As I was sipping liquid cocaine out of a highball glass in between karaoke sets at a gay bar last night and watching three fat lesbians grind on each other in a human centipede style fashion, I started thinking about all the things that make me want to just cut a bitch the way you suspect a Wal-Mart cashier might were she confronted with her man’s “side trick.” Obviously fat lesbians are pretty high up on the list, but I can’t really complain too much about their antics since I was, in fact, in a gay bar. (In case you wanted to know, I sang “The Bad Touch,” my signature, and dedicated “Wagon Wheel” to my main gays. But I doubt you really cared.)
As far as straight girls go, the single most irritating thing a chick can do with regard to relationships is to constantly complain about how much she hates her boyfriend to her single friends. As much as a group of single girls will insist that they don’t want to be in a relationship, and that it’s so much more fun to just be with their girls, there is some part of EVERY girl, no matter how small, who still would like to be attached to Prince Charming, like, yesterday. If you don’t ever have anything nice to say about him, break up with him. You’re in a shitty relationship, and your incessant complaining about it is just telling your girlfriends that you’d rather be with a guy you hate than alone like they are.
Similarly, I know that the majority of females in the world hates their weight at least a little. Most of us think we’re too fat, some of us think we’re too skinny, and sorority women especially hold themselves to a particularly high standard of physical attractiveness. It’s OK to complain and seek reassurance from your peers. It’s part of how we bond with each other. It is NOT, however, OK to complain to someone who is heavier than you are. She hears that you think you are a fat slob, she understands that you think she is jabba the hut. Be considerate.
Anyone who follows my columns knows that I’m the absolute last person to speak out against defined gender roles, but up there with the “Oh my god I hit 115, I’m going paleo for a month” bitch is the “I’m an art history major because I just want to be a mom” bitch. You do not go to college to meet your husband. You go to college to get an education. The world is no longer a place where a woman can count on being supported by her father until he gives her hand, and the support of her lifestyle, away to her husband. The girl with no independent life plan is the girl whose divorce settlement requires her to sell her jewelry at 45 and live in my apartment complex. Be an art history major because you want to work in the field, and then actually plan on doing it.
Improper bar bathroom etiquette is also way up there. There are two things that bar bathrooms should be utilized for, and socializing is not one of them. Neither of those two things require a group of more than two. There must be scientific evidence that three girls going into the stall at once will have a combined time to pee that is at least 20% longer than if they all acted like civilized humans, went in, got it done, and exited promptly. There is someone in the line behind you who might actually pee herself, and it’s going to be your fault because you can’t pause your idiotic conversation for 1-2 minutes. If you have to talk about the guys you’re with and have them not know about it, just walk past the bathroom and stand by the wait stand, don’t take up space in there.
And finally, the girl you always want to cut most is the one who is just SO into your rival sorority that they probably wouldn’t even be your rivals if she weren’t so loudly proclaiming their superiority while being a dumb slut who can’t even hold her liquor as a junior. Seriously. That girl. You know who you are. Actually…It’s probably me for someone. Oh well, screw it. Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
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