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It has recently come to my attention, through a series of very inappropriate text messages, that I should write a book. Eh. Book, blog post…close enough, right? The man who told me this said I should write a book “filled with these insightful comments all females should read before entering the real world.” And considering he earns iTunes royalties in life and seemingly knows what the heck he’s talking about, I’m going to write a blog filled with insightful comments all females should read before entering the real world. So you’s bitches be welcome.
- If it’s a footlong and you didn’t order it at Subway, don’t let it anywhere near one of your orifices.
- If your panties get wet by a man who brags about how big his equipment is, you should really take a long look at your life. Because long story short, your near future is going to be filled with pain and fighting for child support for the next 18 years, but you do you.
- Unless Cinnamon is a family name, don’t.
- Get the fuck off of Tinder. You’re not going to find your soulmate on an app, much less an app where you judge people in six pictures or less.
- Buy a monogrammed pullover and at least pretend to act like a lady.
- Quit wearing your summer makeup in January.
- If you don’t have a summer makeup and a winter makeup, you’re doing it wrong.
- Buy a watch. This isn’t middle school; it’s life, and there are other pieces of jewelry than can be worn on your left side other than a ring.
- Get a pair of bar heels. This means you need a pair of heels that are comfortable enough to stumble around drunk in for a few hours. They exist, I promise.
- You should know about dry shampoo by now. If you don’t, what have you been doing with your life?
- You should also know how to put your makeup on in ten minutes or less, because you’re going to forget to set an alarm one day and still have to make it to work and not look ratchet. Get it together.
- You need a pair of flats you can wear with anything. Anything.
- Own dresses.
- If the word “twerk” is in your vocabulary, get out. Just leave.
- Work out. Looking like it and doing it are not the same thing.
- If it looks like you only have three eyelashes, I’m going to judge you. Quit trying so hard.
- Have a personality and stick to your guns. There’s nothing wrong with that.
- Confidence is sexy. Have it.
- Manners never go out of style.
- Say “please” and “thank you.” Otherwise, don’t bitch about chivalry being dead.
- Just because it’s cold doesn’t mean you get to stop shaving your legs. In a perfect world, maybe. But we live in no such world.
- Don’t stick with the first asshole who gives you attention. Call ‘em like you see ‘em and move on with your life. Paychecks buy vibrators, so you just do you, baby boo, and let those who want to be a part of your life come to you.
- You don’t get to act like a whore when you have a degree. So stop trying. It was fun while it lasted, but let college be college and move on with your life.
Two references to dick size and you think a monogrammed pullover is classy?
I guess everything is relative.
Calm down, Tad-pole. Nobody ever said anything about being classy.
Other than the mildly slut-shamey #2 and #23, I enjoyed this.
Pretty sure men can have big dicks and still be good people. Pretty sure.
I’d say a better way to portray #2 would have been: You’ve got to be a fucking idiot if you’re into the type of guy that feels the need to brag about the size of his dick.
Exactly. That’s a much better way to put it.
“Other than the mildly slut-shamey #2 and #23, I enjoyed this.”
Can’t wait to read about PGP on Jezebel tmrw
PGP wishes
lnsayers, I think I love you?
You said “you do you” twice and I’m trying not to trash my own home in rage.
Ima do me
^
So how long do I have to wait until we get vol 2? … because I don’t own anything monogrammed so…
A honestly read a couple of these in the voice of an angry black woman. A “you do you, booboo” would have completed it.
I honestly…*
Best compliment ever. If you need an obligatory “you do you, boo-boo,” then there it is.
Step 1-if you refer to yourself as a “grown ass -insert gender-” in an even remotely sincere way rethink how “grown” you are.
Shots fired.
“I’m a Grown-Ass Man!” I screamed at my mother as I played X-Box in my parents’ basement with a twelve-pack on a work-night.