January has almost come and gone, and so too your hopes of finally becoming that great person you fantasize about late at night. But fear not, pudgy, unambitious friends. There’s still time to do some things for yourself in 2014 if you dream a little smaller, darlings.
This is what you will do in the remaining 11 months of 2014, or as we’ll call it, the Year of You.
You will plan your trivia team name before getting to the bar.
Having a preplanned, topical, appropriately whimsical team name will take some of the sting out of losing to charmers who call themselves the Pig F***ers.
You will start carrying cash.
The swapping-debt tango between friends’ debit cards can be exhausting: “You paid for the pizza Tuesday, so I’ll pick up the tab tonight, which means you’ll now owe me $3.” And it’ll be good for your health, too. Paying with your card at the bar encourages you — nay, implores you — to drink more, for there is a minimum charge and tipping etiquette to consider. Plunk down a $5, however, and you’re free as a bird to teetotal as you please.
You will pick your battles.
Only striking when there’s something truly important at stake.
You will stop dating people who do the following:
- Wear open-toed shoes when he hasn’t trimmed his toenails in this century.
- Consider it appropriate to sit on the same side of the table at restaurants.
- Use the phrase “I know what you’re going to say” as you’re speaking.
You will enter another room without bringing your phone.
The drones cometh, circling the skies with our packages, driving our cars, printing our food. Be not one of them. Long live homo erectus, heads nobly raised to greet the world, instead of burrowed deep within the screens of our robot overlords. Bring back the pleasure of being untethered to instant communication.
You will limit your impulse purchases.
Or at least the ones at Target, which is a suburban First World crack den of bargains.
You will unsubscribe to email lists.
Speed-deleting unread morning emails will be an Olympic competition in Rio, and I its Apolo Anton Ohno. Logic, however, nowhere enters the equation. Save yourself precious bed minutes and get yourself off the mailing list of that place you bought that one thing that one time. No coupon is worth the exercise in futility.
You will open and clean out the Tupperware lurking in the back of the refrigerator.
Chunking the whole plastic kit and kaboodle is not a sustainable habit, but it is exactly what you will do once the food decay reaches Level Zombie Rot. At that point, all that’s left to do is to nuke the hell out of the whole biohazard as your Depression-surviving grandparents weep silently into their saved, decades-old wrapping paper.
Preemptive strikes, everyone. Preemptive strikes from now on.
But most importantly, you will enjoy the little moments.
Maybe a little too much.
And you’ll make time for some quality family bonding because, after all, they’re the reason you are the way you are.
Good luck. God speed. Get lucky.