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"Colors l" Watercolor and Ink. Copyright 2013 Totsymae

“Colors l” Watercolor and Ink. Copyright 2013 Totsymae

Happy New Year to you, folks. I hope life is treating you kind and you’re doing the same for it, meaning all living things and folks out there. And I really hope that’s not an effort on your part but I know everybody’s got their personal challenges, special needs and what have you. Hell, that’s all a part of living, so we have to work with what we’ve got.

Now, I’m not doing what I did last year and tell you I’m gonna do this and that for my resolutions. Shit, I didn’t resolve half of what I set out to do last year, so I won’t sit here and lie to myself again. Matter of fact, I don’t even remember half the things I said I’d do. That fine list of Gonna-Dos faded into glory, quite frankly, a week or so into the 2012 new year. I had to hunt the list down and called myself typing it up and checking off my accomplishments but I’ll be damn if that wasn’t work. To this day, I can’t remember the name of the document or where I saved it on the computer.

Now, I do recall a coupla things I’d put on the list – that I wanted to learn how to knit so I could stitch caps for folks with cancer. I’m so very, very embarassed folks. For all my good intentions, I flew off to Saudi Arabia and couldn’t remember where I put the damn knitting needles when I got back. I don’t think I bought the right yarn anyhow. I could say I’d do it this year but that may sound too much like a resolution and if I do what I did last year, which was nothing, I won’t knit the caps again, resulting in another lie and I’m not supposed to be a good liar but looks like I could very well be better at it than I think, which is no consolation to me.

And you know the thing about resolutions, it’s really sad when you have to resolve to do something you should already be doing. You see, I had to redirect this from me to you so it wouldn’t look as though I’m beating myself up. Or at least so I wouldn’t feel alone. I mean, who likes to be alone? Like, you really should be exercising and losing weight, especially if the doctor’s told you you need to shed some of them pounds. Better yet, why would you even wait for somebody to tell you to lose weight? Or stop wasting money? Or whatever, whatever…

Now. I already know I won’t be wasting my money at a fitness center. Since I know I won’t go, there’s no sense in me acting like I will. I don’t feel special or whatnot in having a fitness membership card. For me, it’s like, oh hell, I’ve wasted myself some money. I just don’t like working out in settings like that. And let’s just cut through the chase. I don’t like working out period. It feels good when I do but between you and me, a fitness membership is gonna be a real hard sell for me; however, the up side is I won’t be wasting money. In that way anyhow.

Here’s to you and the new year, folks. Have a good one.

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Should you ever see me in public and I, unfortunately, happen to have a booger in my nose, let a sistah know what’s up. I tend to think I’m cute and try to work IT when I step out from time to time. We’re in the cold season and shit will happen. Do know that if I knew I had the damn thing, I’d handle the matter but if you see it and I don’t, it then becomes your responsibility to make that information available to me. If you ain’t part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. Okay?

"Sophisticated Lady" Acrylic on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

Being the southern belle I am, I tend to say good morning to folks. When I say it to you, open your mouth and show me some courtesy. You know you heard me. I saw you looking in my mouth and you still didn’t open up yours to acknowledge me? Just know that should unkind words hit the rumor mill about you, I started it.

On the other hand, should you say good morning and not hear me respond, it could very well be that it’s not a particularly good morning for me. Do not, under any circumstances, say something like, “GOOD MORNING,” in a harsh tone for me to speak back. The world don’t revolve around you. If I’m in a funk, it revolves around me at the moment. Keep in mind that my southern bell may be off and it’s not likely that speaking harshly to me will turn it on.

I don’t know why it never worked out visually for me to see women folk in public wearing sweat pants and sneakers but please, don’t do it. I, folks, despite my keep-it-real attitude, am a bit of a snob when it comes to this sorta thing. I will look at you really hard and wonder if you were raised better. I don’t care if you’re slim as a butter knife, sweats and sneakers ain’t the look you wanna have should a car back out from a parking space and hit you. Take the time to fix yourself up before you wind up on the YouTube in a compromising position. The last thing you want is me somewhere in the camera saying, “I told yo’ ass.”

