Wacky Search Term Wednesday—special intervention edition

You know, I put up these search terms for all the world to see and chuckle at, but frankly, I’m a little concerned about some of these people.  And I have some guilt because they’re reaching out for help, and more often than not instead of extending my hand to meet theirs, I extend my finger of scorn and make a mockery of their pain.  So today, it’s not about me or my amusement, it’s about all those desperate googlers out there and answering their cries for help.

can’t you people see i need some help—Yes, we can.  We finally can.  And we’re here for you.

picters of middle west—I’ve also gotten fruit picter and last month’s unicorn picter.  It’s picture, people, pic-ture.  P-I-C-T-U–R–E.  I’m just trying to spare you any future embarrassment.  Friends don’t let friends make ridiculous spelling errors.

does anyone like stale cheetos—Yes.  You are not alone.  Her name is Susan M and she’s really cool.  So don’t worry, even really cool and normal people can have slightly alarming snack food preferences.  You can carry on with life as usual.  Go on.  It’s OK.

impaled on a stick—Dude, I wouldn’t recommend searching the internets for a remedy.  This certainly sounds like a situation best left to professionals.  I know there might be some embarrassment, but believe me, they’ve pretty much seen everything.  They are there to help.  Just make the call.  Help them, help you.

trouble with imposter tableware—No problem is too small today, my friends.  I know it’s easy to be drawn in by the savings of brand name knock-offs, but sometimes the old addage is true:  You get what you pay for.  But it’s important to not let pride prevent you from moving on.  Don’t put up with substandard tableware anymore.  You deserve better.  We all make poor purchases every now and again.  It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.  Just make a clean sweep.  Get rid of the imposter stuff and treat yourself to some real trouble-free tableware.  It might cost you a little extra, but you’re worth it, right?  You are, you really are.  Believe it.

i am right and the universe is wrong—I also got universe prove you’re here.  I don’t recommend getting in the universe’s face like that.  Don’t call out the universe, man.  You can’t take it on by yourself.  Trust me.  You can’t win, and you really don’t want to risk pissing it off enough to feel the need to make an example of you.  Nothing worse than an angry universe.  And really, you’re putting us all at risk, so please—shhhhhhh.

i can not live unless judith’s with me—Yes, you can.  You can.  Look, I don’t know what you had with this Judith.  Maybe she was your soulmate or maybe just some girl.  Either way, it doesn’t matter.  If she truly loved you too, she would want you to go on without her.  And if she didn’t, well, then she’s not worth it.  You’re probably not in a place where you can hear that right now, but you’ll get there.  Yes, you will.

johnny gage sick flu—Johnny?!  I’m here, I’m here!  How can I help?

im a guy i trimmed the bottom of my eyeb—You know, I try and I try and yet there are still people out there who haven’t gotten the message.  First, it’s OK.  Whatever you’ve done to them, they’ll eventually grow back.  And two, if you can’t learn to practice some restraint in the fine art of eyebrow groomage, then perhaps you should just leave it to the professionals.  Also, I’d like to say that I appreciate a guy who understands the need for some occasional eyebrow landscaping and maintenance.  Good for you.  Don’t let this one bad experience keep you from taking care of your facial hair in the future.  All of your facial hair.  That includes the nose, too, buddy.  Oh yeah.  Check it out—you’ll thank me later.

gender morphing spell—Wait, just, just wait a minute.  You don’t want to go messing with the dark arts, man.  It never ends well.  Have we learned nothing from he who must not be named?  Hmmm?  Just stick with what you’ve already got goin’ on down in there.  Trust me.  And be sure to leave those eyebrows alone too, will ya?

hoped up on meds how to come down?—First off, while meds are an essential part of treatment for a number of physical, mental and emotional maladies, you should not place all of your hope in them.  You almost always need some kind of other therapy or counseling in combination with the meds for maximum healing potential.  Don’t try to do it alone.  There are people out there somewhere, I’m sure, who really care and want to help.   And keep hoping.  Hope floats.  You don’t ever want to come down from the hope.  Float on.

im looking for chuck norris—Woah, Nelly.  Woah, Nelly.  You don’t look for Chuck.  Chuck finds you.  And heaven help you when he does.

