Lisa Thompson

It’s January 19, 2017: Do you know where your New Year’s resolutions are?

I do. They’re rotting at the bottom of my kitchen trash can. Decomposing under a pile of slimy potato peelings. Gasping for air beneath a handful of Ghirardelli chocolate wrappers. Wasting away under the weight of two or three (or six) wine bottles.

That’s what happens when you’re 19 days into 2017 and you realize you’ve already kicked every one of your lofty New Year’s goals to the curb. You bury your good intentions under a big old heap of denial.

“I mean, mashed potatoes are kind of like salad. They both start in dirt.”

“At least chocolate and diet Pepsi are my only vices.”

“Oh. The wine bottles. I forgot.”

Let’s take January 1 as a “for instance.” I ate blueberry cheesecake for lunch while drinking a glass of Prosecco at a bar in Barcelona. As I was texting an ex who I’d vowed to never contact again. Then I splurged on a new eggplant-colored Michael Kors handbag that I don’t need, couldn’t afford and won’t use nearly enough to justify the cost. Afterwards, I opted for a taxi in lieu of walking a few easy miles (in gorgeous weather, mind you) and flirted with the driver in order to prop up my fragile ego after a snarky text from the ex I intended to leave in the dark shadows of 2016.

On the bright side, it only took me 24 hours into 2017 to obliterate my whole list of resolutions, so you can say I’m efficient, effective and clearly not a procrastinator. Unless we’re talking about everything else in my life. Some other resolutions that didn’t pan out:

I resolved to take a break from online dating for six months. I swam in the shallow end of the dating pool in 2016, where the toddlers play and the water is sketchy. So it seemed smart to try a different approach for 2017 and meet people offline, say at the gym or at church. Then I met Coffee Meets Bagel, a new dating app, and said, “What the hell,” downloaded it and started swiping. So far I’ve been stood up once, chatted with a man who only calls me “babe” (so he doesn’t have to keep names straight?) and received NSFW pics that melted my phone screen. Not in a McDreamy kind of way. In a toxic sludge kind of way.

Hello, 2017. From the looks of things, you may be 2016’s evil twin.  

I resolved to try one new healthy food a week. Yesterday I put a piece of kale in my mouth, felt my stomach hurl and spat it out immediately. That’s as close as I’ve come. Now, tacos—I’ve sampled a new one of those every week. Wine? Duh, yeah. Donuts? Easy. But at this point in my life, I may just resolve myself to the fact that I’ve already chosen the healthy foods I like, stick with what works and expand my palate in ways that don’t involve plants, leaves, seeds, beans or anything that doesn’t rhyme with “pizza” and “nachos.”

I resolved to complain less. Today I walked 100 yards in the California rain and do you know what I did? Whined. The whole time.

“I’m getting wet!” Water is such a little bitch.

“It’s cold!” Yeah, 55 degrees is real nippy, sister.

“This weather sucks!” Have you fell on a sheet of ice, lost your dog in a snow bank or watched your breath freeze into tiny crystals when you exhale? Then shut it, princess.

Seriously, I’m a Midwest girl at heart, rain ain’t nothing but a thing—I was appalled at myself. Some things might warrant a minor grumble once in awhile. California weather is never one of them. I called Epic Fail on this one.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I haven’t turned over any new leaves, given up any bad habits or adopted any healthy new ones lately. On the contrary, I’ve flaked on every New Year’s resolution I made. Nineteen days into the year. Go me.

If you feel me on this, right on: Let’s move forward together, with our lists at the bottom of the garbage pile, and stay optimistic that 2017 holds great promise, exciting growth and beautiful moments, regardless of how badly we’ve failed so far.

And if that feels too cheesy for you, then let’s just hope Betty White makes it to 96, Russia doesn’t hack the Oscars, This Is Us gets renewed, Draymond Green doesn’t permanently damage anyone’s junk and tacos are named the New Superfood.

A girl can dream.