A bunch of New Year's Resolutions I probably wont Keep.
Well here we are again, December 31. A New Year, a new set of resolutions I’m going to write and then watch fall into a flaming pile of shit when I realise in a week’s time it’s all far too much effort. And I'm not being metaphorical. I literally plan to use my list of resolutions as fuel in the paper bag of dog shit I leave on my neighbour’s doorstep and set fire to. So there you have it, 2016. The year I promise to make less Billy Madison references.
The thing I particularly looking forward to this time of year is the stream of self-righteous Facebook posts about what an absurdly amazing year 2015 was. “Wow, 2015, what a year,” they will post. “Never thought I could accomplish so many things and grow to be this insanely awesome. But there you have it. Pat on the back to me for being such a legend of a human being. Let’s hope I continue to kill it next year, but who am I kidding, of course I will”
As for me, 2015 was alright. It had its mediocre ups and its run-of-the-mill downs. I saw two homeless people fight over a sandwich, that was funny. And 2016, well if I can get through it without being made redundant, gaining 20kg, having a very public beakdown, buying a whole bunch of cats or going bankrupt, I’m going to chalk that up to a win.
Anywho, in keeping with custom, I’ve compiled a wee list of resolutions, not for any real reason other than mindless busy work to make me feel like I’m doing something productive and contributing to society. Enjoy:
Get in shape. Preferably a shape that resembles Jessica Biel’s body. Man she is ripped. There is no way she eats sugar or carbs. Ok, let’s be more realistic. Lose enough weight that I can no longer grab a large handful of fat from my stomach and my thighs don’t touch.
Stop ignoring bills and accept that they won’t somehow pay themselves or dissolve into thin air if I just avoid eye contact for long enough. Take the opposite approach for creepy sandwhich guy who loiters outside the office.
Accept that having four "cheat" days per week is not an effective diet. Particularly when the other three days are "carb-loading days".
Instead of having two really really really big nights out per year, even out the alcohol intake, so I have half a dozen moderate-but-still-lots-of-fun nights out. My apologies to the poor people of Newcastle and the organisers of the regional media awards. I acknowledge now that an open bar is a courtesy and not a “challenge”. My sincerest apologies also to the cleaner of that place we were at (I don't remember the name) and the hotel cleaning staff.
Accept that I will not get any taller. 27-and-a-half-year-olds don't get growth spurts, even if I was only 12 when the last one happened.
Finish Assassin's Creed, once and for all.
Will no longer wear Batman underwear to work. Or anywhere, for that matter. Except maybe bed. Unless there is someone else in said bed. Which brings me to my next resolution.
Double the number of people who spend the night in my bed. That means, for 2016 we're aiming for two. Two sleepovers in my bed. Preferably not at the same time.
Will accept that 'Lara Croft' is not a realistic career ambition and that buying a real life fortress of solitude in the North Pole is probably not a good real estate investment.
Be less socially awkward.
Figure out an actual way to be less socially awkward rather than making sweeping statements like you’re writing a wish-list for Santa
Restrict the singing, nay belting-out, of Taylor Swift lyrics in the car to low-traffic areas.
Will also restrict Taylor Swift singing in the car to audio only. No more dancing. There's been too many close calls.
Stop wasting the entire month's phone data allowance on shirtless photos Liam Hemsworth. Acutally, that's a stupid resolution. Worth every cent.
I will not get so drunk I think swivelling my hips down to the floor at 'low, low, low, low' is a good idea.
Accept that just because Lois Lane is a dark-haired journalists and so am I, does not mean our romantic narratives are going to be the same. In fact, any man wearing a cape and trying to sweep women off their feet is probably a serial killer.
But just in case I do fall for a serial killer, form a team of Avengers. It will be a specialised group of individuals who, should my unfortunately and untimely death be intentional, can and will avenge me.
Stop watching Marvel and DC movies. Unless they have a Hemsworth in them. Or a Reynolds. Heck, even Robert Downey Jr is pretty charismatic.
Budget money like an adult. That means no more impulse buys like stick on tattoos, mini trampolines or children's size 12 ninja turtle costumes.
Stop watching Disney movies. Or at least stop watching them every week. Once a month is okay. Twice, if it's a really bad month. (The quota obviously only counts for Disney movies I've seen more than 10 times.)
And no more onesies. Ok, no more onesies in public. Ok, no more onesies in public unless it's really really cold outside.