I Like New Year's Resolutions. I Make Them All The Time.

I have given up on the gym. I hate the gym. I will never learn to love or even tolerate the gym. The gym is dead to me.

But I can take the stairs. And I can learn aerobic striptease from Carmen Electra. (You are so jealous of my hip rolls right now, I know it.) I can jump rope. I can walk to the park and swing on the swings for a while. I can swim in the summer. I can take short walks on a daily basis. I can be French. Watch me. I'm so being French right now.

My one solid, old-fashioned resolution this year is to kick the Coca-Cola habit. I found a helpful news article today on that subject. One 20 oz. Coke, my usual suspect, is the same as eating 17 spoonfuls of sugar. I cannot eat 17 spoonsful of sugar. (Like how I use variety in my measuring? I can't be bothered to look it up.) If I sat down with a bowl of sugar and a spoon, I bet I could only eat five. I could only eat three maybe if it was brown sugar. Seventeen would make me sick. So no more 17 spoonsfuls of sugar for DisRespecca. And especially not 34 spoonsfuls on the days I drink two! One 20 oz. Coke is the same as 80 baby carrots! That's 160 baby carrots on a two-coke day! Jeesum Crow! Baby carrots galore!

If you catch me drinking the contraband coke, slap it out of my hand or make me eat sugar until my tongue swells up or something. Coke is dead to me.