Dear 2013 Resolutions,
I’m not going to sugar coat this doll-face, but you’re overrated (gee that sounds familiar). Not only that, but you’re a cheap, unfair, bandwagoning notion that only makes me feel shittier about myself when I fail to keep up my end of the bargain. So this year, I’m taking control.
If I want to lose ten pounds (which I don’t because I hear curves are all the rage these days), then I’ll take my sweet time deciding when I’m going to start. And you know what, you self-deprecating theory, if it takes me all year to only lose three, I’ll be just as damn proud.
If I want to set a goal for myself to complete this year, I vow I will do it when I’m relatively sober, not neck-deep in a margarita bowl or two-thirds through a mickey. That way what I decide is actually realistic, no more of this “I’m gunna swim with laser-equipped sharks and mud-wrestle a polar bear, in the same day.” Because that’s horseshit.
Let it be known I will not give in to peer pressure. No amount of coercion will let me follow the lead of my idiot friends, who all decide they’re going to get 4.0’s and bang sweet broads (neither of which are metaphysically possible).
So let it be known, to all you goons, lax-bros, biddies and hipsters, I am going to take control of my 2013 goals. This year, I am going to kick self-pitying, unrealistic, pointless resolutions in the face! I am going to hike that freakin’ mountain, I am going to find a job, and I’ll be damned if I don’t start paying off my credit card.
Maybe. If I find the motivation.