Resolutions for the Rest of You

This year, I might try to lose some weight.  I might try to play less Candy Crush. I might also try to practice more patience with my spouse.  While all of these would be wonderful resolutions, the truth is I’m not as worried about myself as I am with the rest of ‘Murica.  Therefore, this year I decided to make resolutions for the rest of you.  Listen up, assholes! I just might offend every person possible with this post.  In 2014, I resolve that you people need to do the following:

1.       Get off your fucking phones! Seriously, enough already.  Put the phone down. Stop texting.  Stop checking statuses. Stop playing whatever app is all the rage right now and actually have a conversation with the person sitting right across from you. 

 

2.       Stop glorifying all the hot messes. This is for you main stream media.  Stop it right now! I mean it.  No more Miley Cyrus. No more Lindsey Lohan. No more Amanda Bynes. No! No! No! If any young girl deserved your attention last year, it was Malala Yousafzai.  I doubt most young folks could even tell me why Malala matters, and I blame the media.  Can intelligence and integrity please take the spotlight this year?

 

3.       No more selfies.  I’m sick of all you young girls making duck faces in the bathroom mirror, and I certainly never wanted to see fucking half nude Geraldo Rivera. What makes you people think that shit is attractive? And I got some real problems with you too, Mr. President. Who takes a selfie at Nelson Mandela’s memorial service? Shame on you; you really ought to know better.

 



                                     

                                 Don't nobody want to see that shit. Put your old man balls away. 

 

4.       Stop the partisan bullshit. Enough. Democracy can be defined as “a form of government in which all eligible citizens participate equally – either directly or through elected representatives.”  Hmmm ….  doesn’t America continue to call itself a democracy? I’m sure as shit, however, that my participation isn’t equal to that of fucking Koch Industries or Goldman Sachs.  I’m disgusted with our bought and purchased politicians.  A government shutdown? Start putting your political parties aside and put the people first – and not just the people with the biggest wallets. 

 

5.       Stop wearing knit caps at unnecessary times.  I honestly thought this trend would have been long dead by now, but I keep spotting teens and fucking hipsters sporting knit caps indoors and in the oppressive heat of summer.  What the fuck, guys? If you’re not in a snow storm, get that stupid shit off your head.  And do I even need to mention Uggs?

 

                                  The knit cap really completes the douche-bag look.

6.       No more posting your prayers on facebook.  I have no problem with religion.  JC and I have a good relationship.  However, when I pray it’s in earnest solemnity.  God isn’t trolling facebook to see if you need some help in your relationship.  You can offer gratitude and you can request prayer assistance, but the actual address “Dear God” ought not appear in your feed.  Keep it up and I’m going to be posting “Dear God, give me patience to deal with all the assholes that think posting prayers on facebook makes them more pious than me.”

 

7.       Stop asking “You mad, bro?” Okay, I’m going to admit that I’m so unhip that I don’t even know where this originated from.  However, I do know that it irritates the shit out of me.  In particular, this annoys me when I receive this reply after reprimanding a student about his or her behavior.  I ain’t your bro, but yeah, I am mad. Shut the fuck up.

 

8.       Stop telling me my grandmother will be raped by Satan or I will die a slow, miserable death if I don’t repost your online image about ending cancer.  Yes, I think cancer sucks. Yes, I love the Lord.  Yes, I appreciate the men and women of the military.  Don’t you threaten me with some bad luck just because I don’t repost the meme supporting your cause though. 

 

  

9.       Stop defending ignorance with more ignorance. Oh, what’s that you say? Paula Deen and Phil Robertson had their first amendment rights violated when they experienced backlash for the really dumb shit they said? Yeah, you might be wrong about that one, buddy. Please study the first amendment again.  I don’t believe it reads: “Say any fucking thing you want without consequence.”  If it did, we could expect the young kid working at McDonald’s to say,  “Here you go. Enjoy your Big Mac meal, you fat fuck” without repercussion. 

