5 Practical New Years Resolutions I Never Thought I’d Make

2020 was a knockout year. Really. I figure we’re all going to be in the history books our grandkids bring home from school. I have this visual of my grey-haired self pulling old dusty masks out from a drawer, explaining what it was like to live through COVID, and then showing masked selfies, pictures of the infamous “six feet apart please” stickers, and the occasional riot. It was also my second year of marriage, the year I (unknowingly) gained twenty pounds from fast food delivered by whatever service was offering promotions, and the year we adopted our second fur baby. My wife’s grandfather passed away early in the year from the virus, a week before it was even announced. I cut my hair into a bowl-cut, shaved my wife’s head, and decided I was joining the “no bra” movement. We moved into our new house and have found a way to keep ourselves occupied throughout all of this insanity, but through the good and bad of 2020, I have a few things I’d like to do differently this year. Especially since this virus doesn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon.

1.) I’m going to start stocking water and toilet paper like a doomsday prepper.

I never wanted to feel the fear of having to wipe myself with my hand or a dishtowel. Now, in this incident it never came to that. But the thought that it might was more than enough to encourage a little preparation. I won’t forget the eery vibe I got while walking through a Dollar General (where I never go but found myself after six unsuccessful stops to other stores) desperate for toilet paper, only to find the shelves ransacked. The lights were flickering and the whole store looked like a set from The Walking Dead. In the early stages of the lockdown, every store in my area was empty. Not just of toilet paper… everything was gone. I don’t consider many other viable options for wiping myself, so I’ll be making room in my basement for supplies, in case of any more apocalyptic incidents.

2.) I will stop complaining about masks.

I hate masks. I hate them. I know why they’re necessary but that doesn’t make me enjoy wearing them. This has taught me that I could never become a professional burglar. They make my face break out, no matter what material I try, and I can’t see through my glasses. I had an eye doctor appointment to get new glasses and the doctor kept yelling at me for breathing because I couldn’t see through the viewfinder when she’d ask “Which is clearer? One or two?” That prescription might come out super fuc*ed up.

3.) I’m going to use the treadmill my wife “had to have” when quarantine began.

Sure, right now it’s dusty in the basement, but maybe if it was being used as much as my DoorDash account I wouldn’t need to shed pounds. At first, I thought my wife was shrinking our laundry. I repeatedly accused her of using the wrong settings or having the water too hot. I truly believed my clothes were getting smaller. I realized after stepping on the scale, though, she is not a bad launder. When I sit and really think back over the last year, I have felt myself slowly but surely growing into, and out of, my clothing like a beanstalk shooting out of the ground, and since I’m embracing this new lifestyle of locking myself indoors, I’d like to be skinny, or at least sort of skinny fat, when those doors open back up. On that day I’ll wear pants with no stretch, a shirt with no hood attached, and maybe even a bra. A bra with wire and lace, clips on the back, one that isin't labelled "athletic". It’ll be like that memorable moment in Miss Congeniality when Sandra Bullock walks out of the airplane hanger doors after her makeover. I’ll even include the hair flip.

4.) I’m going to pretend to be normal and politely say hello to people who start conversations with me in public places.

I am an outgoing introvert. I’ll start a conversation, say hi, hold a door or make small talk. On an average day in a world without COVID, I would be mostly put together with basic makeup and a smile. However, this virus has transformed me into a whole new creature. I am elusive and offputting, shy and from the crumbs on my clothes, I look like I dig through garbage, eating whatever is in sight. This has become the new normal. And grooming? I haven’t touched any type of hair product in almost a year. My makeup is expiring and my straightener hasn’t been turned on in ten months. As for shaving, let's just say my southern trimming is nowhere near as clean-cut as that of Edward Scissorhands’ handiwork. When I happen to make a begrudging public appearance (usually at a Walmart or some other one-stop-shop), I’m sporting my Justin Beiber look. I like to call it “homeless swag”. I find myself scrambling through the store like Sasquatch running from the forest rangers, partially to hide the fact that I am starting to actually look like Sasquatch, but also because I no longer feel capable of normal social interaction.

5.) I’m going to let a professional cut my hair.

There are many things that this virus and quarantine have forced me to learn and accomplish on my own. There are also things it forced me to unsuccessfully attempt. One of those things was hairdressing. My wife keeps her hair very short with a fade and hard part. I bought a pair of $30 clippers at the drug store back when the barbershops shut down. I proceeded to go to town on her head like a parent whose child has lice. I cut it all. I chopped that sh*t off like a weedwhacker to poison ivy, and when I was done, my wife smiled and politely said “Hopefully they open back up soon so you don’t have to put all of this work in anymore”… a nice way of saying “I love you baby, but this haircut sucks.". I decided to take a swing at my own hair. As a kid I committed the cardinal sin, I sliced my bangs right off. All the way to the top of my forehead. Paramore wasn’t famous yet so this hairstyle hadn’t been seen by many. I knew better but I’d never craved bangs more than I did when the salons shut down. I kept locking eyes with the glistening metal scissors, and finally, I grabbed them and made the cut. Mostly even, right at the eyebrows, but very blunt. Not the worst I’d seen. Common sense should have told me to stop there, but little devil Ashley popped up. I then decided, since I did such an outstanding job with my bangs, that I should chop the rest of it off. I had hair down to my boobs and I picked up my ponytail, lined it up with my ears, took a breath like Annie from The Parent Trap, and I chopped. I knew when I heard the scissors slice that I had made a mistake. It was sideways. Very, very sideways. I had to cut more. By the time I evened it out, it was to the middle of my ears. My head was cool over the summer, but I took no pictures to commemorate my sexy new do. I sucked it up, bought some bobby pins and clips, and I’m just now looking normal again with shoulder-length hair. Moral of this long but cliche story: wait for the salon to open up again. You don’t need a haircut that bad.

We live and we learn. But, this year, I will learn with better hair and a more human-like personality. No more snorting and grunting as a way of communicating. No more wearing Cheetos to the store on my clothes like bad take out. Dry shampoo will be a well-needed investment, and I will rediscover the long-forgotten and almost extinct razor. I will train my boobs to be lifted back up and start walking more than my current 50 steps a day, to the fridge, bathroom, and back to the couch. Maybe when the world opens up again I’ll be a little more prepared to step back into everyday life.