In Which I Resolve to Keep Resolutions

I’m notoriously bad at resolutions. I always make the same one, and I always fail it. I’m not even going to tell you what it is. But ever the traditionalist, I can’t NOT make New Years Resolutions, so this year I’m going to try a different tactic and make a list of a few extra ones that have reasonable prospects in the fulfilment department instead of a two week spurt of something resembling willpower followed by a predictable swan song into the depths of pitiful failure and then totally laughing my head off. So here goes (in no particular order):

10.

Find a way to get the word ‘cockamamie’ (see note a) into my everyday vernacular. This particular resolution makes the list since Jason won’t let me swear -- my favourite thing – and I think it’s time I got a bit more creative about the way I express myself if I get fucked off about things. Whoopsie. OBVIOUSLY, I will start this resolution AFTER I’m done writing the whole list, okay? (It’s my list and I can do that – you can make up your own rules about your own damn (see note b) list, already.) I ran this preliminary idea past Jason just now, and he said, “If you’re making a list, can you fit ‘sufferin’ succotash’ in there, as well?” I shall but try.

a: when I typed ‘cockamamie’ into Word just now, it didn’t even register as misspelled. Booyah, bitches (see note c).

b: ‘damn’ isn’t even a real swear, so that doesn’t count.

c: the same as above but for ‘bitches’, obviously.

9.

Get some more followers on Twitter. Right now I only have 26. I have a great deal of absolutely nothing to talk about, and more people need to know about all of it!

8.

Move more. I made a snow angel the other day, and generally speaking it was satisfying – nice overall shape, respectable wingspan. Regrettably, the old fuselage could carry a few more passengers than I am necessarily comfortable with.

7.

Find out where the Tim Hortons Donuts is in the MetroCentre. I read on the Interweb that there’s supposed to be a Tim Hortons in my local shopping mall. A fellow UK-based Canadian then ‘confirmed’ this ‘fact’ when I was at the Tragically Hip gig in Manchester back in December. “BOLLOCKS!” (see note d) I said to this stranger. “I’ve lived 5 miles from the MetroCentre for ten years; I would have SMELLED it if there was a Timmy’s in there.”

d: PLEASE don’t ask me to give up ‘bollocks’; it’s my favourite.

6.

Unsubscribe myself from all the email newsletterey fluff that litters my email inbox daily. If every unwelcome email that trickles its way into my inbox was a water molecule, I’d have a tsunami. It’s a nightmare. Alarmingly, some of them are even of a ... shall we say... ‘compromising’ subject matter. Like, even if I DID have one of those, I’m not sure the pills you’re selling would legitimately make it bigger anyway, so please don’t email me about it.

5.

Damn. I just emailed the MetroCentre and got this in reply:

4.

Find another resolution to replace number 7. Ooh, but look! Since it doesn’t exist, I could technically cross number 7 off my list as COMPLETED, right?

3.

I’m not Noel Gallagher or anything, but I’ve never been one to be very meticulous with the old tweezers, so I resolve to get my eyebrows waxed more regularly. I’m sorry to say the poor fellows are the unfortunate victims of my frequent neglect. When I do get around to paying them some attention however, after a waxing they are all shapely and the bits where the hair used to be feel all smooth and I can’t stop stroking them. Which in itself is very satisfying. They have a lovely Hollywood arch and it makes me feel quite glamorous, generally. This resolution should be relatively easy to keep – it doesn’t cost much money for a wax, and although it is a little painful it is leaps and bounds less scary than eyebrow threading, which one of my friends gets done. GAH! Not to mention my scary eyebrow technician at the salon; she is very tiny but she is from Kazakhstan, and rather intimidating. Her scare tactics alone should keep me in regular attendance in 2010. Last time I went, she chastised me in her exotic accent, with her rounded O’s and with hypnotic rolling of her R’s: “You come soon again. You come back wiz zees brows booshy again like zees, I charge treeple.”

2.

Now I’m looking at my cuticles and feel guilty for not having a resolution about them; they too are a shite state of affairs. (see note e)

e: there’s absolutely no way I’m going to give up ‘shite’. I have to draw the line somewhere; BE REASONABLE.

1.

Choose my battles. It’s so easy to get wound up and radgy about little things. I need to more often ask myself if it really matters when I am nagging at Jason: “Dude. Seriously. SHAVE already.” Which just gets him in a narky mood and then we all stomp around the house in a huff. (see note f)

f: Of course, this whole resolution just might be a half-arsed attempt (see note g) at reverse psychology... I will let Jason THINK that I’m not fussed whether his chin fuzz is approaching to crucial levels of homeless-tramp-a-like untidiness in the hopes that he will whip out the old Gillette of his own volition. But ssssh... DON’T TELL HIM THE PLAN. THE EAGLE FLIES AT MIDNIGHT, and all that.

g: ‘arse’ doesn’t count either, ARE YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS?!

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYBODY!