Why Am I So F@#king Stupid,
And Happy New Year To You, Too, My Little Mad Cows

I was supposed to be a New Year's baby. But I didn't want to come out. I firmly placed my unborn baby feet on either side of my mother's uterus and refused to budge unless certain demands were met. I won't get into those demands here other than to say they involved magic powers, fat crayons, a pony, and an outfit similar to the one Rainbow Brite wore and if anyone ever promises you a pony to do something, I'm sorry, but THEY'RE LYING. Unfortunately, I think my reluctance to come out into this god forsaken world was quite possibly the last sensible, quasi-intelligent thing I did. Where did my Common Sense go? Did it run off hand in hand into the sunset with my Ability To Make Rational Decisions That Aren't Going To Come Back To Kick Me In The Ass? I didn't even get a goodbye, a "Wish you were here! Love, your Common Sense" postcard, or a $50 bill on the nightstand. I just woke up one morning and realized my dear, dear Common Sense had packed its bags and left for greener pastures. Was it something I did? Something I said? Oh please come back, Common Sense, for with out you I have already made several grave errors involving trips and phone calls and things better left unsaid. Not to mention the 15 minutes I spent scribbling "chips and dip, chips and dip, chips and dip" over and over again on a lime green Post-It this morning, but really, it's probably best we don't get into that. It's probably best we don't get into a lot of things since I am unable to function like a normal human being since Common Sense took my Ability To Tell A Good Idea From A Bad Idea with it to the sunny island of HahaHeeheeHoohoo. And here I am. Left to dispose of the evidence of what was once mistaken as a Good Idea, but which I'm pretty sure is considered a Bad Idea in at least 3 states, and no, I'm not talking about eating contaminated beef. I don't think I am, anyway.


My New Year's Resolutions, In Case You Care

1. Woo my Common Sense back. First buy book on Practice of Wooing, as I don't know a thing about Wooing, or even if Wooing is a real word. Then Woo with all my might so that I may one day again be able to make a single decision that I won't live to regret and will be able to tell that trying to put a Baby Pit Bull on a payment plan is another Bad Idea, no matter how cute it is when it nibbles my toes.


2. Bury the hatchet with Renee Zellweger's bastard son. Bury it IN HIS (8 POUND) HEAD! I can probably do it when he least expects it, too, like when he's on the set of his new movie, Stuart Little 5, or maybe it's Stuart Little 6, who can really keep up, in which Stuart the mouse realizes he's being discriminated against and in a fit of rage kills all the humans. And then after he dies, he'll be to Stuart Little 5 what Brandon Lee was to The Crow. And I'll be free. Free from his pleas of going to the zoo and free from his incessant chatter about the weight of the human head. Free!


3. Steal an innocent person's identity by going through her trash and hacking into her computer and then apply for a job at Amazon.com using this person's name and social security number. Once I'm in the door set forth Operation Burn Amazon To The Ground in motion. In theory, the woman whose identity I stole will rot in jail for life and I will live happily ever after with the goddamn DVD I ordered in September, but in reality this resolution also goes by the name "Become a walking, talking Lifetime Movie in which that girl who played Jo on The Facts of Life plays the part of me".


4. Build my character. Because apparently, if you listen to my parents, which I try not to, but occasionally a word or two does sneak through, I am in desperate need of character building. Things that build character: Having a hole in your living room, developing an eating disorder/drug addiction/gambling problem/learning disability/origami fetish, or living on a mountain top in the wilderness for a month with nothing but a canteen of Ecto Cooler Hi-C, a pair of toe-nail clippers, and Dr. Phil's Life Strategies Workbook. Guess which one I'm going to aim for!


5. Get taken hostage by MaiMai rebels in the Congo, but with out getting killed like that reporter on that episode of The West Wing, because that would be really, really sad. For you, anyway.


6. Have dirty monkey sex with Steve Jobs in order to obtain a smooth, sleek iPod of my very own. Oh wait! Cross that one off! I am now one of the cool kids, I have entered the world known (to me anyway) as Sticks And Stones May Break My Bones And Names May Make Me Cry For My Mommy, But I Have An iPod And You Don't So Stick It Where The Sun Doesn't Shine, and there is no turning back.


There is nothing left for me to do except wait for the New Year's Fairy to come and bestow upon me her Magic New Year's Fairy Dust and enough alcohol to make me think the Old Year was really just a bad acid trip, even though I'm pretty sure the only kind of acid I do is of the citric variety. Pretty sure. But you know what they say. That citric acid will get you every time. Well. I'm sure someone has said that. At some time or another. Whatever. I have an iPod.