It's Not You, It's Me

At the end of the year I try desperately to come up with a couple bad habits to change for the following 12 months. Every year I try to make things work between me and resolutions, and every year I am bogged down by my lack of decision-making skills (nunchuck skills and computer-hacking skills I've got down!). So after yet another January of fighting with commitment, I have decided to break things off with resolutions.

Resolutions and I never really agreed on anything. In end-to-end traffic, he would tell me to be patient. I would then proceed to curse at the old couple moving slower than a herd of turtles in front of me. He takes 2 steps forward, I take 2 steps back. We do not go together, Paula Abdul! You dance on a floor of lies!

Resolutions and I had some good times [insert puffy cloud border and heavenly harp strumming here]…

- Using "schnykies" or "pork chop sandwiches!" instead of other profane exclamations after stubbing my toe on magically appearing stumps and pebbles.
- Swearing off soda pop…except for Sprite, and Coke, and Root Beer, and Dr. Pepper.
- Reserving heavy ridicule and mockery for those my own size – shirt size that is.

Now that resolutions and I have separated, I don't feel guilty on keeping all the bad habits I have now. Maybe I'll even pick up some more! Thank goodness for great role models like Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan! Without them, I would never have known that keeping all your same destructive behaviors is attractive and gets you attention. I'd also like to thank Rehab. Without it, I would never have the audacity to create irresolutions. And without Amy Winehouse, I would never know how to say no, no, no to rehab (and how to work blonde hair with inch-thick eye liner). A toast to you both! (Pun fully intended).


So here are 5 of my New Year’s Irresolutions…a month late, but worth the wait.

# Uno: One word: Addiction.

My addictions compose my personality. As far as I'm concerned I do not intend to quit them. How would I keep up on my current pop culture without reading crappy magazines and watching countless hours of Best Week Ever? My ever-present smile would surely hide under blankness if I could not get my daily dose of YouTube. In fact, I think I will pick up on a new addiction. I already have an obsession with Guitar Hero, so why not develop a full addiction to it? What a brilliant idea! Here is my plan:

First thing tomorrow I will go to Game Stop and purchase all three guitar hero games and miscellaneous Scratch n' Sniff stickers to decorate my guitar and set it apart from the others. I will then being to play 24/7 while only taking breaks to watch the latest YouTube videos and take time to expand my 'tight and shiny' wardrobe. Once I become an expert guitarist and score 1 million points, I will surely be signed by a record label. It's too bad that I will let the glory of Guitar Hero greatness go to my head, and force my band to break up after only releasing 2 platinum albums. My despair of the breakup will lead me to a 'minor' drinking problem. I will attempt rehab a few times, but will relapse back into insanity after each treatment. I will probably spend the remainder of my life on the B list, surviving by starring in partially scripted reality shows and playing gigs at retirement homes for old people with names such as Gertrude, Gilbert, Pervical, and Henrietta. I will die at home in front of the television with my heavily scented guitar in hand, dreaming about the glory of being in the biggest Guitar Hero band of all time.

Thank goodness for spontaneous purchases and purple spandex pants.

# Dos: Three Syllables: My Burping.

For those who have heard my burping expertise, congratulations. You have witnessed art. A kind of Picasso/finger-painting while missing a few fingers style of art. It’s so modern, it’s futuristic! Anywho, this will be the year that I receive global recognition for my talent…

...by competing on American Gladiators. I have already considered the fact that I only weigh in at a lanky 120lbs, and that when I flex, my bicep plops down instead of up (dang you, Gravity!), but I am still confident in my ability to win. You see, I will not rely on my physical body to push Hellga or Mayhem off the platform with those oversized Q-Tips. I will reach deep inside my abdomen to produce a bomb-sized belch. The shock wave from my burp will send the opponent flying into the sweat-filled puddle of death-water 500 feet below. Success! From there, I will be asked to perform on many talk-shows. During a filming of Larry King Live show, I will become intimidated by Larry’s teal bowtie and fuchia suspenders…so intimidated that I cannot burp! Only hiccup! Larry will boo me off the set, and I will develop a minor drinking problem. I will drink my sorrows away, and spend the remainder of my life on the C list. They will find me dead at home with a handful of Q-Tips in my hand, as I dream about the glory of being the best belcher of all time.