Talk with the hand (or the head or whatever, just please do something)

So yesterday I’m picking up the girls from school and this guy’s trying to exit the pick up lane, so I let him in because hey, it’s a dog eat dog parking lot out there and our survival ultimately depends on our willingness to work together.  So I let him in and wait for some small token of gratitude—you know, the customary hand wave or smile or even nod.  Guess what I got.  Nothing.  No-thing.  Harumph!

Believe me, I’m not picky about my acknowledgements, and I’m always ready to give the benefit of the doubt.  You so much as look in my direction without a sneer, and I’ll take that as a thank you.  But not even a backwards glance.  He may as well have rolled down his window and shouted, “See ya, suckah!

I so do not get that.  See, I’m the woman outside of the grocery store with a full cart and three kids waving the cars by so they don’t have to wait for me to cross, and if they do insist I always give a wave.  And a smile.  And usually a thank you, too, though I realize drivers aren’t likely to hear it I hope they can read the lips.

I have a few different waves in my repertoire, depending on the occasion.  As a pedestrian crossing a street or parking lot, I used to just hold up the hand.  Then I started to worry that someone might misinterpret my thank you for a command to halt, so now I usually do some kind of  hand/nod or hand/mouthed thank you combination.  If I’m at a four way stop at the same time as another car and they wave me on, I respond in kind.  Sometimes this gets me into trouble as they take my wave for a signal that I want them to go first, so now I’ll proceed into the intersection and then give a friendly wave so as to avoid the confusion.  And if I’m in a life or death changing lanes or elementary school parking lot situation, I’ll give an emphatic wave.  If I think there’s a chance they didn’t see it the first time, I’ll do it again.  Two is about my limit, though.  I won’t like follow them down the street or anything.  I mean, I want to be sure they know I’m grateful, but I don’t want to freak them out. 

What’s really nice is when you get some kind of reciprocal gesture, so you don’t have to lie awake at night wondering if the lady with three kids in the blue Chrysler Town & Country fully understood the depth of your gratitude for letting you in at the 4th street freeway on-ramp.  I try to remember to do that for people.  Do unto others…

I’m thinking they should incorporate some kind of advanced road etiquette in driver’s ed.  You know, teach people the code.  I had always just kind of assumed that people were born with natural instincts for the code, but maybe some people just don’t come by the code naturally. We can’t really hold them accountable in their ignorance, can we?

Do you have any particular procedures or protocols for giving roadway thanks?  Do you live by the code?

Can you read my mind?

I’ve had this song stuck in my head for days.  Probably doesn’t help that I have it on repeat in my car.  I’m just loving it right now.

I really like The Killers.  They’re quirky and fun and kind of intense all at once.  And sometimes their lyrics don’t really make sense (like that’s anything new), but I still love them.

Here’s Read My Mind:

On the corner of main street
Just tryin’ to keep it in line.
You say you wanna move on and
You say I’m falling behind.

Can you read my mind?
Can you read my mind?

I never really gave up on
Breakin’ out of this two-star town.
I got the green light,
I got a little fight.
I’m gonna turn this thing around.

Can you read my mind?
Can you read my mind?

The good old days, the honest man;
The restless heart, the Promised Land,
A subtle kiss that no one sees;
A broken wrist and a big trapeze.

Oh well I don’t mind, if you don’t mind.
‘Cause I don’t shine if you don’t shine
Before you go, can you read my mind?

It’s funny how you just break down,
Waitin’ on some sign
I pull up to the front of your driveway
With magic soakin’ my spine.

Can you read my mind?
Can you read my mind?

The teenage queen, the loaded gun;
The drop dead dream, the Chosen One,
A southern drawl, a world unseen;
A city wall and a trampoline.

Oh well I don’t mind, if you don’t mind
‘Cause I don’t shine if you don’t shine
Before you jump,
tell me what you find when you read my mind.

Slippin’ in my faith until I fall.
You never returned that call.
Woman, open the door, don’t let it sting
I wanna breathe that fire again.

She said I don’t mind, if you don’t mind
‘Cause I don’t shine if you don’t shine.

Put your back on me,
Put your back on me,
Put your back on me.

The stars are blazing like rebel diamonds cut out of the sun.
When you read my mind.

 

For the most part, I would have to say I’m really grateful that people can’t read my mind.  I have plenty of thoughts I’d like to keep to myself.  But sometimes there are things you wish you could say, but you just can’t—out of fear or embarrassment or pride .  There’s something about saying it out loud that makes it real, and while I often feel safer in my little fantasy world, I think sometimes I might be missing out by not letting others into it.

