May it be resolved

So, I'm traditionally not a fan of New Year's resolutions. In fact, I'm generally opposed to traditional goal-setting, wherein you state -- on paper, of course -- that you will be the president of Paraguay by your 30th birthday. I don't like setting myself up to fail, only to be reminded when that little piece of paper resurfaces on your 33rd birthday, low and behold, you're not Paraguay's innovative new leader.

However, I do set some kind of goals each year, but always around something I know I enjoy and will probably do anyway.

For example, this year I resolve to:
1. Read the Booker Prize winners for fiction. This follows a resolution I had a few years ago to read all the Pulitzer Prize winners for fiction. Didn't completely finish that one, but I knew I wasn't going to read Faulkner ever again, so that's ok.
2. Play with my son more. He demands most of my attention anyway, so why not give in.
3. Have more sex. I'm not sure with whom, but more is always better. (Just kidding, hubby.)

And I always make one resolution that I know will fail, but then I won't feel bad because I fulfilled the other three, right?
4. I resolve to stop eating crab rangoon. (Never going to happen, people. I live for the rangoon.)

I also plan to work-out, drink more water, lose 3 bazillion pounds, get more sperm facials, blah, blah, blah.

Now back to that more sex resolution...