Ballroom Dancing And Mini-Skirts

So, it’s 2019, and despite all the optimistic memes and heart-felt blessings, I don’t have too many expectations for this year.  I find it cuts down on the disappointments if you aren’t overly enthusiastic to begin with.  You should probably write this down because it’s the best advice you’ll get all year.

I’m not being…..

…..I’m just being realistic.

Of course, I’ll try to work on my procrastinating tendencies, try to be less sensitive, and I’ll do my best to consume less fat and more vegetables and maybe I’ll attempt to manage my time more wisely – these are the standard efforts I begin every new year with.  Unfortunately, I never succeed.

But, if you think about it, success would make me UNBEARABLE.

I would be the perfect human being within 2 years.  By the end of year one, I’d be thin and the house would be immaculate, there wouldn’t be science experiments in the fridge and zero fur-balls floating around the house.  The vehicles would be clean inside and out, the garbage bags of cans and bottles would be at the depot where they belong rather than beside the back door.  An entire month of meals would be planned and prepared ahead of time so I wouldn’t have my head stuck in the freezer for 15 minutes every morning agonizing over dinner plans.  The Matterhorn of laundry in the bedroom would be non-existent and the pile of paper on my desk would have a home in actual files.  The base-boards would be spotless, the family room painted and you could eat off the floor under the stove.

Once I achieve that level of competence, I’m not sure I could contain the urge to judge everyone else around me.  I would have to start a VLOG so others could become just as perfect.  Comedians would start making jokes about me like they do about Gwyneth Paltrow and Martha Stewart.

By year two, I would be an extrovert who loves parties.  I’d chat with people in grocery stores and go to the movies by myself.  I’d take up ballroom dancing and wear mini-skirts……..  Wait.  I wouldn’t wear mini-skirts and not because they’re too sexy but because it gets cold here and I hate a cold ass……

…………

…………

…..if I was perfect though, my ass wouldn’t get cold so, Yes! I would wear mini-skirts!

via GIPHY

And when I’m not ballroom dancing, I’d ride a motorcycle – a huge, fucking motorcycle and I’d wear leather mini-skirts!  Also, my huge fucking motorcycle would always be sparkly clean and have organizers in every saddlebag – I’d need saddlebags to store all my mini-skirts after all…..if I’m being perfect.

Okay.  I realize I’ve gotten carried away here.

Oh!  Just realizing and acknowledging that I’ve gotten carried away is a step in the right direction, right?  Look what I can accomplish without trying!  Maybe a lack of effort is the secret to Perfection.  Of course that theory flies in the face of every critic’s assessment of my faults and foibles.  On the other hand, their exhaustive lists and my valiant attempts haven’t made me perfect yet, so there is every possibility that my critics are full of shit.  Shitty Critics, if you will.

And now I arrive precisely where I started – low expectations for the coming year.  If I wanted to spend all my time cleaning and cooking, I would probably be doing it already.  If the idea of spending evenings and weekends in the company of People were appealing, I’d probably be doing that, too.  But I don’t, so I don’t.

2019 will just have to be happy with my half-assed efforts to eat better, procrastinate less, give fewer Fucks and the minimal efforts I give to limit my play time on Solitaire.  I’m not going to spend what little time I have left, after dithering most of it away, trying to meet ephemeral goals I don’t care about anyway.  Except vegetables – I really do need to eat more vegetables.  And less Toffifee.

You’re welcome, 2019 – go forth with low expectations and you won’t be disappointed on December 31^st.  In fact, you might just be pleasantly surprised.