The Real Five Stages of Dying

I'm sure Kubler-Ross is a nice person and all, but I really think that she might be a little needier than (even) me.  So, I don't buy her "Stages of Death" model.  As I turn 50, I wanted to share my updated and, frankly, better stages.  So, I did this because I read the stages and thought, "How does SHE know?  All the people who went through this are dead."  So, I think mine are more fun, even if I don't get feedback.

Kubler-Ross says Denial.  I say Playlist,
C;mon.  Denial?  Really?  Maybe for 30 minutes until your next transplant.  Let's class this up, people.  My mother is NOWHERE close to death and she has been working on her memorial playlist for years.  I think it's important, too.  What you want:  memorable.  What you don't want:  memorable in a bad way.  One of the best humans I ever knew did not have a playlist and got that most abhorred organ shyte the funeral home has on the ready.

Suggestions (because I am, after all, here for you):  "It's Getting Hot in Here" (for a cremation, obviously).  This is my partner's pick - hilarious. My mom picks "Entrance of the Gods to Valhalla." Now, see, you can't eulogize over it and you can't dance to it.  So, I say it's not a good pick, but it fits her.  I am, picking an open bar with Carl Stalling's "Marching Pink Elephants" He wrote all the soundtracks for Looney Tunes and many other cartoons.  It just fits.  It's a good time.  People will not forget that.

Kubler-Ross says Anger.  I say Shopping.
I do not contend that you are going to be rational, when facing death.  I understand you might be angry, but what to do with that anger?  Shop.  You don't have to do conventional shopping - leave the produce aisle and do it my way. You know it'll be better.

Shop for things you could never afford.  Go to a black-market pet dealer and shop for jaguars.  Go to the actual Jaguar dealer and shop for jaguars.  There ya go - thematic and fun.  Shop for that $1500 hamburger in New York  - "I just want a bite before I commit."  Go to Hamburg, for Christ's sake and shop for burgers.   What do you care what your credit card balance will be?  Just make sure you're really dying.  It would be a drag to have to deal with that debt AND not be dying. You'd wanna kill yourself and that is not good golf.

Kubler-Ross says Bargaining.  I say Bad Investments.
For some reason, people listen to dying people.  They think that, since they are closer to death, they are closer to God or whatever.  So, let's have a little fun with this.  Take a look at "Map of the Market" and pick some random stocks to sell.  Heck.  Make a little money off it by partnering with a broker.  Your survivors will be thankful.  Who cares if people hate you after this?  This will help them detach, easier.

If this doesn't feel right to you, then use your dying powers to convince people to buy outfits that will amuse you...which is like bargaining, but more fun (and could be considered a bad investment - so K-R and I are both right).

Kubler-Ross says Depression.  I say Naughty Stuff
You could be depressed or you could perfect some weird-ass sex move.  Your choice - not really, I'm telling you to do the naughty thing.  Look up "weird sex move,"  pick one from the many, many that will come up and just go to it,  You'll be distracted trying to put your whatever in your whatever and your partner will feel better about you, too.  Then, you won't feel guilty asking for that extra sponge bath.

Kubler-Ross says Acceptance.  I say Pudding and Go-Karts.
Supposedly, you get all peaceful-like and accept your death.  F that.  Go big.  Eat pudding.  All the pudding you want.  It's just like mother's-milk (only with tapioca starch and chocolate  or some flavor).  Sleep in it, I say.  Accept THAT, Friends.  I sleep in pudding and you won't tell me "no" because I'm dying.  Such power.  Ok, so then, when you're all junked up on creamy wonder, go go-karting.  Be the leader of that parade.  Go fast.  Go dangerous. If you do die in a crash - win for your family in the lawsuit.  Even if they lost the suit, what a great story.  "'Member when Mom died in a go-kart crash?"

Which leads me to the last thing:  if you are going to die of something ordinary, don't.   Make your family and friends swear to tell everyone you died fighting off the jaguar you bought or as a geyser inspector.  Have fun out there and die classy, kids.

'Tis the Season - The Sexiest Season of The Mall

I will confess something super private to you.  I do it because I care, sort of, but mostly because I want your approval and acceptance.  Not really, I could care less, but it's a really exciting time for me.  Santa Claus is not only coming to town, but he is here.

It is not the presents - although presents are lovely (you may mail them to my home address).  It's not getting together with family/"the inpatients" (Love you all, really I do and I admit, freely, that I'm as nuts as you are).  It isn't the smell of pine or the sound of whiny and unsatisfied children (although that's right up there).  It is Santa, himself.