Friday funnies, anyone?

It’s been awhile since we’ve had a Friday funny, I think.  I’m not sure how I missed these Pearls Before Swine.

 

 

 

 

I will now be making every effort to incorporate “butti” into my daily conversations.  As will Mr. T, I’m sure, when he catches wind of this.

Oh, and I just did a search on my blog with the word “buttock” to find the post for that Mr. T link, and I had nine posts pop up.  Only nine?

 

Chuck left early this morning for another week out of town, which means I’ll be spending the next 7 days with Buffy.  Do you have any big plans for the weekend?

Bythelbs’s got a brand new bag

I recently procured for myself a new handbag.  Some of you are probably thinking “big woop”, but believe me this is a big deal.  I have owned exactly four purses in the past 20 or so years.  The first was an Esprit bag purchased in 1990, I think.  It was black with brown trim and a long, brown shoulder strap.  I also had the matching wallet.  I’m fairly certain they were purchased at Marshall’s, though it could just as easily have been Ross or TJ Maxx.  That thing lasted me many a year.  Many a year.  In 1999, the wallet was stolen along with my diaper bag out of my sister’s van while we were at the park with our kids.  That was pretty devastating. 

I was pretty sure there was no way I would find another matching wallet a decade after the original had been purchased, so I decided that maybe it was time to move on and purchased another purse.  Another Esprit, this time from Nordstrom’s Rack.  It was brown with a short handle.  That was a very serviceable bag with many fine, useful compartments.  I kept that bag in service until around 2006 when I started to realize that most of my other friends seemed to have a new purse every year.  I was afraid they might notice I’d been carrying the same tired bag for the past 5+ years, so I went looking for a new one.

I have a really hard time finding a purse I like.  There are so many factors: size, color, strap/handle, pockets and compartments.  All of these factors must somehow miraculously intersect in the perfect combination (all the planets in alignment, yada, yada, yada) for me to even consider the purchase.  I asked a friend of mine who is always cute and stylish and always seems to be carrying cute and stylish bags for some advice on where I might be most likely to find my perfect purse.  She said she gets a lot of her purses at the Old Navy, so that night I went online to see what they had and found a cute and stylish black canvas hobo bag with brown leather-like trim and long, shoulder strap handles.  I ordered it on a whim.  It was so very unlike me to make this kind of commitment without a thorough examination of my soon to be companion, but apparently I was in a carpe diem kind of mood and threw all caution to the wind.  It worked out.  I liked it.  It wasn’t so hot in the compartment department, but it worked.

So I was happy until the next time I went out with my friends and realized that I had purchased the exact same cute and stylish handbag as my very cute and stylish friend and was completely mortified because when you go out and buy the exact same accessories as your friends that comes off at best a little pathetic wannabe-ish and at worst totally wacked-out SWF-ish.  I had been in a similar situation a few years earlier when I started going walking with a new gal I had met in the neighborhood only I really didn’t have adequate walking shoes so I went out to buy new walking shoes and the next time I went walking with her I realized that I had purchased the exact shoes she was wearing and had been wearing since we first started walking together!  And of course both times I couldn’t just let it go, but had to go on and on about how lame I was to have copied them and how absolutely accidental it was and how I was totally embarrassed because even though there was a chance that they wouldn’t notice or maybe that they would notice but not give it a second thought, there was also the chance that they would notice and think I was a total freak and I really had to make sure that they knew that I knew that it might appear to be a tad freakish, but that I really had no weirdo freakish or pathetic wannabe-ish intentions.  Really.

So from that day, sometime in 2006, I made it my mission to find a new purse.  A year went by.  And then two.  Because of that whole planet in alignment thing.  I could not understand it.  Everywhere I went there were all kinds of women walking around with all kinds of handbags with perfectly content expressions on their faces.  Where was my bag?  There’s a match out there somewhere for everyone, right?