If you so happen to visit my blog during a blog hop we’ve mutually joined in, don’t leave me a comment saying, “I’m stopping by for the blog hop,” and be on your merry way. That looks a tad flighty to me. Plus, it’s a waste of your time. You don’t have to sit and have a longwinded conversation with me but say something relevant. You don’t even have to mention the blog hop, as far as I’m concerned. Understand that I’m as interested in you as I want you to be in me. Extend your thoughts in a way that’ll mean something to both of us.

If we’re ever riding in a vehicle together and I happen to be the driver, let me be the driver. I took Driver’s Education in high school and while I managed to pull a ‘D’ from the class, I’m an expert after having a few accidents, not all of which were my fault. I can sense a cop on the side of the road and know when to slow down. That means I don’t need you yelling and scaring the shit outta me, telling me to go down on the brake.

Should I ever visit your home and, God forbid, you’ve got yourself a doll collection in a reserved room of your house, know that I’m no more interested in it than I am of Freddy Krueger being my boyfriend. I have never had a thing for dolls and I’m even less into a buncha them piled in a room together. Understand that I will stop being your friend should you ever introduce them to me. I’m a playful kinda person but I ain’t into the strangeness of no dolls. Not to be funny or nothing but I will assume you to be afflicted with some kinda mental illness should you invest in all of these fake folk taking up square inches in your home.

It may be best that you don’t offer me any dairy, sodium, sugar or flour-based foods if I ever come to your house. While I love me some sweets and whatnot, I’ve had to give up so much in the food area. You’d be safe in offering me a bottle of water, raisins, or unsalted nuts. Don’t think I’m haughty and get offended. It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve had to be a lot more conscious about my food choices that’s sending me toward veganism. Yeah, one of those high maintenance type folk who looks hungry all the time.

Now, if I can be of any assistance at all in helping you to fulfill resolutions on my end for you, feel free to hit me up with a comment. Let’s get this thing right so we don’t rock each others boats as we make this a happy new year.

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Don’t get me wrong, I had a great time. We played games on the Wii, which was my first time ever. Yeah, I’m way behind the times but I haven’t had time. When, earlier this year, I asked Little Totsy about me getting one for us, she wasn’t interested. She’d rather be out and about than in the house playing Wii games with me. “Like, duh, Mommy,” she’d say to me, “that’s something for people without a life, which wouldn’t be me.”

My son, Mr. Boy, came bearing many gifts and even my sister, who’s quite the spendthrift, shelled out a few bucks to get me a gift. The Christmas carols were ringing from the stereo, compliments of Michael Jackson seeing Mama Kissing Santa Claus and The Temptations crooning Silent Night the smoothest way it’s ever been sung. The tree was twinkling with lights and all the craziness of funny lit the house. The food, oh folks, the food was the jam too and there was so much of it. No, I didn’t overindulge but it was there in case I wanted to do just that.

Then, there’s the day after. The tree is empty of presents. Everybody’s gone home and that Christmas high is coming down as you look down the barrel of New Year’s resolutions that you really don’t wanna think about since you didn’t follow through with the ones from this year.

Oh, the ending of the holidays is like a one-night stand. Not that I’ve had one but I’ve watched enough Lifetime to know it just ain’t a cool feeling. All the holiday prepping is nothing more than a big courtship at the shopping malls, only to be let down and later settling into the everyday routine of normal again. It ain’t fair, y’all! I don’t want the party to end. I want folk to keep cooking for me and showering me with shit. I won’t take responsibility for getting caught up either. It’s not a holiday I designed.

You know who I blame? Those pagan-like Christians are who I point the finger at. Those selfish tree-cutters put the bling in Jesus’ birthday with the colorful lights and shit. Cooking all that food and sending folk into these coma-like naps, only to wake up and have a second go at it before taking gobs of food home they’d be better off dumping in the trash. I’m tired of these highs and lows of dating the holidays and feeling like I’m stuck with a couch potato by spring.

Yeah, I had a grand of a time folks but I think I kinda got a hangover along with the one-night stand this year. (Pulling the sheets to cover the nakedness of my insecurity). Call me tomorrow?

