The Rejectionist, that’s who.

Oh, hell-in-a-colostomy-bag!  Who am I kidding?  The Rejectionist isn’t with me.  I’m with The Rejectionist.  Or, rather, I’m playing along with her pre-New Year Resolution thing-a-ma-gig, the rules of which are vagueish but, generally speaking, involve making a few resolutions now to take the sting out of those that come later.

But here’s the thing: Like heaven, RepublicanismTeaBaggery and reading materials in the bathroom, I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions! Therefore, ergo, etc., i.e., failure is an impossibility.

Still.  The Rejectionist is so loveable, I couldn’t help but throw up a few goals for the month.  Bourbon and coffee will both remain a steady part of my December regimen, because—despite all appearances—I’m not a crazy bitch.   I know my limits.

So here they are, my Preresolutions:

1. Win a game of iPhone Suduko in less than 9 minutes and 23 seconds without mistakes and in a bout that isn’t part of procrastinating a deadline.

2. Say NO to organizing or spearheading any event at Ruby’s school.  Participate in already planned activity?  Sign me up.  Create a “spring cleaning” from scratch?  Uh…sorry…I’m competing in a Sudoku contest that day.

3. Write for at least 30 minutes each day, blahblahblah, writers writing about writing is borzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz……. But yes.  I will.  I WILL DAMNIT!  (Blogging counts but work on that children’s book would be even better.)

4. Get to the gym five (5) days a week, even if it is only to complain to the droopy-eyed college kid at the front desk about the televisions in the entryway being always tuned to FOX News before stomping right back out the door in a righteous huff.  Shoot.  Now that I think about it, giving up bourbon might be a safer route to Preresolution Uncontest success.

5. Turn my gym socks right-side-in before putting them in the laundry hamper.  Sam hates when I forget to do that, and now that he’ll be washing 10 sweat-soaked gym socks each week, it’s the least I can do to appease him, no?

6. No longer refuse to pay my daughter 25-cents for swear words I use when quoting other people. Fuck that shit.  If I say it, I’ll pay.  But it’s fair game if I’m quoting.  The child does need to learn context, after all.

Anyone else want to play???

OH!  And, amended to add:

7. From this post on, I’m going to put two spaces between the end of one sentence and the beginning of the next.  It looks so much better.  Don’t you think?  See?  That was two spaces. That was one.  Two. One.  Two. One.  Two….I could do this all day.  (Anyway, two spaces makes me feel more scholarly which partially compensates for 8 years of college and one measly bachelor’s degree.  I mean, Jesus Christ.  They give honorary doctorates to celebrities. Why not me?)