Tag Archives: ugh

She Bangs

If you have to get a haircut, do not get bangs. If you already have bangs, do not have them trimmed. The amount of time between bang-cutting and regret in most US women varies between five minutes and two days. Please see process below:

  1. Bang-cutting ideation
  2. Bang-cutting plan
  3. Actual bang cutting
  4. Very short period of satisfaction
  5. Regret
  6. Anger
  7. Blaming self or others
  8. Googling “how to grow out bangs” and/or “bang extensions”
  9. Consumption of excessive amounts of red wine
  10. Bargaining
  11. Acceptance
  12. Just kidding about the acceptance thing
  13. Asking friends “Am I still pretty?”
  14. Crying
  15. See #9
  16. Confusion
  17. Posting of one Instagram photo showing the cut
  18. Deletion of photo
  19. Rage directed at all women without bangs
  20. General malaise
  21. Diagnosis of hair dysmorphic disorder
  22. Hair spray and barrettes
  23. Long recovery period
  24. Cycle starts over at #3

You somehow fool yourself into thinking that forehead fringe will solve all of your problems, but the host of issues it brings will be a plague on you, your friends, and your family. Just say no.

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LOOOOVE on the Internet

If you have to post schmoopy things online about (or to) your significant other, stop. There’s a 100% chance that none of us want to see it.

Single people don’t appreciate you rubbing their noses in it, and people in relationships REALLY don’t like your perceived oneupsmanship. We get it, Amanda. You love John. You LOOOOOOVE John. We know. We KNOOOOOOW.*

And you people with family photos as profile pictures? Ugh. It’s bad enough that you posted ALL 37 LOVELY SHOTS of you, your adoring husband, your sweet children, and your squishy wittle puppy, but now we have to be reminded of how beautiful you all look together in a posed studio shot EVERY SINGLE TIME you post something? Barf.

Why do I hate this so much? …Honestly? I hate to admit it, but it’s because that will never be my life. I’ve come to accept that no one will ever post lovey-dovey things about me online, that I’ll never be in a significant other’s profile picture, and that I will never be on the receiving end of any sort of public declaration of love via social media. No one will ever do the modern-day equivalent of shouting my name from a mountaintop. I get it! BUT JENNY WILL JUST KEEP ON POSTING THAT SHE AND MATT ARE LIKE TOTES HAPPY OMG 4EVAR LOVE BARF BARF LITERAL VOMIT.

*and also I’m kind of looking forward to what’s going to happen when Amanda finds out that John is gay

I Won’t Bake Chocolate Chip Cookies

If you have to be good at something, be a big fish in a small pond. Instead of trying to create a large impact, make a unique impact.

What’s the best kind of beer?

Basic garbage humans will sing the praises of Bud Light, 30-somethings get nostalgic when they see a Corona, poor and/or ugly people claim to like Coors Light, Europhiles are into Guinness, and every man on the brink of a midlife crisis is in love with one craft beer or another. Oh, and my mother drinks O’Doul’s because she says she enjoys the taste.

The point here is that people have different preferences, whether they’re weird (Corona), gross (Bud Light), or wrong (O’Doul’s). The same holds true for chocolate chip cookies. People prefer different types of chocolate chip cookies:  weird (with pecans), gross (with dark chocolate chips), or wrong (crunchy cookies).

Trying to make a universally loved chocolate chip cookie is an exercise in futility. The mere fact that people have all of these silly preferences means that you can’t make everyone happy all the time.

You want a cookie? I’ll bake you a batch of soft, melt-in-your-mouth, sea salt caramel cookies. I’ll create some blueberry white chocolate oatmeal cookies. I’ll make some butterscotch cookies you’ll never forget.

I’m not saying that unique = awesome, but I will say that giving people something unexpected rather than just giving them your version of the “best” of something ordinary may just pay big dividends in the long run.

Highway to the Friendzone

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.

Too Hot for… You?

If you have to complain about your relationship, make sure you’re complaining about something that makes sense. (This is gonna get hella metaphorical, so strap in, kids.)

