“I will not touch my friends’ tits” and other New Year vows

This year, I rang in the New Year at a pub called Pour House (probably some sort of a sign).

I took a weekend class on Tarentino, built a bar out of snow and saw a friend nearly break his neck expressing himself on ecstasy some Sunday afternoon. I saw Swedish House Mafia from 100 stories up at the Barclays Center less than a week before boarding a plane to Puerto Rico, leaving my morals behind at a bar called El Taquito and going straight from JFK to NYC for Saint Patrick’s day on three hours of sleep, a hangover and a prayer.

I graduated college. I found a job. I got my press pass.

I made it to 22 and Chicago, though one Ohio local and a deer on its back almost stopped us from making it home. My boy friends twerked over the Windy City skyline and I made out with a townie. I washed Pineapple-infused-vodka-induced vomit out of the hair of a stranger before celebrating a bartender’s birthday/becoming friends for life through thick, thin and Everclear.

It was the summer of dollar pizza, 35 cent checking account balances, Third Eye Blind and Brendan sleeping on my stoop in a beach-chair.

I lost my best friend in the fall but, since then, have strengthened every other tie holding together this caricature of normalcy. I found solace in the friends, family and strangers that celebrated her taste for Coors, perms and chicken pot-pies with me.

We’ll welcome our group’s first baby this February.

I spent Halloween dressed as a bottle of Fireball and welcomed the winter by inviting someone I met on OKCupid to “meet me at the Ratchet Pussy Party” (a totally real, semi-threatening annual event we attend for the story). He came. He saw. He deleted my number as I remained remorseful and surprisingly sweaty, trapped behind the barricade as he looked for me. We never got in (and we haven’t spoken since).

I signed a lease and dove headfirst into living with two straight guys above a store-for-rent. I’m making lists, drawing maps, clipping coupons and buying mouse traps. We move in New Year’s day.

I finally started a blog and sat back in awe as it harvested views in Paraguay, Honduras, Germany and India. I gained 30 followers that aren’t my friends and only lost one (probably for posting about Molly, masturbation and KFC). I came up with a name for the book I’ll start writing this New Year — just one long-term goal amidst 24 short-term ones I’ll likely give up mid-March. Take each one with a grain of salt as this commitment-phobe throws back a shot of tequila for every failed attempt at the following:

1. I will not hit snooze and sacrifice a shower for ten more minutes of sleep.
2. I will not leave the house with wet hair unless our Con-Ed bill is overdue.
3. I will not touch my friends’ tits (unless they ask me to).
4. I will not opt for the $8.99 shampoo because it’s prettier and/or coconut when there’s a two-in-one conditioner/shampoo on sale for $3.99.
5. I will not Google Maps the nearest Chipotle every time I’m in the city.
6. I will not stare so hard at children on the subway.
7. I will not Snapchat my ex and/or mass Snapchat just because I went the extra mile and did my makeup on a Monday.
8. I will not laugh at Craigslist Missed Connections because, one day, it will happen to me and I will cry/write/obsess about it for months.
9. I will not backslide/throw myself at my ex in front of our mutual friends.
10. I will call out that guy at the bar for the “just passing by” lower back graze.
11. I will not make sandwiches because I’m bored.
12. I will read the books I buy and not just use them as bookends for older books.
13. I will say more to men I meet than “hello” and “I like your watch.”
14. I will not text anymore strangers to “meet me at the Ratchet Pussy Party.”
15. I will swallow my pride and buy an unlimited Metrocard instead of throwing tens at the machine once a week like its a stripper.
16. I will eat more apples and less cake.
17. I will still eat some cake (and stop playing with the fat on my face).
18. I will not scowl at every engagement Instagram. Only some of them.
19. I will choose Netflix over Bowflex only once a week.
20. I will not drunk-cry unless seriously provoked or someone mentions Castaway.
21. I will do things when I say I’m going to do them (like laundry or the gynecologist).
22. I will only eat pie during the holiday season and/or if I ever get fired.
23. I will not hail a cab. I will not hail a cab. I WILL NOT HAIL A CAB.
24. I will do more. I will sleep less. I will not be a pussy.

Special shout-out to all the people still willing to be photographed with me.
To another year, with or without a filter.