Here’s my list of New Year’s resolutions for 2015, as performed at Esoterotica last night.
(For those of you not from New Orleans, the Tulane Avenue Bar I reference is not too subtle about being a gay bar. And yes, I am that oblivious to people’s come-ons.)
- Actually get over your crush on the barista you wrote the piece about having the hots for for last New Year’s. Even if she still has that Clea Duvall hairstyle.
- Stop referring to your flirting abilities as “that old Zach magic.”
- Develop some degree of flirting abilities so that you can start referring to them as “that old Zach magic” and then stop.
- Understand that when a guy buys you a drink at the Tulane Avenue Bar it is not just because everybody’s so much friendlier down here.
- Institute a total ban on referring to sex with exercise terms. Women are right to be offended by your prior use of the phrase “low weight, high reps.” And referring to that as a protein shake won’t bring anybody to your yard.
- Actually read Infinite Jest instead of just using a hollowed-out copy to stash condoms.
- Stop eating bananas, hotdogs, churros, and popsicles while you’re at the Tulane Avenue Bar. You gave the wrong impression. You should have gotten the hint when you noticed their food truck only sold those four items.
- Get a new bathroom mirror so women online don’t think it’s your abs that are always smudged.
- Stop hanging out with hippies just because you think there’s a greater chance that a woman of that subculture will use the phrase “wanna climb that like a tree.”
- Stop asking your dentist if there’s an operation you can get to help you tie cherry stems with your tongue. Again, you gave him the wrong impression.
- Make sure the next fancy Uptown house you hop the fence to try and do it in the backyard of doesn’t have security cameras. Or make sure you’re both wearing masks — maybe wait until Mardi Gras.
- Come to terms with the fact that somebody who lets people eat sushi off of them as part of their job will not be interested in doing so with you on their personal time.
- Stop putting on music when having sex at your apartment. It’s less embarrassing if your roommates know you’re getting laid than if they know you still listen to Blink-182.