I have a very healthy love obsession (my therapist told me so) with Santa.  Yeah, so, you can laugh...go ahead.  But I challenge you to think of the following adorable and sexy qualities which Santa possesses and not find yourself looking at Our Patron Saint of Jolliness, differently:

PREDICTABILITY
I like a lover upon whom I can count.  We all know when to expect Santa (when we're asleep on the night of the 24th - the morning of the 25th.  You may think it's kinda necro that he only shows up when we're all asleep, but I think it's super-hot).  We all know what he has to offer - or do we?  Yes, he is one hell of a gift-getter, but who knows what is in that suit?  Yummmmmy.  We know his flaws (he over-commits and over-does).  All told, he is one heck of a model of dependability and predictability. I'll have that with fries, please!

GREAT LISTENER
I have tested over 40 Santa-representatives at the mall and they all ask ME what I WANT.  Ergo, since they are representations of Santa, he must do the same.  If a=b, and b=c, then a=c; transitive property of equality, my friends (you have just used 9th grade Geometry, again - you're welcome).  Does your partner do that?  Maybe, I say.  Santa says it EVERY TIME.  "What do you want, Little Girl (tee-hee, he called me "little")?"  Whether it's uptown or downtown ALL my Santas put me first.

PHOTOGENIC
All 40 of my pictures with Santa are de-lish-us.  He looks great.  Damn it, if red fur isn't flattering  ...and don't get me started on those boots!  Grrrrrraaarr!

PROVEN ZOMBIE-MAKER
The real St. Nick resurrected some dead kids from a pickle barrel.  According to the saint-makers,  a creepy merchant kidnapped and chopped up some kids and put them in a pickle barrel (WTF?).  Saint claims have to be witnessed and verified, so this is true.  I saw it immortalized in a wood sculpture at the Met and in this picture.  I put it in here because I knew you wouldn't believe me and because I feel responsible for your art education (some of you really need me to be).

NEVER MOODY
He's jolly.  Everyone says so.  That is friggin' adorable.

SEXY TALKER
HO! HO! HO?  I think he means "Hoe! Hoe! Hoe!" That big minx! Treat me badly, big guy! Me-ow!

Sing with me and Mitch Miller, won't you?  If you don't know the song, I have provided you with a link.  My very wrong thoughts are included in parentheses.

Who's got a beard that's long and white?
Santa's got a beard that's long and white (beards are hot now and Santa's is no exception. I also feel certain that he cleans the cookies and candy canes out of it, religiously. It just seems like him.).

Who comes around on a special night?
Santa comes around on a special night (that would be my husband's bowling night).

Special Night, Beard that's White.
Must be Santa.  Must be Santa.  Must be Santa, Santa Claus (because there are no other
holiday animals, symbols or idols that are HALF as hot.  Easter Bunny?  Nope.  Buddha?  Lacking in style-sense.  Won't even consider Uncle Sam.).

Who wears boots and a suit that's red?
Santa wears boots and a suit that's red (if you put him in a fetish magazine it would sell out.  He would be both a "leather" and a "furry" - steamy!).

Who wears a cap that's long and red?
Santa wears a cap that's long and red (could anything be more rife with innuendo)?

Cap on head, suit that's red?
Must be Santa. Must be Santa. Must be Santa, Santa Claus (the pacing of this chorus is so very suggestive).

Okay, I'm done.  Just hoping I'm on the naughty list!
See ya in the mall and happy whatever.

PS.  I love this song, too.  "Backdoor Santa" by Clarence Carter.

How You Can Mess with Your OB-GYN - PART ONE

Every ten years or so, I really look forward to going to the OBGYN.   There are so many things that I enjoy about it but the best part is the hillbilly hijinx that it affords.

If you have hesitations about going, feel trepidation or even love the OBGYN, I hope this makes your trip that much more enjoyable.

BEFORE THE VISIT
Make sure you call and make several hundred appointments about three years before you need them.  Book ALL of August in 2023.  Just use fake names - that's what that big yellow book of phone numbers and names is for.  (Why make stuff up when there's real stuff you can just use?)  Now, you'll need some symptomology or some reason to make these appointments, so here are some of my favorites:

1) I think I lost something in there - "I can't find my keys/glasses/Susan B. Anthony dollar and I think they're/it's in there."  Do not deviate from this script.  Just keep saying, "I know I had them and the last time I saw them/it was near my...silly me!" Do not accept direction to the ER.  Just casually say, "Oh no, it's fine.  This can wait.  I already ordered new keys/glasses/a new Susan B. Anthony dollar.  It would just set my mind to rest."

