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S uppose I was to offer you one million dollars for one night with your wife…just kidding. I don’t even know her and also happen to be into dudes.

But the 1993 movie, “Indecent Proposal,” is on my mind right now because New Year’s Eve is upon me (and up on me) and my 2011 resolution has not yet been achieved. A few years ago, I decided that New Year’s Eve resolutions pretty much sucked. I knew I wouldn’t magically wake up a gym rat, or some other kind of saint.

I considered adding vices instead of taking them away, but my swearing increases exponentially each year, I don’t know where to find guns or babies for a gun-running/baby-smuggling business and I didn’t own a megaphone. (I do now, and it’s rad, but resolving to only speak through a megaphone for a year seems like the kind of thing that might get me fired.)

New Year’s Day is a day typically spent with my head near or in a toilet. I needed a resolution I could bang out in a matter of minutes but would still expand my horizons. So in 2010, I resolved to kiss a dude with a Civil War beard. But lo and behold, minutes before midnight, my clean-shaven date and I were heading to a concert and I hadn’t smooched a bewhiskered dude all year. So I asked my friend if I could just give her bearded boyfriend a smooch and be on my way. She agreed, but we all know that was basically a cop-out. I did a bad job.

My 2011 resolution had to be something bigger, more daring and created in such a way I couldn’t possibly puss out. So with several gallons of beer in us, my friends and I decided I should flash my tatas — but to strangers, so I couldn’t just be in a bathroom stall near midnight this year telling my friends, “Here, check out my funbags.”

But yet again, I’ve put it off. The plan was to go to Mardi Gras, but I missed that by oh, nine months. That’s too bad too, because I just found out from our IT guy that Boulder Creek connects to this, that and the other waterway all the way to New Orleans.

I could’ve pulled a Tom Sawyer, taken a boat down the river with someone named Jim (or willing to be called Jim) and then scored me some sweet beads.

The next question: how to get this done while limiting the level of trauma to both parties? I don’t want to accidentally flash a kid, or a pervert, or someone I know, or a cop. I don’t want to be recognized. I don’t want to be found later. I don’t want to do this anymore!

But New Year’s resolutions are binding contracts with your own self; if I can’t keep a promise to myself, how can I be expected to keep a promise to anyone else?

I took a solemn — although drunken — oath to be footloose and fancy free and also take my top off and by gum (who the hell is gum anyhow?) I’m going to do it.

So now I’m thinking I should get someone to drive me around in a nondescript car on Highway 36 and when we’re approaching an exit, I’ll pull up my top and flash some folks in the car next to us before we make a hard right and escape into suburbia.

But who to tap as a wheelman? And that’s where we’re back to the “Indecent Proposal” bit.

Well, sort of. Because I’m not going to pay anyone a million dollars to drive me around so I can flash people. But I guess I’d better at least be prepared to pay for gas.

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