Yeah, so I've already broken one of three resolutions, right?

But hey, I have a kid. Anyone who's ever had a kid knows what tiny germ factories they are come January, so all three of us have been sick; one right after the other. I'm lucky to have been able to work this past week, and that's for cash. Writing is for free, so it takes a back back back burner.

But all that is neither here nor there; I'm here to tell a story. A true story, but for anonymity's sake I will not mention names.

My husband works at a warehouse from whence many of these stories spring. This particular one happened off-site, at a dirty hole-in-the-wall bar, and it stars the youngest member of a large, crazy, wall-eyed, possibly meth addled clan of river rats that work with him. They're good enough people, but they're the kind of people you're glad to see leave a party before something gets burnt down.

Apparentally, this young gentleman was drinking himself silly at a south side bar, and he got into an altercation with another genteel patron. In the ensuing fracas, this kid was forcibly ejected from the bar. The other guy was allowed to stay, and showed his appreciation for this by teasing the poor boy through the bar's front plate glass window. We like to call this 'poking the bear'. It's not suggested, whether dealing with the Insanity Clan or actual bears. The reason why will become clear.

Our hero, who had been drinking since the sun was still up, was feeling no pain. This was helpful because he decided to punch the guy through the plate glass window. When he came to, he had 60 stitches from his wrist to his shoulder, and he was arrested for assault.

But that's not the kicker. The kicker is that he knocked the guy out. With one punch, delivered through a plate glass window.

Suffice it to say, we are very happy that he likes my husband. Someone who suffers from that much of a restraint deficit is someone you definitely prefer on your side. It's marginally less dangerous.

And there you have it. Idiot one from Idiotville.

10 Random things about me:

1. I have an adorable kid.
2. I have four tattooes, with plans to get more.
3. I am terrified of zombies. No, really.
4. I sing in a band.
5. I turn 37 this year.
6. People generally think I'm 5-7 years younger than I really am.
7. I'm legally blind without my glasses.
8. Someday I really really want a hedgehog.
9. I would have taken my husband's last name if it wasn't longer than mine.
10. I've only been in Wal-Mart a total of 5 times in my whole life.



10 Things I Abhor

1. SUVS
2. religious wackos
3. Nike
4. McDonalds
5. Stupid People
6. Wal-Mart
7. bleached blonde hair
8. diamonds
9. yellow gold
10. chick flicks


10 Things I Love like Kittens

1. My little hell-raiser
2. his dad, my husband
3. muscle cars
4. good tattoos
5. Social Distortion
6. peep toed heels
7. a good pair of jeans
8. Vonnegut
9. MAC lipstick
10. My darling goofball friends.

Okay, so when I'm lazy, you'll be subject to a lot of lists.

So the year turned over.

I meant for my first post to be the first day of the year, but like so many other good ideas I have, life hit them out of the park. I don't know who, if anyone, will be reading this, but since I've taken out all identifying information in this blog, I promise you stories of fuckups I have known with no punches pulled, sarcasm galore, and streams of near-unconsciousness all tied together with questionable grammar and morals.

Except for today, which is all about the things I mean to change this year.

1. Exercise. Yeah, it's everybody's resolution. So what. It's everybody's resolution because it's so hard to do. Let's face it, exercise is bo-fucking-ring. I would rather clean the toilet with my hair. If the vials of crack that GNC sells didn't make peoples hearts explode, I might consider popping a pill instead of making myself a sweaty, stinky, yoga-panted, painful mess. I run around all day after my kid, but it's not the type of exercise that makes the baby belly go away, so I'm doing something else about it.

And of course, by "something", I mean "buying Carmen Electra's Strip Aerobics DVD set". If Pamela Anderson thinks it's a good idea, well.....I''ll still try it anyway. My husband rolls his eyes when I ask for a stripper pole, but hey, if you have to work out, you may as well make it interesting. If it's not, well, that toilet can always use a good clean.


2. Paint the goddamn house. We bought my house from my gramma. (nothing morbid, she just didn't want to take care of it herself anymore.) The carpet in said house was installed when my mother was in high school. In 1960. It's avocado green short pile wall-to-wall carpet with dog hair and stains and holes worn through to the lovely hardwood floor underneath. (If I ran the universe, people who carpet over hardwood floors would have a plague of locusts invade their eyelids. Except my grandparents, who get a pass for everything because I love them like cake.)

We can't pull up this nasty mess until we paint, because I want it to be useful just once: as a dropcloth. Then I want to burn it in the backyard while laughing maniacally.

We've been in the house for four years now. Every year, we say "this is the year we paint.". Every year passes. Except this year. This is the year we paint.


3. Write. Here, specifically. I used to write in journals and diaries when I was younger, but that was because I was unhappy most of the time, and I write more when I'm unhappy. Then I met my husband to be, and as sappy as it may sound, I just sorta stopped. Life became a lot calmer, and even though we still have the ups and downs that are endemic of humanity, they just don't seem to shred me as much as they did when I was alone.

Unfortunately, a lot of the experience of the last 9 years has passed out of recollection, lost forever. If I have only a handful of posts at the end of 2007, it will still be a handful that wasn't there before.

It's wierd to me that I've now been with my husband for almost a decade. Wierder still that it encompasses nearly a third of my total years on this planet.

Anyway, that's all the resolve I can muster. That and making sure I do at least 75 crunches a day, and getting an IUD. But y'all didn't really need to know about that last one. My bad.

I promise next time I write I'll start telling the stories that inspired the title of this blog. I have a ton, and they just keep getting funnier.