Resolutions are weird. In fact, I think they’re sorta dumb, but at the same time, fun. Mostly because I can put them in a list, and I really, really like lists. The average person seems to have one, maybe two resolutions on their list, typically featuring weight-loss goals, insane physical-feat goals, and the occasional sobriety goal. For me, since I have no real desire to lose weight, will never run a motherfucking marathon, and have no problem with alcohol, I feel like my resolutions are realistic, and less annoying. Which is funny, because one of my resolutions (or just, you know, goals) is to be less annoying than usual. So, by simply making a less annoying list than, say, you, I have succeeded at one of my resolution/goals, which henceforth will be called: reso-goal.
Here is my “Incomplete Because Some things Aren’t Any Of Your Business” reso-goal list:
- See a Pearl Jam concert with my cousin Matt, who prefers to be called “Overlord.”
- Moisturize so I look less loose. I’m assuming moisture has special powers.
- Read more.
- Watch less.
- Stop telling embarrassing things to strangers.
- Listen more.
- Be less annoying.
- Be more awesome.
- Stop calling the boys “chicken” as a term of endearment. Eventually, it’s going to confuse them.
- Stop pointing out how cute I am to people, as it may hurt their feelings.
- Try to not turn every single thing into an annoying song, therefore being less annoying.
- Look into girdles.
- Buy a new bra. One that makes my boobs look less sad and dejected.
- Stop burning/bruising/cutting myself. This could also fall under:
- Slow the fuck down.
- See some ladies that I love for an entire weekend of debauchery and purging.
- Find a way to dominate the world with my blog.
- Learn how to edit my writing, so the time between writing and posting is shorter. Much, much, much shorter.
So, there you have it. My reso-goal list. Realistic! Attainable! And requiring absolutely nothing from my quads, hamstrings or abs. Some of them, I think, are self explanatory. For example, “read more.” Needs little explanation, eh? Except of course, for the few of you that know me well and are thinking, “don’t you read, like, four books a week?” to which I must sadly admit, no. No, I don’t. I fondly remember the time when I did, but the children, as I am sure I’ve mentioned before, have eaten my brain, and thus, I read maybe one book in a two-week period.
The body stuff is pretty obvious. I mean, look at me! I look like a pale, tired, melting Italian.
I should also turn down the vanity, which I use as a way to deflect my true feelings of self. Clearly. Although, at times, I really do look in the mirror and think, “Who’s adorable? YOU ARE!”
Watch less. Now here’s the one that is hard to discuss, because it requires me to admit that, at times, I have been known to watch shows like Prison Wives or The First 48. I think about the why behind this, and what I’ve managed to come up with is simply that I don’t have the mental capacity for much. I’m a busy girl, doing a million things, and thinking all the time about these million things. Rarely do I get a chance during the day to zone out, and so, when I do get that chance, I don’t want to watch something I have to pay super-close attention to. So, I watch crap. And that is why I want to watch less.
Go ahead and commence your mocking.
Really, the two things I would love to do this year that require a little travel and expense are the ones I’m most excited about. I’m planning my second Woman’s Retreat in Sedona this year and I would tell you all about it, but then I would have to ask you to sign a waiver.
The other requires some information. See, my cousin—er . . . Overlord—is a fan of Pearl Jam. Well, let me rephrase that . . . my cousin fucking loves Pearl Jam. Pearl Jam is to my cousin as the Pope is to millions of Catholics. It’s been this way for more than half of my life, and his too, of course. I’ll go out on a limb here and say that, when Matt was in his late teens, early twenties, Pearl Jam was his life raft, and Eddie Vedder was quite possibly one of the best male role models for him at that time. I’ve always known this, and if you know my cousin even a little, you probably know it too, but last night John and I watched the Pearl Jam documentary, Pearl Jam 20, and it all makes sense. Not that it didn’t before, just that now it makes more specific sense. So, there. Now I HAVE to see a show with him. I would see it by myself, but it would be way less awesome, so, Overlord? Get ready.
One thing that isn’t on my list that maybe sort of should be is to eat less pudding. But I love pudding. And if I stop eating what I love, I will become a bitter, sad, and angry woman. And since that would probably cause wrinkles, and I have already decided to moisturize more so I get fewer wrinkles, I consider pudding to be a kind of preventative medicine.
It’s the first post of the new year, all and I didn’t say the word vagina at all! May your year be full of satisfaction and understanding, and may the reso-goals you make for yourself be realistic and attainable, thereby cutting down on any self loathing that would occur if you don’t reach them.
Happy New Year!