1. This Guy Wrote The Most Beautiful, Heartbreaking Letter To His Ex-Girlfriend; Brooke, If You’re Out There, Give Him Another Chance
I’m 24 years old and I have it all figured out. Yes, I just said that. I’m 24, and I have life figured out. And it only took the biggest mistake I’ve ever made–and ever will make–for me to figure it out.
I’m 24 years old, I have a great job, I’m tall, I’m attractive, and I’m outgoing. I was a basketball player in college. I’m a former frat guy, and not the good kind, either. I was the guy who never called. I was the guy who kicked you out after sex. I was the guy who didn’t bother to learn your name. I was the guy who everyone thought had it all figured out. And I thought I did, too.
Then I lost the one person I cared about more than anyone or anything else on Earth. And now I’m broken.
Chronic bitch face is a debilitating attribute that affects the facial muscles, causing the afflicted to look like a total and complete bitch. This crippling and socially impairing handicap deems a girl guilty of looking pissed off 80 percent of the time. Symptoms include emotionless eyes, fierce eyebrows, and an overall stern appearance. As a girl affected by chronic bitch face, I can personally attest that it is no fun and quite annoying. It’s not that I’m actually constantly angry or irritated–my face just happens to naturally look like that of a total asshole. I’m not talking about a Tyra Banks type of beautiful fierceness, I’m talking about a chronic Grumpy Cat expression.
I’ve never really understood the fascination with numbers. We all have one: some big, some small, but none, none are just right. In the game of sex and a perfect equation, there is no Goldilocks, no storybook ending. Just like our soon-to-be wrinkles and the number of gray hairs we’ll so desperately try to hide, it grows with our passing age. Maybe it’s constant, maybe it’s steady. Maybe it’s tapered off in our later years, maybe it’s growing at a faster rate than ever. There’s no right answer, and no wrong one, either. It’s undefinable. A gray area. A black hole. An abyss, if you will, where judgment should cease and shame should be nonexistent.
I’m an upper-middle class white girl. I’m in a sorority. I carry Starbucks in one manicured hand and a designer bag in the other. I have a great job, great friends, and I love my life. Out of all the things I am, the one thing I am not is entitled.
I kind of did the impossible: I got a boyfriend. Like, a real life, actual human, man friend. I have one of those. But the road to getting here wasn’t always easy. In fact, it was actually never easy. Being single is like being at fucking war. War. A war where you have two options: win or die…alone. So I chose to win. So, who wants to win with me? Oh, all of you? That’s what I thought, so listen up.
9. Is it Possible That There Is Something In Between Consensual Sex And Rape…And That It Happens To Almost Every Girl Out There?
Before I even had a chance to decide if he was right, we were making out. In my state of extreme intoxication, my mind was racing in search of a decision. This was exciting. This was fun. But this was also really, really weird, and ultimately, not a road I wanted to go down. I couldn’t decide if the excitement and lust in the air would win over the pit in my stomach. It wasn’t until he grabbed a condom that I really knew how I felt. I was not okay with this. I did not want to have sex with him.
But I did.
Anyone born between 1985-1995 needs an ass-kicking. As of this moment, there are EIGHTY million of these people in the USA. If I were using people I know as a sample study, SIXTY million of them would be on Netflix or stalking a random stranger’s Twitter. And what’s even worse, I’ll confess I spent this whole morning re-organizing my Pinterest boards.
So why do people of The Greatest Generation look down upon us and claim that we’re the demise of all of their hard work? Why does my own grandmother scorn me every time I pull out my iPhone?
It’s time to set the record straight. The drink you choose holds the fate of your evening–or maybe your day, I’m not judging. I think it’s time we look beyond the façade of carefully marketed labeling and discover what our favorite alcohol is really trying to tell us.
We love the “basic” things in our society today: selfies, Starbucks, and Chipotle, to say the least. When it comes down to it, most of us shouldn’t be held responsible for our basic-loving ways. We’re programmed, born, and raised this way, and from birth, we were given the most basic bitch names, which ensured us a life of being, well, basic.
