If you have to talk about how you got “friendzoned” by a girl, realize that you’re speaking about something that doesn’t exist–and it makes you sound like a desperate, sad whiner who has probably never been with a girl anyway.
Gents, I hate to break it to you, but girls have made the irrevocable decision of whether or not they would EVER EVEN CONSIDER sleeping with you within approximately 32 seconds of meeting you for the first time. Literally. Introduce yourself, wait a minute, and then ask her if she’d ever even possibly think about sleeping with you.* She’ll either say “hell no” or she’ll blush. There’s your answer. You’re welcome.
If you claim there’s such a thing as the “friendzone,” then you’re assuming that thing is an aberration from the norm… namely, you are assuming that most girls want to sleep with you.
Allow me to offer the dissenting and most likely uncomfortable opinion: almost no girls want you. If you happen to find one who does, THAT’S the aberration. When this rare occurrence happens, say you’ve been “bangzoned.” Makes a lot more sense, and I bet you’ll find more people will want to celebrate with you about that compared with the low attendance you’ll find at your little friendzone pity party.
* Omg, please let me know if you try this. I want to know every detail about what happens, including how much you cried when she kicked you in the balls.
If you have to go–by yourself–to a hardware store or a home improvement warehouse superstore or some sort of Depot of Home things, make sure you have the requisite penile organ to escape the experience with your sanity and your pride intact.
I’m a girl. (Okay, I’m a woman, but I am totally a girl. You know what I mean.) Going to a hardware store shouldn’t be a traumatic experience, but it always is for me. I can’t help that I appear terrified and lost. I mean, the place has, like, 200 foot ceilings, the smuggest-looking employees in the world, and 25 different places where a particular item could or should be.
Completely Hypothetical Example: I need a new twisty knob thing for my shower that turns the water on. I’m actually walking around the store with the broken one in my left hand. Is it in Bath, Plumbing, or Hardware?! Why are all the dipshit employees named Jason and why are they looking at me with the same look of condescension I give women who wear capri pants? How is it that I’ve walked down the same aisle three times? Why is a customer asking me if I need help? Where are all the orange-vested Jasons? Where do I pay for this thing? Why is the parking lot so big? WHERE DID I PARK MY CAR?!
I figured out why the parking lot is so big. I literally needed that five minutes driving across the lot to decompress before I got back out on the road.
So damn you, Jason. Also, the other Jason. And all your little Jason friends.
If you have to compliment me, please keep in mind that I’m a girl. Webster’s Seventh New Collegiate Dictionary defines “girl” as a neurotic mess who will invariably find a way to make whatever you’ve said into an insult.
Let’s take this morning, for example…
Coworker (female): “Look at you!”
Me: “Look at me?”
Coworker: “You look so fancy today!”
Me: [glaring] “This is the way I dress.”
Clearly, my coworker was simply telling me that I looked nice. To me, however, what she said implied that I usually don’t look this good. The nerve of some people.
Another coworker came to my cube a few minutes later and said, “I like your suit!” With narrowed eyes, she asked, “Are you interviewing?” Now THAT made me smile for about ten seconds before I figured out a way to be offended by it. (She hoped that I had an interview because she wants me out of there.)
The take-home message here is to know your audience. “Nice suit. You’re beautiful,” is a great way to go.
If you have to drink alcoholic beverages, ladies, please be aware of your drunk personality. Drunken women can be separated into three categories: introspective disasters, paranoid idiots, and woo girls.
Woo girls are the worst.
An Introspective Disaster will begin weeping inconsolably after her second drink. Occasionally, she won’t know why she’s crying, but it’s usually about some guy. The crying is sometimes tolerable, but the incessant yapping about her life and how tragic it all is will make you rethink ever drinking with this chick again. Get someone to take her home so she can curl up in a Snuggie and drink some hot cocoa while watching Jerry Maguire.
A Paranoid Idiot, after just a couple of drinks, will get worked up instead of relaxing. She’ll tell you that every girl in the bar looks better than she does. When a guy looks at her, she’ll check her purse to make sure she has her mace. She KNOWS FOR A FACT that the bartender was judging her because she got the house vodka in her drink. Everything’s a conspiracy… And that song that guy just played on the jukebox? IT’S A TRAP.
Woo Girls. There’s one in every group of girls who go out. (Don’t know who it is in your group? That’s because you blacked out while dancing on the bar last weekend–and why did your throat hurt so badly the next day? You woo’d. You’re that girl.) Woo Girls will ALWAYS take a shot. They’ll accept the martini from the creepy guy at the end of the bar. They’re always up for anything involving alcohol. They don’t eat food while they drink and they pre-game harder than you know how to party. And they woo (woo hoo!!!!!). They woo for people they see, songs that are played, drinks… They woo at the bar, on the dance floor, in the bathroom… They’re intolerable. They’re ridiculous. And they won’t remember any of it tomorrow.