Imagine that you have fantasized for years about owning a Lamborghini (or a Lotus, or a Tesla, or a damned Prius–if that’s the type of thing that tickles your fancy). All of the sudden, you are given the car of your DREAMS.

However… now you are the owner of a Lamborghini. You have to step up your game. You can’t bum around in sweatpants anymore. You need to look and act the part of Lamborghini Owner. It’s a lot of work. In addition to making yourself a fitting owner for that fine automobile, you need to wash it, park it further out in the parking lot than you used to park your Taurus, and go to the luxury car dealership when it needs work.

Does that sound like too much work for you, Sweatpants Man?? Don’t be mad at the Lamborghini for being fabulous. THAT’S WHAT YOU WANTED, REMEMBER?!

Lost on that one? Try this:  If you buy a candle, you should light it and experience it with all your senses. Enjoy its heat, its glow, its scent, and its spark. (Maybe don’t lick it, but you know what I mean.) Don’t buy it and stick it in a cabinet just to be able to say that you have a candle. Who cares if you have a candle if it’s just shoved in the back of your sock drawer?

Still not with me? Okay. Don’t be mad at your hot significant other because they’re hot. You wanted a hot person, you somehow managed to score one, and now you’re all pissy because they haven’t fallen into the same pit of self-loathing and sloth that you swim in? Hmm… maybe lower your expectations… for next time. 🙂

Completely Justified -isms

If you have to hate someone, I’ve always said that you should do it for a legitimate (but completely arbitrary) reason. The following examples are groups of people who do not get enough seething rage, discrimination, and hatred from society, though they probably deserve it:

  • Stilettoism:  hatred for women who lack the necessary ankle strength and/or balancing ability, but insist on wearing high heels anyway.
  • Nicknameism:  discriminating against those people who make their nicknames hard to spell. (Like, I get that your parents named you Mikaylah–and I hate them for that, but I hate you because you nicknamed yourself “Mikkiyee.”)
  • Stretchism:  disgust for people who stretch any time and every time they’re standing still. (Get your leg off the back of the couch, Anna, and stop bending over.)
  • Unintentional BJ-ism:  hating on people who, during business meetings, drink water from bottles that are, like, big sippy cups with the fat straws that you have to compress to suck. (No one can concentrate on strategic planning while Tim is performing oral on his water bottle. Especially when he hasn’t broken eye contact with Ron for twenty seconds.)
  • Garbagehumanism:  discriminating against people who listen to country music.
  • Doggy bag at the table eater-ism:  anger toward people who, before the meal, ask for half their dinner to be boxed as leftovers, and then open the box and start picking at it while the rest of us eat from our plates like normal people, Janet.
  • Non sequiturism*:  hating those people who have to jump into EVERY SINGLE CONVERSATION with some off-the-wall, ridiculous bullshit. (“Did you know that the Brazil nut is not, in fact, a nut?” Shut the fuck up, Chad!)

*Fun fact:  my phone tried to autocorrect that to “non sequin urinalysis,” which obviously makes more sense. (I blame Chad.)

Waxing Political

If you have to talk about politics, do it in your car. When you’re by yourself. With the windows rolled up.

In general, I don’t talk about politics. In specific, I never fucking talk about politics. Trumpeting your political views is one of the quickest ways to make my eyes glaze over. Really, all you’re doing is telling me about your feelings. I don’t actually have feelings, so hearing about yours irritates me. The overarching problem is that people are too emotional to actually hold a conversation in which there is any discussion about politics.

Political discourse digs at the very core of human nature. To remove the passion and the emotion from the conversation is impossible, so it’s my position that discussing politics should be outlawed because the interpretation of facts is skewed by one’s political leanings.

So… shh.

