In case you haven’t fully gained consciousness after last night’s champagne-fueled Twister tournament (oh, wait! That was me), today is the first Sunday AND the first day of a new year.

I’m not a conspiracy theorist (though I wasn’t convinced Elvis was really dead until 1986), but I’d say someone is trying to make me break last year’s “no more resolution columns ever” rule.

Oh, all right. I’ll give it another go, but only because I don’t want to write about hangover cures (although if someone has one that doesn’t involve raw eggs, send it my way ASAP).

No. 1: I hereby resolve to figure out, once and for all, what exactly to call this decade we’re in. Is it the “two-thousand teens”? Or is that inaccurate until next year? And what about last decade? What will our children write on their retro costume party invitations? “Come as you were in the two-thousand aughts”? Stuff like that drives me crazy.

No. 2: Speaking of mental health, I promise not to contribute to my own insanity by: a) watching “real” housewives from any part of the country or “Millionaire Matchmaker” marathons; b) venturing out in game-night traffic; or c) listening to talk radio, especially of the sports and political ilk.

No. 3: And speaking of politics, I will not. At least with folks of the opposite persuasion. I love my friends of all leanings, but political differences can breed contempt — no matter how civil we try to be with each other — and 2012 promises to be a hostile year.

No. 4: I will make peace with my age spots, lines and dimply parts. Not that I won’t continue trying to cover them up. I just won’t let them depress me anymore.

No. 5: On a related note, no more looking at my hands and screaming, “I’M TURNING INTO MY GRANDMOTHER!!” The slew of liver spots notwithstanding, my grandma was a fine-looking women right until the end. Any comparison to her is far from tragic. And besides, the screaming really rattles the dog.

No. 6: I will make more phone calls and lunch dates in 2012. Emails, texts and Facebook missives have changed the way I communicate with people. I miss faces, voices, friends in the flesh. From now on, if I feel like talking to somebody I’m going to pick up the phone and dial. And if we can’t meet for lunch, we’ll yammer on — ignoring call waiting — until our jaws get tired.

No. 7: Starting today (well, maybe tomorrow — I’m nursing a splitting Twister headache right now), I’m going to apply the one-year rule to everything in my closet, even the clothes I purchased too small on purpose as diet motivation. If I haven’t worn it since Jan. 1, 2010, it’s going straight to a charity thrift shop. There are a lot of people who could be wearing those Not Your Daughter’s Jeans while I’m waiting to squeeze into them. Hell, by the time that happens, we’ll all be wearing space suits.

No. 8: I will apply the same rule to my refrigerator, but with a slightly different time frame. If the item is two weeks past its expiration date, out it goes. No exceptions.

No. 9: I’m starting my own “slow food” movement in the new year. I’m not just talking about buying fresh and local, although I believe that’s the way to go if you can. I’m talking about slowing down at the table, making everyday meals more of a ritual: burning the candles, decanting the wine, having “My Dinner with Andre” conversations. You have to wonder what would happen to our national obesity crisis if we all just slowed down, chewed our food, and shared more of our lives between bites.

No. 10: And speaking of weight (sigh, you knew this was coming), I hereby resolve to reduce mine by at least 10 percent this year. This, of course, will require less food and more (gulp!) exercise because that, my friends, is the only way it happens: Calories in, calories out. With that in mind, I’m tuning up the treadmill, dusting off the old stability ball and reworking my workout playlist to include songs newer than “Billie Jean.”

I will park in the back of the parking lot! Ride my bike to the grocery store! Take calisthenics breaks from the computer every two hours!

And I resolve to play more Twister! Think about it: Why pay for yoga lessons when you’ve got Twister? Wonder how many calories are in a split of champagne?