Making Resolutions When You Have No Resolve

It's been a week since I made my annual list of New Year's resolutions, and I've already I've broken all of them. That's a record. I don't know why I keep making these ridiculous promises to improve my life. And these resolutions weren't even that difficult.

# 1. No fudge before breakfast. How hard could that be? There are plenty of other chocolate choices I can have instead of fudge -- like brownies, See's candy, Oreos, Hershey's Chocolate Syrup. I can wait until lunchtime for fudge.

#2. Walk to the mailbox. Why do I wait for my husband to come home and bring me the mail? I can make it down the driveway without breaking a sweat -- usually. And carrying all those sales fliers for carpet cleaning is good exercise.

#3. Eat out less. My husband and I have a bad habit of letting professional chefs cook for us instead of heating up microwaveable meals and throwing together peanut butter sandwiches. We'd probably save a lot of money -- and calories -- by just grabbing a carton of yogurt or some peanuts. Only trouble is, a Black Bear Diner just opened up in Dublin. We love the Black Bear Diner!

#4. Baby-sit more. My grandkids are growing so fast. Before I know it, they'll be going away to beauty school or launching their own startup company. If I don't hurry up and play more Jenga games, make more Play-Doh pancakes, dress up more zombie dolls and build more Lego computers, I'll find myself alone with my three cats. They're no fun. Speaking of cats ...

#5. Sign up the cats for charm school. They were so cute when we first got them. And we didn't mean to get so many. We had a cat, but he ran away, so we got another one, and he seemed lonely, so we got him a friend, but there was a two-for-one special, then the first cat came back, and ... now we have too many cats. It's not that we don't love them. We do, even though one is as matted as a bird's nest, one smells like a urinal and one sits on my lap while I'm in the bathroom. (The first one ran away again. He couldn't stand the other three.) I'd like to get a little dog next -- one that will fit in my purse. They're so cute.

#6. Write more books. I need more money.

#7. Use the RV more. We bought this money-sucking, gas-drinking, house on wheels three years ago, and we've really got to go more places to get our money's worth. The last time we used it, we parked it overnight in front of my daughter's house on Christmas Eve so we could get up at 5 in the morning and watch the grandkids open their Santa presents before going back to bed. We've got to try that new RV park in Fresno. I hear they have Ping-Pong, a bouncy house and bingo.

#8. Blog more. Whoops. Missed that window. Apparently blogging is over, as is emailing (now texting), Facebooking (now Instagraming) and actually talking on the telephone (now completely obsolete.)

#9. Keep the house clean. For that I'll need a leaf blower, power washer, bug bomb, crime scene cleaner and maid.

#10. Make new resolutions. Whatever.

Happy Day AFTER Christmas

'Twas the day after Christmas

And all through the home,

Lay the frenzy of gift wrap

That inspired this poem.

Seems I'd just finished searching

The malls for a gift

That would suit my dear husband,

The kids, our cat, Biff.

No, it hadn't been smooth

Finding things that were neat

For those nieces and nephews

And great-uncle Pete.

Oh, so desperate was I

To get just the right gifts,

That I wrote to the Fat Man

Up north, for some tips.

But the letter came back

From the North Pole marked "Who?

"No one here by that name.

"No such zone. Postage due!"

So I "shopped till I dropped"

And the stores closed their doors.

Now those presents are strewn

All over the floors.

The house is a shambles,

Torn boxes and wrap.

Just a flurry of ribbons

(And that Styrofoam crap.)

Although stockings still hang

By the chimney with care,

All the stuffers are gone.

They hold nothing but air.

The old tree stands still,

Needles ready to drop.

Once the ornaments blinked,

Now the twinkling has stopped.

All the cookies are crumbs

And the fudge plate licked clean.

The eggnog is sour,

The turkey, a dream.

I've been tripping on toys

Scattered throughout the room,

Nearly stabbed my right foot

On that new bracelet loom

Those underfoot Minions,

That Zombie High doll,

Those Skylanders? Chimas?

All over the hall.

Nearly broke my big toe

When I stepped on some Bots

Bumped my head on a low-flying

Plane -- seeing spots.

And staring at electronic

Games that sit dark,

Right next to the stuffed dog

That has yet to bark.

The new toys are scattered

Throughout every room,

While the kids romp outside

Playing swords with a broom.