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My son, Mr. Boy, spoils me. I really like that about him. Last year, for Mother’s Day, I got a TV. Don’t ask me how many inches ’cause I ain’t one to measure the size of things given to me. All I know is I got one of a fairly nice size that I was jumping up and down about like I’d won it on The Price is Right. When he went to Hilton Head Island this year, he got me a turtle-looking paper weight for Mother’s Day. I know. A big difference but I guess he figured I needed some papers to be held down.

He drives me almost everywhere. If it wouldn’t look so ridiculous, I’d have him lift me to carry me in the house and I think he’d do it if I asked. How in the world can any new fella come into my life and top that, I don’t know. I’d probably settle for him rolling me in on a dolly, if he were an older gentleman. Like, there has to be effort of some sort, you know.

Mr. Boy also cooks great meals for me. When I went to the doctor and saw that some things needed to change in my diet, he got right on it and I felt better than my former self.

This year, for Christmas, Mr. Boy gave me a diamond ring and told me to never take it off, even during bath time. Girlfriend also became Ms. Fiance, only she got hers after graduating The University of Georgia the week before. She got diamond earrings today. You can tell how much Mr. Boy loves me ’cause he picked out a girl like I was at their age. All sweet and shy and shit. I’m still (ahem) like that in subtle and obvious ways, depending on the situation.

Google Image

Little Totsy spoils me too and what a whipper snapper she is with her little busy self. When she cooks something, she stands over us and asks, “So, how does it taste? Do you like it?” and we’d better say yes. She found an oatmeal raisin cookie recipe on the web and whipped them up for us, along with chocolate chip cookies for Christmas dessert that Ms. Fiance told her how to make. Little Totsy was constantly baking on Christmas eve and Christmas day. “How are they, mommy?” she’d ask before I could let the taste settle in my mouth, with her hand riding her little hip. “Good. So good, Little Totsy,” I replied, like a hostage with a gun to my head. This is how it goes every time she cooks anything. I imagine the young man who ends up with her (very far in the future) is gonna show her some appreciation, whether he wants to or not.

I’ve had a grand time on Christmas, y’all. I hope you have too.

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The Night Santa Came Knocking

(A Mini Christmas Play)

Erma from California: I can’t believe he broke it off. It’s Christmas time. (She stares dead center of the wooden kitchen table.)

Neighbor from across the hall w/Chunky NY Accent: (Takes a long drag from her cigarette, blows the poison from her mouth and shuffles the card deck with expertise): Tell me about it. Right in the middle of the season when so many people consider suicide, he calls it quits. That selfish, loser bastard.

A lone tear runs from Erma’s soft brown eyes and makes the curve down her chin.

Delia from Way Down South: (Tucks her hands between her thighs, thinking better of not sharing her good news) You’re better off without him, Erma. Didn’t you say his temper was hot and quick? I wouldn’t think of him being a loss and worth no more of them tears ’bout to fall from your eyes. (She fiddles with her hands under the table, pulls a napkin from the holder and gets up to wipe away at Erma’s damp face.)

Neighbor: Will you cut out the sniffling?

Erma: (Revs up a good cry, chest heaving up and down) But it’s…Christmas.

Neighbor: Does that mean when I come over tomorrow, there won’t be anymore of this dribbling?

Pen and Ink. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

Delia: (Throws Neighbor a glare to kill) If I were raised like my daddy wanted, I’d slam that Coke bottle against this table and cut you out of your miserable life!

The little squabble is broken up by a hesitant and then, persistent knock on the door. All movement and sound freezes except Burl Ives, in repeat mode, crooning Holly Jolly Christmas. The knock beats harder. Erma imagines her wreath falling from the door.

Erma: (Whispers her thoughts into the air) It could be James coming back.

Neighbor: (A deep scowl marks her face as she turns to stare at Erma) Descended his white horse and knocking like a damn fool, just the way you like them, heh?

Man from The Other Side: Ho, ho, ho! (Then, he rings a bell in the hand covered by a black glove that warmed it from the icy cold winter)

As if rehearsed or remembered from a past movie script, the three women line one behind the other and tiptoe towards the door. The knocking persists right on and then comes …

Man from The Other Side: Merry, Merry Christmas! (The words coming too forcefully, he coughs)

Delia: Who’s there?

