Ah yes, the New Year! A clean slate. The opportunity to look at where we've been, what we've accomplished and what we hope to achieve in the coming year. The chance to set goals for our lives, to change the things that make us the most unhappy and go after the things that will fulfill us and bring us joy. The promise of the new year is always so bright and optimistic, right up to about the third or fourth week of January.
Let's face it, who among us has ever set a New Year's resolution and stuck to it for the full year? Resolutions are crap! They are a surefire way to set yourself up for disappointment, pain and self-loathing. Personally, I treated myself to a membership at a new gym, hoping that the change of scenery would prompt me to lose that 10 pounds of "eat that man right out of my heart" weight that I'd accumulated after my most recent failed relationship. Alas, my first day there I was so gung-ho to get back into my favorite jeans that I worked on every single body part there is, for three and a half hours. I spent the next seven days lying in bed unable to move anything but my eyebrows, and even that hurt.
It was while I was bedridden, cursing the powers that be for reducing me to diet and exercise in order to feel good about myself, that I came up with what I think are some pretty realistic resolutions for this year. Resolutions that are so different than last year, when I resolved never to fall in love with anyone younger and/or prettier than me and to never have sex with anyone who did in fact end up being younger and/or prettier than me unless ... I looked really hot in a G-string.
In order to accomplish that last goal, I planned to work out no less than four days a week. I was going to get a bikini wax every six weeks and invest in Bun Blaster 2003 on DVD. I'd commit myself to the eight-minute booty-builder every other day. I was going to go on the "Smart Carb" diet plan and eat every two or three hours, weighing all of my proteins on the New Year's resolution food scale I'd purchased. I was never going to eat anything that had pepperoni on it or—while it was living—had a face.
How did I do? Well, suffice it to say that the majority of last year was spent falling in love with and then being dumped by someone younger and prettier than me, while my ass was chewing on a tiny cotton string that I had no business wearing to begin with. I ate enough pizza to keep Domino's in business, and I got exactly one bikini wax, which was the equivalent of setting my va-judy area on fire and dousing it in lemon juice. In short: It was a year of disappointment, pain and self-loathing.
This year I've decided to set resolutions that are realistic and attainable. For starters, I'm going to buy bigger jeans. I'm going to stop chastising myself for a few extra pounds here and there—I've got to embrace the fact that things are going to start to fall, gravity is going to take its toll, wrinkles are going to appear and that that is just a part of life. I also have to hold myself in higher regard. I'm not going to have sex until I find someone that I love and respect. Secondly, when I do have sex again, it's going to be a ground-riveting, Earth-shattering good time. Gone are the days of faking it to make someone else feel like they've done their job.
Next, I'm going to treat men exactly the same way that they treat me. No better, no worse. So, don't be surprised if I tell you that I went on a date, had an incredible time, made the guy feel as though we had formed an amazing connection and then never called him again. Don't be shocked if I meet someone, think he's the one, have great sex with him, then, after he's fallen hopelessly in love with me, I explain that "it just doesn't feel right anymore." And please don't be flabbergasted to find out that I like to leave my dirty socks and underwear all over a guy's house, walk around butt-naked, flexing in every mirror I come across, drink milk right out of the carton and then ask him to pull my finger. Yes, I may just dole out a little man medicine this year and hope they all choke on it.
"Resolution Plan B." This year I will change my target market and up my demographic. I will only date men who are 40-plus and who are losing their hair and have a slight paunch. They'll be more appreciative. Now those are resolutions I can live with.
Oh, and one last thing: This year I vow to love myself. Every. Chance. I. Get.
So don't be surprised when I tell you that on a Saturday night, "date night," I put my new plan into action. First I lit some candles and put on a little Barry White to get the party started. Then I took a long, luxurious bubble bath. I shaved my legs top to bottom and everything in between. I sprayed perfume where it stung and put on my sexiest little nightie and high heels with marabou feathers. As I checked my reflection, for once I didn't look for cellulite and stretch marks. I paid no mind to the cruelty of gravity as I looked at my back door. I just smiled because for the first time in a long time, I felt beautiful.
I made mad passionate love that night. It was a ground-riveting, Earth-shattering good time. And, not to toot my own horn, but I was really pretty good and didn't have to fake it to make myself feel as though I'd done my job. I just did my job. Of course, there was no one else in the room, but all in all, I was very happy with my performance. As I lay there, basking in the afterglow, drenched in sweat and panting, it occurred to me that there was only one thing missing. I reached for the phone and called Domino's.
So here's to setting resolutions you can live with. For me, it was important to start off having sex with someone I love and respect. So far ... 2004 ROCKS!