Every New Year itâs the same old storyâyou write out those resolutions with total determination to keep them, but then within a week or so they have become mere memories of your best intentions utterly gone to pot (and we ainât talkinâ cannabis here). Itâs not that you are a weak, self-indulgent, spineless jellyfish who canât keep your promises; itâs just that you pick such boring, un-gay resolves with no real challenge at all. So, by popular demand (all seven of my readers), I again offer you my classic, improved, creative resolutions that any queer would be proud to adopt and keep. Â
Stop Being Phoney
I RESOLVE to have the phone company put a block on my telephone, thereby preventing me from making those frenzied phone-sex calls in the middle of the night. The same goes for those expensive Internet dating sites. If I canât bite the bullet and stop, then I RESOLVE to describe myself with just a little more accuracy: (i.e.: saying you have a swimmerâs build, when in reality you look like Shamu the killer whale; giving yourself verbal liposuction by subtracting inches from your waist and adding them to your weenie (or breasts, for the dykes); faking a deep, sexy phone voice as opposed to the squeaky, nelly one you normally use). I RESOLVE to occasionally pick up my phone calls before the machine screens them, thus letting my friends know that I am not as paranoid as they think; and while weâre on the subject, change that outgoing message to something a little wittier than âIâm not able to come to the phone, but if youâll leave a message Iâll get back to you.â Come on now; use that larger-than-hetero brain stem and those tres creative gay juices for a clever, original answering machine message.
Lookinâ For A Lover In All The Wrong Places
For the would-be monogamous: I RESOLVE to stop hearing wedding bells and planning our china patterns when I go out with someone for the first time. At least wait until you find out if they snore or if they already have a lover. I RESOLVE to stop falling in and out of love so easily. How is it that on the first date we canât get enough of that hot babe, but after a few more dates weâve had quite enough of that hateful baby?! Rule of thumb: love should last longer than the expiration date on the condom packet (or at least the milk carton in the refrigerator!). I will also get over my Fatal Attraction for the bartender who poured me a free shot one night (get real, this is NOT true romance).
For the would-not-be monogamous: I RESOLVE to gather all the phone numbers Iâve collected last year from various overnight visitors (weâre heavily euphemizing here), alphabetize the stack into 26 neat piles, and begin actually calling some of them. I RESOLVE to no longer engage in the post-coital phone-number-exchange mating ritual, when I really have no intentions of calling the trick ever, ever, ever. I RESOLVE to curtail the number of times I circle the block cruising in my car around the parks after bar curfew, thereby helping out tremendously in doing my part to lower the national consumption of imported gasoline.
Itâs A Lifestyle, Not A LifeÂ Â Â
I RESOLVE to improve my cultural exposure by making sure at least one of the videos of the stack that I rent each time is a classic cinematic work of art, and does not contain the word âhotâ in the title. Although two exceptions come to mind: Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and Some Like It Hot. I RESOLVE to cease being a fashion-challenged victim wearing the same, tired costume night after night (leatherfolk should try going out in something other than their cow skins; cowboys and cowgals might want to ditch the ten-gallon hat and boots for just one night a week; drags could let their facial hair grow and throw on a pair of jeans every once in a while; queer punks might want to leave a few of their 17 pierced body jewelry pieces on the night stand. And if youâre none of the above, try a real fashion risk and BE one of the above for a change). I RESOLVE to stop buying those exercise DVDs unless I really plan to work out to them; (by the way, you will never be as thin as the instructors, unless you become a full-time bulimicâand admit it: ritual throwing up is just plain icky!). Also thereâs no need to join a string of gyms and muscle mills unless you really plan to visit them once in a while (the sauna room doesnât countâyou know you only go there to pick up tricks, you little slut). . I RESOLVE to do SOMETHING about my hair. Get a new âdo: dye it, bleach it, or send it out to the cleaners. I RESOLVE to stop replacing the Advocate Men magazines with Architectural Digests whenever Aunt Susie comes to visit. Letâs face it, no hetero, other than an actual, bona fide architect, keeps Architectural Digests around the house. You blew your cover long ago, honey. I RESOLVE to hunt down every last motion-sensitive, mega-watt floodlight installed in the alleys and cruisy back streets, and put duct tape over the electronic eye sensors or shoot out the bloody lamps, because I am sick to death of all the puritans who think they can stop my late-night trysts in the streets, because who the hell do they think they... WHOOPS, Sister Dana got a leeeetle carried away there. I RESOLVE to give my neighbors a rest and aim my telescope at the sky for a change. (After all, you bought that high-powered thing to be able to see the red planet Mars in the galaxy, not the red-hot babes in the apartment across the street, you voyeuristic stargazer you). And speaking of moons... I RESOLVE to stop being an exhibitionist in my window toward what in reality is my neighborâs potted palm tree or floor lamp, and not my actual neighbor. (While youâre at it, better resolve to get a new, stronger prescription for your eyeglasses).
So Resolve, Already!
Okay, there are just a few, handy-dandy, unbreakable resolutions that you probably have never made before and therefore have not yet broken. Use âem or lose âem. Personally, I made only one resolution this year: âI, Sister Dana, resolve to stop making resolutions!â But my personal declaration is to wish you readers (resolute or otherwise), âHappy Queer New Year!!!â