Bogus New Year’s Resolutions

I don’t know why people make New Year Resolutions.

Each year, for one magical day, people imagine that they will have enough sustained energy/interest/strength to do the very things that they couldn’t manage to do the other 364 days of the year. Like stop eating potato chips or chocolate, quit smoking, go to the gym at least 3 times a week, be nicer to their in-laws, or write that novel/screenplay.

Not that I’m any stranger to this phenomenon. For years, I’d get on the scale and vow to lose that final five pounds. Or I’d swear to practice Chinese every single day for at least 30 minutes. Nothing I swore I would do ever materialized, but then again, maybe that is not the point. Maybe the point is to give yourself the leeway to imagine the person you’d like to be – if only for one day or night a year.

I’d like to be less of a cynical bitch this year. I’d like to stop worrying about money. I’d like to stop hating egomaniacal sports figures. I’d like to start blogging more about football and hockey, maybe soccer (or the OTHER football) – the only sports I can really watch with sustained passion and interest.

Maybe I can do the latter. My blog has never had more hits than when I maintained that I hate Tom Brady.

Anyway, for now, here are my satirical resolutions:

1. Gain ten pounds.

2. Eat more crap like pie and cake.

3. Start smoking.

4. Stop going to the gym.

5. Lay around on the couch and watch more TV.

6. Stop reading books. Exceptions for romances and mysteries.

7. Get angry and bitch slap people more often about trivial things like cutting me in the supermarket line.

8. Stop volunteering. Screw the poor and homeless.

9. Start a novel and not finish it, again.

10. Try to make this one of the worst years ever.

Happy New Year, everyone!