This year I will no longer use dangerous tap water in my Neti pot and will instead clean out my sinuses with Mad Dog 20/20.
This year I’ll finally stop calling the radio station’s request line to demand that they play “some f*&#ing Manilow for alls my bitches up here in da ‘burbs.” They never do.
This year I’ll launch my new age-defying, yet budget-conscious version of Botox. And hope that nobody realizes it’s just clear packing tape, Vaseline and industrial staples.
This year I will no longer ask the people holding bible studies in Panera Bread if they could please get Jesus to do something about the overcooked eggs in my breakfast sandwich. Mostly because Jesus was fired last month.
This year I’ll stop asking my OB/GYN if he drives a Vulva station wagon because he’s never once laughed at that joke. Or the one about opening a bottle of wine for me with his speculum so I can relax a little before my exam.
This year whenever someone asks me what scent I’m wearing, I’ll say “lilac.” Because “tough actin’ Tinactin and T-Gel for my dry scalp!” isn’t doing me any favors.
This year I’ll go out of my comfort zone and make friends with someone from a completely different and disadvantaged world. Like a brunette.
This year I will realize the importance of a good wine pairing and therefore always ask my waiter at Applebee’s, “Yes, my good man, could you please tell me which pinot goes best with the Steak Quesadilla Towers?”
This year I will bring a Nerf Gun with me to the movie theater and shoot foam bullets at anyone who a) uses their cellphone b) asks me to move so they can sit together or c) doesn’t try to permanently blind themselves with car keys and a box of Milk Duds after seeing a preview for yet another Kevin James movie.
This year I will no longer walk into the Children’s Section of the public library and loudly wonder where they “keep the Care Bear erotica.” Instead I’ll just download it to my Kindle.
This year I’ll finally tell the mean woman on my street that I only consider her to be a “Grizzly Mom” because she’s got more hair on her upper lip than Robin Williams does on his back. Then I’ll cry and ask her not to hit me because it was “just the meds talkin’, girlfren.”
This year I will start signing my name “Mrs. Daniel Craig” on all credit card receipts. Then maybe that snooty cashier at Der Weinerschnitzel will finally show me some mothereffin’ RESPECT.
This year I’ll tell the PTA that I really, really wish I could volunteer for the school carnival, but I don’t have much time what with all of the drug-related charges I’m facing. Then I’ll hand them a paper bag full of $100 bills and tell them to keep their yappers shut if they don’t want a visit from El Scorpion.
This year I will no longer tell my 10-year-old son to stop being obnoxious. Related: I will also no longer tell water to stop being wet.
This year I’ll once again try to get out of the house a lot more. But then again, that never really seems to work out too well for me, either.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Other resolutions I’ve broken: