New Year’s Resolutions

Ten percent of all New Year’s Resolutions fail, according to some magazine I recently leafed through. New Year’s Resolutions are like trendy clothes–you’re crazy about them at first, start to get a little tired and bored of them, and finally, you ditch them. Let’s face it, challenging yourself to start the Insanity workout the day after the year’s biggest binge-drinking fest is not exactly a stellar idea.

Which is why you should just resolve to do easy stuff! Exercising, diets, doing that whole no-shampoo hair thing–these are all great, but they’re lifestyle changes, and they need to be contingent upon a real desire to change, not a drunken promise you made on December 31st. In my humble opinion, New Year’s Resolutions should be fun. Now, I personally don’t make any, because I’m not a nerd, but if that’s your thing, I’ve compiled a few you might try. Ditch your new gym membership, put down that lean salmon, and listen up.

New Year’s Resolutions Anyone Can Actually Stick To!

  1. Try a new hairstyle once every week. All year. It’s going to be hilarious (after the usuals, you’re going to have to get creative–hope you look good in cornrows!) and a great excuse to spend tons of money on hair products.
  2. Invent your own signature cocktail (and then teach it to the bartenders every time you go out). When the “[Your Name Here]” becomes a thing, and all the sorority girls are ordering it at the pub, you’ll thank me.
  3. Get a pet. Animals are extremely funny and do weird, entertaining things all the time. If you hate animals, get a cat–they’ll hate you too, and they’ll still be entertaining!
  4. Learn a stupid skill that will get you laid. You know what drunk people love? Stupid tricks. Not everyone can do a cartwheel or spit sunflower seeds into a shot glass–these are life skills! 2013 is your year, baby.
  5. Eat a food you’ve never tried every month, for all 12 of ’em. And I mean never. Here comes uglyfruit, zebra meat, and caviar (for those with a previously unsophisticated palette). You’re welcome!

Ok, go!

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Chicken (Bawk, Bawk, Bawk!)

Hey, you! You walk around all day like you are a normal, stable person and maybe even own a car and a blazer, but guess what? You are hiding some totally lame secret fear. And if you’re not careful, it might crawl out from underneath your bed and eat you. Think about that while you drive around in your blazer, Mr./Mrs. “Well-Adjusted”!

Hmm, I’m not really sure where I was going with that. My introduction kind of ran away with me. But this post is about Things That Scare You! Or, you know, Things That Scare Me, because you’re not writing this post (but you can totally write 18 comments about how you sleep with a nightlight and a teddy bear and a knife because you’re afraid of the Boogeyman, if you’re so inclined).

I am scared of barking, snarling dogs. I love dogs, but I have an atypically high number of friends with horrible facial scars from doggies biting them (okay, only 2 scarface friends, but still). You can’t come back from that shit.

I am also afraid of people who follow me, because as gorgeous as I am, I am afraid they’re going to pull something terrible out of their pants and try to put it inside me, such as a knife (see what I did there?).

I am afraid of clowns. When I was little, I was at a carnival thing inside a big circus tent, and we were sitting high up in the back. I was grooving on all the trapeze artists and the big fat elephants, and then I turned around the way you always do when you can feel someone looking at you, and who was there? A clown. A tall, scary, unsmiling clown, staring me dead in the eyes. You can’t come back from that shit either.

This post is pretty boring. I am boring myself just writing it. But I haven’t posted anything in a few days and I know my sexual little readers will just DIE without some new material. So, here you go. Hopefully something interesting will flit into my brain and then I can entertain you all instead of talking about my bad childhood clown experiences.

We’re All Creatures Here

It’s one of those cold wet rainy fall days where all I want to do is curl up in my blankets and sleep. Preferably with a cup of cinnamon-spiked cocoa with forty million pounds of whipped cream on top. Just like a cat (except for the hot cocoa part.)

Seriously, look at these lucky bastards:

Although, given the weather here, I think I’d rather be all snuggled up like this ginger:

Instead my heavily tattooed boyfriend forces me to reapply my makeup the second I wake up.

Yeah, not so much. But even their room looks so cozy to me. That is the level of my tiredness, when I check out that flat-ass mattress and think, “Mmm, bedtime.”

Sadly, not yet por moi. Also I am hungry. And also I have just realized my thought process is only slightly higher than that of my furry friends: sleep sleep sleep eat sleep. Whatever. We’re all creatures here.

Meowpurrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.