New Year's is about taking a long, hard look at your life and deciding what changes you can document on Facebook for the first week and a half of the year. But is that enough? No, it isn’t. So I've come up with this list of resolutions for the rest of SF to use in bettering themselves in 2013. Good thing one of my goals wasn't to "Stop being a judgey, preaching asshole," although I am “giving to others” by prescribing such good ideas to the rest of the city.
Vitamins! Also, consider sharing your secret formula that keeps dogs puppies forever.
You know, I think we could begin simply with "Stop smearing the excess Vaseline you've been massaging into your scalp wounds onto the handrails." God, that'd be a start.
Cut back your filth intake by eating only straight-from-the-fork at parklets. Also, whatever you're doing that makes you so prone to losing a foot, STOP!
Try something new! Like a park or bar.
Learn to live with the fact that I'm not going to grow out my bangs. It's not going to happen!
I get that the Brigitte Bardot look is the next big thing, but I'm JUST TRYING TO HIDE MY TINY FOREHEAD, can't you understand that?
Eat more fiber. (I really shouldn’t know this.)
Leave the house! You're our only celebrity and we can't keep lying about seeing you when there's a lull in our OkCupid dates. (And while you're out, why not try a sexy Brazilian blowout on your arm hair?)
Either start remembering your towel when you take a shower or stop using the hand towel to dry off your genitals. I don’t care which. P.S. You’re not fooling anyone.
Cut back to six Instagram meal-pics a day.
Invest in a pair of headphones. No one appreciates a mangled Nokia-speaker DJ set more than I do, but the rest of the bus is giving you a forever side eye.
Walk a little faster. Also, the last thing this city needs is another Alcatraz polar fleece; lessen your carbon footprint on my eyes by packing a jacket.
Learn to read! It's only a matter of time before you can order your own food at restaurants here.
Note: Thanks to Tyler McPherron for letting me delicately groom his arm hair, to MickaCoo, for lending a friendly pidge to the photo shoot, and to my roommate for smoking 8 cigarettes in one sitting. (No thanks to my other roommate, who continues to use the hand towel to dry off their anonymous bodily crevices.)