Published about a week ago on [miscellany media] Enjoy!

[miscellany media]

I don’t like New Year’s resolutions.  In fact, I loathe them with the fiery hot passion of a thousand suns.  I believe my hatred started at the ripe age of seven while I sat with my parents in the living room of our apartment, hyped up on left-over candy canes, desperately trying to make it to midnight in my Fifel pajama’s from An American Tale.  (That’s straight out of 1987 for you generation Y people.)  That year, a tradition was formed at my house.  My parents wrote down their New Year’s resolutions on pieces of paper, preparing to read them after midnight.   By 11:15p.m. the suspense of not knowing what my father wrote was eating my mother alive inside, so we’d end up reading them just before Dick Clark counted down the last seconds, all the while shoving Taco Dip into our mouths.

That year, their resolutions were simple; quit…

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