I used to love New Year’s Eve as a kid. I loved Dick Clark and my favorite musical acts (New Kids On the Block is obviously up for debate)(JORDAN!!!!) and the noise of NYC and the streamers ALL THE STREAMERS! I loved making resolutions and how they evolved over time to be less about tidiness and sibling ire and more about unrequited love and achieving goals. “I will make my bed every day” morphed into “I will finish my homework before 8″ which morphed into “I will stop stalking Danny M even though we’re meant to be together and he’s really missing out because I’m a lot of fun and I can play the trumpet” which morphed into “I will spend more time with friends and worry less about boys even though I love them” and then “I will be less slutty” and then “I will eat less pizza” and then “I will lose 20lbs” and then “I will go back to school” and then “I will get my own place” and then “I will move to NYC” and then…”I will eat less pizza” again. Let’s just say “I will eat less pizza is always a subhead under the main resolution.”
I don’t know what happened (yes I do), but I became apathetic about resolutions. I blew them off, got snarky about them, judged others for “OMG ONLY ONE NIGHT OF THE YEAR IS FOR GOAL SETTING!” I’m annoyingly (to myself) self aware, so I know that the only times I judge people is when I feel like I don’t have the free spirit to do what they’re doing, or I’m jealous of what they’re doing, or I’ve done that thing before and hated myself for it. Or they’re racist homophobes. It’s hard to do things, like self audit and set a goal for improvement (even if it’s just one for that night), when you’re too busy not being yourself to fit someone else’s life. And yes, 3 readers, it does all go back to my relationship. You don’t roll around in roadkill without retaining the stench – the past 6+ years have set the tone for how I’m going to live the next 6.
My long winded point is, I’m going to make resolutions this year. I’ve already started on them (hey, I had 16 hours alone in the car with myself, a lot can happen!) One that is making me really happy is, yes, related to the breakup heard ’round… this room – and it’s about approaching it with a sense of humor. I mean, shit, why does THIS situation not qualify? I have been tested and tried and challenged my whole life (see chapter where I dress as Boo Boo Bear at Jellystone Park in my memoirs “A Cautionary Tale” not yet written) and I made myself find the ridiculousness and humor in each hunk of crap. People grimace at me when I say that my Grandpa’s (Grumpy!) funeral was the most fun funeral yet. Why? Because I got to see my entire family and my wonderfully loving cousins and the stories we told were what belly laughs are made of. So why not this? No one died. I got my heart broken, big friggin deal – do I have cancer? Did I shit out my uterus? Did I wake up in a pile of my own limbs? Am I going to court for custody? Do I have to live in a box by the Hudson? No, as a matter of fact I just order A bagel for delivery.
So get ready, 2012 isn’t about wallowing in self pity and “Why me?” and “why did I let it happen?” and “wah wah wah” it’s about stuffing my sorries into a blue nyc dog poop collecting bag, tying it up with a humor bow, and pitching that shit into a bin.
Oh, and here’s some butter, because you know what, butter is amazing.