Well boys and girls, 'tis that time of year again.

And what time of year is that? Well, it's the festive time of year where we write our blog entries whilst high on Thera-Flu. My favorite time of year, really.

That's not quite right.

I meant that it's New Year's Resolution Time.

That is the time of year where we say to ourselves, "This year I'm going to stop eating shards of glass" but then we eat even more shards of glass than before because that's how New Year's Resolutions work. Understand?

Per my tradition, I shan't make New Year's Resolutions for myself because, as usual, I'm not the one screwing up my life.

So here are my Second Annual New Year's Resolutions for Other People:

Boy-Who-Watched-Porn-During-My-Comedy-Performance
1) I shall not watch porn during Jill's comedy set this year.
2) Nor will I watch porn during anyone else's comedy set.
3) Nor bring porn to a comedy club.
4) Additionally I shall never ever leave my house.
5) Because I'm clearly socially inept.

Tree-That-Fell-Upon-My-Car
1) I shall not fall on Jill's car this year.
2) Easy enough, because I'm dead.

My-SAT-Students
1) I shall magically become a genius and give Jill all the credit.
2) Barring that, I shall do my homework even without Jill having to yell at me.
3) I will understand that she might yell anyway just for kicks.
4) I will understand that "for kicks" might possibly involve actual kicks.

God
1) Didn't we have this discussion about tsunamis last year?
2) Ok, fine I should have SAID no hurricanes either.
3) Just to cover all my bases, no disasters of any sort this year.
4) Also I shall take Britney Spears off television. I'm God, I can do that.

Raw-Sewage-That-Flooded-My-Apartment
1) I shall not flood Jill's apartment at all.
2) If I must flood, I shall smell like barrels of gingerbread.
3) But mostly I shall just stay quietly in the pipes as raw sewage should.
4) Or perhaps I shall flood the home of Boy-Who-Watched-Porn-During-Jill's-Comedy-Performance.
5) 'Cause I bet he'll be home.

People-Who-Read-My-Blog
1) I shall continue to read Jill's blog.
2) Even though she's lazy and doesn't write often enough.
3) I shall write insistent letters to comedy networks telling them to put her on television.
4) So she can have her damn chocolate-fountain party.
5) Also I shall send her gifts like bouquets of Thera-Flu.

I bet I'm the first person in the world to make a New Year's Resolution for raw sewage.

Happy New Year.

I believe this is the EXACT order in which events occurred:

December 27, 2005 (in a conversation with my mother)
Wow, I haven't been sick even ONCE this year. I must be taking better care of myself. If other people would just take better care of themselves, they wouldn't get sick either. I should give lessons, really. Maybe a seminar.

December 28, 2005
Hmmmm....I'm not sure exactly why, but my throat tickles a little. Damn allergies.

December 29, 2005
I'm dying. Dying, I tell you.

There is not a single part of my body that does not hurt (including my hair.) I feel certain that I have the flu (bird or otherwise) and possibly SARS.

Sigh.....

Happy Holidays.

There is a transit strike in New York City.

That means no subways or buses are running. They are just sitting silently in their little subway-and-bus-caves and diligently hoping that someone figures out something or other so they can return to their joyful life of transporting angry people.

But why should this matter to ME?

After all, I do not take the subway. *I* have a car. Not one of those exotic cars, but a car nonetheless.

If I did NOT have a car, criminals would have no windows to break. Bad drivers would have nothing to crash into. Trees would have nothing on which to fall.

But I do have a car and it has provided all those valuable services and more to the state of New York.

So for once there's a crappy thing happening in New York City that doesn't affect me. Ha! For just this eensy bit of time I'm a winner, right?

Sigh.....

Not exactly precisely, I'm afraid.

I do not know much about the logistics of this transit strike but here is a thing I know:

I should NOT have to leave my apartment at one o'clock in the morning to make it to a 10 a.m. audition.

This is a thing I feel confident about. I feel sure that if you took a vote or a poll anywhere at all, even amongst dolphins or pea-plants or the Irish, my point of view would prevail.

Yet I did have to do that very thing. That very one-o-clocky-in-the-Not-Even-Morning thing.

Truly I did.

I was forced to sneak into the city in the dead of night clad only in Strawberry Shortcake pajamas and mittens.

There is more to my trying adventure, you know. It involves 50 blocks of walking whilst carrying two bags of books and a clarinet. Also the part where I was supposed to sing like a lovely bird at my audition but instead sang like someone who just walked 50 blocks whilst carrying two bags of books and a clarinet. Not so nicely bird-like as one might hope.

But I think you will understand if I'm too sleepy right now to explain the rest........

Besides, if I want to make it into the city for my show tomorrow, I'd better start now.

Why does world persist in assuming that, since I live in New York City, I would naturally want to spend New Year's Eve in Times Square.

For those of you that haven't had the pleasure of watching it on television, New Year's Eve in Times Square is where they bring about thirteen-million people into a two-block radius. They make them stand outside for hours in penguin-cold weather, search them for nuclear weapons and, eventually, drop a giant ball on them. Also, no bathrooms.

And yet people are convinced this is a joyful and pleasant idea. A privilege, even.

I think it should be a punishment.

Well Jill, we warned you. If you get caught cheating one more time, you're going to have to spend New Year's in Times Square.

My friend, Jenny, thinks that relationships are a pain. So she's looking for a "friend with benefits."

I, on the other hand, think that medical bills are a pain. So I'm looking for a "friend with health benefits."

Not so different really.

I can't keep secrets.

When people say, "You can't tell anyone," I tell everyone.

When they say, "Don't repeat this," I repeat it. Repeatedly.

When someone says, "Can you keep a secret?", I say yes.

But I'm lying.

I just CAN'T not tell. I try to keep a secret. I do. But somehow, like Tara Reid's breast at a red carpet event, it just slips out.

I'm pretty sure it's a birth defect I have. Or maybe it's a disease--like alcoholism or syphilis (insert your own Tara Reid joke here.)

I'm working hard to get over this devastating illness. But it's not easy. It's not like other addictions. They don't have a secret patch or secret gum to help you cut down.

(And, by the way, doesn't a secret patch sound like a place where a bunny-child-abuser would take the little baby bunnies to do horrible bunny things to them? "Come on Cottontail, you know not to tell mommy about our trip to the secret patch, right?" )

I just can't stop. So far, the only solution I've found is to continue to tell the secrets, I just tell them to people who don't CARE. Like this:

"Hey blog readers, you know Wendy? She tells everyone she's a virgin but really she had a one-night stand with a busboy when she was nineteen."

See? You don't care even a little bit. I get the JOY of telling secrets, without the PAIN of ruining someone's life.

I can tell secrets with reckless abandon.

But if you do, somehow, feel compelled to tell me a secret....

Well, don't say I didn't warn you.

A Public Service Announcement

We're sorry.

Jill Twiss is not available right now.

She took a short trip to the land of Not-Funny and, well, they won't let her out.

Pretty soon, though, we think they'll realize that she doesn't really fit in there.

And if we clap our hands real hard and believe in fairies and click our heels together, we might just get her back into the land of Rarely-Or-Even-Sometimes-Funny.

I'm sure at that point she will be happy to tell you of all her adventures.

But if you'd like to leave her a message, please do so after the beep.

beep.