So here it is, a list of the 20 most basic bitch names to date. If you’re on here, I hope you swallow your Starbucks before spitting it out all over your Macbook and posting a passive-aggressive subtweet, because honestly, it’s not your fault that you’re so basic.
Everyone thinks it’s the partying you’re going to miss — staying up until 5, and sleeping in until noon. They think you’ll miss the excessive drinking, the hookups, and the two-dollar Tuesdays — the dance floor makeouts, the short dresses, and the fact that there is always someone on the patio of your favorite bar, trying to steal you from your professor with a $4 LIT. They think you’ll miss the dages, the brunches, the tailgates, the blackouts, and overall just your carefree nature, and utter lack of responsibility. And you will, I suppose, but you can find a bar to drink in anywhere. You know that as well as I do. And while you’ll miss your lifestyle, you know you can do without it. That’s not what you’ll really miss.
I know how I look. I know how I act. I know what I sound like and I know what people think when they meet me. I have manicured nails and a hair color that I wasn’t born with. I wear layers and layers of mascara and sometimes I add on fake lashes. I have an oversized bag around my shoulder and even bigger sunglasses covering my eyes. I wear lipstick with t-shirts and my gym shorts aren’t just reserved for working out. I spend a lot of money at Target and I love a good bottle of wine. I’ve never been camping, I’m not a very good driver, and I surround myself with Diet Coke the way a mermaid would envelop herself in salt water. I squeak when I see spiders and flip my hair when I laugh and I sometimes break into uncontrollable giggle fits. I tweet a lot and gossip even more. I watch reality TV shows and I’m not ashamed to purchase a tabloid at the grocery store. I probably care too much about what other people think of me and I most definitely rely on my father for more than I should. I have monogrammed attire and letters on my chest and sometimes, yes, there is a bow in my hair. I am a sorority girl, but that does not make me stupid.
Going face-to-face with the one-eyed snake sucks…literally. When there are no boys around to give you attention for liking it, I think we can all agree with that. And it’s time we take a stand, and say no to blow! (jobs!). Why? Let us count the ways.
People think shitty things about themselves because they have low self-worth, or because they’ve never thought good things about themselves. People think that hating what they are will give them motivation to change who they are. People make other people feel like shit because we live in a comparative, competitive culture, and we hold the winners and beautiful people up on pedestals so they can spit on everyone else below them. It’s the way things are and it is honestly the worst thing in the world.
I could sit here and tell you to believe in yourself, but that would be just another voice telling you to do something. No, I’m going to tell you my experience with this whole mess, and maybe having a different point of view will allow you to introspect a little bit. Maybe you’ll start to think differently. That’s my goal. I wouldn’t write this if I didn’t want you to think about stuff.
Love stories like “Friends with Benefits” and “When Harry Met Sally…” have long told the beautiful and inspirational story of girls finding great relationships with their best guy friends. We all knew Rachel belonged with Ross, even before Rachel knew it herself. But what about the other side of the story, the side they don’t broadcast? The reality is that there are girls with guy friends who crush on them, whose feelings the girls don’t return. Sometimes, Lizzie just doesn’t like Gordo back.
It has recently become popular to accuse innocent girls of placing platonic guy friends in the sexual purgatory known as the “friend zone.” I assume that whoever invented this phrase was probably just some self-conscious, bitter guy who couldn’t score with a friend of his because she didn’t return his feelings, and thus decided to blame her for something she couldn’t help. Go figure.
While the boys hoot and holler about football stats, fantasy teams, big hits, and bigger bets, we ladies know what football season really means: tailgating. I imagine heaven as one long, never-ending tailgate, where the booze flows freely and the grills never burn out. The day a philosopher bases a utopia around tailgating is the day we will finally reach the perfect society. That’s how great tailgating is. One of the most important factors of tailgating is making sure the beer, booze, and bags of wine are kept at an optimal, cold temperature. What vessel is not only vital to keeping things cold, but somewhat a staple in Greek life? Coolers, of course!
