Twenty-four. Holy shit. One more year until my car insurance goes down. Hopefully I have a car in a year.



Forget my birthday for now. New Years is the pressing issue. This year, I’ll be getting hammered and watching the ball drop at a friend’s in town, but one of
these years I’m going to make it to Times Square. Hanging out with hundreds of thousands of assholes that I don’t know while freezing my ass off sounds like a
sweet time to me.

"'This year I will meet the man/woman of my dreams.' Trust me, you’re lucky if you can find an ugly girl/guy to pity fuck you."

A new year is coming. Three hundred sixty-five days to make a difference. Twelve months to change the world. Fifty-two weekends to sit home alone dateless.



I should graduate this year.



I know. I’m not sure I believe it either. It’s been a great five and a half years, but it’s time to go. I’m getting sick of this place. Too many frat
guys and people on bikes.



I don’t make resolutions. First of all, I’m flawless, but second of all, it’s just too much pressure. Don’t you think it’s kind of ridiculous
to think that you will make a huge life-changing...uh...change, in one day? I mean this isn’t like converting to Mormonism or voting Green Party. This is an important,
permanent thing. It’s more like the mob or a pyramid scheme. Once you say it, it’s done.



You wouldn’t back out on a New Years Resolution would you? I would hate to think I had any pussies or quitters reading this column.



Wait, those are the only people who would ever read this column. No, seriously, go look in the mirror. You’re losers, but you’re my kind of people.

I guess the problem is that the resolutions people usually make are stupid and ridiculous. There are two kinds of resolutions in my
book.

First, the ones that no one has the will power to stick to more than a week:



• This year I, (insert name here), will start exercising.

Yeah right, fatty. Maybe this year your aim should be stopping at one box of Oreos. Put it down! Put the cookie down! Now walk away. Just walk away.



• This year I, (insert name here), will quit smoking.

As a nicotine addict, I know that no one really quits. It’s a lie. You can’t quit smoking. It’s impossible. Besides, you may as well light up, like you
have anything to live for.



And second, the ones that are just wishful thinking:



• This year I, (insert name here), will meet the man/woman of my dreams.

You’re lucky if you can find an ugly girl/guy to pity fuck you. If you do manage to land something that you don’t need to brown bag, certainly he or she will
have some sort of mental issue like insisting that you wipe your ass once in awhile. Dreams? Get used to settling for your nightmares.



• This semester I, (insert name here), will 4.0 all my classes.

As much as you may want this to happen, you will always be thwarted by the one asshole professor that grades solely on attendance. It will probably be in some class that
has a hippie name like “The Creative Process of Advertising.” He’ll make you share your daydreams with the class and have your peers vote on them. Good
shit, Doc V.



I think the real reason that people make resolutions is so that they can feel like failures. When they first make resolutions, they just know that they’ll be able to
lose that 5-10 lbs (65 kiloliters) that they put on freshman year. They just know that they’ll put down the remote and go to the gym once in awhile. They promise
themselves that they’ll study hard this semester.



But you know you’ll fall back into your own ways, maybe as soon as January 2nd (which is my birthday if you’ve been paying attention). You want to be able to
say “Fuck it” again this year. You’ll feel like a failure, but as long as you’re an American, you may already be a winner and that is enough for me.



Happy New Years.

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