I'm still planning on posting about Christmas, but since we're already at New Year's Eve, I thought I'd talk about New Year's Resolutions first. 
My blog friend June, whose blog is cackling good fun, asked her readers recently to post their New Year's resolutions. 
One reader posted she was going to be more aggressive in her jewelry-wearing. 
I can't stop thinking about that resolution. I think it might just be the best resolution I've ever heard. 
In that same vein, I've decided to make a list of resolutions like that: attainable ones that won't cause too much exertion, so I don't feel like a loser on January 2nd when they're already down the toilet.
Here's mine:
❉ I will attempt to be targeted for a full body scan at the airport.  Easy enough. 
Our airport just got one of those kinky machines. And for whatever reason, since 9/11, I have been picked out of the line every dang time for special screenings. I've had pat-downs, wandings. I've  been selected to go through the puffy air thing. I've had to take a sip out of my water bottle in front  of those ultra-serious security team dudes before the no-liquid rule was put in place. The thought  did flash through my mind for a millisecond to take a sip and immediately crash to the ground,  writhing around like nobody's business . . . you know, for laughs. But, I hear those Homeland  Security people have the worst sense of humor.
I'm not sure if it's my imposing pixie cut or my leggings or my intimidating stature of 5' almost 4"  that causes them to feel I'm a sure bet for committing jihad on the plane, but, honestly, I kind of like  all the extra attention. And I bet it feels a little thrilling to know as you're walking through that X-ray-vision machine, that somebody's lookin' at your nekked self. I'll probably suggestively shimmy my  way through. Or, since they make you raise your hands up, maybe a little naked YMCA dance for  their viewing pleasure to liven up all the naked viewing they have to watch all day. 


❉ Get my Hubby to stop wearing his khaki shirt with the large-mouthed bass emblazoned across the back. He wears it entirely too much because honestly, I think it makes him feel, you know, more mannish with the wildlife and all on it, but  . . . it's a LARGE MOUTH BASS across his BACK. The girls tell him outright how ungodly it is. I prefer more subtle tactics like, "I'm not sure khaki is your color. I think you're more of a primary color person." I know I could lose it in the mountainous pile of laundry, but that would be dirty pool and I don't do dirty pool.


❉ Advise the young mom at school about good bras. This is a biggie, the hardest one to accomplish since it's going to be really tough for me to walk up to her, having never met her and say, "Excuse me, but get thee to Victoria's Secret and ask for the bra fitter right away." This poor girl has the worst bras known to man. She must buy them at Big Lots in the clearance aisle, a dozen for a dollar, because, when I say this girl is going to poke her eye out one of these days, I mean . . .  seriously. I see her walking down the hallways and she is just abouncing and not in a good way and I'm thinking, why don't any of her friends step up and take her to the mall? They are not good friends.

Everyone should have a bra fitting. I remember the first time the bra fitter approached me when I was headed to the dressing room with some underthings in hand. She asked me if she could help select the perfect bra for me and I was all, sure, why the hell not. I'm always up for a new experience. I got a little creeped out, though, when she came into the dressing room with me and started adjusting and sizing me up. I started thinking, maybe she was just POSING as a bra fitter. Maybe she was really some weirdo getting her jollies on and I was the innocent victim of a phony bra fitter! It's happened before.

