Resolution #1: Try not to die from the cold. Based on the Farmer's Almanac predictions, and the fact that it seemed pretty cold on the Christmas episode of Glee, we feel like this winter is going to be ass-clenchingly cold. So cold, in fact, that it would be a difficult choice between 20 lashings in a heated basement and a walk across the Green with no gloves and a baby-sized Diet Coke in hand.
However, of even greater concern than dying from the cold is dying in a snowbank alone in the cold. The opportunities for this to occur are alarmingly abundant.
Scenario A: What if we're running late for our 2, slip behind Dartmouth Hall and fall into a snowbank?? No one would ever find us because, well, who actually lives in the Fayers?!
Scenario B: We are drunk, have lost our posse and decide to walk to Heorot for some weirdness. We stop at the heat vent to catch our breath, then BAM! we fall backwards into a snowbank and freeze.
Scenario C: We are minding our own business, heading to the Hop to grab a package when out of nowhere we get hit with a frisbee and BOOM, we fall into snowbank, alone, and die. (Yeah, we're pretty freaking terrified of freezing to death in a snowbank.)
And yes, getting hit with a frisbee is a real possibility because it has been proven that frisbee players don't understand seasons (or personal space). Telling a frisbee player not to play frisbee during the winter is like asking Lady Gaga to put on pants they just wouldn't get it. This is probably a good place to mention our second New Year's resolution, which is to avoid any and all contact with frisbees in general.
On a similar note, we'd like to avoid possible death due to an out-of-control elderly driver on their way to a monthly book club meeting, during which they fail to discuss the chosen book ("Chicken Soup for the Angsty Ol' Soul") and instead discuss which foods don't settle quite right with them anymore.
We will exercise. Oh wait, that's not a thing. Never mind. Instead we'll eat more hot dogs. Yeah, that's a thing.
We will drink a forty or Four Loko on the top of Baker Tower and somehow discover where the mouse in our room making pesto sauce is. It's SUCH a thing. Then we'll buy and utilize a cart to carry all of our items to class. An items cart, if you will.
Our next resolution: Plot and execute a successful plan to destroy Twitter. Yes, one of us actually has Twitter, but only so that we can call people out for being racist. (This drunkest girl swears she's not a Twitter whore #itsfineimgettinghelp.) But seriously, Twitter is more or less the very worst parts of Facebook condensed into one evil website. No one really likes status updates Facebook is only great because it has pictures, Tower Stack and now SNAKE! If Twitter were a library study zone it would be First Floor Berry, which, aside from the elevator in the back and the Farmville couple, makes us want to stab a panda cow (it's a thing, a really cute fuzzy thing).
Which brings us to our next resolution: Take anonymous ranting to the streetz (since everyone at Dartmouth seems to really like anonymous complaining anyway). With the help of some multicolored post-it notes and Sharpies, we want to bring our ranting and complaining right out into the open.
We go to Jones Media Center and once again Mean Girls is missing, so instead of whispering about how pissed we are, we write down how pissed we are on a post-it and stick it to the forehead of the person working at the help desk. This could lead to one of two outcomes: 1) We cracked the secret code, and they bring out the hidden copy of Mean Girls they've been hoarding in the back for their own movie-watching enjoyment (SO SELFISH) or 2) We get curb-stomped on second floor Berry, but afterwards they give us the hidden copy of Mean Girls for us to watch while we wait for our wired jaws to heal. Either way it's a win!
Oh and we also plan to write a funny article we guess (w/e). Oh and other noteworthy resolutions: graduating (the most important) and getting laid (equally important).
XoXo the Drunkest Gurlz
