They say you should shoot for the moon, because if you miss you’ll land among the stars. Clearly whoever said this has no concept of physics. You will obviously just bypass the moon and hurtle into the dark recesses of space until you fizzle into a fried bit of nothing when you pass a burning star too closely. Regardless of its sad reality, the optimism of this quote has inspired me to create a list of New Semester Resolutions. However, my clairvoyant nature allows me to also tell you what will actually happen after I’ve made those resolutions. I’m aiming for the moon, to infinity and beyond! But I’m aware that I’m far more likely to land on some gaseous ball of fire in the blackness of space. Come with me on this journey, won’t you?
What Will Actually Happen: After reading a sex article in an old Cosmopolitan (which will provide insane and impractical tips while referring to a Penis with a thousand different euphemisms), I will stalk people on Facebook until my eyes bleed.
What Will Actually Happen: I will run. To Chipotle. To beat the line. Then I might get the runs. Also from Chipotle. (Word to the wise: don’t get all four salsas, unless you like your delicious food with a side of diarrhea).
What Will Actually Happen: After 45 minutes walking around the Met/the Guggenheim/the Sex Museum, I will explore the gift shops endlessly. I will buy something cute and cheap like a pencil, forgetting that I don’t own a pencil sharpener. When I figure this out, I will feel defeated, and declare my hatred for all Museums. I will probably use the eraser end, though.
What Will Actually Happen: After microwaving soup, which will explode in said microwave and which I will avoid cleaning for the next week, I will eat Peanut Butter from the jar with my fingers and consider it a wholesome supper.
What Will Actually Happen: If I do my laundry at all, I will leave it in the laundry bag until all the clean clothes become dirty. I will then compile the desert of dirty clothing carpeting my floor into a mountainous pile. I will then shove that mountainous pile of dirty laundry into the aforementioned laundry bag, and repeat the cycle.
What Will Actually Happen: I will drunkenly say, “Ohmygod I love you, why don’t we hang out more. Please can we hang out more?” to every acquaintance I have. If it is a girl, we will squeal at an uncomfortable volume level and hug one another in the middle of a party. If it is a boy, we will high-five (avoiding the imported beer in his one hand), then hug. When we graduate, we will drunkenly lament the fact that we love each other, but we didn’t hang out more.