How To Win The Year 2012
Do bath salts while screaming “YOLO” to a crowd of people doing “Gangnam Style” dancing. Psst, do you even know what “Gangnam Style” means? Because I don’t. When I first saw it popping up all over the internet, my brain was just like, “Nope, sorry. I am closed for business, sister!” and then, like a drive-thru window, it closed its doors to any new information.
Be a broke 20-something with lots of feeeeellinnnggggsssssss and have everyone hate you for it (and by “everyone” I really mean other 20-somethings who have lots of feeeeeeeeeellingggggggs of their own and are just pissed about YOUR feelings because they are INCORRECT and dfjndjhfrffjfjffjfijdmnedj DAMN IT THE INTERNET TOLD ME TO BE OUTRAGED, OKAY?! IT PAYS ME TEN DOLLARS AN HOUR TO BE PISSED OFF ABOUT EVERYTHING.)
BE A GIRL. Or be a person who manufactures prescription pills. Actually, you should be a female pill manufacturer with a challenging and HILARIOUS love life. That sounds like it’d be a hit, wouldn’t it? Just make sure to be describe yourself as “quirky” and “defective but in a good way.”
Be in a “buzz” band (buzz, buzz!). Before you record a single song, make sure you have an elaborate photo shoot on the roof of your apartment building in Brooklyn. Someone has to have a vagina in the band and pose in a bonnet. Call yourself “The Year 2012″ and land a record deal after your first and only song, “The Last Summer Ever” goes viral.
OMG, viral. How many viruses did YOU catch this year? Four? Twenty? Fifty? “How viral are you?” (New quiz in Cosmo.) Not to brag but I caught a ton of viruses. I am INFECTED, y’all!
Find yourself in a series of half-relationships with half-humans. Always be in a grey area with someone you like and fail to communicate with each other about your true feelings. That might sound like “losing” but 2012 has bastardized everything, including the concept of relationships, so really your failure to be in a relationship just means you’re on-trend! Yay for emotional ineptitude. We’re all in this together!!!
Always tell your friends you’re eating healthy as you’re fisting some cupcakes over the sink. Also: Never show up to anyone’s birthday party. That was so 2011, so desperate, so obvious. 2012 was the year of the frosted flake.
Tap into your inner domestic goddess by going on a website called Pintrest and pinning things. Yep, totally normal thing to do in 2012. Pin, pin, pin.
Be gay but not that gay, just like a little bit gay, and be nuanced but not like completely nuanced because that will just confuse people. You need to be one-dimensional with just a twinge of depth. No, that’s too much. Still too much. God, can you just tell a dick joke please? You don’t have to wear a deep-V while doing it. Just remind people that you’re gay because otherwise they might forget and realize that you’re just a human being and that would be VERY BAD NEWS FOR ALL OF US.
2012 was a good year for anyone who had a little bit of a tummy. (THANK GOD.)
2012 was a good year for lesbian teenagers from Canada who are trying to pass as a male pop star.
2012 was a good year for anyone who was in the CIA and had a bunch of affairs. It was also a good year for mood stabilizers and crying in alleyways.
2012 put a positive spin on the lives of obese impoverished folk from the South with the HYSTERICAL and DEVASTATING reality show, Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.
But who was the actual winner of 2012? Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? The ultimate triumph of 2012 came from suburban housewives who read 50 Shades Of Grey and convinced their emotionally distant husbands to tie them up and smack them around a little. YAY AMERICA!
Is the world ending yet? Oh, that’s supposed to happen on December 21st? Okay, cool, I can wait. No, it’s totally fine, I’ll just stand right here.
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“How cheap everything is.”
“Be careful, you’re going to gain weight when you’re older.”
Make me listen by telling me how naïve I have been. Tell me straight up that I need to change because you bet all your straight flushes that I will.
Do not assign moral value to food items, on your own plate or anyone else’s. A mozzarella stick is a mozzarella stick, and nothing more.