2) Make use of the incredibly unpleasant person who answers the phone.  All unpleasant people go to work at the OBGYN, just FYI.  See, they need real gate-keepers because sick people might make their day real busy if they could just call and get all the appointments they needed.  It's kind of like converting to Judaism.  They expect you to try three times on the phone before you get in. When Ima Killjoy asks you why you need to see the doctor, just say, "I dunno, what vaginal issues do you have that I could use?"  I mean, it's not like, no matter what you say, she's going to be pleasant so you may as well have fun.

3) Is it supposed to talk?  Now, this one...you have to play it right.  If you over-do it, you're headed for the nut-hatch.  When Ima asks why you need to see the doctor, just say, "Ok, I know this is going to sound weird, but I think my vagina can talk. I mean, not like full sentences, but more like 'Hi!' I just want to make sure that's normal. You get me, right?"  Be prepared to be connected to the phone line that plays Olivia Newton John FOREVER on the first two or three calls.  It's not because they don't like you, it's just because their brain melted.

AT THE VISIT
I feel like I should patent these, so don't go trying to make it like you thought of them.  I mean, I want to share, but I think you should credit me, somehow.

GYN stands for "Get Your [own] Nightie - First up is dealing with the gowns.  Bring your own damned gown.  Make it as sexy as possible.  Treat this like the BEST date you'll ever go on (it costs more than most dates, after all).  I chose a purple, nipple cut-out satin thing from Frederick's.  I have to have a breast exam, so this makes it easy and I feel pretty.  Paper just does not do that.  Let's make this memorable for everyone, shall we?

Candy is dandy, but  - Speaking of memorable and dates...I like to bring cocktails in a thermos.  Look, my personal rule is:  nobody sees me naked without buying me a drink, first.  I know the doctor doesn't know this rule about me, so I try not to judge them.  I help them.  That's me.  I'm like that.  Which drink, you may ask?  Make your own decision.  I can't do it all for you.

J-E-L-L-O - No one enjoys being full of K-Y more than I do - because no one enjoys it.  So, let's revamp this a bit.  Let's put the ball in our court.  The tube of gel that they claim is heated, never is.  Why play a part in an unnecessary ruse, when there are ruses that are necessary?  I like to bring a portable camp stove and pot and put the tube of gel in the pot (with some water from the sink) and heat it my damned self.  You'll be sitting in the room for at least an hour (at -15 degrees Kelvin) ANYWAY, so make yourself comfortable.  Bring some marshmallows.  This is YOUR visit.  Own it.

Be Your Own Banksy - Banksy is a famous graffiti artist, for the unknowing.  I like to write important messages, messages that I think may help the GYN, me or both of us, on my thighsin Sharpie.  Don't start with the tacky ones that I know you're thinking of, right now.  This is SERIOUS.  Your VAGINA needs you.  I like to write things like, "My partner is an attorney"  or "This visit is being recorded."  That keeps us all on our best behavior.  More specific notes might include, "It's the middle one."  Nobody needs the wrong kind of exam at a time like this.  I also find, "You break it, you bought it" to be helpful.

I'm going to let you reflect on these, giving them your own "special" touches, while you await Part II.

The Loneliest Job

If you're a baby and can't talk about things that are disgusting, you may not like this post.

I am prepared to give you the inside scoop on the most personal workings of the female persona.  Not that - bathroom habits.  But, don't worry, I am treating this like a Mutual of Omaha, only my hair isn't as good as Marlin Perkins' and  I don't have a "Jim" to wrestle the anaconda (see euphemism below - you'll get it later).  We'll talk a little theory; we'll use a little behavioral observation.  You'll learn something about yourself, but mostly about me.

 Marlin Perkins and Jim 

The Research
I have done extensive research on this, asking tens of woman, about their potty habits.  I did this because: 1) I'm neurotic and 2) I care about you and don't want you walking around with false information.  The average woman, from my research, walks approximately an eighth of a mile to express her bowels at work.   Let the conversation begin.

Why?
I live with a dyed-in-the-cloth Darwinian, so I'm going to go with the evolutionary answer first.   Don't "pinch a loaf" where you live.  When we were heavy-browed, cave-dwellers, it would have been poor form.  I believe those cave-peeps who were "in-cave-poopers" were probably bludgeoned to death by their peers, and so their genes have not survived.

