Some of you may know this already, but tomorrow is a big day. You may even call it unprecedented. Totally new. It’s the day the world realizes I will never cut out refined sugars. That I’ll never join a gym. That I won’t commit an act of kindness every day. It’s a new year and it’s time to adjust expectations. Keep things in check. It’s 2016 and I’m ready to make realistic, mostly neutral promises. And you should too. It’s what our conservative grandparents would want.
So here it is, my definitive Top Ten List of little changes I’ll make in January and then cut in half by February, drag myself to by March, and remember fondly, slobbish and poolside, by June. 2016’s lookin’ bright!
1. I resolve to do things in no particular order. Beginning with this list. Already nailing it. Why promise to be organized when you can make chaos your mantra? Next year, you’ll catch me brushing my teeth before I floss. I’ll dot my I’s before crossing my T’s, or after, who cares! I’ll probably lose any sense of schedule entirely. Take that, The Man. I’ll be a blackhole. Swallow before I chew. Just really mix things up. Lather, rinse, repeat? How about rinse, repeat, lather? How’s that sound? Sounds like a new year, baby.
2. I resolve to cut out unnecessary stress. I’m a chronic worrier. I spend copious amounts of time thinking about anything and everything that can go wrong. Like, I’ve imagined all of you getting cancer. But no more! I’ll be as chill as a Chili’s on a Tuesday. So chill that everyone’s on break and no one’s ordered the fajitas all night. It’s just some gal named Staci, leaning against that patent red wall, earbuds in, head bobbing to the sounds of a really good podcast about meditation. If you haven’t followed, I’m Staci and I’m hella pumped.
3. No more attempts at early mornings just because “the president gets up now.”
4. A resolution to make less eye contact with strangers. I think, apart from it being generally uncomfortable, this sort of contact could be for-real dangerous. The world’s a crazy germ-pot and I wouldn’t be surprised if 2016 is the year humans contract disease through interaction with unfamiliar peepers. The only solution? Shirts like those “my eyes are up here” but they say “get out of here, buster!” and smaller and for your eyes and I think that’s called eye patches. Let’s move on.
5. I resolve to eat whatever I want and make it known. I do this to a degree already, but I think there’s room to be a more of a prick about it. For example, say I’m at a restaurant and the menu has salads. Like everyone else, I don’t know how to pronounce quinoa and find it embarrassing to be corrected every time, always by the worst kind of dude in an apron, so I take out a pair of garden sheers and chop that section right out! Thanks to this resolution I won’t have to deal with any sort of menu-crap I don’t want anymore. And neither will you. Because if I know anything, it’s that most salads are bad and none of us know how to speak.
6. I resolve not to get a dog, because that would be irresponsible and you should only get a pet when you can support and love it properly, but I do resolve to pet all dogs until they hate me. Ultimately sad, but for the best. And if my experience with humans rings true, it should be an easy success.
7. How about a resolution to gain weight? Too on the nose? DON’T CARE.
8. I resolve to release my debut studio album, Dancing With Myself, By Myself, Sometimes With Wine, So Not Really Alone, Watch These Moves, A Compilation. It’s a collection of the best sounds heard in my apartment, ranging from the dull thud of my neighbor’s banging their broom for me to be quiet, to the dull thud of my neighbors bangin’…their broom. Watch out, Adele!
9. I resolve to never think before I speak because that would make me boring, and to be boring is to be essentially dead, except the dead are more interesting than the boring because of the worms in their eyes (probably too much eye contact!!!). I resolve to never be PC because I don’t know what that means. And I resolve to say the worst things I think to the worst people I know because that’s called a correlation.
10. And last, but perhaps most importantly, I resolve to close all the open tabs on my computer. Frankly, I’ll never read that New Yorker article about Idina Menzel or apply to that craigslist ad to ghost write eHarmony profiles for old men and Idina Menzel.
That’s it! Feel free to copy me, but if you do make sure to tattoo “ © Tavis” somewhere on your person in 2016. Anyway, Merry Holidays and Good New Naked Fireman Calendar to you & yours, Hillary Clinton! One of us is gonna be President! If only I can wake up earlier.