 

 

10.   Stop taking pictures of your food. Just stop.  If Wolfgang Puck comes to your house and cooks you and your significant other a five-course meal, post away my friend.  Instagram the shit out of that meal.  But, every single person on the planet knows what fucking french fries look like.  Nobody needs to see your appetizer from Applebee’s. Believe me.

 

                   

                    You just ordered these french fries, and no one gives a fuck.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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WTF, JT?

While sitting in the passenger seat of my vehicle, with my husband driving, I recently heard the local disc jockey share a story of a Michigan girl enamored with pop superstar, Bruno Mars.  This young high school girl reportedly posted a video of herself covering one of Mars’ songs in hopes of getting Mars to attend her junior prom as her date.  My first thought was that Bruno Mars is a grown-ass man, so while this would be a rush for the young girl, it also borders on criminal. 

After this very rapid thought, which I quickly dismissed as it wasn’t worth fretting over, I then became consumed with my own relatively related celebrity desire.  I then loudly yelled out, “What the fuck?!?”  My husband promptly turned to quizzically look at me.  What was my issue?  Was I angry about some situation I was internally obsessing over?  Did he do something to upset me before leaving the home?  What just happened?  Did I see some disturbing scene along the sides of the back road?  No, no, none of this, I assured him.  I was angered by the story on the radio, I explained.  “Bruno Mars is thinking about taking this girl to prom, and Justin Timberlake continues to ignore my requests.” 

He laughed at me, and then asked if I was talking about my short list and my insane New Year’s resolutions.  This was precisely what I was talking about.  “Angela,” he said, “How the hell is Justin Timberlake supposed to know you want to fuck him?”  I very calmly replied, assuming myself to be perfectly rational and sane, that I had shared my posts with Justin Timberlake via twitter.

“Really?” my husband asked, acting as though this may have been an odd thing to do. 

“Yeah, of course,” I continued. “And if Bruno Mars is going to take some seventeen year old to prom, why the hell won’t JT respond to my requests for fucking?”  I sounded seriously distraught over his lack of response. 

“I like to remind him every so often that he can be a celebrity hero and help me reach my resolutions,” I added, thinking of my tweet the previous night.

@jtimberlake: As I haven’t recently reminded you, please recall the offer to assist with my resolutions still stands.

“A hero?  What is wrong with you?  I don’t think helping someone with their short list makes a celebrity a hero.”

“Well, whatever.  It’s like my make a wish.”

“Why would you get a make a wish?  You’re not sick.”

“The fuck I’m not.  How come only physically ill kids get to make wishes?  What about the mentally ill?”

“The mentally ill make wishes to have celebrities fuck them and become best friends with dead authors, like your damn resolutions.  That’s why they don’t get wishes.”

“Whatever,” I said, and then dismissed my husband and began to write this post in my head.  I thought that I needed to come up with something grander than a blog post or a few creepy tweets to get JT to take notice of me.  

I started to envision making my own you tube video of myself performing “Bringing Sexy Back.”  This young girl was potentially getting a celebrity prom date because she sang one of the artist’s songs on you tube.  I could do that, but not well.  Although I’ma rock star in my own mind, I do also acknowledge how painful and embarrassing a you tube video performance of “Bringing Sexy Back” would be.  Train wreck. Total train wreck. 

People love watching wrecks though.  Admit it, your favorite part of American Idol, and similar shows, is all the early auditions of the bat shit-crazy delusional artists, like William Hung singing Ricky Martin.  So, I figured I would go ahead and do it – but only if you all help me out. I explained my ludicrous plan of action to my husband.  I said I can ask other bloggers and friends to help me out by tweeting Justin Timberlake and telling him to make my resolution a reality.   I said I would ask you all to use the hash tag #fuckmejt, and I would post the video if Justin Timberlake received at least 500 tweets demanding his hot little ass pay me some attention.