We have also evolved to have smell-shame and aversion, which is also evolutionary, but I think Bath and Body Works may have something to do with that, too.

Now that I have indefatigably established that we are distance "go-ers," let me talk about the ways in which, once she has to "wrestle a brown snake," the typical woman behaves  - or should behave.

The "Typical" 
Go as far as you can, without it counting as a coffee break, to an under-utilized bathroom.  Try to pick an off-hour.  Do not come out of your stall, if someone enters the bathroom, until they have left or are securely in their own stall.  You are usually in the stall on the end.  When you are "discovered" you apologize, whether through act or word.  I've seen it a hundred times.

My Version or "How Can I Achieve the Perfect Stealthdoodie or Deal with the Consequences"
Revenge Scatting, "Toys" and Staking Your Claim
Finding your "litterbox" is key.  It may take a while but I have found that, with careful observation and tracking of the bathroom habits of your co-workers (any Spreadsheet will do), you can find an isolated stall and coordinate your "needs."  

Make sure it's amongst coworkers who do not know you.  Try a different floor or department.  What's funny is: I have seen some woman from a department UNKNOWN come to my cellblock who, I am certain, is "revenge scatting" in my local bathroom.  She is so on my list.


Now, what if you find a nice, semi-close space and then someone else does, too?  It's time for a show-down.  It may need to involve lots of cumin in your diet.  That is all I am saying.  Coordinate your timing so that you are just 10 minutes before the claims-rusher.  Give it your all and do not flush.  There, I said it.  Know that I only said it for you.


Alternatively, you can bring in an adult "toy" of the opposite gender (if you get me) and wait in the stall for your foe.  When they are settled in, just drop the toy on the floor, say, "Oopsy!" and run.  They will never come in there again.

You now have your own space.  If you can't do this, you may need these next tips.

Doodle Shoes
This is my name for the shoes I wear to the stall.  Men, generally, have two pairs of shoes and are, therefore, indistinct when they go for "a sit down."  Women, on the other hand, strive to have the perfect, most unique footwear.  It's a mistake in the bathroom.  If you go in with these:

everyone will know who you are and what you have done.  This is not what gets you a promotion.

This is why I have Doodle Shoes.  I keep them in my purse and put them on in the stall ONLY.  They look like this:

Do what you will, when you are anonymous, I say!  Every woman checks out the shoes when they go into the bathroom, trying to determine who to blame for the horrors.  Go ahead.  See if you ever find me, based upon my shoes.  I bet you don't.

Alternatively, and because I know we all can't have pairs of useless shoes, you can just lift your feet.  People may jiggle your door, though, potentially.

The Continuous Flush
I am fortunate in having old toilets in my building that will flush as long as you hold them down.  If you want to send a message when you're "dropping the kids off at the pool,"  just hold the handle down for an eternity.  It says, "something is wrong...very wrong."  More than a courtesy flush, it conveys danger.  I like that.  People often turn around seeking facilities, when confronted with this.  That's good.

Own It
Sometimes, there is no avoiding discovery.  You can wear the doodle shoes, you could have picked the condemned bathroom (you can make a condemned sign, now that I think of it), work on your timing, but still, someone will have an errant burrito or bad creamer or even be staking out their own poo zone.

You may have to just own it - but when you do so, own it big.  You may say things like, "WOW.  That wasn't healthy!" or, contrarily, "That was magnificent!"  Try,  "I hope THAT doesn't happen again."

You can also laugh nervously and say, "My partner beats me."  Does it explain things?  No.  Will it get you out of the situation?  Yes.

There is a book entitled "Everyone Poops."  Yes, that is true, however, not everyone needs to know you do.

My Fad Diet - Copyright 2011

Once this hits Hollywood, they'll be no stopping it, so don't act like this is yours.  I call it the "Baby Diet."  Nope, I'm not talking pablum.  I'm talking actually baby things.  I feel obligated to remind you all that I am not a doctor, so don't blame me for any of the results from listening to me.

Baby Corn
It's so fun to nibble on it, isn't it?  Who wouldn't want to use up a few extra calories dealing with it's little-baby-ness?  Further, how much of that stuff can you really eat?  Two or three tiny, baby ears?  I bet that, you'll see a weight loss after 6 weeks of that stuff.  It will be fun to take to work and eat in the lunchroom, though.  Pat your belly after and say, "Phew, that's great corn!!!"