Thank goodness for Root Beer and Scotch.

# Tres: Quotes, Quotes, Quotes.

My spontaneous quoting shall continue. Speaking of which, I don’t know how you tell you this, but I’m kind of a big deal. People know me. I have many leather bound books, and my apartment smells of rich mahogany. I'm Miss Priss?

Thank goodness for Will Ferrell movies.

# Cuatro: Papers. Pain. Procrastination.

I fully intend to continue to procrastinate as much as humanly possible this year. If I have a paper due at 7:00am, I will begin to write it at 11:59pm that night prior! I don’t care if I get all shaky and twitchy from liters upon liters of Mountain Dew, spelling is overrated anyway. I am so set on leaving everything to the last minute, that I think I'll finish this post tomorrow…or next Thursday…or more likely the last week in December.

Thank goodness for caffeine.

The Abominable Journey

Dear Friends and Family,

By now I’m sure you all have noticed the large amounts of snow in the valley. It is because of this snow that I write this letter. I am about to embark on a dangerous journey. Much like watching 12 hours of infomercials, the voyage may kill me. I have asked a camera crew to follow me in hopes of taking over Bear Grylls job to become the next star of Woman vs. Wild.

Here is the reasoning for my departure: Upon waking this morning to a winter crapland (there is no wonder in 2 feet of snow for me), I was informed that Costco was selling tall, blond, strapping lads for $19.95 each. And if I act in the next 60 minutes, they’ll throw in a guy with an athletic body (a $60 value) completely FREE! Because I am lacking in the dating department, I cannot pass up the opportunity to purchase a potential hubby. I have spent the last 30 minutes collecting my snow attire. Unfortunately, all I could find was my one-piece snow suit made of real aardvark fur complete with hood and matching gloves. I forgot how much of a fashion statement this suit is. Soon everyone will be wearing one of them.

You should not fret for my safety, for I have taken the necessary precautions to survive such a demanding adventure by packing the following items:

- One bag of marshmallows to mark my trail and help me get back home.

- A big green shovel to dig my way through the snow, and fight off snow beasts and crazy old people who block my way.

- My sassy red stilettos to woo the man of my picking.

- My Smooth Jazz CD to knock out the guy of my choice for easier transportation.

If you do not hear from me in the next 48 hours, please send a search party in the form of a St. Bernard with a small barrel of brandy around his neck to find me. Chances are I have already perished from Jack Frost's hatred and anger. Instead of finding me buried under thick layers of snow, you can expect to see me perfectly preserved in a clear block of ice beside a woolly mammoth and Scrat. Because I will technically be alive, I will still be able to move the area surrounding my eyes. For communication purposes, I will blink once for ‘yes’, twice for ‘no’ and will wink at those boys who I find especially good looking.

Too bad this communication will probably not come in handy. It is more likely that a struggling dog sled team will stumble upon my frozen corpse first. The poor musher, after wiping the frozen goobers from his scruffy mustache, will instantly recognize my furry body as belonging to the one and only Abominable Snowman. Being frozen I will only be able to blink, and Mr. Musher will have no idea of the grave mistake that he is making. He will immediately contact CNN and Mythbusters to prove that the Urban legend of "The A.S." can be Confirmed. Adam and Jamie will conduct miscellaneous tests on me to determine that I am a cross-breed of human, ape, and aardvark. For the fear of the aggression and super-human-monster strength that I am sure to possess, I will be kept frozen for many decades.

During these numerous years, guilt of turning me into a Museum artifact will haunt and torture Mr. Musher. He will have flashbacks of my hurt-filled sapphire eyes blinking at him. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. Blink, blink. The horror! The horror! of this blinking! In a moment of insanity, Mr. Musher will grab a green shovel and rush to my rescue. After thirty years as a frozen mythical creature, my freedom will be returned to me. I will remove my furry costume, and finally believe in love at first sight. Kenny G's "Forever in Love" will echo across the horizon as we ride into the sunset behind his dog sled team...

...assuming you do not come to my aid before he does. No matter how this trek turns out, I do expect to return with a man. Wish me luck. Oh, and, please let Scrat know if you find his acorn.

Hug hug, kiss kiss, big hug, big kiss, little kiss,

-Miss Priss

P.S. Mike, I'm keeping my promise. You can have my laptop and old cassettes.