Without Resolution

New Year’s resolutions remind me of tired Clinton/Lewinsky jokes that aren’t good enough to leave a stain (see what I did there?).

I used to make resolutions every year until I realized it’s all a part of society’s maniacal plan to turn us into productive, focused and disciplined individuals. By maintaining a steady routine, I’m able to break and reinstate every New Year’s resolution multiple times throughout the year, which means my resolutions are green because I recycle them year after year (Al Gore says it’s good for the environment). These recycled resolutions are:

1. Quit smoking (Or only smoke when I drink. Cocktail anyone?)
2. Lose ____ pounds (This year we are in the double double digits.)
3. Stop complaining so much (But it’s so hard!)
4. Eat healthier (These cookies are organic.)
5. Write more (Why not? No one reads this crap anyway.)

Usually I start the New Year off by attacking these resolutions with gusto for at least two days before I get bored and forget about them until March, but something about 2009 left a bad taste in my mouth and I’m not ready to face another year of the same resolutions. When I thought about changing my resolutions I was put off by the thought of anything coming before these five main goals, which I’ve become attached to over the years. Still, it’s like I keep hitting the snooze button on 2010. At this point, February is looking like a much better time to start working towards having Jenny McCarthy’s body by bathing suit season. But then I thought, “I can’t start on my New Year’s resolutions while people still have their Christmas lights up!” and because I live in Kansas City, this means I won’t get started on my resolutions until mid-March, maybe April (people really like their Christmas decorations here). But if I manage to accomplish one of those five goals this year, does it really matter when I start trying? Besides, January is the coldest, most depressing, uneventful month of the year and it’s hilarious to think I’m going to accomplish anything while I wait out this misery from the comfort of my couch.

For me, resolutions are like empty boxes wrapped in beautiful paper artfully adorned with ribbons and bows—meaningless, but nice as decoration. I won't be fooled into self-improvement this year just to set unreasonable expectations for myself and wallow in the disappointment of inevitable failure. So, to media targeting my guilt and feelings of inadequacy at the start of the New Year: Stop bombarding me with your resolution suggestions, top tens, anecdotes, advice and try reporting on something relevant, like how to shovel a driveway with a fork when everyone is sold out of snow shovels.

Maybe I’ll jump on the resolution bandwagon in June when everyone has given up hope and canceled their gym memberships, but for now I plan to focus on not bettering myself until I’m ready. So goodbye to 2009, I’m off like an intern’s blue dress and onto 2010.

My Reflection is Stalking Me

I’ve been really busy avoiding mirrors after realizing that my reflection doesn’t do anything to inspire me, in fact, it has the opposite effect because what I see is everything I don’t want to be (unemployed, unhappy, malnourished, out of shape, and desperate – the last one is what did me in). But apparently avoiding mirrors only causes your reflection to appear more often. From the sliding glass doors at the grocery store to the tinted car windows in the parking lot to the ceiling-to-floor windows of an office building to extra shiny silverware to the rain puddles on a sidewalk—everywhere I go my reflection follows.

I used to be one of those people who couldn’t help but gaze at their reflection as they walked past a storefront window. Call it vain, but it was more about catching a glimpse of how other people saw me, how I looked to the rest of the world. When I get dressed and stand in front of a mirror at home, I know what I see is different from what other people see because I have a mirror pose: I purse my lips, bite the insides of my cheeks, suck in my gut, jut out my right hip and put my hands on my waist. This pose is something I only do when I am alone and standing in front of a mirror, I never look like this in real life. As a result, catching a reflection of myself doing something other than my mirror pose used to be interesting (back when the reality of my appearance wasn’t so…so…sad?) because it gave me a more realistic vision of myself.

But given the current devastating nature of this realistic vision, I find accidental reflections torturous. The worst is when the dark outside turns the windows into mirrors inside—I can’t see beyond my reflection, but in the darkness outside I imagine someone starring in at me and wondering if I am aware of just how unattractive I look when I make that scowling face. Now I scurry around the house right after the sun sets to make sure all of the blinds are closed so that my house isn’t full of mirrors that people can look in through. It’s become clear that I could throw away every mirror in my house and still never go a day without seeing myself. Whether I am walking the dog, running errands or eating dinner, I end up face to face with my reflection, which always reminds me of some weird combination of Eeyore and Britney Spears during her (on-going) “rough phase.”

I suppose I could attempt to drag this post out into some snarky, pseudo-philosophical observation on how my path to self discovery led me to run away from myself, but I made a promise having to do with brevity, so...I won't. Instead, I'm just going to say that when you feel like shit, you’re going to look like shit. I am working on feeling less like shit so that I can stop running from my reflection (because continuing to run from my reflection might make me more vain than if I were to linger in front of it lovingly...plus, I hate running). That being said, don’t be surprised if the next time you see me I am wearing a blindfold and being led by a seeing-eye dog.

Unemployment: It Does a Body Bad

Horrific Unemployment Realization #1,525: My professional, interview-worthy clothes do not fit because unemployment has made me fat.

So I've gained some weight since I lost my job, but what is most disturbing about it is that since I’ve been unemployed (going on 90 days now), I’ve been expecting to lose weight. Right after I was laid-off, I made a list of all the pros and cons of losing my job. One of the items on the pro list was that being jobless might inadvertently make me skinny (less money = less to spend on food, drinking, etc.), sort of the same way getting mono can make you skinny (although I gained weight when I had mono, so I should have known better). Needless to say, the pro side of the list was depressingly short so I had to reach a little. But now I have to remove “unintentional weight loss” from the pro side and add “unemployed weight gain” to the con side.

Since unemployment hit (sometimes I find it comforting to refer to it as a natural disaster akin to a tornado or hurricane), my wardrobe has been reduced to three or four things: pajamas, skirts with elastic waistbands, dresses without waists and pajamas with tennis shoes (i.e., workout clothes). Pro: there is no dress code for unemployment. Con: elastic waistbands nurture denial when your middle starts to get thicker.

I don’t know how much weight I’ve gained since I’ve been unemployed. I don’t own a scale because I don’t care about a number I care about feeling good. And right now I feel like a McDonald’s Big Mac—heavy, off-balance, sloppy, over-indulgent and oozing cholesterol. But when I consider the way I’ve been living the past 90 days, this makes sense—actually, it makes me feel lucky I haven’t been hospitalized.

There are things I wouldn’t do while I was employed that being unemployed has granted me the freedom to not only do, but also not care about later. For instance, I ate ten tacos in 30 minutes on Cinco de Mayo because they were .75 cents and someone bet me that I couldn’t do it. I also find myself wandering through Quick Trip, picking up a Snickers or maybe a Krispy Kreme on my way out, because apparently I think a glazed donut will fill the void of not having a job.

I have also determined that this weight gain, which I will continue to think of as a gift I don’t yet understand, is directly related to my lack of daily exercise. When I had a job, there was structure and far less time to waste, so exercise was part of a daily routine. Now I sit at my computer for ten hours everyday dressed in workout clothes (the real kind, not just pajamas plus sneakers) and when Steve gets home he says, “looks like you worked out today” and I have to say, “I didn't, but I thought about it,” which I kind of think almost counts.

While this extra weight has been a comfort to me over the past 90 days, I am physically ready to say goodbye to the Unemployed Quinn and become Employable Quinn—job or no job. I’m ready to embrace exercise and a healthier lifestyle so that I feel less like a Big Mac and more like a celery stick - yeah physical fitness! So I'll get started just as soon as I finish eating this giant chocolate chip cookie...