Beach Couples

If you have to go to the beach with another person with whom you are involved (either romantically or somewhat less so), know that I’m watching. I’m watching and I’m judging and I’m sorting you into one of the following two groups…

Beach Couple A:  These people couldn’t be pried off each other with whatever tool you use to pry people off each other. They lay on a blanket, holding hands. They go out into the water together. They embrace when the water gets up to mid-chest level. They’re having conversations you’ll never hear. (Did I just see tongue? I definitely saw… Wow. I didn’t know people’s mouths could open that far. Damn, that’s pretty sexy. They’re really… I wonder if they’re going to… Huh.) They don’t even know you’re there. They walk along the shore, hand in hand, and are oblivious to you, the world, and THE BIG DEAD FISH THAT’S RIGHT BY THE DUDE’S FOOT OHMYGOODNESS WHY CAN’T HE SEE IT EWWWW…

Beach Couple #2:  You think they showed up in the same car because they have carried the collective equivalent of two people’s beach junk to the same spot. They walk along the shore, but he’s five steps ahead of her (note that if he was behind her, that’s a totes different story because he’s admiring her assssets). They may go into the water at the same time, but no physical contact takes place. They talk, but it’s pretty much only about the weather. Additionally (wtf), the dude is very aware of every woman within his field of vision. Maybe they’re brother and sister?

Discuss.

Yes, the couples are A and #2, but that’s largely because I had some beer. I’m not going to go back and fix it now because I honestly think it’s funny. That may also be due to the beer. Whatever.

So it’s completely reasonable to assume that Couple A has just gotten together, are on their honeymoon, or are out on a super-hot (and/or super-drunk) date. Also, Couple #2 is probably either out on the worst and/or most awkward first date ever or they’ve been married for a really long time and kinda sorta (okay, totally) hate each other.

A sub-par Couple A can become Couple #2 after a period of time (and believe me, the other meaning of the term “#2” is not lost here), but a couple that’s #2 ain’t gonna become A.

Okay, here comes a difficult admission for me (again, thanks, beer), but sometimes there are completely ugly couples who qualify for Couple A status. (NOTE:  That’s great and all, but don’t, like, reproduce or anything. That’s gross.) For some reason, ugly people pair up and, like, go outside. And they get on each other. And we all shudder and cry and hide the eyes of our children because holy hell, why did these people think that the rest of us should see them in the bright, unforgiving light of day?!

Attractive people (and attractive couples) vs. uggos (and pairs of uggos). More on this to come.

Idiot Husbands and Eggs

If you have to be around that one couple who truly has no business being together, consider that one or both of them might not know any better.

Do you have one of those friends who’s always with the wrong guy? You joke and say that Yolanda “really knows how to pick ’em” and wonder how she doesn’t see that her husband Jeff and her ex Mike are, like, totally the same person. How does she not realize it’s all going to end up the same way it did when she and Tom broke up? It’ll all be for the same reasons.

Learned helplessness is when a subject has stopped trying to escape an an adverse condition or stimulus because it has been forced to deal with it for so long.

Yolanda doesn’t want to be miserable in her relationships. She’s not seeking out guys who all have the same problem. That’s just all she knows. In her current relationship, she married her husband because she stopped trying to find something different. She thinks all guys are the same. It’s like she has found 309 different ways to cook an egg, but she won’t (or can’t) acknowledge that she could do something else entirely with the egg–like dye it, or bake a cake, or (even better) throw it at Jeff’s stupid, fat face.

It’s gonna be an interesting day when Yolanda figures out something else to do with her eggs.

This story was inspired by all the awkward couples I saw (and the omelet I ate) at breakfast this morning.

Sorry About My Face

If you have to comment on my facial expression when I’m not smiling, don’t make the mistake of assuming anything about my current mood/attitude/level of health.

It has come to my attention that when I’m working/thinking/busy, I don’t always have an ear-to-ear grin plastered on my face. When this occurs and you can’t keep from opening your damn mouth and offering commentary, do us both a favor by not saying any of the following:

  • “What’s wrong?”
  • “You look terrible.”
  • “Are you sick?”
  • “Uh oh… What happened?”
  • “Wake up!”

Hey Janice, I’m relatively certain that you can walk by my office without words dribbling out of your mouth, so why don’t you give it a shot? Thanks.