I don’t usually make new year’s resolutions. Is that because FFG welcomes the future with open arms and mind? Is she a spontaneous, take-life-as-it-comes kind of gal? Fuck no. I am constantly setting goals, making lists, updating my calendar, mapping the most efficient route through the stacks at the Rutherford Library. I have plans for each day, week, month, year, five year increment. I am like Stalin, only slightly cuter and more productive. For instance, I have a pretty good idea what I will be doing during my early retirement: though it won’t involve playing golf, it will include wearing matching velour jogging pants and hoodies, pink for Monday, baby blue for Tuesday, violet for Wednesdays. I cannot fucking wait for that. Back to the less colourful present, where I am sitting on my balance ball at 9 pm, angering my lap-loving cat, and still 2% hungover. For sometimes plans do not work out, despite my best intentions. Last night (ie December 31 2011) I had sworn to get happy-warm-laughy inebriated. Not oops-I-passed-out-in-my-dress-and-tights-with-my-right-contact-lens-still-in-my-eye pissed drunk. I woke up shouting: ‘There has been a belated Christmas half miracle. I can see clearly out of one dead eye!’ After noticing that the digital clock read 10:45 am, I peeled the dried shell from my pupil and hauled my drunken ass to the gym for Lift and Bitch, where speed rows and burpees burned that demon alcohol out of me. Now I am ready to change, admit my weaknesses, and improve myself. Here goes.
I hereby resolve to:
-become more of a sell-out on the FFG blog site, accepting money for ‘guest editorials,’ and promoting such products as weekender pants as well as the Lelo brand of personal massagers. Might I recommend the Gigi, now on sale at London Drugs? And why restrict yourself to one? Double fisting is a time saving necessity for today’s modern woman on the go.
-love myself even more, if that’s possible.
-warn you that this one is banal: I will lose between .5 and 1 pound of fat every week so that I can look hot and break hearts while sporting tight tank tops in Italy, where I will be teaching during the month of May.
-post bi-weekly or monthly photos of myself wearing something skimpy on this site, as a ‘tough-love’ enforcement of the previous resolution. This might be painful for all of us.
-shout ‘I am a fucking genius’ no more than once per day.
-continue to value my friends and make time for them.
-learn new ways to live feminism on a daily basis.
-do cardio workouts that are more challenging, without taking longer. Think tabata-style drills, kettle bell swinging, TRX leaping about, and strenuous boot camp circuits with little rest.
-continue to display my cleavage in both appropriate and inappropriate locations.
-eat clean even more consistently.
-stop paying for whisker rubs at that seedy upstairs Moustache Factory; that is a slippery slope. The first step is to admit my addiction.
-continue to play great, saucy music in revs class while providing participants with the bitch slapping that they secretly desire.
-do hot yoga twice a week, hopefully with my hot friend G-Smash.
-expand my classroom role as an impressively knowledgeable ice-Queen professor by forbidding students to look me in the eye. I will then be like ‘no eye contact allowed’ Tom Cruise, except without the tiny penis.
-try to be on time. This one is serious and will be my greatest challenge. I will need to change certain life priorities and to have a more realistic understanding of what can actually be accomplished in a day.
-be more social by attending wine tastings, art openings, poetry readings, boxing matches, operas, MMA fights, pub smack downs, and the like.
-do back physio every single day. No excuses.
-avoid fondling that cute girl who wears fox ears and a furry hoodie to the pub. She is fucking torturing me.
-support the resolutions of others, especially those who are trying to quit smoking. Shout out to CM and his tall always drunken friend who stated ‘I have already quit smoking, in my mind,’ before heading out on my chilly balcony for a puff last night.
Today marks the beginning of a new year with new opportunities! Be strong my friends. Not stupid, like Mufftard.
I need to start shouting “I am a fucking genius” once a day. I feel like I only do it once a week on average.
And going to art openings=win. Pretentious win, but win. I’m a bodybuilder/painter. The painter in me says “get yo ass to the gallery, what.”
Is there anything better than a bodybuilding painter?
I’m in the MFA program at Iowa; most of my cohorts think I’m pretty much nuts. The science grad lifters I’ve met at the gym are my posse. Your academia-lifting double life is fantastic to me; I love your blog dearly. A powerlifter here told me about it and I have spent, um, a lot of time paging through it. Cheers!
Thanks Janis. I freakin’ love powerlifting!
You went there. You actually compared yourself to Stalin. Amazing.
you actually went to the gym after your night out! wow! i would have puked.
Well I almost puked, but about 3/4 of the way in, I started to feel great! Exercise cures all ills.