Sometimes I say such stupid shit that my husband just kind of gives up on me.  Therefore, after I had explained my plan to make a you tube video if I got enough people to tweet #fuckmejt, he simply replied, “Okay, whatever.  I’m going to go give the kids a bath.”  Without him around, I was then left alone and had to convince myself that I was crazy and had just concocted what was potentially the worst plan ever. 

All the same, I’m still left asking: “What the fuck, JT?” I’m willing to tone my request down a bit, if that’s what it takes.  I can work with “heavy petting” (a term my grandmother used).  At the very least, JT, can’t you just send me a penis pic?  That’s not weird or gross anymore; it’s standard fare for politicians and athletes.  I bet Bruno Mars would do it.

 

Bring your sexy to me, JT!

Five Things about Making Resolutions

Vanessa over at 5 Things About Nothing Important is hosting a blogging New Year’s Eve Party.  Since I don’t anticipate my husband taking me out tonight (even though I bought a new dress, damn-it!), linking up on her blog is going to be my party for the day.  Unless my husband super surprises me (doubtful).  I know I mentioned my husband disappointing me again, and I had always promised myself I wouldn’t use this  blog to air dirty laundry, but did I mention I bought a new dress?  It’s purple and it’s really pretty.  Okay … getting back to the blogging party.  Vanessa encouraged those linking up to write a post in the style of her blog.  I totally love her unique format, always writing five things on a chosen topic. 

In addition to the standard “best of” lists that crop up at the end of each year, making resolutions and publicly announcing them also seems like a mandatory component of blogging.  In truth, I haven’t made resolutions for years.  I don’t think we need a certain date to make changes in our lives.  If changes are needed, they can come at any time.  We don’t need to wait for a whole new calendar year.  I have this belief, and there’s also the fact that I almost always failed to meet my past resolutions when I was young and still participated in this practice.

Therefore, while I feel somehow compelled to make resolutions this year now that I have a blog, I also am going to make completely outrageous resolutions.  This way, if I fail to meet said goals, I won’t be disappointed.  If I actually do achieve any of these resolutions, however, I am going to scream and shout and make sure everyone knows how totally kick ass I am. 

One

My first resolution for 2013 is to win the lottery – like big time million and millions of dollars lottery.  Remember when I was all jacked up about the possibility of winning$100,000 in the “advent” lottery?  Well, that didn’t happen.  When I scratched the last date off and a gingerbread man didn’t appear, I was seriously crushed.  I sat on the edge of the bed and sulked like a fucking baby.  My husband had to come give me a hug and say, “It’s going to be okay, honey.  I’ll buy you a crossword scratch off later this week.  Now please get in the shower because we have to get over to your mom’s house for Christmas.”  I was especially disappointed because part of me still honestly believes that if I believe something will happen strong enough, and announce it to be so with some level of confidence, I can make things happen.  This all comes from the time I won a CD player in sixth grade.  I was attending an “101 Better Things to Do” event, which were events that area schools regularly held at the time to encourage kids to keep off the drugs.  One of the prizes was a CD player, which (admitting my age) was a big fucking deal because only really rich people had CD players then as they were relatively new on the market.  I told all of my friends, with absolute, unfettered confidence, that I was going to win that thing – and I did! (I still have it.  It flings CDs out now, and my youngest brother says it belongs on Antiques Roadshow.) Due to this win all those years ago, I still believe I can make things happen.  I know that’s crazy, but if you’re surprised, I’m assuming you’re new to this blog.  If you’ve been following me, you expect crazy.  So, here, I publicly announce, with great confidence, that I am going to win the lottery.  If you believe in me, I might share my earnings.  I know there’s one individual, other than myself and my family, who also really wants me to win huge this year.  Just before the last big national lottery (when that douche-bag Nolan Daniels dude scammed a bunch of facebook users into sharing his photo through a lottery hoax promising a share of his money), a study hall student asked me, “Mrs. Ryan, did you buy a lottery ticket?”  When I told him I had, he replied, “Good. I hope you win.”  I thought he was being very kind to me, which is atypical because really the kid is an annoying little asshole, but then he continued, “Yeah. I hope you win because then you won’t have to work here because I hate you.”  I replied, “Very good then,” and walked away. However, I hope I win and don’t have to work there either.  I am going to win. 

