Mean Girls, Savvy Women

How is it possible that you and your posse always manage to have someone handy to take loads of group shots of you all jutting out your arms and pursing your lips while looking so cool and hot and tan and popular at the CLUB (!), the Hamps (!), and Pinkberry (!)?

Simple. Her name is Fat Betsey (or in one GAW’s case, Diabetic Daphne). And she’s the same girl you forced to be DD every.single.weekend in high school.

Let Fat Betsey be in the Facebook album, too!!!!! If she’s never tagged, does she even exist?!?!?!

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Loving Dry Cleaners, Judging Moms

When your dry cleaner mistakes your (admittedly short) dress for a shirt and charges you $6 instead of $15 (which is insane, btw) to remove the beer stains c/o the Bonobos-wearing boy who (lovingly) poured his drink down your back, just nod your head and go with it.

God is smiling down on you. Even if your mother is judging.

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What is and what is not a date can be ambiguous territory in this age of friendly, continuous, messy everlasting drinking.

How do you know when to make the executive call that it’s not a romantic rendezvous and just two human beings getting together to imbibe beverages at an oft accelerated pace?

–when he tells you within the first 30 minutes how he contracted HPV from his one-night stand in the West Village with a girl who was admittedly, “drunk out of her mind.”

–when he says you look slim—as opposed to the last time he saw you, when he says you “didn’t look your best.” He then responds to your look of shock and disgust with, “It’s okay. I’m a fat fuck, too.”

–when he tells you about how he’s given up his daily pot habit.¤.¤.for a daily cocaine one.

–when he tells you that he is currently sleeping with three ex-girlfriends.

–when he spits out his gum into a cloth napkin at a restaurant.

–when he complains, in excruciating detail, about his indigestion.

–when he shows you a naked pic of himself on his iPhone—and then a Manhunt alert pops up.

***If said man tries to convince you that, despite all of the above, you are still on a date since you are both single and drinking, he is wrong. And perhaps clinically insane.

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What to do with the t-shirt you stole from your boyfriend once the relationship bites the dust

–rub a chicken wing all over it, take a photo, and post the pic to eBay. Say it’s Justin Bieber’s shirt from when he ate chicken wings that ONE time he was just trying to be a normal kid. Demand $20,000 minimum.

–give it back to your ex—but not until you cut out a gigantic heart at the top of the shirt. The message will be clear: You can have your ratty t-shirt back, but I will always have your heart.

–you know how some people say the best cure for a hangover is to take a shot of vodka first thing in the morning? Well, maybe the best cure for a breakup is to keep the shirt and sleep in it every single night for the next 8 months (washing it is clearly prohibited lest the smell of Axe spray fade). Especially if you have a new man beside you. If he questions the origins of your too-large t-shirt, just tell him you used to be fat. He’ll feel too awkward to ever bring it up again, and grateful for your new slim physique.

–give it to his new gf (who you only technically met via Facebook and are pretty sure he was cheating on you with) as a birthday gift with a note attached that reads: “If you only know the things we did while wearing this t-shirt.” The present screams thoughtful, yet not too extravagant.

–crumple it up, stick it under the sink, and scrub that spot behind your toilet you’ve never before been brave enough to venture near. That will show him!

–tie-dye party!!!!!!!!!!!!

–tie-dye and margarita party!!!!!!!!!!

–tie-dye and margarita and regrettable drunken sexting party!!!!!

–use as an extra large handkerchief after the tie-dye/margarita/regrettable drunken sexting party.

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Materials Needed for “PROJECT BOY”

Not all boys are men. Some are projects. And that’s coo. Fixer-uppers are fine as long as you’ve got the proper supplies, chica! Before you begin a craft-astic weekend, stock up on the below to ensure that your boy is in tip-top form.

–2 properly (and nonchalantly) rolled sleeves–ideally attached to something other than a shirt with a NY sports team logo, “I Love Jugs” declaration, or any Ed Hardy design.

