.Get good grades in highschool.
  2. Get scholarships for college.
  3. Go to college with high school sweetheart. (preferably to Texas A&M, but wouldn't turn down Harvard if they accepted her.)
  4. Graduate college and start a career.
  5. Get married to high school sweetheart.
  6. Travel the world with husband.
  7. Start a family - one daughter and one son.  (will consider adopting because the birthing process grosses her out)
I asked her when she planned on making tons of cash so she can take care of her parents in their golden years and she said she's pretty sure we can take care of ourselves.   What a selfish heifer.  Who the hell is going to pay for Hubber's nursing staff when he becomes an incontient, slobbering, blubbery mess?  She certainly doesn't expect that shit to fall on me!!  And what about when her sister ends up in prison?? Who's gonna send her cigarrettes?  Who's gonna make sure she makes her parole meetings when/if she gets out? She's gonna need to re-think this list. For sure.

So, anyway, I got to thinking about MY life plan.  Because, honestly, I hadn't given it much thought. Ever. I've been one of those "live for today" types of people. And I ain't getting any younger.  You know shit is going downhill when you discover you have a crazy hair on your chin that grows 7 inches OVERNIGHT.  And when you highlight your hair to cover the gray. And when you decide that eating anything after 7 pm is a BAAAAAD idea if you're going to sleep at 9.  I've turned into my mother and I haven't even traveled the world yet!  And according to J's plan...she'll have traveled the world BEFORE having children. Smart, huh? 

I'm not sure WTF happened to me along the way...and why, as anal as I am, I didn't come up with a clever plan like J's a long time ago.  Well, fuck it. Better late than never, eh? goes...
  1. Find a job/opportunity that pays better than the one I have and allows me to work a lot less than I do now.
  2. Kick my boss in the balls on my way out the door.
  3. Learn to be a ninja warrior - or at least to kick ass should the need arise.
  4. Renew my wedding vows and get a new wedding ring.
  5. Send J off to college.
  6. Remodel my kitchen.
  7. Spend a week on a tropical island.
  8. Visit California before it falls off the map.
  9. Send lil J off to college.
  10. Spend a St. Patrick's Day in Ireland.
  11. Take an Alaskan cruise.
  12. Spoil the living shit out of my grandchildren. be continued.
Kicking Ass in 2010

New Year's Resolutions are evil. I'd like to start a petition to end this nonsense altogether. Because, really, NO ONE ever sticks to their resolutions.  Making them only makes you feel like a loser....a failure...a person on the verge of suicide.  Fat people want to get skinny.  Smokers want to stop smoking.  Alcoholics want to save their livers.  Sex fiends want to be virgins.  Blah Blah BLAH. You know what I want to resolve to doing?  Making more money and drinking more booze!  Oh, and learning how to kick ass.  In case I get abducted or something.  I don't want to pack heat, so the least I could do is learn how to stab someone in the neck with my pinky to debilitate them. I know what you're thinking....alls you have to do is knee them in the ball sack. Am I right, ladies? Well, what you probably should consider is that abductors may be on to us.  They know that we know that they know that we know their soft spots. So, they wear protection.  Like jock straps or something.  And what are we left with?  Bruised knees and broken toes!  That's why surprising them with killer Chuck Norris moves could prove to be more effective. Wait, I hate Chuck Norris.  Jackie Chan.  Let's go with him. Or, that guy that used to do those Tae-Bo videos?? YEAH!  He was tough.  I bet no one ever tried to abduct his ass! Or Steven Segal!  Or John Claude Van Dam!  Or Arnold Schwartzenager back in his Terminator days!  Or Daniel Craig.  Yeah.  No body messes with 007....lest they want to DIE....or have wild, bad boy sex.

What the fuck was I talking about again?