They don't seem to care

About playing X-Box

Or dolls that look dead

Or Legos and blocks.

They've almost forgotten

Those Disneyland toys,

That loud talking Elmo.

(He really annoys!)

Now Dad's catching Zs

On the couch by the fire,

Oblivious to all of

The muck and the mire.

As I gather the remnants

Of this Christmas Past,

I can't help but sigh:

"It's all over, at last!"

Merry Day After Christmas!

-Penny

Cooking up Breaking Bad for Halloween

My husband asked me to take him shopping the other day. Believe it or not, that never happens. We shop differently. He goes to the hardware store and comes out empty-handed. I go to the mall and buy everything. But this time, he wanted me to come along because he wanted my opinion -- another first.

 

"I need makeup," he said, as we headed out the door.

 

Oookay. What could he possibly need makeup for? To cover up the scratches in the kitchen table? Don't they have something at the hardware store for that?

 

"And I need it to match my skin tone," he continued.

 

Then it dawned on me. We'd recently been invited to a Halloween party and he was planning his costume. At least, I hoped that was it.

 

I haven't been to a Halloween party since I was young and thin enough to fit into a French maid costume. There's no way I can wear any of those sexy outfits as a middle-aged woman. First of all, they wouldn't fit around my middle-aged fat. And secondly, no one wants to see my sun-spotted skin, thunder thighs and beer/wine/coffee gut protruding out from that skimpy material. There will be no more Naughty Nurse, Bawdy Barmaid or Pretty Princess costumes for me. Now, if you want a hospital custodian, drunken old sot or weight-challenged witch, call me.

 

"So what are you planning to wear to this Halloween party?" I asked, worried he might be thinking of going as a Naughty Nurse, Bawdy Barmaid or Pretty Princess.

 

"A Meth Dealer." That made complete sense. We've been so caught up in marathon viewings of "Breaking Bad," it seems like Walter White and Jesse Pinkman are part of the family. As for the meth part, we're not sure what that is exactly. Probably some kind of metaphor for life.

 

"I've got the baldhead cap," my husband said, "but I need it to blend into my skin so it looks real."

"I see," I said. "As for the rest of the costume, you're not planning to go in your tighty whiteys like Walter White, are you? Because there's no way I'm going out in public with you in your underwear."

"Fine," he said, channeling his character. "I'll wear pants."

 

"So," I said, "if you're going to be Mr. White, the chemistry-teacher-turned meth-cook, do you want me to go as his beautiful wife?" 

 

"I was thinking you'd be Jesse Pinkman, Walter White's assistant." What? He expected me to wear baggy, low-slung jeans with my boxers showing, a T-shirt that says, "Yo, Witch!" (edited for the family newspaper), an oversized hoodie and a knitted stocking cap? Works for me. Hopefully no one will recognize me.

 

Tom is totally into this costume. In fact, he plans to "cook" his own blue crystal candy (he got the recipe on The Food Network site.) I just hope there are no DEA agents there, or we may have to call Saul to bail us out of jail.

 

Oh well. It's only for a few hours, right? Then we can go home, eat a bunch of leftover Halloween candy and watch the last episode of the best TV show ever: "Breaking Bad."

 

Want to see something really scary?

I love scary movies. When October rolls around, I turn on the Chiller, SyFy and FX channels and record every movie that offers a thrill.

It doesn't matter what kind of scary movie -- teen slashers at haunted camps, mutant bugs the size of Godzilla, creepy clowns that come to life when no one else is looking, marine mammals that turn into tornadoes. I even like the old black-and-white classics when Frankenstein Meets the Wolfman at Dracula's Castle (with or without Abbot and Costello.)

As a kid, I was scared of everything. The dark. Boogeymen. Spiders. Even the Tooth Fairy gave me the creeps, sneaking into my room in the middle of the night. How did she know where I lived? How did she know I'd lost a tooth? How much did she know about my hidden treasures?

Back then I never watched scary movies. When I was in fifth grade, all my friends at the slumber party had seen "The Blob" -- that scary movie in which Steve McQueen and his teen pals stumble upon a gooey sticky substance that begins devouring everyone in sight. I got nightmares just looking at the movie poster.

When I was in high school, I took my little brother to see "The Pit and the Pendulum" and "The House of Usher," but I spent most of the time in the well-lit lobby, pretending to buy popcorn. I was probably the last one to see "The Exorcist," terrified I'd find myself possessed by the devil.