–a cell phone that is identical to the one he already owns—minus the number of his ex-gf, who yeah, you’re totally fine with them still being friends! Because you’re a totally cool girlfriend. And at least 10 pounds skinnier than that hideous troll with a budget nose job (props to your new no-carb, no-sugar, no-meat, no-fruit, no-fun diet). I mean, at least yours is good. And was like, for your health. Deviated septum=danger.

–a pair of shoes that don’t look as though they belong to a poorly-heeled serial killer.

–one of those Cash4Gold envelopes for his Chipotle wrappers and the thickly-woven chain dangling from his not-beefy-enough neck. Yumm…BEEF CRAVING.

–an industrial shredder to destroy his mom jeans.

–a bouquet of flowers. For him to give to you.–a manly martini, spiked with crushed Propecia.

–a muzzle. Use as you see fit.–a tire deflator—do you really want your beau to be one of those fully shaven menaces on wheels who zoom through the park endangering young children and innocent runners everywhere? Plus, how can you keep tabs on his every move when is he going

–an inflator for other things.

 *****Assemble materials with care. Returns not accepted..

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Those are Fightin’ Words–What NOT to Say to Your Single Friends

It’ll happen when you’re not looking for it.
Translation: You are utterly desperate and men can literally smell,  I’m telling you, SMELL, your weak, single female eau de loser.

It only takes one.
Translation: It only takes one—until then, stock up on multiple vibrators because you are clearly not getting any.

You’ll find someone in no time.
Translation: You’ll find someone eventually–probably after you’re the maid-of-honor at your 10-years-younger sister’s wedding to an internet mogul and you freak out that your ovaries are drying up and you finally cave and agree to go out with your bald next door neighbor who kinda smells like dried cat urine. But at least he has a car!

It’s not your fault! There are no good guys out there!
Translation: It’s not your fault that I’ve already slept with every single eligible bachelor in this city therefore rendering them untouchable to you. Firsties!

You’re such a great catch, any guy would be lucky to date you!
Translation: I’ve learned to tolerate your idiosyncrasies and disgusting habit of cutting your toenails in the living room (really, who does that?!?), so I’m assuming (but not promising) you’ll find a guy who can manage to ignore your plethora of life fails, too.

You’ve just got to put yourself out there more.
Translation: When all else fails, slut it up. They’ll never call you the next day, but the mental health benefits of body warmth can linger up to 10 hours post-separation.

Let me set you up with my (fill in blank)–he’s so nice!
Translation:  I have the perfect guy for you. Why haven’t I dated him? Oh you, know, because he’s just so special. Plus, we’re just really great friends. He’s been living in his parents’ basement for the last 3 years, has been unemployed for 2 and always has day-old food stuck in his beard (perfect for an on-the-go nosh!). He’s pretty boring but just lonely enough that I think he’d agree to this fix-up (!!!). Plus, he’s such a nice guy! And by nice, I mean I think he’s autistic.

Have you tried online dating?
Translation: Maybe you should move to another country.

Posted in Dating, Friendship | 1 Comment

GAW Monday Mantra

If you have actually eschewed all practical and sartorial advice and continue to wear billowy shirts and dresses with absolutely NO shape and TONS of excess fabric, then you have no right to be offended when someone mistakes you for an illegitimately knocked-up college grad. In this situation, you can only do one thing. Smile politely, rest one hand on your tummy, and graciously accept his or her seat on the subway (and a lollipop, too, if one is offered). It’s a win/win. You’ll give someone the false hope of good karma. And your unsightly fashion statement will be a tad closer to ground-level.

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How To Break The News to Mom That You’re Probs Going to be a 30-something Bride

 –call her up and tell her that someone very close to her has died. Give her all the gruesome details and let her have a good cry. 10 minutes later, call back and explain that you were jk’ing, but “FYI, probs won’t get hitched until I’m 31. Maybe even 34. But more likely, 36. But look on the bright side, no one died!” She might make some crack about your ovaries’ demise at this point. But just brush it off your shoulder.

