To assuage the guilt I am feeling regarding all of the small, measurable, achievable, realistic, time-sensitive goals I did not make as New Year's resolutions, I decided to revisit all of the small, measurable, achievable, realistic, time-sensitive goals I made the morning of my thirtieth birthday post party while staring at the ceiling in the bed. I I immediately countered each goal with a perfectly valid excuse. I repeated the points and counterpoints many times as a stalling tactic. I reasoned that I was not officially thirty until my feet hit the ground. The truth is--it was only the undeniable need to vomit that got me out of bed that morning. Otherwise, I'd probably still be 29 and composing a bestselling novel in my head in the same fashion of J.K. Rowling while she took that long, boring train without a pen.

Anyway, I'm hoping that a jaunt down memory lane will remind me of the futility of making lists of goals on arbitrary days of the years.

The B-list
Point: Quit smoking
Counterpoint: What would I have to look forward on January 1, 2009, as this is my favorite annual resolution to break? And no, the irony is not lost on me.

Point: Have Botox
Counterpoint: Pretty certain a year of teaching at the Las Vegas version of 90210 would render my 31st birthday a more appropriate occasion. Plus, I needed something shallow to look forward to when shock of turning 30 would wear off and depression would perhaps set in.

Point: Calling a truce with Candy as an outward sign of my newfound thirtysomething maturity.
Counterpoint: Um, no. Just no.

Point: Deleting all of the awful 80s songs on my ipod.
Counterpoint: Bananarama's Cruel Cruel Summer just feels so apropos. Yes, I knew and will always know who sings Cruel Cruel Summer.

Point: Reintroducing refined flour, sugar, partially hydrogenated oils to my diet.
Counterpoint: What then, I ask, would I have to look forward to when I got pregnant?

Point: Join eharmony
Counterpoint: Dr. Phil

Point: Tracking down one of those Thunder from Down Under guys shown on various billboards by the airport or any guy who can't read for some feckless, non-verbal summer fling.
Counterpoint: Clearly the most probable winner. In addition to skipping sunscreen for one day.

So there I was in bed hungover and clearly defeated. At least I would be tan.