Hot on the heels of Christmas comes New Year. And New Year, if it is at all possible, is even more of a nightmare to me than Christmas. This is probably owing to my history of chronological New Year nightmares.Allow me to elaborate:
Age 0 – 14: Compulsory attendance of annual OAP party in the company of my mother. I would probably really enjoy this party today, since I merrily released my inner OAP the second I turned 22 and have nurtured her with knitting wool and a steady supply of gin and tonics ever since. But back then, it was bad. Reeeal bad.
Age 15: Got caught in the Twilight Zone (read: a nightclub in the Northern Suburbs) after a series of unfortunate events. Got thrown out at 3am after punching a boy with big ears who got Fresh. Attempted to pull tequila drip out of trainwrecked friend’s arm and drag her to safety. She was alternately vomiting in an alley and kissing a man with a mullet and handlebar moustache. Walked 17km to the nearest shopping centre. Slept in public toilet.
Age 16: House party with a boy who spoke in a fake Scottish accent.
Age 17: London. Did not go to Trafalgar Square. Stayed in and watched House Party 1, 2 and 3 on hotel room TV.
Age 18: Millenium party. Friend Bradley thinks it’s funny to tell me it’s a Latino-themed fancy dress. It is not. (That is, neither Latino, nor funny.) Rock up in sister’s Spanish dancing outfit from when she was aged 10, artfully pinned to fit over no-longer-ten-year-old ass. Complete with castanets. Host’s drunk 13-year-old sister vomits on my shoes.
Age 19: Invite 2 friends for dinner. Kick them out at 9pm. Sleep till 5pm on 1 Jan. Best new year I ever had, except the one I spent in a small-town bar, teaching my brother-in-law a rather garbled version of the tango to Tom Jones on karaoke. Other bar guests included a man in full Scottish traditional wear, including kilt and bagpipes, and a middle-aged lady spraypainted turquoise-silver and dressed in a refuse bag.
Age 20: Get stranded in the home of 15 Thai chefs, none of whom speak English. Cut a slip from their basil plant. Walk home. Plant basil plant. Wait for it to grow.
Look, I could take you through the next ten years, but I think you’ve heard enough. Besides, it’s not actually the vomiting 13-year-olds or overcrowded street parties that bring out the worst in me. It’s the resolutions.
So this year, I challenge you to shake your fists at the heavens. Can the self-help books. Hurl the Nicorettes out of the window. Stick your tongue out at snooty shop assistants. Give your jiggling thighs a fond pat. Ditch the stupid street parties and tear up the To Do lists.
And in that spirit, here are 8 New Year’s Resolutions that will make me block my ears and sing LALALALALALA if anyone suggests them.
- I will be more punctual.
This is the most pointless resolution I ever made, yet I make it every year. Why? I ask myself. I was simply born without a sense of urgency, and no amount of hammering will instil it. My girlfriend recently set fire to my kitchen, and even as the flames licked merrily away at the contents of my home, the conversation went like this:
GF: Oh dear, it’s burning. Do you think we should put water on it?
M-Squeeze: No, I think it’s an electric fire.
GF: (stops and thinks) How about a towel?
M-Squeeze: Good thinking. (ambles off to hunt for towels. Has some trouble finding a set she doesn’t mind burning. Some minutes later):
GF: Sweetheart? Are you bringing those towels? It’s just that there’s a fire.
M-Squeeze: Oi! Don’t rush me!
My attitude was met with similar waves of disbelief when the office fire alarm went off earlier this year, and I stopped to fetch a pillow and a cup of tea on my way out, reasoning that we didn’t know how long we would have to wait outside and thinking it would all be better with somewhere comfortable to lie and a nice cuppa.
Conclusion: Person who does not rush to leave a burning building will never, ever be on time.
- I will exercise more.
I bring this up not for myself, but for those pesky January exercisers who clog up my gym every summer and force me to get up an hour earlier just to beat rush hour. This resolution is useless to me because I already exercise a lot, and it’s useless to everybody else because they won’t stick to it. I know this, because my sister and I breathe a sigh of relief every February as we claim our machines back. It is with waves of extreme resentment that I greet the New Year’s Resolution crowd every January. With every minute I spend queuing for a treadmill or hopping anxiously from foot to foot as I wait for a lane in the pool, I ache to wander up to those no-good fly-by-nights and say: “You know you’re not going to be here in two weeks’ time. So please just f**k off off my treadmill and out of my gym, and leave the rest of us in peace.” If only gyms managed their queues by giving loyal members frequent flyer miles and sending the rest to the back of the line. That'd learn 'em.
Conclusion: People who start exercising on New Year are merely responding to Christmas-related pudding guilt. Lightweights. Send them packing.
- I will stop smoking.
Ha! I put this in to be sneaky. Because actually, I have stopped smoking. Nananananananana.
Conclusion: I am awesome.
- I will drink less and eat a healthy diet.
Doing this at the beginning of the year is very poor thinking. Rather detox in February. It’s the shortest month. Also, if you drink less, you may not be able to quit smoking. I have it on good authority that the best way to quit smoking is to replace cigarettes with gin and carrots. (Gin for the pain, carrots for the oral fixation.)
Conclusion: If you're set on being a hero, pick your battle.
- I will get organised and stop spending money on avoidable catastrophes.
In my case, this would probably mean restricting myself to fewer than 12 car crashes per year. Unfortunately this, too, is never going to happen. I am the worst driver I have ever seen. In the last two months, I have crashed my car four times, locked my car keys in the boot once, accidentally taken the radiator cap off and overheated in peak hour while needing the loo (this falls under the heading of most uncomfortable human experiences possible), buggered the bearings by driving with a broken oil pump, and driven into 2 electric gates. This is not counting last year’s mishaps, which included my car exploding on Kloof Street, resulting in the entire street being shut down as police, photographers and ambulances gathered round. True to form, when black smoke came out of my air vents, I thought “That’s odd” and kept driving until I started coughing. It was then that I noticed the flames on the bonnet and took a moment to hunt for my 1988 Fine Young Cannibals cassette under the seat before stepping out of the vehicle, surveying the burning engine and saying, rather succinctly I thought, “Oh dear.” (See point on punctuality.)
Conclusion: Some people are just accident-prone. Don't fight it; budget for it.
- I will be nicer to people.
I’m all for being nice. But really, if people are nice to you, chances are you are already nice to them. And as for the others? At the ripe old age of 28, I’ve realised that some people – no matter how hard you try to like them – will just always make you want to smack them in the head. These people are best dealt with by turning up the volume on your MP3 player every time their lips move. That way, you can pretend they are saying things like, “I love you. Have a cookie. You’re amazing. I am a hairy pickled tax collector. Can I make you coffee?” It’s the only way. Trust me.
Conclusion: You need a better MP3 player.
- I will not be a spendthrift.
If you do not allow yourself luxuries, you will not be able to buy a better MP3 player. This means you will have to listen to people speaking, and in turn may find yourself becoming mean and toxic through sheer exposure. Thereby breaking one of the most important humanitarian New Year’s Resolutions, and costing yourself a lifetime of potential amusement. Now ask yourself: can you afford to go there? CAN YOU?
Conclusion: You still need a better MP3 player.
- I will drop a dress size.
No you won’t (see point on exercise). Save yourself the angst. Just take your skinny clothes to the Salvation Army and go shopping.
Conclusion: You, too, can combine good karma with an investment in your mental health. All for the price of one more cookie (preferably offered to you by your former enemy).
It's our time, people. So seize the earmuffs. Snooze the day. Be a party pooper. For we shall inherit the inert.
Viva!
