- You have to whip out YOUR wallet to pay for drinks.
- One girl on her period will cry over a commercial advertising quesadillas.
- Thanks to the lack of guys, you’ll have to violently masturbate later.
- There are always those annoying chicks who dedicate the whole night to getting the perfect Instagram or Facebook profile picture.
- “Girls rule! Boys drool!” might as well be the tagline, and you’ve never felt more like a third-grader.
- You do your hair and makeup, not to get laid, but out of competition with the other girls for when you strut around so you can be considered “the hot one.”
- “Women can’t drive”…well shit. How are you supposed to find a DD?
- Your eardrums rip a little every time Taylor Swift blasts on full volume through the speakers, which is pretty much the entire night.
- Even without her around in person, T. Swift manages to set the mood so your whole squad turns into whiney little bitches.
- The only dicks you’ll choke down are the penis-shaped cookies and lollipops provided.
- It’s an unwritten rule never to use lines such as, “Is my vagina crying or are you just that sexy?” to anyone with a scrotum, regardless of if he meets the requirements on your magic man checklist or not. Hard life.
- Which means you won’t have the opportunity to even give his baby maker an over-the-pants handy.
- No sombrero or leis will come out of a girls’ night.
- Roles switch when you become a fuckgirl sending “You up?” texts around 3 a.m.
- And all of your prospects assume this means you are down for #buttstuff.
- Other people somehow manage to splatter paint all over your favorite faded Comfort Color tank.
- Someone is bound to find out that another one of the gals slept with her boyfriend at some point in the past.
- Guacamole is always exceptionally high-priced, and somehow it always ends up on your bill.
- People hate you because they think you are trying to look skinny if you order a salad. All you really wanted was the croutons and ranch.
- Damn near every girl is glued to her phone in hopes of a “Netflix and chill?” or “What are you doing later?” text.
- The Kardashians are bound to come up in conversation.
- Absolutely nobody is on the same level of tipsy. No boundaries were set; therefore it’s unclear what the intoxication goal is.
- The one girl in the group who has a boyfriend is boring everyone with her suggestions for what the next move should be.
- You can’t help but wonder why you are wasting all of those calories if you aren’t even going to touch anyone.
- The even more infuriating question is why on Earth some women haven’t called it quits with beer and whiskey.
- Seriously, stop fronting. There are no boners around. Order something girly, put a fucking umbrella in it, and enjoy your poison, bitch.
- www.bitchesgoneboring.com should be a new website dedicated to “girls’ nights” everywhere, but not in a porno-fashion.
- God bless the designated mom if someone ever steps up to the challenge.
- Who are you supposed to drop it low and bend over for?
- One friend will run away, and the rest of you have to waste about an hour or more trying to locate her.
- The bigger the group of girls, the more rumors are spread.
- The vast perfume stenches are bound to cause permanent brain freeze.
- Social media is filled with lies from your friends trying to make it sound like you are having the time of your lives.
- Choosing wine over tequila just seems wrong.
- One hammered bitch you hardly know keeps telling you how much she “loooooves you.” K. Thanks?
- The outspoken chick with extra loose morals keeps telling too in-depth stories about her genitals in hopes that she sounds like a sex-ed teacher.
- You never get rowdy enough to jump into pools filled with Jell-O, do body shots, run around in your birthday suit, etc… Basically all of the fun stuff worth telling stories about.
- Chains of girls have to strut into the restroom together because you don’t have a male bodyguard in the same vicinity.
- Once you notice a hottie checking you out, all you can do is eye fuck each other’s faces off.
- If this was high school, you wouldn’t miss curfew.
On the bright side, you won’t have nutsack breath in the morning. Just blast some Miley Cyrus instead of Taylor Swift, hire some firefighter strippers, and chug something neon colored next time..