You can’t understand why I’m single? Me either! It’s so funny – just last week, someone was whispering, ‘I love you’ in my ear, and now look at me. Single and reluctant to mingle!
I used to reassess my budget every time the price of cigarettes ballooned. “They’re $11 now? Okay… switching to one-ply toilet paper and ordering the $5 Miller High Life / Whiskey combo until my next paycheck comes. That oughta do it.”
Air Conditioning makes you a more viable candidate for sex. This could also be a con, if you’re the type of person who prides themselves on not being used for their material possessions, but you and I both know it’s secretly enthralling to have a leg up on your Ceiling Fan-owning counterparts.
I am Boy Crazy. Yes, I’m a woman, and the men who I lust after have not been boys for a measurable amount of time. But there’s no better way to describe the girlish affectation that drives me. It’s not about sex. It’s not about titles and meeting my parents and day trips. It’s about stealing glances and fluttering stomachs.
The crowd picks up on the whisper and the chant quickly gains traction. “Fight. Fight. Fight! Fight! FIGHT. FIGHT. FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!!!!! FUCKING FIGHT JGVDJNBJLRNBOB!”
“Hey. You awake? I’m on the way home. UGHH. No, it was okay. I couldn’t find my headband, so that blows. Made it out of there with my favorite bra and a broken dry spell so I suppose I shouldn’t complain. What time does McNeely’s open? Think I left my scruples in the washroom.”
Living with a girl does not mean the laundry gets washed and folded with precision. Hey babes, some of us are women of the world – we’re too busy hustling to clean up every five minutes.
I wonder how much of the health-related information I’ve acquired over the years is completely made up. Eating an arsenal of snack foods past Midnight makes you fat. Drink eight glasses of water a day at minimum or you’re doomed. Fight against every human instinct you have, and you’ll be healthy. It’s all such bullshit. I think this ‘not wearing underwear’ thing has some legs though. I recall the phrase, “Let your vagina breathe.”
During the three years that I worked a ‘9-to-5’ (though, in reality, it was more of a ’10-to-whenever-the-fuck-I-say, you-need-this-money- so-I’m-going-to-take-advantage-of-you, need-you-to-come-in-Saturdays-too, sorry-sucker’), I dated a freelancer. A few of them, actually.
While TGIF’s theme was designed to appeal to a broad demographic, SNICK’s pandered to kids. It was aspirational, and it made me have wet dreams about owning cable television and orange couches.