Resolutions That I'll Never Keep. And Some Other Crap.

It's not subtle, but it is unexpected.

One year, in an email response to the typical "New Year's plans" question, you write, "Well, I have a date with a bottle of tequila at 3 p.m. and another date with this guy who does sidewalk art at eight. Damn, that reminds me...I have to pick up some olive oil and my leather poncho. If you don't hear from me by Monday, call my Mom.

-On second thought, call my therapist. She actually likes me."

The following year, in response to the same question, you instead answer, "Meh. Tonight is the only chance I'm going to have to wax my chin."

When you hover over the send button and actually read what you just wrote, you realize, Oh, my God. I'm dead. I'm as good as cast in the next George Romero film because I cannot be breathing.

It's not that I don't like the whole New Year celebration. It's just that I don't really give a shit, any more. Wheee, I made it through another year without succumbing to flesh-eating bacteria or my dog going rabid and eating my face off.

Hell, I celebrate that daily.

And with that in mind, now that I have completely depressed myself and you, faithful supporter of my mood swings and aversion to much-needed medication, I present to you my list of resolutions:

1. To start taking a multi-vitamin. My doctor said I need one. Although, being that I'm dead, I don't know how much good it will do.

2. To finish the mother-effing proposal that Danny has waited so patiently for. I have started it at least ten times and then Chris will find me at 2 a.m., drooling on my keyboard while I dream about giant boobs chasing me and the dog is carefully eating my socks. With my feet still in them. Gah. Ambien.

3. To learn to sleep without Ambien, because, DUDE, the things it does to my brain.

4. What?

5. Exercise for one month, in a row. Stop lying to people and telling them that I have ruptured three discs by trying to run without duct taping my chest.

6. Give up caffeine. I will not be a junkie.

7. Dr Pepper has caffeine in it, doesn't it?

8. A great big, WHATEVER, to number 6.

9. To quit reciting the Lord's prayer every time I ride shotgun and give Devon driving lessons. I think it makes him nervous.

10. Oh, and to stop hanging my head out the window and screaming at bystanders that "he's going to kill us all!"

11. To lobby to change the driving age to seventeen because after riding with him, I am afraid to leave my driveway. THERE ARE SO MANY TEENAGERS OUT THERE.

12. He is a very good driver. (Hi, sweety! Remember, speed kills!)

13. To quit referring to my sister, Leslie, as the "one who got all the good genes. God, I hate that tall, skinny bitch." Love you, Les!

14. To call my other sister, Lucy, more often. She sends a birthday card for every member of our family, every single year. And gifts. I think I bought her a cup of coffee in 1998. I had a coupon.

15. Shit. He's going to feel left out and then Mom will be mad at me because he was always her favorite and ech. Hi, Steve! Oh, and Hi, Tobin! (Long-lost brother extraordinaire)

16. To stop being bitter about not being Mom's favorite. I don't care. It's no big deal. Seriously. But, boy, she looooves me at Christmas time. I buy the best gifts. What's that, Steve? The sound of IN YOUR FACE WITH THE DIVINE VENETIAN GLASS EARRINGS I GOT HER, HAHA, MOTHUH FUCKAH, HOW DO YOU LIKE THOSE APPLES, HUH? SO WHAT IF YOU WERE BREASTFED AND I LIVED ON THE SHIT THAT FELL INTO THE BOTTOM OF THE FRIGIDAIRE, I'M NOT-

I'll work on that one.

17. To quit prank calling my mother and pretending I'm Sheik Ahmed and bitching at her about how she still owes me a virgin daughter (she threatened to give me away to an Arab when we lived in Kuwait. Daily. I believed she could legally do this until I was 27).

18. This list is far too long. I will probably only keep one of these resolutions, max. After reading back through them to narrow it to one I can keep, nothing just jumps out at me, ya know?

So...what is yours?

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My son turned thirteen in 2006 and immediately began thinking that I'm a complete idiot. He will be fifteen in one week, and I have graduated from blithering idiot to pathetic twit. It's a hell of a lot more pride-inspiring than the other 2 year degree I have.

While driving home last night, his friend, Julio, was telling us about how his parents solved an argument.

"My mom and dad couldn't agree about how to properly spell 'camaro', so they drove around until they found one."

"They didn't have to go very far, did they?" I asked.

"Dude, why didn't they just look it up on the internet?" Devon asked.

"Well, I kind of get it," I defended them. "Before I discovered the Google, I used to just call Blockbuster."

They both looked at me, perplexed.

"Yeah," I explained. "You can segue any movie ever made into a question about what you're really trying to find out. As a for instance, I would have called and asked them if they had that movie, the one with the camaro in it."

"Uh huh," Devon urged.

"When they start listing them off, you just say, 'And how are you spelling that title?' Problem solved."

Devon was fascinated. "Seriously?"

"Shit like that would bug the hell out of me, names, dates, spellings. I called them for everything. I had one give me the recipe for a vodka gimlet. We started out talking about which James Bond movies they had in stock."

"And they never caught on?"

"The turnover is horrendous. You never talk to the same person twice. But those kids are a wealth of useless information."

"Oh, wow," Devon breathed. "Why don't you blog that kind of stuff? That's hysterical. You don't write any of the really funny stuff."

Well, I guess I know why I have no fifteen-year-old readers.