Princess Kennedy: Resolutions are for Fat People

Last time Kennedy checked she had somewhere between 200 and 300 pairs of shoes. Photo: Chad Kirkland

Wasn’t NYE 2011 just last month? I need to find a way to make my time more constructive so that I spend less time of the year lolly-gagging. Oh hey, that’s almost a resolution! I tend not to make resolutions because, quite frankly, they are for quitters and fat people, of which I am neither. Those of you who are, please do a favor for those of us that go to the gym regularly. The last thing we want is to have to dodge your fat ass and wait for you to finish the 15 minutes that you can barely get through on the treadmill–and don’t come up and ask me how long it took me to get the body I have or if I like my Vibram shoes. These are dumb questions, we will laugh at you and the answer is irrelevant. Don’t fool yourself, you won’t be in the gym after February 15 and the diet you resolved to stick to will devolve into washing down chips and Whoppers with Diet Coke and a can of frosting. What you should do is start saving for dialysis and the crane that will have to heave your bed-sore ridden love handles out of the double wide and into a piano box coffin.    

Quitting smoking, masturbating, shooting meth, anonymous sex with strangers, beating your children, forgetting people’s names and wearing your sisters undies are all bollocks—resolutions like these are counter productive and I can’t imagine why anyone would build themselves up for such failure. These are all set ups and problems that take a professional to overcome–if you had that kind of will power, you wouldn’t be in the situation in the first place. So, smoke up and slap little Johnny senseless because what’s-his-name stopped selling meth, and you’re fat!
Let’s think of some realistic goals: Traveling more is a good goal, because that can be achieved by a Front Runner to Ogden. Being nice to your fellow human beings could be as simple as cracking a smile. Cultural enhancement maybe? Switch Chinese restaurants or talk to that black guy at work. So far so good! Instead of smoking less, smoke more—it’s way easier, I know—share more—stop covering your mouth when you cough and stop all that post masturbatorial hand-washing. We have quite the list started for you. Now, let’s get one for me.

I admit I have nary a gift for name retention, so instead of working on remembering names, I think I’ll just perfect the already vacant look I naturally have and just walk away when we get to the name exchanging part. This next one will be hard, but I think I’ll switch back to vodka from the whiskey binge I’ve been on in 2011. This one is important: I promise to keep making fools of TSA and to continue flying with baggies of cocaine and weed, proving that they are just looking for bombs AND are not very smart. I won’t get 10 new credit cards and max them out by May 1 in hopes that the Mayans have that whole end of the world thing right, although I really hope so for your sake, because that fat ass in a bikini is the last thing you’ll worry about while some sort of Mexi-Demon is ramming a pitch fork up your pooper with one hand and ripping the still-beating heart from your chest with the other.

These are all hilarious, but there is one thing I do need to “clean up” in my life, one of those “real” resolutions, because I live in a constant state of disarray. The “Princess” in Princess Kennedy is not in any way just a name—I actually fancy myself as being a little more entitled to the finer things in life and, quite frankly, just a bit better than the average Joe. Along with this self-entitlement, I think I should have servants to do such menial tasks for me like dishes and dusting. Come on, if given the choice to either hang up last weekend’s costume extravaganza or lay around smoking blunts and watching a British TV series, what would you choose?

I live my life in hyper speed, I am so busy with projects and things that I only pay attention to where I’m going, and leave a path of tranny tornado-like destruction in my wake. Shortly after booking a trip to New York last summer, I Facebooked the friend I was going to stay with and told him to be glad the hurricane was a bust, because hurricane Kennedy was going to blow in with her own FEMA trailer. Most of this destruction comes from the sheer amount of fashion I own–I have this hideous clothes and shoe shopping habit. I think at last count, I had somewhere in the range of 200-and-something pairs of shoes (probably closer to 300) that are on a series of four, nine-foot-long shelves on the wall by the head of my bed. My friends are threatening to call Hoarders on me for some intervention, because as glamorous as it may sound, I am not only the old tranny that lives, but will most certainly die, in her shoes.

 Wish me luck, Happy New Year!

Last time Kennedy checked she had somewhere between 200 and 300 pairs of shoes. Photo: Chad Kirkland