Neighbor gives a shush and punches her. The door knob jiggles by the black gloved hand.

Erma: (A ray of excitement envelops as she thinks in earnest, Oh, it could be no one other than her James playing Santa and wanting to get inside from the cold. How silly of her for changing the locks. She pushes her way pass the other two women and starts her way down the five locks and bolts of the door) That you, James?!

Man from The Other Side: Hooo, hooo…

Erma is tackled by the women just as she unlocks the last bolt. They bundle in a heaped pile on the floor against the door as it pushes against their weight.

Erma: (Eyeballs Delia’s diamond nugget from the heap) Oh, my! You never said a word! You’re (gulping and teary-eyed again) engaged?!

Delia: (Smiles dreamily at the diamond) Uh huh. (A sudden giggle escapes and then she remembers empathy). Oh, but it wasn’t the right time to share this kind of news, with you and James splitting up.

The door is slowly opening, as Neighbor is the only one making effort to keep Man from the Other Side on the other side.

Neighbor: Shut the hell up and help me out here, you dim-witted heifers!

Erma: When were you going to tell me? I would’ve found out sooner or later.

Delia: I’m sorry, Erma. I was opting for later. It is Christmas.

Neighbor: Will you two heifers…

Erma: Oh, don’t remind me it’s Christmas. Turn that thing away from my sight before I’m forced to bite your finger off! (Burl Ives’ wish for her to have a holly jolly Christmas takes her to a joyful time from years ago, that sends her bawling. She goes limp at the thought of the ring.)

Man from The Other Side manages getting his arm through the slit of the door, tossing an array of Hershey Kisses to the floor. The door pounds on them easily while Erma considers the long, winding road of getting back to somewhere near happy. Suddenly, her palette waters for almond centers as she spots the sprinkling of gold, red and green chocolate drops.

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"Come Better" Acrylic on paper. Copyright Totsymae

Be honest. Sometimes you’re a hater and if life is sucking like shit going down the toilet, the last thing you wanna hear is how great somebody else’s life is. Like yeah, you may be happy for them deep down but you need that special moment to wallow in your shit and wish folk would leave you the hell alone. Actually, you think it’s downright selfish of them to be bragging about their great little life when they’re fully aware of your circumstances. Furthermore, when you’re all done with your drama, you’re real good about handing down all kindsa advice and shit, even boasting about how you dealt with your little problem but when you ain’t all into yourself, you know exactly when to shut up on account of that somebody you’re talking to giving you that look that’s all too familiar.

Let’s be real. You’d really like to believe everybody’s the same ’cause that’s kinda the “right” way to feel. It sounds great in theory. Truth is, you know you’re better than some folks out here and will privately admit it to yourself. When you see folk on the news doing dumb shit and know that you don’t have a police record, walking around calling everybody ‘buddy’ whether they like your ass or not, and only steal small dollar items from the office you ain’t been caught for, you have every right to feel on top of the world. You should. Like, how hard is it to not rob somebody and not end up in jail to become somebody’s bitch, right? Until they get their shit together and minimize the toxicity in their lives to your level, you can ride every high horse out there. Scoot up  ’cause I’m riding right along with you, okay?

Admit it. You ain’t gonna ever have that dream figure you envision in your mind. Your relationship with food is too akin to a man with a sex addiction who cheats on his wife and there’s no difference between what he’s doing and you hoarding Mini Reeses in your pocketbook, thinking nobody knows. Your brain is wired to have the kind of relationship with food that keeps you thinking about it even when you’re not hungry. Just like a man who loves sex, you love food just as much. Matter of fact, you’re the type to go to a new restaurant and tell all of your family and friends about it, the same way you would tell them about a new boyfriend you’re excited about. In actuality, food is like an orgasmic experience for you and you share those experiences best with folk whose passion for it matches your own.

