Every New Year's
Eve, before I put on my party shoes and hit the bowling alley, I retreat
to a quiet spot under my bed, summon my will (on loan from God), and come
up with a resolution.
down this resolution and promise myself to abide by it throughout the
upcoming year - no ifs, ands, or... well... no ifs or ands. Over the years,
I have kept a fairly accurate record of my New Year's resolutions. Recently
I compiled a list of these resolutions from birth to the present, along
with some reasoning behind their making.
Switch from breast milk to 1%. I didn't last long with 1% and had to face
the fact that I was an addict; it was only two weeks after New Year's
and I was back on the boob.
Take on a second language. The language I was speaking at the time made
my parents talk to me like I was an idiot. I succeeded, and cooing became
my second language, while French became my first. My parents stopped talking
to me like I was an idiot, but now all they wanted was advice on wine.
Two resolutions this year: join a gym and stop soiling myself. It was
a bad year. I couldn't fill out the gym application, and I was up to 12
Pampers a day. I think it was because of my new diet of applesauce and
LEGOs. That year, my parents coined the phrase "shitting bricks."
Have my Dr. Seuss tattoo removed. I thought it was so bitchin' when I
got it, but I had been young and foolish. Anyway, the newest fad in nursery
school was Where The Wild Things Are. Seuss was sooo terrible twos.
Quit believing in Santa Claus. I had quit three times the year before:
once for three weeks, once for a month, and once for three months, but
each time, due to stress, I'd go back to believing. This year I'd quit
Drive safer with my Big Wheel. In the previous year, I had crashed three
Big Wheels, and my insurance rates skyrocketed.
More leap-frogging. I just felt it was a passion I had ignored for too
long. At that time, I was reading The Artist's Way, which taught me to
rekindle forgotten passions. Unfortunately, the rediscovery of my love
for leap-frogging lasted only a few weeks, for when I gave up on The Artist's
Way around chapter 9, the leap-frogging, once again, took a back seat
to other activities, such as running a stick along a picket fence.
Move my money from the piggy bank into a Roth IRA. The interest earned
in a piggy bank was close to nothing. I also started investing in strip-mall
Learn how to ride a bike. My father tried to teach me by saying that riding
a bike was "just like sex." I didn't know what sex was like,
so naturally I failed to understand the metaphor and, as a result, didn't
learn how to ride a bike until months later when I saw my first porno.
Hock my bike and buy
as much porn as I could get my callused little prepubescent mitts on.
Learn how to spit blood like Gene Simmons of KISS, which I did. That was
the year I became popular with the kids who wore the trench coats. It
was also the year my parents stopped loving me.
Respect my teachers more, even if they were all dumber than I was.
Write a book about the weird kid in my science class, Harry Potter, before
someone else did. Shit.
Commit to something other than buying 6 CDs at regular club price over
the next 3 years.
Lose my virginity.
Lose my virginity.
Lose my virginity.
Never pay for sex again, because the itching was unbearable.
Buy a huge cool-looking snake for my dorm room, so when girls came over,
I could say, "Check out my huge cool-looking snake."
Quit smoking pot. The next day, I totally forgot that I had made this
resolution (I was stoned when I made it), so I just resolved to floss
Apply what I learned in college to the real world. Unfortunately, no businesses
seemed to have a need for a peppy chicken mascot.
Buckle down and focus all my energy on a career in writing, which I did
immediately (immediately after spending four years in Boulder, Colorado,
bussing tables and advocating hemp).
Feel lost and alone, and have debilitating panic attacks as much as possible.
I had no problem keeping this resolution.
Come up with an epic, life-changing resolution for the following year.
I have no account of my resolution for that year.
Either quit doing cocaine or stop calling my parents while I was on cocaine.
I compromised and quit calling my parents entirely.
Finish something that I started, for the first time in my life. It took
me the whole year, but I did it, and you better believe I framed that
TV Guide crossword puzzle.
Start believing in Santa Claus again. Everyone else had let me down.
Spend a good three to four hours a day, every day, sitting alone, trying
to figure out where all the time has gone.
No more one-night stands. (Unless I meet a woman who is really hot or has
enormous breasts or if she is Asian, Latino, Mulatto, or a midget. Or a
legal virgin or an inexpensive hooker. Or a lesbian.)