Shine in 2009

Well, Christmas is over, thank goodness, for 11 more glorious months. I realize that math may not add up to those of you who don't co-inhabit with small children. Those of you who do know exactly what I am talking about, how the network television channels start playing The Polar Express and long list of other Christmas themed movies the day after Thanksgiving, naturally with Santa and the elves and this season's hottest new gadgets in each and every commercial during the presentation.
Oh, but alas, I can pause the Yuletide bitching for almost a year. And since I haven't found something new to bellyache endlessly about yet, I've kinda had blogger's block, Readers. I've stared at the blank screen, the flashing cursor taunting me into just one more beer for inspiration.
Thank goodness I stumbled upon Sprite's Keepers subject for this week's Spin Cycle, New Year's Resolutions. I know this is going to shock most of you, but I am a woman of many flaws. This was just in the nick of time, too. I was about to bust out the beer funnel. So, without further ado, here's my fix it list:

1. Like every New Year's since I was 13, I'm gonna have to put lose weight at the top of this bitch. I mean, unless the government starts giving my sizable ass its own vote, which I think is only fair considering it takes up as much space as some whole people, I guess I should consider getting rid of the uselessness. And, if I should manage to stay dedicated to the goal long enough to have some success, I might as well put keeping the lost weight off for good measure on here. I've lost weight before, but it comes back like a boom-a-rang.

2. Even though I don't get to eat sushi near as much as I would like, which would be every single day if I had my way, I guess I should want to eat less of it. I mean, Jeremy Piven's doctor says that his frequent sushi consumption lead to high levels of mercy in this system, thus making it impossible for old Jeremy to keep this contractual duties in the Broadway play Speed-the-Plow. He was contracted to play the part for 10 more weeks, but he was just too spoiled and douchey ill to uphold those obligations. Of course, he did feel good enough to hop a plan to Bangkok. So, maybe I shouldn't stop eating sushi, but rather become rich enough and famous enough to find some quack awesomely qualified physician like Jeremy's Dr. Carlon Coker to supply me with any wildly unbelievable excuse I might need to get out of something I just don't want to do.
Since Jeremy's plight forced him from the stage, the David Mamet play has lost money and sushi restaurateurs all over the country have called bullshit on his claim. If I were Jeremy, I wouldn't worry about the mercury in my sushi from here on out, but I would keep an eye open for spit.
"I understand Jeremy is leaving show business," Mamet told Variety, "to pursue a career as a thermometer."

3. Teach my children to never trust a fart, at least when they are ill. To add to the misery of Christmas, my children both came down with a stomach bug. But, since they had yet to learn this important life fable, poor Momma has had to wash many an extra pair of undies because of the wrath of stealthy sharts. If you don't know what a shart is, just think really hard. It's one of those two words put together jobs. Yeah.... that's right.

4. Organize, well, my life. I have this uncanny knack of turning everything I touch into chaos. My mentor Mary Fern has always told me that this is just a trait of artistically genius people. I think that may be code talk for crazy, quirky artsy types, but she stands by it. My friend Chelsea, who just happens to be the most talented artist I know, agrees. Truthfully, my mind seems to work best when surrounded by clutter, particularly if I am lucky enough to have it with a looming deadline. Of course, this could all be bullshit, but I'm sticking with creative licensing until I get rich enough to hire a live-in maid.

5. See my friends more often. Since the boys have come into our lives, Rowdy and I have both morphed into these old hermits. Going out and doing things just takes so much effort, not to mention just how much I've grown to love sweat pants. Still, I do have great friends, friends I miss all the time, and I need to pry my lazy, old ass from the comfort of my couch and snuggling kids to see them. Also, they might remind me that I am just 28.

6. Be more positive. Wait, scratch that. I don't mean that at all! I like being a snarky pessimist. In fact, I don't even like to call it that. I think those of us who think that things are probably going to be shitty should just be referred to as realists. You optimists are constantly running around just knowing things are going to fall perfectly into place and, when the certainty of disaster strikes, you are dumbfounded and disappointed by how such a (predictable) thing could happen. All the while we realists shake our heads and say, "Well, I knew that shit was going to happen." And then, every great now and again, when something does work out or run smoothly, we get to be surprised. Really, is there anything better than surprises?
Plus, if I shucked all my negative bitchiness, I would probably have to shut down this blog. I doubt any of you are coming here to read about chirping birds and rainbows and long walks on the beach.

7. Read more. Naturally, I'm not referring to blogs as they've already taken over my life like some unstoppable rebel coup. No, I mean like those ancient contraptions called books. You know, the ones your high school English teacher tried to ram down your thought. Well, I think she was right. Perhaps some of our country's latest conundrums could have been prevented if any one of us still read history books.

8. Be nicer to Rowdy. It's true, he provokes me like a snot-nosed boy rattling a rabid dog's cage. But, I know it's all out of loving orneriness. He is sweet to me like 96% of the time. Plus, he puts up with all my quirkiness, such as wailing on and on about the Bush Administration and teaching our boys to proclaim that Prop 8 is hate and blogging about all our bickering for all the world to read and serving the boys peanut butter sushi for breakfast. Of course, as I type this, he has cuddled up with our two children and flipped the tube to Steven Seagal's On Deadly Ground. I don't want our babies watching some greasy haired ninja. It's like he enjoys ass chewings.
Be nice, Shonda, be nice.