And then it happened.  Last month I was at the Kohl’s and thought just for kicks I’d go look at the purses.  And I found one.  It wasn’t love at first sight or anything, but I thought just maybe.  I picked it up, turned it around, opened it to check out the compartments, held it out at arms length and turned it around some more.  Then I flung it over my shoulder (it had the longish over the shoulder straps–not the single strap that lets the purse hang down to your waist, but the double strap that lets you keep it tucked comfortably and safely under your arm–which I discovered with my last purse was my preferred style of handle) and looked in the mirror.  And then I held it just by the handles and let it hang down by my side and then I put it back on my shoulder and turned to the side to try to examine its cuteness from all angles.  I wasn’t totally convinced, so I put it back on the shelf and went about my other shopping business.  But then about 20 minutes later I returned to the handbag section and picked it up again and did the whole inspection/modeling thing in the mirror again and decided that I would buy it.  After all, it was 40% off.  I told myself I could always return it if things didn’t work out.

That night as we were clearing the dinner dishes, I brought out my new purse to see if I could get some validation and reassurance from the family.

Goose:  That’s so cute!  I love it!

DynaGirl:  That’s really cute, Mom.  I think I might like your old purse better, but I still really like it.

Me, modeling the purse over my shoulder:  Are you sure?  It doesn’t look like a purse Grandma would have, right?

DynaGirl:  Which grandma?

Me:  Either.

Mr. T:  No, Grandma would definitely not have that purse.

Chuck:  It’s a nice purse.  Nice and black.  But your wallet’s brown.  Aren’t you going to have to buy a new wallet now to match?

Me:  No, the wallet doesn’t have to match.  Plus, the purse was only $24.

Chuck:  It’s a really nice purse.  I like it.

It wasn’t a completely successful exercise.  I was still somewhat torn.  I put the purse back in the Kohls bag, and there it sat for another two weeks until last week I finally just took the plunge and transferred the contents of my old purse into the new purse.  It was a big step, but I’m feeling good about it.

And here it is:

The side view (and yes, those are vertical blinds in the background–try not to hold it against me):

Inside (everything fits so nicely):

And finally, the contents.  I think I’ve seen memes go around about what’s in your purse, and so here’s what’s currently in mine.  You have to keep in mind, of course, that this is a fairly new purse.  If I was spilling the contents of my diaper bag, that would be a totally different story.

1.  wallet—bursting open, George Costanza style.

2.  tissues—I never go anywhere without tissues because you just never know.

3.  inhaler—That’s not mine, but when you have two asthmatic children you learn you can never have too many inhalers.

4.  staple remover—Like you don’t have a staple remover in your purse.

5.  cell phone—I almost never hear the cell phone ringing when it’s in my purse, but I could never bring myself to clip it to my pants.  I just can’t go there.

6.  tic tacs—freshmints flavor, of course.  In my diaper bag I carry the orange and the freshmints.

7.  lip gloss—I’m addicted to vaseline and lip gloss.  I put it on at least 6 times a day.  Can’t abide dry lips.

8.  receipts/shopping list—I can pretty much guarantee I will always have a Target receipt and at least one shopping list in my purse and/or wallet.

9.  movie tickets—I took Goose and a couple of her friends to see The Tale of Despereaux last week for her birthday.  It was cute.  Not great, but cute.

10.  notepad/pen—Julie  sent me this notepad to record all of my brilliant blog post ideas.  It has a few random kidspeak tidbits and maybe even a shopping list or phone number.  The pen is Dwight peeking through the conference room blinds with the quotes “The Schrutes produce very thirsty babies.” and “D-W-I-G-H-T: Determined, Worker, Intense, Good Worker, Hard Worker, Terrific.”  When you click down the pen it shows “Assistant to the Regional Manager” and “Do you want to form an alliance with me?”  Yes.  Absolutely I do.

If you haven’t done the “What’s in your purse?” meme in a while, please feel free.  Inquiring minds want to know.

Oh, and please don’t tell me my purse is ugly.  I just don’t think I can squeeze the therapy into my schedule right now.  I’m still on disc 2 of season 1 of Buffy, and I have like six more seasons and 40 some odd discs to go.

Oh fuuuuuuudge

I did it.  I totally threw away the Christmas fudge yesterday.  This Christmas was the first year I attempted to make my own fudge.  And it was darn good.  And there was a lot of it.  I started out with two 9×13 pans because when I went to the grocery store to buy the ingredients, they were out of the 7 oz jar of marshmallow fluff, which forced me to buy the 13.5 oz jar of marshmallow fluff, and also there was no 5 oz can of evaporated milk, only a 12 oz can, so after making my first batch of fudge with 7 of the 13.5 oz of marshmallow fluff and 5 of the 12 oz of evaporated milk I thought, “What the hey?  May as well make another batch.”  Because what on God’s green earth can you do with marshmallow fluff besides mix it in with a bunch of other stuff that’s actually edible to make fudge.  And I don’t even get what the story is with the evaporated milk.  I have very limited knowledge of the ways of the culinary arts.