 

This 1980's CD player is the best thing I ever won. My life is sad.

 

Two

I am going to meet and make out with Justin Timberlake.  I understand that he just got married in 2012, but Jessica Biel doesn’t hold a candle to me, people.  Yeah, I don’t really believe that.  I’m crazy, but not bat-shit crazy.  There’s a clear distinction between these two.  At any rate, sweet-faced, funny little JT has been on my short list for some time, and I resolve to make 2013 the year that shit goes down for real.  Wait, did I say I wanted to make out with Justin Timberlake? Yeah, I meant fuck.  Let’s be real, and it’s totally forgiven by my spouse because that’s the way the short list works.  Hells yeah.

 

Three   

I am going to become an overnight blogging sensation and gain thousands upon thousands of followers.  Then I will be contacted by some respectable publishing company and offered a book deal where I get to travel the world, eat a lot of food, and fall in love.  If you’re paid in advance to do these things, it’s fucking easy to make publishable tales happen.  Yes, this is me bitching about Elizabeth Gilbert and Eat, Pray, Love right now.  Those stories didn’t unfold organically and the book is so god-awful and self-serving.  Did you really “discover” yourself or did you write the book you promised you would when you were paid in advance to fall in love and find yourself? Fuck.  My book will then become a film, naturally, but I don’t want Julia Roberts to play me.  I am hoping for Megan Mullally, but she needs to lose twenty years in order to play me.  Is that possible?  Actors lose weight all the time for roles.  They can probably take off age too. In the world where I’m going to start fucking Justin Timberlake and win a million dollar lottery “because I confidently said so,” this must be possible.

 

Four

I’m going to run a marathon.  I know that in comparison to my former resolutions, this one actually seems feasible.  If you’re thinking this, though, you clearly don’t really know me.  The chances of Justin Timberlake fawning over me are far more likely than me actually running.  I have valid excuses for this though – like I have a bad knee.  This is true; I broke it in a car accident years ago and it has never quite fully healed and still causes me occasional discomfort (especially after extensive exercise – like sex).  Further, I have the valid excuses that I am really fucking lazy … and kind of a fat ass.

 

Five

After I become an overnight blogging sensation, and get that book deal and subsequent film, my favorite author is going to become my biggest fan.  What a strange turn of events indeed! The woman I admired for years will now be envious of my enormous talent.  Naturally, she will want to meet me.  We will make arrangements to meet over coffee (or wine … let’s be real, wine).  After spending a few hours together drinking Pinot Noir and discussing literary movements, we will become the bestest friends in the whole wide world.  She’ll become the godmother of my next child and we’ll enjoy each other’s company so much that she will visit just to talk with me while I fold laundry and watch re-runs of 30 Rock on Comedy Central.  All of this becomes even more improbable if you know my favorite author is Jane Austen.  Jane Austen, who died in 1817, is going to be my bestie.  This is likely, however, should there actually be an oft-predicted zombie apocalypse.  Zombie Jane Austen and I will have lots of fun times together.  My daughter, Emily Jane (middle name after Austen) will be one of the few survivors of the apocalypse because my father has had her in “zombie training” since age three months (that is a true story).  I’m not entirely sure what this training consists of, but my dad regularly reminds me that he and Emily are ready for the zombies.  I’ll be ready too because Zombie Jane Austen totally has my back y’all.  That’s what best friends are for.

 

Best Friends FOREVER!!

Zombie Jane Austen wants to know what your resolutions for 2013 are.