But, I threw caution and my taa-taa's to the wind and let her measure and adjust and before you knew it, I found out I was a totally different size than what I thought and I was instantly in the perfect, perfect bra for me. Because, as we girls all know, all taa-taas are different and the bra that works on one person, might just not work for you. And this poor girl's got nothing working for her. I really have to tell her.
❉ Use the word Crap-Head more. I really like that word. Crap-Head.
❉ Pattern my relationship with The Hubby after Dog the Bounty Hunter and his wife. Is her name Pam? I don't think it is, but she looks like a Pam with that fantastically awful bad hair. I mean, they might just be the world's worst dressers with their ultra-tight leathers and their matching bad perms and their feathered jewelry, but man, are they ever good to each other. 
Even in the midst of Pam barreling down the road in her big-ass SUV hunting down the bail jumpers, Dog is walkie talkieing her from the other SUV and saying, "I love you Pam." as he's holding a semi-automatic up to some bad guy they've just caught. And she's all ready to kick ass with her bad self and hair, but she always has a sweet, "I love you too, Dog." for him. 
And oh my goodness, when the bail jumper was trying to get away and Baby Lyssa was the lookout cause she's like 80 pounds and she doesn't have the heft of Pam, so they keep her out of harm's way and the bail jumper ran right into Baby Lyssa's path and whacked her up a couple of times, I thought Pam was going to freakin' kill that bail jumper! Forget about Dog and his big muscles and his semi-automatic weapons and his feathered jewelry, Pam was taking this dude down just with her big hairstyle and enormous taa-taa's and the fury in her from this bail jumper messing with Baby Lyssa. When they finally got this guy shackled and into the car, Pam was spewing threats over the walkie-talkie at him, telling him she would be at every one of his bail hearings because you DO. NOT. MESS. WITH. BABY. LYSSA. And the thing is, Baby Lyssa's like 30. She's not a baby. And she's Dog's daughter. She's not even Pam's Baby Lyssa, but Pam loves her that much because she's a part of Dog and I just think that's so sweet to want to kill a bail jumper over love. 
I really want to have a relationship more like Dog and Pam except . . .  my love is big enough to tolerate a wide-mouthed bass shirt, but if The Hubby ever came home with a feathered earring and a leather vest, I'd be all—No, my love has limits. 

❉ Work on my triceps. Because nothing says, "I've given up" more than triceps that keep waving long after you've stopped. If I don't tighten up those triceps, I might as well start wearing mom jeans and Celine Dion concert t-shirts, tucked in.

❉ Spread the word that there is NO WAY that those people on the eHarmony commercials really had to use a dating site to find someone. I mean, every single, dang one of them is movie-star beautiful. I think one guy might even be Jake Gyllenhal's twin brother.

If those kind of people are all over the eHarmony site, I think all single people should run, not walk, to their computer and forget about going to bars and church quilting groups and gyms with your makeup and hair perfect. Why bother, when there are so many stunning people looking for love on the internet?



❉ Bring sexy back. Well, I'll have to wait until I get enough tricep dips in first.
❉ Wear stilettos at all times. Victoria Beckham claims this is her secret for keeping so thin. She says she even exercises in her Manolo Blahniks. Although, I do think she's neglecting to mention the fact that her daily food intake consists of a piece of celery. On a splurge day, she probably includes a grape; but hey, I'm willing to give the shoe thing a try. If Pam can go on bounty hunts in her stilettos, I can sure manage a car pool in them. The wearing of stilettos will help in bringing sexy back, too. 

❉ So, here's my last one, my most serious one. I will, I will, I will get my novel out there and shop it around. It will happen. I will work fast and furious, vowing to ignore My Hubby, the girls, the dogs, the house and anything else that gets in the way of my goal. I swear this to you, Internet. I will do it. This is my year. I can so feel it in my bones . . . and stilettos.

Today's Do It Download: My last Holiday Song--Johnny Otis' "Happy New Year Baby" a big, bluesy song that just sums up the best of New Year's resolutions. "I'm gonna give up chasin' women, whiskey-drinkin' too, stop my bally-hooin', yeah I'm done mistreatin' you. Happy New Year Baby. Happy New Year to You....I'm gonna give you all my money to buy the things you choose. I'll even steal and borrow and pawn my clothes and shoes to keep you happy, baby, happy the whole year through....If you love me sweet and pretty, I'll buy you a big brass bed. If I catch you cheating, I'll fill you full of lead...Happy New Year Baby. Happy New Year To You."

Man, nothing says love better than brass beds and bullets. 
Happy, Happy New Year, All You Darling, Wonderful Crap-Heads. I wish for you and your loved ones, a year full of promise and love, laughter and peace and as many new shoes as your little hearts desire.
XXXXXOOOOOO