Baby Cow
Veal is yummy, filling and is still a baby, so it works!  I really believe that eating baby things is the fountain of youth.  They may be part of a fountain of youth that includes inhumane killing, but this is ABOUT YOU.  Eat up!  It's almost bikini season.

Baby Spinach
You dietitians out there know that we must eat our greens to stay healthy, so I threw this in.  You will have loads of iron and you can cackle like Popeye after eating an entire bag of this tasty veg!  That's about how much I need to feel like I actually ate anything.  While this regime is not about portion control (or anything sensible, for that matter), don't look to baby spinach for a full tum-tum.

Sugar Babies
Yeah, okay, you try to eat just the stuff above.  I'm gonna need Sugar Babies in an emergency, like when I eat baby corn and vomit, leaving me hungry again.

Baby Sheep
They are succulent, they represent Jesus and are great with Sugar Babies.  Win, win and win!  Don't feel at all guilty that they are cute as the dickens!  In fact, in a meal of contrasts, you could eat a GIANT leg of lamb and tiny, baby peas.  I call it my "Lilliputian pairing."  You can use that term, too.

Baby Clams
I would never leave my friends of the sea out of this!  Welcome, small and stench-riddled baby clams!  There is always something, in every diet, that makes you undesirable.  Anyone ever tried Ally?  How about Slimfast?  Good Lord.  I would rather be fat.  Ever make that sudden "fiber shift" that most diets recommend?  How sexy are you then?  In honor of all of this, I present you with (trumpets wailing) BABY CLAMS.  You'll smell during and after eating them!  Hurrah!

Baby Gouda
You need calcium; really, you do.  What's the point of being thin if you're a hunch-back?  You may substitute Baby Swiss for variety.  See how much better (or at least not any worse) I am than your nutritionist?

Dutch Baby
You deserve a nice dessert after all the hard work of dieting.  Sit down, grab a "baby [diet] blanket (registered trademark, available through my online marketing team)," and eat your Dutch Baby.  Mommy loves you.  [That should take a few pounds off, right there, if the theorists who say we are often "eating to fill a void" are right.  Although, isn't a stomach a void?  It's a bag, after all.]

Baby Beer
What kind of fad diet would this be without liquor?  A bad one, to answer my own question.  So, I found this for all of us:  http://www.drinksmixer.com/drink1t2s663.html.

Again, I am not making any claims, I'm just saying that if you have to be on a fad diet, this one is as good as any and will, certainly, be more fun.  To make it really "feel" right, no matter what your size or shape now, you can always tell people (as I do) that you just lost 56 pounds (pick an uncommon number, not 50 or 55, it sounds better) on the "Baby Diet." People can always deal with a fat person who has just lost weight, better than one who has just gained it.  Plus, it will advertise my blog.

When the Therapist is Away...

August is coming, people. It's the time when all therapists go on vacation. I think it's time you start preparing, if you're really nuts.

If you are new to all this, let me help you. Even if you're not, I'll help you, because that's the kind of crazy gal I am.

Where do they go?

They all go to Cape Cod and I've figured out why. There is a giant magnet there that attracts the steel pellets that were injected into them during their internships. Sometime in July, they all start feeling uncomfortable and tilting towards the island. They have all discussed it and know that they must go to the homeland in August.

The magnet was placed there by the local tourist industry, right after Ted Kennedy gave Chappaquiddick a bad name. Even though that's in Martha's Vineyard, most people don't know the difference so they had to do "damage control." They needed a niche. A niche that didn't include Kennedys - hence, the giant therapist magnet.

What do they do there?

They talk about you. How nuts you are. How much they have no idea what you're talking about or what to do about it. They titter and exchange their favorite nonsensical statements they've made to appease you. For instance, "Wow, you really seem to have indelicosis...we should talk about this next session." You, my friend, are out the door and thinkin' you need to come back. THAT is therapist gold.

Even though they have great dismay at you and your blathering, you are no where near as bad as this guy William something-or-other, about whom they all nod their heads, knowingly, and roll their eyes. If you are actually William of Many Problems, you need to go inpatient. You need to go now. They all agreed.

The divorced therapists (because really, they are just people and do get divorced) find mates on the Cape. Some breed there. Mostly, though, they try to act like regular folk, except that they are doing it solely amongst themselves, which is not regular.

What do you do when they are gone?

