How To Get A Boyfriend
Tell all your friends that you don’t want a boyfriend. Everybody knows that love only happens when you’re least expecting it! So just expect not to expect it, you know? Go out for a girls’ night at Sushi Samba and get wasted doing sake bombs. Then have an UH-MAZING guy named Chad or Brad or Tad come up to you and ask for your number.
“Are you trying to ask me out?’ you’ll ask incredulously in-between bites of your Maui Monsoon rolls. “Because I was really not expecting this. I was not looking for love tonight. I just wanted to have a nice night out with my girls and now my future husband might be standing in front of me. I don’t know. Like I said, I just really wasn’t expecting to find love at Sushi Samba.”
Kindly tell Brad or Chad or Tad that you’re just doing you right now and send him on his way. Think that rejecting him will increase your odds of finding a boyfriend.
Join OkCupid and post pictures of you smoking cigarettes in the bathtub and drinking a smoothie on a mountaintop so people know that you’re a good girl who can be bad. Pick the username AreYouIgnoringMe and talk about your Astrological sign and how you don’t really know what you’re doing here but you think you’re ready to have some fun :)
Go on dates with men who hate you and have amazing sex. At dinner, tell them that you’re a virgin who lovesssss to have sex. Say things like, “Love me or hate me, I’m a bitch!” while making aggressive hand motions. Men like it when you gesticulate wildly.
Confuse all of those messages in those self-help books you’ve been reading and think that you can only get a boyfriend if you never leave your apartment. Be confused when the delivery man brings you pad thai instead of your future husband.
“No,” you tell the delivery man with a hint of desperation in your voice. “I ordered THE LUNCH SPECIAL. LUNCH SPECIAL.”
“Yes, with extra soy sauce,” the delivery guy responds, looking confused.
“Yes, correct. The soy sauce… so where is he?”
“Where is who?”
“You know… the soy sauce.”
“M’am I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“STOP FUCKING AROUND! WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?”
The delivery man backs away slowly and then runs into the elevator.
Write a letter of complaint to Netflix when they send you the movie Mr. Right starring popular inoffensive lesbian Ellen DeGeneres instead of an actual Mr. Right.
While laugh-out-loud funny, the movie Mr. Right was not what I expected to see in my mailbox the other day. Please resend me Mr. Right (the human) immediately. Thank you.
The next day, Netflix sends you Girl, Interrupted in the mail. You take it as a sign that you’re going to fall in love with Jared Leto and have sex with him in a mental institution sometime soon.
Ram your cart into attractive men at the grocery store. Give away your cat to avoid being a sad cliche. Hand out business cards to men in bars that say your name and have “Practicing Heterosexual Single Woman” underneath it.
Text everyone you’ve ever slept with and tell them that you’re pregnant with their child. See who offers to marry you.
Find a great guy, the best guy, at Whole Foods. You meet by fighting over the last Quinoa Kale Kooler juice and he asks you out and you say yes and then all of a sudden you have a boyfriend. You bring him to your best friend’s birthday party, you go on a Couples Canoe trip and laugh and cry and cum together. It’s The Best Relationship Ever.
Then one day you wake up and decide that you hate him. His touch sends chills down your spine. His penis is the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen. The way he makes spaghetti is irritating. His laugh is embarrassing. His jokes are terrible. His orgasm face has the power to give women PTSD.
Decide you’d like to be single again. When your friends shoot you pitiful looks at brunch the next day, when they tell you that you’ll eventually find Mr. Right, that it happens when you least expect it, smear hollandaise sauce all over their faces and just walk the fuck out of there.
Walk the fuckkkkkkk out.
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It started with a right swipe, a little green heart. Tinder of course.
Though I acknowledge and appreciate the differences in human experiences, and while your heartbreak is (and always will be) uniquely and completely your own, I must urge you to consider that I have been where you are.
With his hat cocked back, body tilted away from his cane, and right forefinger pointing directly at his audience, Joseph Ducreux commands the attention of those viewing his self-portrait.
I was born in 1990; he was born in 1973. I’m 23; he just turned 40.