So I had these two huge pans of fudge, of which I gave almost a full half pan to my sister, but I still had fuuudge.  Like I said, it was darn good.  So I ate it.  A lot of it.  But every time I would go back to the two tupperwares containing the fudge, they always seemed to still be more than half full.  No matter how much I ate.  There was no bottom to this fudge container—very Mary Poppins’ carpet bag or Jesus’ bread and fish basket.  It was starting to mess with my mind, and it wasn’t doing any favors for my thighs either, I’ll tell you what.

So last night I did the unthinkable and threw out the Christmas fudge.  It obviously didn’t want to go because I had to pry it from the bottom of the container.  But eventually I vanquished the beast and now I’m living in a fudge free home again.  It feels good. 

I’ve actually done pretty decent this holiday season, weight-wise.  As of this morning, my scale says I’ve only gained maybe 2-3 lbs, which has to be some kind of record for me.  I’m not overly concerned about my weight.  Don’t get me wrong, I could stand to lose 10 or 15 lbs, but I think I look fine.  That’s just a fine, not a fiiiiiine.  My husband would say I look fiiiiiine, but then he’s looking through the eyes of love, and we all know that love is blinder than an up and coming figure skater with dreams of Olympic gold who knocks her head on a garden table whilst showing off with a triple axel.  Or something.  What I mean is, I don’t have a super poor body image, so I’m not overly motivated to lose weight.  Or I’m not overly concerned about it as far as how I look.  But I’m starting to realize that when it comes to the food I inflict on my body, it’s not just about how it translates into the numbers on my scale.  And yes, here’s where I say it’s not about looks, but about my health.  And somehow I’m managing to keep a straight face.

I’m a grazer, a snacker, a lover of all foods healthy and mostly not.  I eat when I’m bored, when I’m tired, when I’m hungry, when I’m wandering around the house aimlessly, when I’m trying to avoid the housework.  “That laundry will just have to wait.  It’s elevensies!”  It’s just unnecessary, so I’ve decided to try to curb it.  Notice I didn’t say stop.  Any time I speak with any kind of finality, I’m totally screwed.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told myself, “I am not going to eat any sweets today” only to find my self popping a single m&m in my mouth with the rationalization that it’s just one and what can it hurt.  But once I have that one, some kind of switch is triggered in my brain and I get this flashing “mission failed” message before my eyes and then my new mission, should I choose to accept it and I always do, is to eat everything in sight.  All or nothing, baby.  All or nothing.

So I’m not making any kind of goal or resolution or anything.  I’m just going to do things like throw away the fudge and stop pretending that I’m buying the Cheetos for BigHugs.  That is all.  No mission, no mission failure, no inhaling of the pantry in a single bound.  And if my body decides to relinquish a couple of pounds or not, so be it.

Thank you, Ones

A couple of weeks before winter break, DynaGirl came home from school with a library book, Thank you, Mr. Falker by Patricia Palacco.  DynaGirl’s teacher had read it to her class, and she liked it so much she brought it home to share with the family.  We got it out one night to read as our bedtime story.  DynaGirl told us her teacher had started crying when she had read it to the class.  I’m not much of a cryer myself—not really—so I was thinking that Ms. V must be a pretty sentimental kind of gal.

The story is about a young girl with learning disabilities and her struggle to fit in and find her own sense of self-worth.  She is teased and picked-on and lost in the shuffle of the public school system until one teacher, Mr. Falker, notices her.  He helps her overcome her learning disability, and in the process helps her overcome her loneliness and despair.  He gives her the confidence to withstand the tauntings of those who don’t know or understand her, and teaches her that everyone has strengths and talents and value—even her.

Thank you, Mr. Falker is a beautiful, touching story.  It’s autobiographical, which may help in its feeling of authenticity.  And I must admit that about two-thirds through the book the tears streamed freely.  I think everyone at some point or another in their lives feels like a nobody in a world of somebodies, and utterly alone in a room filled with people they know.  This story is a good springboard into conversations with your children on such topics as self-esteem, our distorted self-image and worth, and perhaps most of all, kindness.

