I Resolve...To Not Resolve

Another year has come to an end and I am happy to report that I haven't disappointed myself once in 2010. I know. I adore me, too. How have I managed this impossible feat? It's simple, really. I stopped making New Year's Resolutions about three years ago. Gone are the days when I'd sit down with a brand new journal and pen and plot out all the huge, unrealistic goals that I planned to meet in the new year. Ahhh, sweet freedom.

Have you ever taken a moment to examine the word 'resolution'? Broken down it's re-solution. The word is basically saying, "What? You didn't stick with this year's solution to the problem? Don't sweat it. Let's do it all over again!" It sounds wonderful, like a pardon from the President for killing a family of four, only the pardon is from yourself for not starting your own business or giving up caffeine. Yes, it sounds wonderful, but what happens when you catch a glimpse of yourself naked on December 19th and it's too late to lose that 50 pounds you resolved to lose? Trust me, even gastric bypass doesn't work that fast. So, you've disappointed yourself...again.

Not me. Not ever again. These past three years have been amazingly carefree. Except for the economy, but one can hardly blame me for that. Don't set yourselves up for failure. With my plan, you can make minimal effort and if you make any progress at all, it will be a victory. A small victory to be sure, but winning is winning.

And so, to encourage my friends, family, and fellow bloggers to join me in my quest to be happy in this new year and every new year to come I'm starting the No Resolution Revolution. It's just like making a resolution, only not. You take all the things you would normally resolve to do and do the opposite. Are you following me? No? Come on, keep up. It's not rocket science. Just do as I do.

In 2011, I promise (not resolve, see how that works?) to:
1. Eat as much as I possibly can in a 365 day span. Therefore, I also will
2. Gain so much weight that Weight Watchers will call me and offer their services free of charge.
3. Do absolutely no exercise and negatively impact my lung capacity.
4. Speaking of lung capacity, I will take up smoking again. Sure, I only smoked two cigs a day, but a carcinogen is a carcinogen, right? I'm sure it'll do the job.
5. Not put forth any effort toward being successful or achieving my dreams. Who needs a career that's financially and emotionally fulfilling? Not me, that's for damn sure.
6. Not pay any attention whatsoever to my husband and kids. They'll survive. If not, there's always the cat.
7. Let my house fall apart completely. I'm tired of spending my hard-earned money on this old ass house. Well, it's not exactly my hard-earned money, but still. I could start a nice gambling addiction with that money.
8. To be the most ungrateful bitch anyone has ever met. I've already got the bitch part down, so we're halfway there with that one.
9. To be the rootinest tootinest bible-thumpingest Christian this side of the Mississip. I almost wrote that whole sentence without laughing.
10. To actively, proactively, and reactively seek out alcoholism. That one shall begin before this post is finished being typed.

By the end of 2011, I will be a fat, lazy, alcoholic with no ambition, no friends, fucked up kids, and an iron lung. Damn! This shit is going to be fun.

I read a bumper sticker recently that said, "Where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?" let's just say that's my motto for 2011. We're not supposed to survive 2012, so why the hell would I go through all the trouble of doing all the things that everyone else is promising themselves to do. Fuck that. I'm going to have a ball during my supposed last year of existence and maybe do shit differently in my next lifetime.

Maybe.

Happy Fat Ass New Year to all my wonderful and loyal readers! I fucking love you guys! I'm never going to say that shit again, so you might want to print this out.

See ya next year!

Jesus, Take the Wheel

I feel the need to channel Carrie Underwood today because somewhere Susan B. Anthony is rolling over in her grave.

Have you seen this shit?


Just what every parent wants for their little princess...Video Ho Girl Barbie. What. The. Fuck. That's a statement, not a question. Video Girl Barbie comes complete with a video camera in her necklace, form-fitting night club outfit, Jersey Shore hair, bodacious ta-ta's, and a bootylicious ass you can bounce a quarter off of. That reminds me, Video Ho. Beyonce called. She wants her ass back.

When I was a little girl, Barbie was someone to be admired. Sure, she was a doll, but she taught little girls that they could grow up and become doctors or astronauts, drive race cars, work as flight attendants or say "fuck it" and fly the damn planes themselves. And all without a dime from Ken's bitch ass.

Who's bright idea was it to take Beyonce and Snooki, meld them together, dye her hair blond, give her a camcorder with which to record her naughty misdeeds, and sell her to little girls? I want names. And addresses. AND a five gallon bucket, a pair of pruning shears, two spark plugs and a Snickers bar. Don't ask.

This just proves my point that we're getting dumber. How does one "evolve" from a doctor to a video ho? I must have missed that part of the evolutionary chart. So, it goes: ape, neanderthal, cro magnon, human, whore? Is this what the rest of us have to look forward to? Because if it is, let me off at the next stop.

Maybe this was no accident. Maybe there is a little Impotent Old Man somewhere who decided to take revenge on the fairer sex by putting them in their place, so to speak. Maybe IOM is so freakin' pissed that women have gone from subservient, homemaking, child-rearing, I-can't-do-anything-without-a-man doormats to strong, maid-having, nanny-hiring, fuck-you-asshole-I-don't-need-you-for-shit powerhouses, that he thought he could reverse years of feminism with the creation of a doll employed in the world's oldest profession. Don't give me that look. Video Ho-ing is only one shot of Hennessy away from prostitution and you know it. My point is that he was trying to start over from scratch. Career woman to ho; ho to housewife. Then things would be as they were meant to be. There's a fatal flaw in his plan, however. Everyone knows you can't turn a ho into a housewife.

I would like to tie IOM's loosely hanging balls into a sailor's knot, put a red bandana on his head, and plop him naked into the middle of a Lil Wayne video being filmed in Crip territory. Then all the booty bouncing video vixens could point and laugh as they drove their pimped out rides up and down his sadistic spine.

No actual video hoes were harmed in the making of this post.

Stay away from the trunk of my car.