New Year’s Resolutions

New Year’s Eve. Again. The resolution obsession is taunting me, forcing me to evaluate the past year and make some promises to myself for the coming one. New Year’s resolutions are a never-ending quest for self-improvement, really, and I’m pretty much done with the whole process. I figure I’m stalled on the enlightened path to personal perfection. At my age, I’ve arrived at just about all the personal fulfillment I can expect. Some believe in reincarnation as a process of achieving perfection; you keep coming back until you’re without fault or flaw. If that’s the case, I’m thinking my past lives might go all the way back to the Big Bang and I don’t see any nirvana moments during the one I’m living right now. And yet, there it is, a new year staring me in the face, so I’ll give it a go one more time.

Let’s start with the resolution foundation, the “givens” that you begin with every year that are kind of on auto-promise: I resolve to do less eating, drinking, cursing and gesturing wildly at other drivers on the Schuylkill. I resolve to do more dieting, exercising and whatever I can to promote world peace. With that annual ritual out of the way, here are a few specific things I think might need attention in 2011.

I resolve to stop using last names when gossiping about someone in a public place. You never know who’s sitting at the next table, and I’ve learned my lesson. Shewhoshallnotbenamed is still not speaking to me. Now, I suppose I should resolve to stop gossiping all together, but resolutions are supposed to be about optimism, not delusion, so let’s stay within the realm of remote possibility.

I resolve to stop trying to dress like the girls in the magazine, you know, putting stripes with plaids, wearing big scarves (that don’t match the stripes or the plaids) and heels that are just way too high. I don’t look trendy, my feet hurt all the time, and I just look stupid. I’m pretty sure stupid is not the goal on the enlightened path to personal perfection.

I resolve to trust the little yellow light next to the gas tank symbol on my dashboard. It really does mean that I’m going to run out of gas. And the check engine light too. I’m not really sure what that light means but I know, from personal experience, that it’s expensive if you ignore it.

I resolve to find the time to stop in to the salon and let them trim my bangs instead of me doing it myself. I look like I ran into Edward Scissorhands in a dark alley, and I’m pretty sure that’s not a personal goal. And to pay closer attention to the color on the box of dye. All browns are not equal and, in fact, in the right light, warm auburn is actually purple.

And lastly, I resolve not to make any important decisions after two Cosmos. That’s how the whole bang thing happened in the first place.

Happy New Year everyone.