–wouldn’t she rather spend all that wedding money on her shoe collection anyway?

 –tell her if it’s grandchildren she cares about, you’re more than happy to get knocked up for her sake. In fact, you already have been one or two times. Surprise!

 –if she’s really buying into the whole 60 is the new 40 crap, then you get to tack on at LEAST an extra eight years to your “expire by” date.

–you’re just holding out for the first batch of freshly-divorced men to strut onto the market. Not only have those guys already proven they’re able to commit, but really, you were destined for a life of trophy wifedom. You’re not interested in housebreaking your suitors.

 –speaking of trophies, there’s like indisputable proof that women’s boobs start to sag immediately following matrimony. No. Thank. You. Your high school graduation boob job would tots have only been in vain then!

–once you get married, you’re going to use it as excuse to move cross-country and get as far as way from your mother as humanely possible. She should take advantage of all the flesh-to-flesh fights you guys have left, because Skype arguments are so much less satisfying.

–you’re waiting for your baby fat to melt away naturally so you can look skinnier than a preggers Rachel Zoe for your wedding pics!!

 –it’ll actually make it easier for your mom to continue her decade-plus old “I just turned 45” lie. When all her friends gush that she “looks WAY young to have a daughter who’s married,” your mom can just nod her head and say “I know! I am! That bitch ain’t never gettin’ hitched.”

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GAW Monday Mantra

 The next time that kinda stinky homeless man or crotch-grabbing construction worker gives you a whistle or a little kitty cat call, respond with a pleasant “thank you” (as long as bodily parts weren’t exposed). One day you’ll be old and saggy and the only whistling you’ll hear will be a chronic ear-ringing that’ll require a trip to the doctor. Take what you can get while you’re still getting some.

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How to Upstage the Bride, Pippa Style

It’s wedding season. Which means one thing—time to upstage the bride! Here’s how to get your Pippa on:

–show as much cleavage as humanely possible. Sure, the bride is supposed to be feigning some type of virginal mystique. But the only thing you need to worry about is pretending you didn’t see the groom’s mother’s nipple slip. For your sake, as much as hers.

–as for speeches, give one. You weren’t asked? Who cares! Give two! And make them long and tell tons of embarrassing stories about the bride–like that one-night stand she had 8 months ago with the garbage man posing as a siiiick investment banker (OOPS!)–that make her want to run and hide in the bathroom. People will laud your creativity and wit, and if she’s in the ladies room bawling uncontrollably, that means more eyes can be on you getting down on the dance floor.

–faint right before the couple says “I do.” Yes, you might be out of commission for a few minutes—but darling, the questions of concern you’ll get throughout the night will more than make up for it. People always love an underdog. An unconscious underdog? I mean, that’s Rudy-level status right there.

–buddy up to the bride in the months leading up to her wedding and make her divulge all the details of her dress. Fishtail. Check. Lace. Check. Strapless check. When you arrive in a nearly identical white dress, walk up to the bride, who will likely be shaking in rage/shock at this point and say, “Bitch stole my look!” Then laugh and say, “No, really. Is your dress Vera, too? Luvs it. Twinsies!” She won’t be able to combat your classiness.

–don a tiara. And please, make it bigger than Middleton’s. Yawn.

–when the bride and groom go to have the first dance, whip out your boom box and blast “Just Shake That Ass Bitch” and start grinding up against the both of them. When they stare at you befuddled, jokingly jab them and say, “Come on guys, we tots rehearsed this.” Make sure you have your blow-up guitars and tambourines handy to throw out to the crowd.

–when the bride is walking down the aisle, start swooning and taking pics. But then stop her when she passes your pew and ask if she wouldn’t mind taking a pic of you and your friends. Memories are the most important, after all.

–if all else fails, sleep with the groom’s brother. It may not steer the attention clear of the bride, but oh, what a story it will make!

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