Sure, we have our sisters, our fraternity boys, and countless friends, but when push comes to shove, we always have our one best friend. The one who’s been there through thick and thin and can make you laugh, cry, or feel better with just a look. “Two peas in a pod” doesn’t nearly begin to describe your friendship. Of course, you know that your friendship is strictly platonic, but here are some examples of why people might think you’re more than just friends.
As we’ve all surely experienced, there are many different types of guys: the douchebag, the jock, the too emotionally attached, and the one who says he’ll call but never does, for example. Well, I’ve discovered over the years that we ladies can be broken down into categories, too. One friend who will go all the way but stop just short of sex with any guy is the tease. Another beautiful, thin, intelligent, and kind friend who was just too distant to commit to any one suitor is every guy’s “one who got away.” Yet another dear friend is the one who makes out with guys in bars every weekend but couldn’t tell you the last time she’s fallen in love for fear of being hurt again. Me? Well, I’m the “almost” girl.
All too often, you’ll hear your friends harp over every detail of their pseudo-relationships when they eventually fail. “But I really thought he liked me! All the signs were there!” Yes, they were there, but unfortunately, you read them wrong. Guys these days are pretty good at tricking you into believing what you want to believe, but the signs of their true feelings are always there. You just need to be willing to look beyond the bullshit to find them.
A Guy Who Likes You: Texts you on Wednesday afternoon because he wants to get to know you. He asks you questions about your family, major, friends, life stressors, and all that other boring stuff.
A Guy Who Likes Sleeping With You: Texts you on Wednesday afternoon because he knows if the first time he texts you is Friday at 11pm, you won’t sleep with him. He asks you questions like “what’s up?” and “getting into anything tonight?”
In the immortal words of Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride, “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”
Actual definition: A member of a traditionally itinerant people who originated in northern India and now live chiefly in south and southwest Asia, Europe, and North America.
Phrase: Fleeing persecution from the Nazi regime, a gypsy family, hailing from Romania, sought refuge in London in 1941. Many others followed.
Sorority definition: One who loves maxi dresses, Dave Matthews Band, oversized sunglasses, middle parts, braided headbands, fishtail braids, and $3,000 purses.
Phrase: Did you see the Coachella lineup? I’m absolutely going. I can’t wait to wear that new Anthropologie dress. God, I’m such a fucking gypsy. I like…am such a Jessa. Do you want to go shopping later? J.Crew is having an awesome sale.
You knew it well before graduation, before finding your way into the real world. You knew it before you celebrated your 21st birthday when you had your first legal sip of alcohol, surrounded by 35 people who truly did mean the world to you. You knew it before you signed your bid card. You knew it before you fell in love with the ivy growing on the library, with your future husband, with your best friends. You knew it before you discovered the cute coffee shop on the corner that really does serve the best coffee in the world. You knew it before you spent 27 hours straight studying for a final exam, breaking only for giggle fits and pizza. You knew it before a girl you’d known for only six months held you in her arms as you cried after breaking up with your high school boyfriend. You knew it before you took your first college class, and before you went to your first college party. You even knew it before you penned your college application essays, before you took your SATs, and before you ever stepped foot on campus.
As we trudge through years of upper-level education, one thing becomes more and more evident: college is probably the strangest time period of our lives. It’s a time when holding hands with someone can legitimately mean more than sleeping with him. It’s a time when although the days seem never-ending, they also pass us by way too quickly and make us say, “Seriously, where the fuck did that year go?” It’s a time when we spend half of our days sleeping until 2 p.m. and the other half pulling all-nighters in preparation for seemingly impossible exams. It’s also a time when those who suffer from ADHD are deemed “lucky” to have a legitimate diagnosis, and subsequently, a prescription for a drug that makes said all-nighters much more achievable.
A big held her new baby and very slowly rocked her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
And while she held her, she sang:
I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living,
my little you’ll be.