Sunday, January 02, 2005

Dick Clark ain't gonna get me this time.

Here it is again. A new year. Another quick look back at the year I just laid to rest and a feeling of complete and utter failure as I examine the resolutions I never came close to fulfilling.

Sadly, I am neither twenty pounds lighter nor twenty million dollars richer. And most distressing of all my failures, I am no closer now to seeing my name on the New York Times Bestseller list than last year. If it counts, I do however feel considerably closer to climbing to the top of a water tower in a clown wig with a high-powered squirt gun and having my way with the ant-sized people below. I've never cared much for ant-sized people. They make me feel fat.

This year though, I have a plan. This year I will not fail at achieving my New Year's resolutions. In order to accomplish my goals, I will simply set the bar so incredibly low for myself that even a brain-dead gerbil could manage them.

In no particular order, here they are. My top ten New Year's resolutions. Feel free to emulate my low standards so that you too can enjoy a successful year.

10. Collect as many old margarine containers as humanly possible. While I already have an extensive collection that comes pouring out of my cabinet every time I open it, I know I need more. When we are attacked by aliens from Neptune and discover their currency is in fact used dairy containers, I will be able to buy my way out of captivity. Those of you who have been throwing them out all these years will naturally be forced to live in cages and juggle for their alien amusement.

9. Do at least one load of laundry a week. Currently I do about thirty-seven loads of disgusting family laundry per week and that's a conservative estimate. This year, if I get four a month completed, I will feel entirely successful.

8. Save money by not taking tap lessons. Of course, I wasn't planning on taking tap lessons, but if the mood should strike me, I will deny myself in the interest of financial security.

7. Stop eating brussel sprouts. As I'm not entirely sure what a brussel sprout looks like, I see no foreseeable problems here.

6. Take vitamins every day. I am a big vitamin fan. I like them, therefore I consume mass quantities of them. Big ones, little ones and ones called "muddy pond water time release capsules". Do I feel any healthier than when I don't take them? Not really. But, it looks good on a resume.

5. Use more baby talk with my Yorkie. Tanner is my four pound Yorkie that is so ugly he's cute. Although I talk to him like he's my two-week old baby, I feel there is room for improvement. I plan to use more words like, "poopie-woopie" and "wittle, bittle, baby-wabee" when I address him.

4. Have fewer "relations" with Mr. Man. Here's where setting the bar low really comes in handy. What with my premature ovarian failure which is causing my woman parts to shrivel up like old avocados, I think it only makes sense to cut back. Sure, he may find this resolution a bit harsh, but let's face it, I'm forty. I can't be a sex kitten forever. The three times bi-quarterly that we presently "relate" would even exhaust Hugh Hefner. Come to think of it, swallowing oatmeal would exhaust Hugh Hefner. He's like a thousand.

3. Watch "The Oprah" and Dr. Phil more. How will I do it? I don't know. I'm remembering on my visits to Graceland seeing a wall of televisions in the King's media room. That might work. Mr. Man's going to need another job to pay for my new Elvis entertainment center, though.

2. Find extra job for Mr. Man. If I could find him something involving a head set and fried chicken maybe I could do something crafty with all the empty buckets he could scavenge. I am oh-so-crafty. A little hot glue and some lace and I've got myself a perfectly lovely urn. I could throw in some lighter fluid and a Bic and sell it on eBay under the heading, "White Trash Home Cremation Kit". If I put a Nascar sticker on it, I'd make a fortune.

1. Buy all my pants three sizes too big. This way, no matter how much weight I actually gain from all the Moon Pie consumption, I can still complain to Mr. Man that all my pants swallow me whole. Takes the sting right out of the inevitable dieting failure. Bite me, Slimfast.

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Copyright © 2004, Sherri Bailey
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