“If you really want to do something, you’ll find a way. If you don’t, you’ll find an excuse.” – Jim Rohn
A new year brings lots of broken promises. Most resolutions have to do with diet and exercise. I’m putting alcohol, smoking, and drug use in the diet category, since they are ingested and part of any healthy diet. (I am not a medical doctor. I’m a love doctor. You should consult your physician before overdosing, to see if he has any better drugs. Some side effects may include cotton mouth, disorientation, and unwanted pregnancy.)
I really want to work out today. When I go to the gym this week, I expect to find many a fat ass on elliptical machines. There will be Mr. Harry Mantits in the coed sauna with his shirt off. I’ll also run into Ms. Molly Stretchpants, who will be staring at a machine with no clue how to adjust it. Maybe I’ll take a walk … to a bar.
I really want to clean out my closet. Have you ever kept an item because “it will be back in style some day.” It won’t. Get rid of it. But, what if you drop clothing off at the Salvation Army and a week later you see some homeless dude wearing your fuchsia Nike shirt? Ew. What about socks and underwear? Throw them in the recycle bin. What if someone drives up, goes through the bin, and drives off with your skivvies? Ugh. Perhaps it’s best to box your old clothes up and stack the boxes in the garage so your kids can someday play dress-up? What if your son picks out Mommy’s dress to try on? Jesus. Just burn them.
I really want to cut down on coffee. I tried the morning tea thing. Tea tastes like wet grass and it doesn’t suppress the headache I get if I miss my morning joe. Plus, cute, single women tend to flock to Starbucks. It’s mating season. (When isn’t it?) I guess I could order a decaf or a smoothie. No. I would be judged. It must be grande and it must require much doctoring, as the cream and sugar counter is also prime hunting grounds, unless there’s a spill.
I really want to cut back on boozing. Perhaps I should cut out drinking during the week. I could limit myself to club soda and lime during the week. Sure, it’s a silly glass and everyone around will assume I’m either an alcoholic or on medication for rotting brains or sex organs, but my liver will be so happy. The problem is, everyone else in the bar will be tipsy and it’s no fun being the only sober one. All the cash I save on drinks will be spent on gas, as I will be elected the no-fun designated driver. Fuck it. Let’s do shots.
I really want to pay off my debts and start saving money. But, what if I die tomorrow? Think of all the fun things I’d miss out on. One can not have too many shoes, watches, and goblets of fine pinot. Maybe I should leave my credit cards home, and give myself a weekly allowance of cash only. Once it is gone, I’m done for the week. Suze would be so proud. Then again, this would force me to drink cheaper booze and eat fast food, thus defeating my resolution to shape up. Visa is my friend. We shall not part.
Bottom line: I really want to make resolutions, but they’d be broken.