At one point in the story, we find the young girl, Tricia, cowering in a stairwell in tears, trying to escape the relentless bullying of her peers.  This might have been where I first started to lose it.  When the story was over, I spent some time talking with DynaGirl and Goose about how important it is to be kind, trying to teach them empathy—to always try to put themselves in someone else’s place.  “Don’t ever make some hide out in a stairwell and cry,” I said through my own tears.  “And never join in or laugh when someone is being picked on.  Try to stand up for people.”  We talked about things that they could say in those kind of situations.  I hope some of it made an impression.

I’ve often said that you only need one good friend.  One really good, loyal friend who you can count on to be on your side, who believes in you, and who makes you feel like you matter to someone.  Ideally, this one will be someone besides the parents.  Although certainly that’s an important place to start, kids have a way of dismissing parental love and validation because since parents “have to” feel that way about their own children, it doesn’t really count. 

This one may not always be the same person.  Tricia’s one starts out as her grandfather, and when she loses him she flounders in isolation and sadness until Mr. Falker comes along.  I’ve had many ones in my life.  Friends, teachers, family members—someone who was there at the right moment to keep me from getting lost in self pity and doubt.  I’m so grateful for those ones, and hope I’ve been one to someone else.

Resolutions Shmesolutions

I’ve already addressed this topic.  In fact, it was my first ever blog post.  But seeing how it was my first ever blog post and I had exactly one reader back then (one super fantabuloso reader), I’m going to republish it because a) I told myself I had to start blogging again today and 2) I’m not really ready to start blogging again today. 

You would think that taking almost three weeks off would leave me with a wealth of unblogged bloggable material, and it probably has, but my mind is mushy and still trying to recover from waking at the ungodly hour of 6 am this morning.  Well, it was really more like 6:55 am, but you can’t really throw in minutes when you’re talking about hour and I still wanted credit for the waking up before 7 am thing.

Resolution Resolved

published January 29, 2008

I gave up making New Year’s Resolutions ages ago when it became apparent I wasn’t likely to ever actually successfully accomplish one.  Why continue to set myself up for failure?  I had decided that instead of making the traditional New Year’s resolutions,  I’d just wait until the end of the year and write down all of the things that I did accomplish. This is a strategy I employ with my to do lists. I’m always sure to write down the things I’ve already done, so I can check them off. Then, when I don’t get a bunch of the other things done, at least I have a few check-marks and can say, “See, I did do something! It’s right here on my list with a check-mark and everything!”

Actually, I did make one resolution.  I didn’t write it down or utter it aloud or express it in any other way where there might be potential witnesses or evidence to present should I not successfully complete said resolution.  I thought it to myself–very briefly and quietly, so as to leave room for the possibility that I never actually had the thought at all, but had merely dreamt it just in case it, like so many other well-intentioned self-promises made before, was never accomplished.  (I’m always looking for an escape hatch, plausible deniability and the like.)  “And what, pray tell,” you say, “was this secret resolution?”  To start a blog, of course.  And here it is in all of its glory.  Resolution resolved!

So a blog is born, and I am allowing myself to feel a small sense of accomplishment.  Fortunately, I only resolved to start the blog, not post on it with any set amount of frequency.  This way if I never post another post, I will still have successfully reached my goal, and if I do post another one or dozen or fifty or two hundred and fifty, I’ll have that many more little check-marks to add to my end of the year list.  It’s a win-win.

 

I am happy to report that since writing this post, I have published 229 posts, received 2,338 comments (of which I’m fairly certain not more than half originated from me), and 24,543 page views (only 7,000 of which are sock monkey related).  Success!  In fact, I’m afraid that last year’s resolution was so successful that I’ve nowhere to go from here but down.  What new goal could I possibly set that I could ever so fully and completely accomplish as last year’s?

I’ve been thinking about and struggling with this for awhile now.  What to do, what to do?  Then I had an encounter with BigHugs and Doink!–inspiration hit.

BigHugs, walking in on me coming out of the shower:  Ew, Mom.  That’s gross.  That’s gross, Mom.  I think that you should get dressed now.

Bythelbs’ Resolution for 2009

1.  Always keep the bedroom door locked until fully clothed.

 

Do you make resolutions?  Did you accomplish any last year?  Any new ones for this year?