Okay, I'm super nuts (capital "n") so let me tell you the stages of therapist withdrawal, which you will experience if you are nuts - just to prepare you.

Stage One - I don't need this as much as I thought I did

You walk down the street and think, "Hey, I don't need this as much as I thought I did."

Stage Two - Something isn't quite right

You're having a perfectly fine time obsessing at night, when you realize: I can't go tell someone about this fabulous rumination. This is one of my best, crazy ruminations and I can't call my anyone (who will tolerate it) at 1 AM to discuss its import.

Stage Three - Are those voices?

Without someone convincing you, on a regular basis, that you are not crazy, you actually start becoming crazy. See, you thought you were paying for someone to treat your nutso symptoms, but you are actually paying for someone to tell you that you are sane. This works, as long as they don't go away on vacation.

Stage Four - Daddy? Mommy?

It's only been a total of 6 hours since you started all of these stages. You are trying to remember "the good times" with Dr. X. You wonder if going to Cape Cod, just happenstance, and riding your bike around will create a "serendipitous" meeting between you. "Let's see, I could slip in my major breakdown (from a sense of abandonment) within 45 seconds...then Dr.X would HAVE to talk to me." You decide this is even too crazy for you. You start rocking and whispering, "I think I can. I think I can." You have just boarded the Little Engine to Crazytown.

Stage Five - What happened?

You realize that you have blacked out, but that it landed you in the hospital and Dr. X was forced to call to consult with the ER doctors. He DOES love you!!!!

Stage Six - The Reunion

Dr. X is back! You can't hug - because that's against the rules - but you are certainly able to hug inside your head. Heck, go ahead and have intercourse in your head. You know you want to. You have already written out the check (that makes Dr. X happy) and have written down all your zany antics in a journal. It's going to be a great session!!!

In closing, I would like to point out that August often has a higher crime rate than other months of the year. Coincidence? I am betting that there are more "break and entry" crimes then. You know, like, a crazy patient who doesn't know that their therapist is going to the Cape and breaks in to check their appointment calendar...I'm just guessing here.

So, if you are in therapy, prepare yourself, the end (albeit only a week, but it'll feel longer) is nigh, but at least you know that now.

New Year's Resolutions You CAN Keep!

The new year brings is supposed to bring us hope. There is nothing that leads to therapy more than the practice of making promises you'll never keep. So, let me make a few suggestions - I'm good at this.

Flip it 'till it Works

Lots of people make ridiculous resolutions about weight and vices. That's fine as long as you make the RIGHT resolutions. Try this: "I resolve to gain AS MUCH WEIGHT as possible this year! An ALL-TIME HIGH!!!!" Still superlative and, yet, enjoyably attainable.

The same goes for vices. If, before, you might have vowed to quit smoking, I think your new resolution should be: "I am going to smoke every single cigarette I find - whether they're in my purse, on the ground, in ashtrays, in other people's mouths...ALL OF THEM!" That is commitment, friends.

Being a Better Person

There are lots of ways to be a better person. One way is to make your emotions "work" for you. Now is the time to figure out how to make it sound like using your worst behaviors are, actually, good for the world. It's all about marketing.

For instance, this year, I resolve to answer my phone, by screaming at the top of my lungs, EVERY time someone who blocks their phone number calls my house. I believe that we should be dropping the tele-logical barriers that stand between the unblocked and the blocked to become a closer world. Kum-ba-flipping-ya.

Further, I am resolving to come up with creative, non-mother-related insults to hurl at my insurance company. I plan on researching other cultures' insults (e.g., Middle-Eastern, Russian), incorporating new vocabulary (e.g., Shakespearean English), and will grow in the process. The insurance company will appreciate my new "style," I think, because I have kind of gotten in a feces-based, copulation-mentioning rut with them. Win! Win!

Make a Non-Resolution

This should be something that no one could really argue with (or define - so don't get specific). but seems like you actually have a sense of commitment. So, for this year's non-resolution I have chosen: being the best grocery store customer EVER. I'm going to go to the store, shop AND pay! I will do this all year, I promise. Yea me! Some might define this differently, but I also resolve not to get caught in any resolution-misunderstandings or loopholes by discussing the actualities of my non-resolutions.

Make a Resolution that You Have Already Kept

Whammo! You're done! My already-done resolution is to be potty-trained. True, I mastered this as a two-year-old, but when the chips and the economy are down, I think it's harder and that should "count."

Aim low, rebrand, promise little and appreciate the little things - my tips for the successful new, new year you!