Just say it. Why you bought that treadmill now decorating some corner in your house, you just can’t put your finger on. Matter of fact, you never could stand getting up there ’cause it bores the hell outta you. It only ended up in your house ’cause everybody else was getting one and you happened to be up at 2 in the a.m., going to the fridge for a snack and thought you’d catch a little something on TV, which ended up being an infomercial. Truth of the matter is, you resent that big contraption taking up the space you never used anyhow and wanna sell it but everybody’s got one. You’d really prefer some scenery with your walk, so after two weeks of being pumped up to going a couple of miles in the neighborhood, you pretty much develop a fuck-exercise attitude ’cause something came up one day and you just ain’t got time for that kinda ripping and running when there are so many other things going on in your life. And too, with the new year coming in, you wanna simplify your life even more than this year, so you stop telling  yourself how you’re gonna get your physique in shape and eliminating exercise altogether are two ways of accomplishing the simplicity you desire.

Tell the truth. There really are some children you just don’t like. No matter that you’ve prayed about it, you don’t like them. They get on your last nerve and you really ain’t got a lot of good feelings toward their parents either. You often think how much better you and your kids are and if you’re a woman, will even find little sneaky ways of bringing up to your husband the fact that his brother, wife and kids suck. That you just don’t understand them at all in a sweet-sounding tone but feeling all haughty and bitchy on the inside.

Don’t lie. You really would accept an indecent proposal like the movie Demi was in, where she slept with that fine ass Robert Redford for one million smackeroos, if one of your favorite sexy celebs confronted you with one. To hell with what the Significant Other thinks, he/she needs to get with the damn program. Matter fact, your mind trails along the road of what it may be like to have somebody a little different anyway and think shit, half a million wouldn’t be a bad proposition either.

Go ahead. Set the truth free.

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Photoshop Drawing. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

For those family members and friends who feel entitled to your festive gift giving and characteristically have big attitude all year long, teach them a lesson for the year. Don’t get them shit. They’ve been riding your nerves all year and it’s time you muster the courage to drop them off. Don’t even bother investing time in trying to find something that’ll make them happy with their relationship with you. If you’ve been dealing with their shit far too long, the best gift you can really offer them is a nice little letter relaying where you are emotionally and where you’d like your relationship to be. Besides, writing is cathartic. You can even take the time to put it in a little box and wrap it up in pretty paper. It’s really up to them at that point as to whether they’ll help you to redirect the course of your relationship with them drama-free. After all, would they rather have a shiny little nugget in that box or you?

Don’t worry yourself none about giving out Christmas cards or gifts to folk on the job that you don’t particularly care for. Become a tree hugger and save on the ink too. These folk are just not worth it and you know that. Besides, the Santa Rule still applies for naughty and nice grown folk. If you feel like you absolutely gotta give them something, walk up to their desk and wish them a Merry Christmas. That would be worth more than any card, if you truly mean anything that would’ve been written inside of it. And if you really can’t stand to say anything, then don’t, shit. Stop doing battle with yourself about being in the holiday spirit or being kind and loving to folk based on a holiday. You should be your authentic self, no matter the time of year. If you’re a bitch or an asshole 11 months outta the year, be consistent about it. That’s what you’ve accustomed folk to, so stick with it. However, if you’ve caught a hold of some form of religion, wait 5 days after church service and then address folk. That way you’ll be able to identify whether that was a moment you were caught up in or it was something truly real.

Please, please. don’t buy your seven-month old son or daughter a bunch of shit ’cause it’s their first Christmas. Keep the gifts to a minimum. Babies at that age don’t know what the hell’s going on no how. They’re perfectly happy to look at the Christmas lights on the tree. Keep it simple, folks.

Eating certain foods, especially those with unnatural sugars, can add to the holiday stress. Know that all that Christmas chocolate, while it gratifies you in the moment, is gonna kick your ass later. You’ll get to dragging and may even start bitching ’cause you’re tired on account of you not holding back after eating one or two chocolates, but instead, you damn near ate the whole box you said you’d share with your younguns. Don’t get weak in the knees for it. Chocolate gives you high cholesterol and should be eaten moderately. If moderation ain’t your strong suit, admit yourself in the nearest 12-Step Program. I’m almost sure you can get around the red tape to get your insurance to pay for it since this would fall under preventative care.

