STRANGER THAN FICTION: LOOKING FORWARD TO 1995: IT HAS TO BE BETTER

Everyone made his or her New Year's Resolutions yet?

The column is a little late, so most of those resolutions were probably made and broken a long time ago.

For example, mine were to stop using profanity and to lose weight.

Yes, the "fluff" columnist, as I've so often been called, can be a potty mouth on some occasions, usually work-related. I read somewhere that people who can't make their point in the King's English have to rely on curse words, and it's a sign of limited intelligence.

Well, as a writer, I can't just sit back and admit I need curse words to get my point across.

Of course, that resolution was broken at about 2 a.m. on Jan. 1, 1995, when I was a designated driver on an interstate full of drunks.

"You &*%$&%!" I shouted at one driver, who was doing 5 miles per hour in the passing lane. Another car, probably driven by a relative of his, was doing the same in the other lane, so that they were side-by-side and not allowing anyone to pass. "Why don't you have a %$#&* conversation on the *&@$@ interstate!"

Ex-Mr. Dreams, my New Year's Eve date for 1995, tried to be the calm voice of reason.

"Now, Heidi, screaming at those cars doesn't accomplish anything," he said. "And what about your resolution?"

I broke it again answering him.

The second resolution, weight loss, has been a lot easier to keep so far. I've been sick with some sort of sinus-ear-throat, post-nasal drip creeping crud from HADES since the end of last year. As usual, I tried to fight it for a couple weeks using the orange juice drinking, salt water gargling method of health care.

That never, EVER works.

So I ended up at Convenient Care on Jan. 2, when there wasn't a doctor's office open anywhere in town. Did you know everyone gets sick at the same time, and usually around a holiday? Really!

Now every swallow requires a moral decision on whether it is better to do it and face the pain or just spit. I don't eat much these days.

But anyway, this New Year's Eve was a lot different from last year's, when I gathered with a few good friends at Penny's house in Sikeston. Penny made this lethal concoction later to be dubbed "Appleclear," which consisted of apple cider, apple juice and Everclear. No one could tell the Everclear was present until several guests passed out.

I didn't pass out, but awoke the next day to find I had been beaten severely with a baseball bat at some point during the night. At least that's what it felt like.

I drove home slowly, cringing at every noise. The phone was ringing when I reached my apartment.

"Hewoah," I said, Elmer Fudd-like.

"Did you have a good New Year's Eve, Sweetie?" Mr. Dreams said. He wasn't an "ex" at the time, and had to work instead of go out with me.

"Just fine," I mumbled.

"Well, my grandmother has an annual black-eyed pea and ham dinner every New Year's, and she's expecting to see us there," he said. "Pick you up around noon?"

"Fine." Click.

I looked in the mirror. Mascara on my cheeks. Hair standing on end. A large blemish forming on my chin.

I should have known then and there what kind of year 1994 was going to be.

But 1995 is going to be better. I was completely sober, standing on a St. Louis dance floor singing "Auld Lang Syne" when the new year came knocking. Snow started to fall outside, and my dance partner kissed me lightly on the cheek.

It couldn't have been more picturesque. That's a good sign, right?

Just say yes, *&%@ it!

~Heidi Nieland is a member of the Southeast Missourian news staff.