In 2010, I:
-Pierced my ears, got contacts, and had my Bat Mitzvah.
-Trained myself to run regularly for the first time since high school. I can run five and a half miles now, though I look like a hot pink zeppelin coated with gasoline when I’m finished. Thank you Erin Warner for the good advice and encouragement when I was first setting out to do this.
-Thought I was 5’7 3/4″ but learned I’m actually 5’9 3/4″. Let me tell you how much easier it is to eat an entire plastic tub of Helluva Good French Onion Dip when you can justify it by saying to yourself “But I just ran five and a half miles AND grew two inches!”
-Quit smoking seven times.
-Probably drank too much.
In 2011, I will:
-Return my Netflix regularly and not spend $75 on one rental of, say, Schindler’s List which I never actually got around to watching.
-Wear my new roll-down knit Uggs (that I got on sale! Uggs never go on sale!) and pretend I am a post-rehearsal ballerina who wears chic monochrome legging and cashmere wrap sweater ensembles a la Natalie Portman in Black Swan, minus the bulimia and psychosis. I will however make out with Vincent Cassel in said Uggs if given the chance. Why do I have such a fetish for seedy Euro types with thick accents? Gross, Liz.
-Give up fetish for seedy Euro types with thick accents.
-Be (on the other hand) more sexually irresponsible, not in a Bad Idea Jeans kind of way, but in a stop-evaluating-every-guy-you-meet-with-a-psychotically-demanding-rubric-of-necessary-qualities-and-ruling-them-all-out-within-the-first-five-minutes-because-you-are-on-the-verge-of-becoming-a-shrill-needy-terrifying-composite-of-Bridget-Jones-Carrie-Bradshaw-the-comic-strip-Cathy-and-the-cast-of-Waiting-To-Exhale. Yes– yes I know as a woman I am supposed to PRETEND that I don’t spend half my waking hours thinking about men, sex, dating, boyfriends, engagement rings, sex, wedding dresses, babies, imaginary but actually kind of real deadlines of when I am supposed to get married, and sex, but I DO. I am coming out of the closet as a full-on heterosexual female, and you can call me crazy if you want, because I totally am. So, having admitted all this, and in the hopes of never finding myself lighting some poor man’s kerosene-doused and clothes-stuffed car on fire with the butt end of my cigarette in front of my giant, airy spec house outside Tucson, I am going to stop thinking so much and start throwing more caution to the wind. I am going to be more friendly– to everyone– and open to what-the-fuck-ever comes my way– in all parts of life. I am going fly on airplanes! I am going to write ridiculously revealing blog posts such as this! I am going to wear outfits that you will probably make fun of! I am going to give a dollar to anyone who asks me for one! Don’t hold me to that! In sum I am going to live my life as if it were the music video for the song “I Hope You Dance” by Lee Ann Womack, dammit!
Oh and I am also going to learn to cook. First dish: Ina Garten’s Engagement Chicken. Apparently if you make it for your man, he proposes shortly thereafter.