This year I will drink more and exercise less because I’m afraid of looking just too damn good for my age.
This year I will start telling people my age is “a spunky 71.”
This year I will brag that I’m on the Mesozoic Diet instead of the Paleo Diet because it’s more reptile-based. Then I’ll add, “Just kidding! I’m actually quite lizard-intolerant.”
This year I will ask the masseuse before every massage if she has issues with prehensile tails so it doesn’t get awkward later.
This year I will post pictures of every meal I eat with the caption, “IT SURE LOOKED BETTER GOING DOWN THAN IT DID COMING UP!!!!! LOL!!! #foodie”
This year I will start a mom-entuous momciting momventure where I sell mompants to momstumers and momticians. Possible name: Momification!
This year I will finally apologize to my neighbor for chanting, “Shake yo moneymaker!” when she walked by me at the pool. Even though both of the lifeguards and the pervy HOA president all agreed that her ass looked like a coin purse full of half-dollars and instant mashed potatoes.
This year I will also finally apologize to the PTO for bursting into their meeting and yelling, “Whoa! Is this a rodeo clown convention?” then pretending to ride a sexy bucking bronco. I see now that my actions were inappropriate and therefore humbly request to be taken off the Carnival Trash Removal committee, okay President Taffy? Is that good enough for you? Is that the pound of flesh you need? Jeezus.
This year I will no longer spend tons of money at the salon and instead make my hair blonde with a yellow highlighter pen from Office Max.
This year I will also save money by making my own false eyelashes out of rubber cement and broom parts.
This year I will attempt at-home-liposuction with a Dyson vacuum cleaner, a ferret and a bottle of Wesson 100% natural canola cooking oil.
This year I will obviously gain enough knowledge to self-publish a book called, “DIY Beauty: Not Just For the Incarcerated!”
This year I will finally find out if my stove is gas or electric. Hahaha! Just kidding. I think it’s wind-powered or something how the hell should I know.
This year I will only look at myself naked in the full-length mirror if I’m wearing beer goggles and/or a CIA hood.
This year I will finally tell our mail lady that I am not Mrs. Rodriguez and to stop giving me Mrs. Rodriguez’s mail. Unless, of course, it’s Mrs. Rodriguez’s pharmaceutical refills.
This year I will join a bible study group, then show up holding a copy of US Magazine and say, “What? It’s my bible, girlfriends! Now, who wants to hear Rachel Zoe’s Ten Commandments of Fur Vests!? Number One: Thou Shalt Not Wear Nutria.”
This year I will ask my Spin class teacher to play Queen’s Fat Bottomed Girls during class, then I’ll point to the snotty woman who sits in the back talking and chomping on gum and mouth, “They singin’ bout YOU, Hambone.”
This year I’ll sign up for the neighborhood watch committee, but only if they agree to call me “Cagney” and my cat “Lacey” and let me carry a concealed frypan and give all the perps body cavity searches.
This year I will go up to people in the airport who are carrying their own pillows and ask them if they’re going to sleep with the pilot.
And finally, this year I will petition to have the meaning of the acronym “PMS” changed to “PLEASE MOVE, STUPID.” I think we all know why.
HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!