The end of 2012 is here and 2013 is just around the corner, so you know what that means! It’s time to make New Year’s resolutions! For the last few years, my New Year’s resolutions have basically been the same and I’ve accomplished very few of them. I still can’t do a headstand in yoga (I’m scared I am going to snap my neck and, oh yeah, I have no core strength). I still consider wine a primary food group (whatever, it’s made out of fruit). I still don’t go to the gym (although I did get a gym membership, which I didn’t use for over a year, and finally canceled). I still haven’t sold my engagement ring (meanwhile, my ex has proposed and gotten married to someone else in that period of time, so he wins). Basically, the only New Year’s resolution I’ve been somewhat successful at is that I take less cabs than I did a year ago. Go me.
Here’s the thing. I think my New Year’s resolutions have been far too lofty, especially when you consider the basic every day shit that I should probably prioritize over inverting in yoga or selling a piece of jewelry. So in 2013, I’m lowering my expectations for myself. Here are the five every day things I genuinely need to resolve to do in the next year.
1. Stop picking my feet. Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote about my picking problem. At the time, I was specifically picking my scalp and had given myself a bald spot. It was horrifying. I’ve since completely stopped the head picking and when stylists notice that my hair in that spot is a lot shorter, I can at least say with pride, “I used to pick my scalp but I don’t anymore. Victory!”
However, my scalp was never my primary hot spot. My hot spots are the soles of feet, which I pick and peel mercilessly. It’s disgusting, I know, but my fellow pickers out there will understand me when I say that picking is almost meditative and very hard to stop. But I need to, because my feet, while nicely shaped, feel like and look like tree bark on the bottoms. The other night, I had a nightmare I was in bed with a dude and he felt my feet brush up against his and he was revolted. This is a nightmare that could actually become a reality and I get laid so little these days that I really don’t need my hooves cockblocking me, you know?
So, from now on, I am wearing socks whenever I am alone in my preferred picking setting, which happens to be when I am reading in bed. By this time next year, I hope to have feet worthy of being worshipped by the perviest of foot fetishists.
2. Drink more water. “Water, yuck” my grandmother Colleen used to say, wrinkling her nose like something smelled bad. “It has no taste.” I don’t hate water like my grandma did, but it is certainly not my beverage of choice. Unless I’ve just worked out (rarely happens), I never actually crave water and it’s barely even in the top 10 list of my favorite beverages. (The Top 5: #1 Champagne, #2 Diet Coke, #3 Grapefruit juice, #4 Red wine, #5 Iced coffee.) But apparently water is this thing we humans need and having dayglow colored pee is not actually something to brag about unfortunately.
Rachel and Ami have this weird thing they do where they remind each other to drink water all day. They haven’t exactly explained the rules to me, but I’ve noticed it and while I think it’s totally strange that they belong to some secret water drinking club, I plan on asking to join their ranks in 2013, as I am totally susceptible to peer pressure and it might be the one thing that gets me to drink more H20. I hope they’ll have me.
3. Lessen my use of the phrase “to a certain degree.” The other day, I was on the phone with my favorite dude and he was like, “You say ‘to a certain degree’ a lot.” If anyone else had said that to me I probably would have thought they were rude, but we have that kind of straight up relationship, so I pondered his words for a moment. “To a certain degree, I think you’re right,” I said. Seriously though, I need to stop using this phrase so much. It’s like I’m Vicini in “The Princess Bride” shouting “Inconceivable!” every 10 seconds. I do not think it means what I think it means.
4. Take a break from the internet for at least 12 waking hours per week. I work on the internet, which means I am on the internet all the goddamn time. I am on the internet from the second I get up in the morning to the second I go to bed. I’m on the internet when I’m walking down the street (thanks, Apple!) and when I’m on an airplane (thanks, onboard wifi!) and when I’m in the bathtub (thanks, lack of fear I’ll drop my iPad in the water!). The only time I’m not on the internet is when I’m at a movie and even then, I’m kind of itching to check my phone. I love the internet but it is probably making me a tiny bit crazy being on it so damn much. So in 2013, I am going to try a little experiment. I am going to try and go 12 full waking hours each week without checking my email, or updating my Twitter or Facebook statuses, or Instagramming a picture of my dog, or pinning bullshit on Pinterest, or posting David Foster Wallace quotes on Tumblr.
However, if something climactic happens in the world during that 12 hour period that requires my logging on to the internet — like the emergence of a Ryan Gosling sex tape — all bets are off.
5. Go to the doctor. I haven’t been to the dentist in, like, four years because I hate it and the last dentist I saw was a total crook who kept putting in my crown wrong. I have canceled my last two dermatologist appointments because shit kept coming up at work. And those appointments I purposefully made after summer came to an end, so lectures about skin damage wouldn’t harsh my sun-worshipping mellow. I went to the gyno a year ago, which means I’m due for my annual which means go soon, Amelia, not in another seven months. I am absolutely terrible about going to the doctor. I always feel too busy to go or too paranoid that I’m going to be told that I’m dying of skin cancer/gum disease/vaginal rot (not actually a thing, but I’m being dramatic). But I’m 33. I’m planning on having a kid in the next three years. I need this carcass to be in tip-top shape. Avoiding the doctor isn’t going to get me there so I’m going to start a new club at work called the “Remind Amelia To Go To The Doctor Club” — I can schedule meetings around the Drink Water Club schedule so they don’t conflict — in which my coworkers will be tasked with reminding me that posting about Honey Boo Boo is less important than my overall health.
So. Those are my pathetic New Year’s resolutions. What are yours?