9. Ban Steven Seagal from our household. That is all.

10. Scrapbook more. It is kind of like the crack cocaine of the hobby world, but I have been slacking recently. How else are my children going to know to resent me for all the shenanigan outfits I put them in if they aren't all well-documented?

11. Give to more charities. With retail stores actually closing at Christmas, which is like saying, "With strip clubs in New York City closing right before the entire horny U.S. Navy descends upon it for Fleet Week," I think it clear that the Bush presidency has finally culminated into widespread hard times. Not long ago, I cried when GoodFather shared this story of being laid off. So, while I am worried that we might have a hard time making money raising beef when the entire country is too damn broke to buy a steak, I also think this might be a good time for me to realized how blessed we truly are. We have a warm house and full bellies. So, if you have any ideas on charities, send them to me.

12. Be more environmentally friendly and energy efficient. I've already started using hemp grocery sacks and those funny looking light bulbs. Noble Peace Prize, please! But, I really think the family Little should take it one further. I try to keep the lights we aren't using out and if my family wasn't such pusses about cold weather, I'd shut the heater off. Of course, I could start recycling my beer cans. That in itself might shut down an aluminum mine. Wait, are their aluminum mines? Anyways, I could save a small fortune, too. My Explorer is paid off, so I plan on driving it until its wheels fall off, but the next car is definitely doing to be one of those 50 miles a gallon golf carts. I bet Osama bin Laden hates those cars. So, that's one I am going to focus on, being less wasteful.

13. Shine in 2009. We're all in this thing together.

Charlie Sheen Has A Mop on his Head

I have a love-hate relationship with the highest paid TV stars list, which is released annually to remind all us little people what tier of the food chain we are actually on. On one hand, I am fascinated by the ingenuity these beautiful people utilize to convince TV's brightest and most genius producers and writers that, in spite of a show's brilliant contest, it just could not go on without them. That brand of craftiness must be admired, right?
Then, on the other hand, I compare these hefty paydays to, I don't know, the salaries of teachers, nurses and farmers, and the misplaced values of our society are so freakin' pronounced. Maybe we all need Ari Gold for money-negotiating representation. I can just hear it now:
"Listen, you weaselly son of an ass licker, my client Florence Nightingale won't give one more shot of penicillin, she won't wrap one more damn bandage until you get out your pen and your checkbook and double that fucking offer. I've got four other hospitals on the hold, just waiting to scoop up our girl. Now, she loves you, she wants to work with you, but she's got to take care of hers, too, my man. Momma needs a new pair of white shoes, if you're picking up what I'm laying down. These other guys are circling the boat like bloody-thirsting sharks, my man, so if you aren't panicking, you fucking should be. Hurry up 'cause Nurse Nightingale's loyalty will only buy you so much time. Show us the money or we'll show you the road, jack!"
So, when the newest installation of the highest paid TV stars hit the presses, I soaked it up like a frat boy in a strip club. Wide-eyed, mouth gaping open, just staring at the prize.
And low and freakin' behold, there at number 7 was my favorite man boy, Charlie Sheen. Now, before I go any further, I want you to know that I absolutely love Charlie. As you can probably tell from most my posts, I have a special place in my heart for people who "Keep It Real." While the rest of the world, famous or not, tries to stuff our fetishes and dirty little secrets into a dark, dark closet, Ol' Chuck just puts it out there like drinking at 9 am with a team of foreign hookers is something others might frown upon. Truly, he is one of my favorites. Plus, while I whole-heartily believe that marriage with Charlie might be like living through Dante's Inferno, I somehow feel sorry for him for the hell I'm sure he endures at the hands of that harpie he was once wed to. Denise Richards, now that could drive you to drinking. Just a few weeks ago it was revealed that she had, in fact, asked Charlie to father another child with her, a claim she first denied, but then admitted to, explaining that she only did it to make Charlie's new wife jealous.
With all that said, when I saw that Two and a Half Men is now scoring Charlie a quite impressive $825,000 an episode, equaling over $20 million a season, my only thought was this: Maybe now he can get himself hair plugs that DON'T look like a black, stringy poinsettia resting peacefully on his forehead. Seriously, it's like a mop is steaming out of his head.
Now, I'm not suggesting that Charlie has had hair plugs installed (although that is what my gut tells me), but surely I'm not the only one who has noticed the clear change in consistency in his hair patterns. Up until a year or two ago, he had a thick, charcoal mane, reminiscent to me of Ken's of the Ken and Barbie fame. But, that has sadly gone the way of his wildly misspent youth. It is gone and, without the assistance of a seriously expensive procedure, it is lost forever. As you know, I'm no expert on matters of cosmetology. Even though my mother's been a stylist most of my life, my stint in beauty school was a miserable disaster. It was bad and I mean bad. So, I guess I could be wrong about this. I don't think I am, but I could be. I just find it strange that his hair that once combed nicely to the side now flowers out from the center like a giant firework exploding into a tragic cowlick. What do you think?

Charlie before the hair hurricane now atop his head.

Charlie Sheen, after