Empty promises are the best. You can make up complete bullshit knowing full well you won't deliver. But it doesn't mean I don't have mild pangs of guilt and sharp pangs of gas. The holiday season combined with a looming deadline of 1/1 for a project at work mean I have spent most of my waking hours working, out of town, preparing for the holidays, or maddeningly unbalanced combinations of the three. I will return at some point very soon. My head is bursting with stories and poop jokes. Mostly poop jokes. As always, remember that I love you like spring woodchucks and vodka.

P.S. Perhaps Miss Angie can step up her blogging A game this week. If she wrote down half the shit that tumbled out of her mouth on a daily basis, I could retire from this blog altogether.