2016 New Year’s Resolutions: Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

I’ve never been a big fan of making New Year’s resolutions. I mean, I fail to live up to a variety of personal goals as it is. Why rub salt in even more wounds?

But the idea of making a fresh start is appealing. It’s imbued with that earnestness I so love in young people who haven’t yet figured out how much life can really suck.

So, here goes:

·       When someone hollers at me: “Slow down, little lady. You’re gonna get a speeding ticket!” I will resist the urge to shout back: “You better stop passing gas – you’re gonna get a farting ticket!”

·       If a complete stranger walks up to me and demands to know intimate details about my disability, I will refrain from asking them: (1) about a history of their STDs, (2) why their eyes are so close together, or (3) how they feel about their momma getting passed around at Sturgis like a day-old deli tray.

·       The next time a God twaddler hands me a religious tract, I will resist the urge to pantomime one of Miley Cyrus’s poses for her Terry Richardson photo shoot. (You saw them -- don’t act so innocent.)

·       I will resist the urge to think very mean thoughts about insurance companies, banks and Donald Trump. (OK, I will at least try.)

·       I will not allow myself to feel depressed when I watch TV network news and all of the commercials are for prescription drugs and “wealth management” services. (I will allow myself to feel old, however.)

·       I will not smash the ramp on my van into the car parked by a moron in the adjoining access aisle. (You know, the cross-hatched area between two handicapped parking spaces where no one is supposed to park.) That is, I will not smash their car more than five times. Per minute.

·       I will not beat myself up when I break any of the above by Jan. 2, 2016.

DEAR SANTA: ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS THE IMPOSSIBLE

Dear Santa:

Greetings, my friend in red. Hope this missive finds you and yours in fine form. With all this talk of global warming, I worry that Donner and Blitzen are applying Coppertone while Dasher and Dancer compete to craft the perfect cannonball in the deep end. (If you’re a regular viewer of “Fox and Friends,” then please accept my apology. I don’t intend to offend.)

It’s true I haven’t written since last year and it seems I reach out only when I want something, but I imagine that’s simply business as usual in your line of work. So, let me get straight to the point: I’m only asking for one thing this year, but it’s a doozy. (Yes, Kris, you’re probably thinking “Why can’t she be content with another Chia Pet?” But until they come up with the Chia Cthulhu, please no more ceramic weed farms.)

I’ve decided to go for broke this year. My first thought was to ask for a shopping spree at a Pucci boutique. A new wardrobe of gorgeous abstract prints and fine fabrics would be just the ticket for a vacation at a Venetian villa. (You could throw that in, too, right?) But that seemed a little too pedestrian.

Then I considered asking you for a week at the Four Seasons Bora Bora, an all-expenses paid, once-in-a lifetime trip with my significant other and 10 of my dearest friends. Each of us could have our own villa over the turquoise waters. How divine! Then I imagined running into Justin Bieber au natural and I felt as queasy as the time I competed in that corn dog eating contest. Ick.

Then I thought: wouldn’t it be heavenly to rent out the Hollywood Bowl and have Kate Bush perform all her tracks from “Hounds of Love” and “The Dreaming”? The audience would consist of just me, my husband and our two kitties sitting in La-Z-Boy recliners on the stage right next to Her Royal Kateness. Oh, and Weird Al Yankovik could be the opening act!

But then I thought, no, I’m going to swing for the fences this Christmas. I’m going to ask for something so spectacular, so marvelous, so blow-the-doors-off incredible that my friends will be simply chartreuse with envy.

That’s right, Santa: I want a ride with Uber.

But wait, please, before you crumple up my letter and use it to wipe the reindeer doo-doo off your boots; please just hear me out! If Uber – or Lyft or any smart phone-booked ride service – can provide rides to the non-disabled, they can do it for wheelchair users, right?

It’s an eleventy-bajillion dollar business, so surely they can have drivers in every major market with wheelchair-lift vans, can’t they? These titans of industry can be convinced that disenfranchising an entire segment of society is not just illegal but morally wrong?

Please, Santa, tell me I’ll someday be able to book a ride on Uber with the same ease and speed as anyone else!

Ok, I’ll settle for a ride in your sleigh. Sure beats seeing the Biebs nekkid.      

KYLIE JENNER: GIMP GIRL WANNABE

By now, you’ve probably seen the fruits of the Kylie Jenner photo shoot in the current issue of Interview magazine. The teenage reality TV star is dressed provocatively in leather bondage gear. In some of the shots, even her delicately-curved derriere is exposed.

But with all of the photos we average folks are bombarded with on the Internet – celebrities posing in little more than body paint and glitter, fashion models striding nearly nude down catwalks – Ms. Jenner’s photos are not terribly remarkable. You, dear reader, have probably seen much more revealing stuff on your friends’ Instagram accounts.

So why am I even mentioning this? Well, it seems that Ms. Jenner has revealed something intimate about herself that goes beyond bare skin.

Kylie Jenner is a gimp girl wannabe.  

In two of the shots, Kylie is wearing a black leather strapless onesie and a black leather collar while sitting in a gold-tone manual wheelchair.

Looking at the shots left me flummoxed. You see, I thought Larry Flynt was the only gimp out there rocking a gold chair.

Then I tossed that thought aside. I mean, if anybody else could acquire a golden gimp-mobile, it would be a member of the storied Kardashian-Jenner family.

Next, my eyes went to the expression on Kylie’s face. In one photo, she stares off into space as if she’s perhaps experiencing a petit mal seizure. My cynical side wanted to dismiss this as the typical empty gaze of a high fashion model. You know, that look that says “I am insanely gorgeous and make $10 grand an hour, yet I’m so misunderstood.”

But then I realized that Ms. Jenner is really trying out the look of someone who has a disability. She wants to live it, to feel it.

Kylie’s tired of her incredibly privileged, affluent, non-disabled life. She wants to know what it’s like to have precarious health, to struggle to find employment yet keep her government benefits so she can pay for attendant care. She longs to spend weeks trying to find an accessible apartment she can afford, only to have the landlord tell her that the “no pets” policy means she can’t bring her service dog. She yearns to sit in the rain waiting for a bus, only to find that the one that stops has a broken lift and she has to wait another 20 minutes for the next one.

Kylie Jenner, I pronounce you an honorary gimp girl. Welcome to the club.