So now I'm catching up on everything I missed. My TiVo is filled with zombies (undead, walkers, breathers, brain-eaters), ghosts (spirits, phantoms, apparitions), witches (pagans, wiccans, warlocks), spiritualists (voodoo queens, tarot readers, fortunetellers) and other paranormal activities. I'm looking forward to watching things that come out of the swamps and chase you, things that swoop down from the sky and pick you up and things that hide under the bed and grab your feet. I'll be eating them up like popcorn.

But as fearless as I've become over the years, there's one thing that scares me more than any of these so-called scary movies. Something scarier than any sharknado-crocsaurus-chupacabra-mutant beast combined: floating around in space.

Alone. Untethered. And running out of air.

Yep, I just saw "Gravity," the Sandra Bullock/George Clooney movie. In high-resolution Imax (10 times larger!), 3-D (be a part of the experience!), with digitally remastered sound (feel the vibrations in your bones!) Big mistake.

I haven't been to a movie like this since Ben-Hur came out in Technicolor. Not only did I hold my breath the entire 90 minutes of the film (like Sandra Bullock's character, who didn't even find someone to buddy-breathe with), but I was so tense trying to help Sandra grab onto the side of the space station, I had a knot in my neck the size of a lunar module. That movie scared the spacesuit off me.

Now I'm back to watching plain old horror movies on my plain old flat-screen TV.

Today's lineup: "Halloween," "Halloween II: The Sequel, Duh," "Halloween III: The Return of Michael Myers," "Halloween IV: The Revenge of Jamie Lee Curtis," "Halloween V: The Curse of Freddy Kruger," "Halloween VI: The Resurrection of John Carpenter's Career," and "Halloween The Thirteenth: With Abbott and Costello."

I ain't afraid of no ghosts.

Check your spam for important news!

Like most computer uses, I have a built-in spam filter. Every now and then I check it to make sure I haven't missed anything important, such as a receipt for a purchase, a letter from a reader or a diagnosis from my doctor.

I hadn't done this in several months, so I took a day off from work to read through my spam and see if that check from Publisher's Clearinghouse had somehow ended up there. No such luck. But I did find lots of emails waiting for me that I thought were just as important. If I hadn't checked, I would have missed the following:

Dr. Oz Weight Loss Reveal. Boy do I need this. If famous Dr. Oz wants to reveal weight loss information to me personally, I must really need it.

Urgent Message from Mongolia. Doesn't "spam" know that the word "urgent" means I need to see this message right away? Especially one from Mongolia. Maybe a dear friend is stuck there and has lost her luggage and passport and all her money and needs me to send her a sympathy card.

"Girl" Finder. I can't print the actual word that was used instead of "girl," but suffice it to say, I'm not looking for a date at this time. Maybe later.

Eighty percent-off Viagra. Eighty percent off! I can't pass up a deal like that, even for a product I don't really need. Now if only they had 80 percent off Breathe Right strips. My husband could use those.

Learn Your Credit Score. I'm going to pass on this one. The less I know, the better. I plan to continue using my Visa as if there is no tomorrow.

Earn Your Degree. Who wouldn't want another degree in this economic climate? I'd like to get my doctorate in massage therapy or cooking. And a degree in liberal studies would certainly come in handy.

Congratulations Dear Lucky Winner! Finally! I've never won anything in my life before this! I wonder what I won. A new car? A vacation in Hawaii? A ShamWow? Can't wait! All I have to do is send them a check to let them know I really want this.

The Very Worst Food You Can Eat! I'm not sure I want to know. I've eaten a lot of junk over the years, so it's probably too late. Especially if chocolate and cupcakes and cookies are on the list. Delete.

Luxury replica watches! No one wears a watch anymore, now that we have smart phones that tell us the time, remind us to take our meds, and wake us up in the morning. But I'd like to buy a bunch of fake Rolexes and give them as gifts to older people.

Dr. Oz Fat Buster -- Drew Barrymore lost 24 lbs. Another one from the TV doctor! I love how Dr. Oz has taken a personal interest in me with all these emails. And I could really use a Fat Buster, since I look a lot like Drew Barrymore when she was 24 pounds.

These so-called spams are just the tip of the iceberg. I have so many more to read to make my life better. Time's a-wasting, according to my new fake Rolex.