A stress-less New Year

In this new year, I will make a substantial vow to myself - I will be less irritated.

It will be hard, yes, it will be trying. Of course, I can't ignore everything. Where would I find subject matter for my column?

However, I've passed yet another birthday, and thus, I have to further accept my obligations to be a somewhat sane, level-minded adult.

My New Year's resolution? Well, it isn't exactly a resolution in the singular sense.

I promise to stop, count to 10 and breathe when someone at a red light won't turn right. So what if they could have turned five minutes ago? Just because they can turn doesn't mean they have to. Let's all just sit at this light and think happy thoughts until it turns green. No matter that I left permanent indentations of my hands in the steering wheel.

I vow not to mutter cuss words when I find that my toothpaste has been accosted by someone who decided to cap it mid-squeeze. I don't have to get upset about this - it's so easy just to wash off all the excess toothpaste that has coated the top and sides, as well as the cap, although I know that cap won't wash out at all. It will be a constant mess every time I use that stupid tube. But it's OK.

I will deny the impulse to mention to the people staring at me in a rude manner that they might want to take a photograph, or inquire as to what exactly is their problem. Maybe they are just having vision problems, or can't think of my name. Surely that contemptuous face has nothing to do with anything that passed during our high school days, oh so long ago.

I won't be disgusted when there happens to be a sequel to one of my favorite movies that undoes the majesty of the series. No, Mummy III - Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, I'm not talking about you. Of course, replacing Rachel Weisz was fine with me. I don't know the other chick, but her frigidness and obvious lack of theatrical training was ... new.

When the operator asks me if I am willing to be put on hold, and then puts me on hold before I have a chance to answer, I will not mutter indecencies about her personality, social standing, or professionalism. After all, it's inevitable that I will be put on hold, so it's not really a question as much as it is a warning - an evil, mind game kind of warning.

Even though the restaurant is terribly crowded, I will not glare at the large, boisterous party that obviously finished their meals 20 minutes ago but refuse to leave. I don't mind standing by the door, with a wintry draft every 10 seconds. The sub-zero temperatures feel refreshing as they waft up my coat.

I will completely ignore it every time a Hollywood profile, who has obviously broken most, if not all, 10 Commandments, thanks God for their success. Of course Snoop has every right to thank God - he's alive, isn't he?

I will not take my revenge on some inconsiderate jerk who cuts me off on the highway. Speeding up to return the favor, and adding a little brake-check in the mix, is definitely not the solution. Enjoyable, yes, but wrong.

I will not "accidentally" bump people with my shopping cart when they plug up the aisle because they are holding a conversation that could be heard on "The View." No, you can't squeeze by either, Katy. Just back up and go to the next aisle, it's not worth getting security involved.

I know - it's a lot to take on all at once. I can't really promise that I will uphold all my New Year's resolutions to the fullest, but I sure can say that I will think about trying.

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Katy Blair is the Globe associate editor. She can be reached at 367-0583, Ext. 210, or katyblair@npgco.com.

Plight of the pestered passenger

The holidays are upon us. What this means for many is travel - flying here, driving there, all to spend time with your siblings, who - after all these years - you still get the urge to drown with a good old-fashioned swirly, and their brat kids, who run in constant circles, screaming, as if they require no oxygen.

Ah, family time.

But no matter how you choose to arrive at your destination - plane, train or automobile - remember that there will be crazed children everywhere. Grabbing, climbing, wailing, kicking, absolutely hopped up on candy bars and Dr. Pepper ... and you won't be related to them.

Thus, remember this advice upon entering your ride of choice - beware the seat-kicking delinquents.

Oh yes, those adorable little heathens. They draw you in, looking so innocent, so angelic - "Aw, honey, isn't that boy just so cute?"

And you feel a sense of calm, safe that your seat on the plane is directly in front of such a "little angel." It will be so nice to be seated near such a pleasant family, right?

But the minute you take your seat, the game is afoot.

A couple of harmless bumps to your seat - no big deal. The plane is about to take off, so everyone is getting adjusted, putting bags underneath seats, getting up to deal with carry-ons, going to the restroom, all those pre-flight details.

Now you're in the air, and settling down to watch the spectacular in-flight movie, with only a slight hum of chatter, and the engines roaring outside.

Bump.

It's not a thing, right? He's just a kid, probably trying to calm down after all the excitement of his first ride in a real airplane.

Bump.

That one was a little bit harder. Now, your thought process has been provoked. Is he doing it on purpose? It didn't feel like a stray elbow or knee while shifting, it felt more like a kick to the (bump) ... bottom of your seat.

Do you dare look back? Not much of an option at this point, so here comes the first, "you're annoying me, and by doing this, I hope you understand that you're annoying me and quit whatever it is that you're doing" turn of the head.

Ninety degrees to the left, eyes slightly looking to your peripherals, but no eye contact. That should make your point.

Bump bump.

You smile despite yourself - that boy's got some gall. Now you've heated things up, the little demon child knows he got under your skin. Your move.

How about just trying to ignore him? He'll figure out that you're not playing, and give up for better game. Just recline the ol' chair, and stretch out. That will give him less room to work with.

Wrong - a bump to the headrest alters that route.

Now it's time to get the parents involved. It's become obvious that 7-year-old Satan has pinpointed you for his sick, personal brand of torture.

Since the sideways glance didn't work, you decide some eye contact is necessary. Work up the anger, get a good annoyed face, and turn to peer through the gap in the seats.

Of course - the parents aren't even paying attention. They are flipping through magazines, playing games on their cell phones, or whatever else that keeps them from paying attention to their evil seed's goings-on.

And he, what with his iPod, hefty bag of Starbursts, handheld game, and book bag of who knows what other things he doesn't need, how could he really be so bored as to desire kicking a person's seat for entertainment?

Look at him, just sitting there, all smug, foot frozen in mid-air, ready to launch another attack. He's the one who needs a swirly.

So you turn around, helpless in your fight. The parents don't care, and he is on a mission now.

But there is a solution. Rather than stooping to his level by reeling in your seat and wringing his neck, or buying off the man sitting behind him so you can give him a taste of his own medicine, there's a good standby, especially popular during my childhood.

It's fail-proof, works every time - just ask my sisters.

"Hey there, did anyone ever tell you that you were adopted?"

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Katy Blair is Globe associate editor. She can be reached at 367-0583, Ext. 210, or katyblair@npgco.com.