Set a beginning and ending time for your holiday affair. This will make guests respectful of time. Stragglers coming in at the last minute must do an about face. Folk need to consider that you’ve been cooking and cleaning for a few days for this huge feast. Them asses gots to know when to go, okay? I’m gonna encourage you to stop by your local Dollar Store to purchase a couple of empty spray bottles. If anybody’s looking even close to catching a nap on your fine furniture, fill those bottles with water and spray them asses soon as a good snore sets in. They’ll be pissed once you jar them awake but believe me, they won’t wanna hang around and you’ll leave an imprint on their minds for any future events held in your home.

Make your gifts. They’re far more meaningful and sends the message that you truly care. For instance, if you know your Significant Other is somewhat of an explorer in the bedroom, go lease a little chainsaw from Home Depot. You may wanna invest in a ladder if that’s currently unavailable to you. What you wanna do is find yourself a nice size limb or tree that’s got “pole” potential. Then, I want you to get yourself a sander to smooth out that tree after taking the bark off.  Once it’s good and sanded down, I want you to get some varnish or paint, if you’re into colors, to finish it off. Next, ensure the tree that you’ve turned into a pole is firmly in place from ceiling to floor ’cause that’s where the exhibition’s gonna take place, with the aid of some sultry music…Come on, I ain’t said nothing new and yes, this is a nice little gift for a man or woman.

And this deluxe self-help guide is my gift to you. Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, folks!

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Watercolor Ink on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae.

I’m taking the idea of what I won’t do in 2012 from my virtual partner in crime, Linda Medrano of,  The Good, The Bad, The Worse.

Now, as you well know, setting standards for yourself is a good way to evolve into something you ain’t already. I’m all about trying to improve myself and here’s how I’m gonna go about it in the new year:

I won’t stop watching reality TV’s, Basketball Wives or Braxton Family Values. I like these shows and I readily admit, there are some folks in Hollywood whose business I wanna be all up and in there with. Matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind finding another reality show I could tune in to. I have a vested interest in these shows and while I know it’s a shame, I’m cool with it. I don’t know about you but my glass is half full. One day, something positive will evolve from my watching  constant bitching and cat fights.

I won’t keep calling my neighbor across the street Mary and wonder if she ever gets visitors. Besides, I don’t know what her name is and long as she’s being a good citizen, it ain’t none of my business what’s going on at her place. What I will do is say nevermind to myself when she gets to giggling loud with that dog of hers and get my ass a life so I can leave hers alone.

I won’t call my next door neighbor Charlie anymore. He told me his name is Ronald. Who am I to make him out to who I want him to be? I need to sit my ass down somewhere and stop picking on folks during idle time. I aim to do just that, I promise but forgive me if I backslide. I’m only human.

I won’t watch any Lifetime movie past 10 pm. The later it gets, the crazier those women become. As much shit as I talk, those women scare me.

I won’t think no more about how many folk are gonna show up to my funeral. It’s not like I know when it’ll happen or that I can do something about what the numbers will be like anyhow. Plus, it’s shallow and narcissistic for me to think that way. I don’t know when that became so important to me  but I’m gonna erase that thought from my head and stop thinking who I would or wouldn’t want there.

I won’t keep wondering why every time my family plans a get together, there’s major chaos over small shit like food. I need to respect the fact that they’re tightly wound into their dysfunctionalities and sometimes I could swear I was randomly dropped off in the family until I get to letting dumb shit take over my mind too. From now on, I shall remember that most of the discord is on account of it being a bunch of women folk trying to run shit and the common ground of bitching is actually the super glue that’s holding the family unit together.

I won’t stick a pin in my shirt to cover my cleavage in 2012. That’s tacky and showing a little cleavage is one of my best assets. I need to remember that blouses made in China tend to highlight that part of my body. It’s not me. It’s them.

I won’t eat anymore cheese. I’m lactose intolerant. After eating this forbidden food, I feel pretty miserable and I’m tired of feeling that way. Besides, cheese has always smelled like butt to me and I don’t have an affinity to eating ass.

Lastly, I won’t covet Denzel in my mind anymore. He’s a married man and I respect the institution of marriage. If it ever got a little rocky for he and Wifey, just know that I would be there for him. I’m nice and considerate that way. Everybody, with the exception of folk who don’t like me, always say that and I didn’t have to pay them off to say it.

Now, I know you’ve had your fill of to-do lists but what will you not do next year?

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