According to a recent study I don’t feel like looking up, 92% of New Year’s resolutions fail. So before you make up a vague one about exercising daily-ish or becoming more organized with something you don’t feel like thinking about right now, why not show that incredibly high percentage who’s boss by setting a few far-more-attainable, bottom-rung goals for 2014?
Allow me to get the ball dropping. Here is a nowhere-near-exhaustive list of my goals for 2014 (I’m exhausting!):
- Get upset about dumb things people say, twisting their words over and over in my head until I’m sufficiently offended by them. Repeat over the course of 2-3 days, then forget it ever happened.
1. No nighttime bowel movements/toilet usage. This isn’t a problem from me, but Jason, that Daddy-looking guy with the Chia Pet on his face, is much less inclined to break anywhere the wind takes him (usually to work), and he struggles to adhere to your mommy’s half-kidding restriction at times. In fact, he has a tendency to disappear and not tell Mommy or me where he’s going, and I bet he’ll do the same with you, too. It’s not personal; it’s business. Baby, you’ll have a much more difficult time keeping things under cover (and out of your diaper), but your evenings dumps are to be expected, so enjoy them while you can!
10. It’s a great way to teach your wayward children a lesson they’ll never forget. Here’s how: Borrow an empty iPad Mini box from a rich friend, put The Edumacation of Jay Baker inside, and watch your child’s look of elation change to are-you-for-real? horror as they realize that it’s not a high-def touchscreen, just a measly old off-yellow book cover. Optional: Say something like, “That’s what happens when you don’t do your homework. Booyah!” Then download an app on your iPad and talk about how cool it is.
If there’s one thing I excel at, it’s hating people. In fact, I’m doing it right now! I’ve been practicing since I first emerged from my mother’s womb and silently started feuding with this one nurse who was judging me like I was some sort FREAK with WEBBED TOES. I don’t care if it was true or not, which it was. If memory serves, just as she was swaddling my little tooshie, I wiggled all eight of my toes and had an IBS attack all over her, booyah.
What are you going to do after you wipe? Well, as a longtime IBS suffer, I’m here to say, Get out of my favorite stall! You may not realize it, especially while you’re in the process of painting that toilet brown, but there are tons of useless coping mechanisms out there just waiting to help you push through the pain and start $***ing rainbows.