What I Say Vs. What I Think
What I Say: “One tall skim latte please. No, nothing to eat this morning — I’m not really hungry.”
What I Think: “Ordering a chocolate chocolate frappuccino at this hour would be inappropriate, I guess. And I’m going to prevent myself from ordering another breakfast sandwich if it means I have to cut off my own hand. Those things are literally the devil. Of course I’m hungry! I just don’t want to die of a heart attack in two weeks.”
What I Say: “[Via Facebook chat] Hey. What’s up?”
What I Think: “I have so long ago stopped caring about this acquaintanceship that the only time I remember I need to delete you from my Facebook is when you pop up in my chat for a conversation that consist of two heys, a brb, and dead silence. Why can I never remember to delete you?”
What I Say: “Hey [insert irritating coworker here], any big plans for the weekend? That sounds fun!”
What I Think: “You are the physical embodiment of nails on a chalkboard. You’re going camping this weekend? Being stuck in the woods with no escape route for several days and no indoor plumbing — kind of feel like I’ve found my personal idea of hell.”
What I Say: “No, you don’t look fat in that dress, you look great!”
What I Think: “What the f-ck is anyone supposed to say to this question?! This is the spring-loaded bear trap of questions. Yeah, your ass looks kind of big in the bottom half of that dress — but what are you going to do? Tear it off, run home naked, and change into some Spanx? If you think a dress is unflattering, it’s unflattering. Trust your instincts. Please.”
What I Say: “[Via text message] Yeah, I’m on my way. Almost there. Just gotta find a parking space.”
What I Think: “Crap! Crap! Where are my keys? How long can I make her think I’m looking for a parking space? I bet she’s waiting outside taking pictures of me as I type this. She knows. I have to stop texting, it’s turning my life into a carnival of tiny lies.”
What I Say: “Yeah, I don’t know if I’m gonna go to the club tonight. Kinda not feeling well.”
What I Think: “I live in a world where I have to justify not wanting to spend 12 dollars a cocktail so I can scream across a dark, sweaty room to ask my friends how their weeks were. I live in a world where that is what I should want to be doing. Maybe I should just be honest and tell them if I wanted to get airborne herpes, I would lick a subway pole like a respectable human being.”
What I Say: “I’m not really a whiskey person, no thank you. Never did like it.”
What I Think: “I was once a whiskey person, before I vomited myself into Inside Out Boy after an attempt to finish a bottle myself at the beach. Now the very smell of whiskey makes my hair hurt.”
What I Say: “I’m just not really looking for a relationship right now.”
What I Think: “The Friday-night potential of free food on a first date is now outweighed by the certain combination of ice cream, wine, and Tumblr.”
What I Say: “I don’t watch Keeping Up With The Kardashians. It’s trash.”
What I Think: “OMG is it weird that I kind of have this secret thing for Scott Disick because he reminds me of Patrick Bateman?”
What I Say: “I’ve seen that movie. It was pretty good.”
What I Think: “No, I haven’t seen it, but I don’t want to sit through ten minutes of you explaining it to me and telling me about all of the complicated feelies it gave you, thus ruining it for me in every sense of the word.”
What I Say: “I sent you that email yesterday. Yeah… It must not have gone through.”
What I Think: “Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god.”
What I Say: “Oh, no, I don’t read Thought Catalog. It’s not my style, really.”
What I Think: “Teach me, Stephanie Georgopulos. Teach me how to cry.”
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As much as I appreciate someone telling me to keep my chin up when going through a hard time, I’m fairly certain I’d rather them let me punch dance out my rage in their backyard.
At their biological core, men are ruled by sexuality. They identify potential mates using their eyes first, while women take a more complicated approach.
You probably thought I was going to recommend Orange Is The New Black but I’m not.
The middle seat is your domain.