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You don’t understand why having a “party girl” reputation is a bad thing.
In fact you actively try to perpetuate that reputation. During recruitment, you drop hints about raging on the low, so PNMs know who’s the most fun.
You have a few different guys at the ready if you need to send a quick “come overrrrr” text.
But you don’t care if they’re not available.
You don’t even care if they hook up with other girls.
And like, you
actually don’t care. You’re not just pretending not to care like your friends do. You’re the first to suggest shots every single time.
You’re the keg stand queen.
You don’t like, bake and shit,
and you kind of judge people who do. You own a bowl. It’s pink and glittery and you named it Barbie, but you still own it.
And you’ve purchased your own weed, and giggle to yourself when your friends “can’t get a good hit.”
You’ve begun looking up when people say “YOU WOULD,” because you just assume they’re talking to you.
Sometimes, you talk about shit — actual shit — like the stuff that comes out of dat ass. And you don’t even need the poop emoji to do so.
Your crafting game is non-existent, and you honestly don’t understand the point of putting glitter on random objects.
You actually watched the Super Bowl, and didn’t find it funny when people called it “the Beyoncé concert.”
You’re completely unapologetic about your drunk eating game.
And your sober eating game.
You don’t live that salad life.
You sort of
wish you were hazed. Nothing insane or anything, just a little bit to build character. You call people “dude.”
Your best friend is the girl who’s closet you go to when you need an outfit for a mixer — you’re the girl you go to when you need a four-person beer bong.
You bond with people most by ragging on them and letting them rag on you.
It takes you under fifteen minutes to do your hair.
And really, you don’t understand why it takes your friends so long to get ready.
Like, seriously, you don’t need a full two hours to put makeup on your face.
You hate drama, but in the way that you actually hate drama, not in the way that you say you hate drama, but are really often the cause of it.
When someone asks you who your favorite Kardashian is, you assume they mean who do you hate the least, not who do you like the most.
You’d rather sit around drinking beers than having champagne and strawberries or whatever the fuck it is you’re supposed to like to drink.
You only wear heels when your roommates tell you it’s unacceptable not to.
You’re on six of your sorority’s intramural teams, and you’re the captain of two of them.
You don’t think of standards as “the enemy,” you just think it’s fucking stupid.
Like, why the fuck are we governing each other based on a rogue Instagram caption. Unless girls are fucking on camera, or shooting up heroin, we’re probably going to be fine.
And you’re not all that concerned when you get “in trouble” for posting up on a porch heckling freshmen and innocent bystanders. It’s a rite of passage.
You have literally NEVER posted a selfie and the fact that people in your life actually do that is bewildering to you.
Babies freak you out.
Pinterest is your least favorite social media. You don’t understand the point or why anyone would want to live in mommy blogger world.
Your guy friends consider you one of the guys,
which you sometimes hate, but mostly love, because you know that’s where you really belong. .
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