But Being Bad Felt So Good

The Summer of Excess will soon come to a close. I've intentionally let myself go, indulging in every naughty vice: drink, smokes, and three-ways with Ben and Jerry, to name a few.

Because I knew this.

That come Fall, I would transform myself into a new woman. A difficult task because I so like being bad. Bad is fun. Bad is satisfying. But bad is giving me a daily need for aspirin and elastic waistbands.

So watch out, world! Because coming 'round the mountain (that is also my ass) are . . .

THE SEPTEMBER RULES:

1. No hooch. Bye-bye, Conquista Malbec, old friend. You've been fun. A cheap date. A good laugh, a shoulder to cry on. But in the morning, you're gone, and I'm left alone with regrets and a strange man in my bed. (My husband.)

2. No cigs. An easy one, as long as I won't be attending any wedding receptions. Something about watching people pledge their undying love for one another makes me want to chain-smoke outside in my party dress and snort with the bad kids.

3. No swearing. Fuck that one.

4. No coffee. INSANITY. How will I breathe????

5. Stop using the word "like" unnecessarily. Ok, now I'm, like, killing myself. September might be the death of me.

6. Be positive. No more negative comments. The alcoholic snarky mom is played out, yes. But can I really be a ray of sunshine? A hippie dippy? A nature nudie? If I start quoting Chicken Soup for the Lush Mother's Soul, shoot me dead.

7. Write.

8. Update my "real" blogs. i.e. those other than this no-man's-land where I dump all orphaned thoughts to die alone and ignored.

9. Eat healthy.

10. Exercise at least three times a week. Sign up for Miami half-marathon? (I'm shallow and will only run when promised a cute shirt, shiny medal, and unlimited carbs. I Brake for Bread. My Other Car is a Baked Potato. My Beer Can Beat Up Your Multigrain Wrap.)

11. Read the newspaper. And not just the entertainment section.

12. Stop watching crap TV. This is crazy talk. No more Daisy? No more Housewives? No more (gulp)infomercials for '70s soft rock compilations? Is it even physically possible to resist the lure of Johnny Mathis and Dionne Warwick reminiscing about Air Supply in front of a crackling fire?

13. Go to church.

14. Have sex with the hubs. Which will totally happen because I will have nothing left to do.(And the hubs is looking smugly fit lately, much to my annoyance.)

15. No flirty emails with the scoundrel who infiltrated the Mommy Bubble.

16. Limit time-sucking, soul-sucking internet wanderings. Not yours, baby. I like yours.

This is a tough list. Will report progress. In the meantime, I'm lining up dates with Conquista. August is still here, and I intend to soak up every last drop.