How to Be My Girlfriend
I’ve met girlfriends on the Internet before, but I don’t want to meet you there. I want you to just appear. Maybe we work together at the bookstore, or the sugar shack, or whatever shitty part-time job we share at the time because our “real jobs” pay us in gum wrappers and pantyhose. We’ll spend our shifts bitching about how we don’t belong there, and one night I’ll kiss you on the subway platform. You’ll be talking about how crabby you feel, and I’ll be staring at your lips, and then my stomach will jump with fear and I’ll lean in and go for it. Your breath will smell slightly minty, and slightly gross. I’ll like it, because I like you.
I’d prefer it if you’re not TOO close to your family. I’m not saying that I’m nuts and want to lock you under the bed and hide you from the world or anything, but I want to be your family. We’ll visit your parents and whoever else for Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, but we’ll have our own Christmas on Christmas day at home. If you’re not okay with this, then you’re not really in love with me. I’ll think this and believe it. I may not say it out loud, but either make cinnamon rolls and watch Charlie Brown with me, or it’s over.
I want you to eat. I want to hear sentences like “man, let’s go for a burrito,” come out of your mouth with frequency. I want you to be built like a motorcycle, with a full butt and semi-big boobs. I want you to look like a woman. I want you to have dark hair, but if you don’t then brown or red will do. Please don’t be blonde.
I want you to watch movies like Lost and Delirious, Twilightz, and The Notebook and, without my prompting, say something like, “if you were to become a vampire, I’d want to be one too, so we could be together forever.” I want to know, and even hear you say, that you would punch a bear in the face for me. I want you to be irrational and impulsive and passionate. I want you to be brave. Maybe we’ll get carried away one night while watching Buffy and briefly consider learning witchcraft. We’ll scare ourselves talking about it and laugh about how crazy bananas we are. Then we’ll have hot sex.
Speaking of sex. I want you to like it. I want you to be sort of a perv and not be afraid to do, well, basically whatever I ask you to do. I want you to be strong. I’m strong, and I like to feel a little bit stronger than you, but every so often, take the palm of your hand and push my face to the side and press it down into the pillow – if for no other reason than to show that you can. I will fall in love with you all over again. Aside from all of this, I would like for you to hold my hand in the movies. If we’re watching a movie in the dark, reach over and hold my hand, and don’t let go.
I want you to know that if I call you a nasty bitch from hell who I wish I’d never met, it’s because you hurt me. I know it sounds “bad” but just let me yell and then make a joke of it and say something like, “you all done?” And I’ll be like, “yeah.”
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It seems that the prevalent ideal of beauty is long, cascading wavy and/or curly hair, and in turn your hair is the envy of many a straight-haired girl.
2. You’re kind of avoiding introducing them to your friends.
16. Evidence also indicates that we may have had our first bisexual or lesbian first lady.
You can, instead, be the friend who was talking about your latest dates, the fantastic lovers you’ve taken, the goals you’ve set for yourself and the goals you’ve accomplished, all while being proud of understanding the role that you want love to play in your life, and maybe the fact that you will not just settle for someone for the sake of having it.