Recently my best from high school turned 20. Right around the same time, my Artist Barbie roommate turned 21. I , of course, took these two events and made them all about me with a casual mental breakdown.
Twenty. Twenty-one. My friends are getting old. I am getting old. I will turn 20 this year. I literally don't own a pair of matching socks. I sleep exclusively in Star Wars pajamas. I'm screwed.
When I was 8 and walked around family parties rocking butterfly clips and jelly shoes, I was often introduced to older people. I still remember meeting certain people and learning their ages. If my mom told me someone was 20, I considered them an adult. They had serious relationships, body hair, and knew what the hell a 401K was.
That will be me in March. Will my family suddenly start expecting to bring someone home for Christmas? Will I need to learn how to actually write a check without calling my mom? If the answer to either of these questions is "yes", I'm about to be the worst adult ever.
Will I feel any different? Will I have to live by a new set of rules? Is going out on a Monday unacceptable when you actually turn 21?
All though these questions are a true mystery for me, I can pretty much guarantee I can not do certain things once I enter my 20s.
20. I can no longer tell my mother ," Shut up, Phineas and Ferb is on"
19. I can no longer walk around my hometown in my high school cheerleading t-shirts and Ugg boots without a stitch of makeup.
18. I probably should stop describing myself as being "knee deep in a bottle of Skol".
17. I will need to learn how to operate a stove without destroying myself and everything I love.
16. I can no longer cancel all my plans because of a Rizzoli and Isles marathon.
15. I can no longer describe the aforementioned Rizzoli and Isles marathon as " my best day of 2012"
14. I should stop getting rides to places/events by promising to make- out with the driver.
13. I really need to learn how to successfully deal with emotions, in ways that aren't watching "Tangled" alone and fighting back tears.
12. I need to stop caring so much about my high school's homecoming court. That is irrelevant to normal adults.
11. I need to stop telling people I've been to Disney World over 15 times.
10. I need to stop begging my parents to take me to Disney World.
9. I should learn how to use an ATM without experiencing a very small (but oh so real) panic attack.
8. I should figure out how health insurance works. Do I have it?
7. My birthday can no longer be a week long festival. It is a singular day.
6. I should stop making lists and/or charts to determine the perfect Halloween costume.
5. My latest Google searches can no longer include "giant tiara store" or "Phantom of the Megaplex"
4. I need to learn other ways to deal with speeding tickets besides crying/ telling the cop my boyfriend's dad is the state's attorney.
3. I should buy a thermometer without a cow on it that doesn't moo when it reads your temperature.
2. I need to stop getting so excited about McDonald's.
1. I really need to figure out how to operate a DVD player.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Monday, September 3, 2012
Current State of the Union
That's right, it's time to get all Massie Block up in this bitch. Gonna go put on some Glossip Girl to bring out the amber flecks in my brown eyes.
In
Under Armour
KIND Fruit and Nut Bars
Bobb McCulloch
Snapchat
Mustard's Last Stand for lunch
Hair Spray
Russian Lit
Internet Cat Video Festival
Out
Adidas
Nutella and bread
Swanky downtown apartments
Sexting
Ralph Lauren for lunch
Edge Tamer
Journalism in any form
Watching cat videos alone
In
Under Armour
KIND Fruit and Nut Bars
Bobb McCulloch
Snapchat
Mustard's Last Stand for lunch
Hair Spray
Russian Lit
Internet Cat Video Festival
Out
Adidas
Nutella and bread
Swanky downtown apartments
Sexting
Ralph Lauren for lunch
Edge Tamer
Journalism in any form
Watching cat videos alone
Monday, August 27, 2012
I Be Up in The Gym..
... just workin' on my fitness.
So this summer I joined a gym. It's a really nice gym with a pool , a yoga studio, and scented towels. It's around the corner from Sprinkles Cupcakes, but that's neither here nor there. And after these few months of pumping iron, I probably could now be considered a fitness guru.
I'm just so sick of people stopping me on on the street and asking about my body. They always ask me, " What's your secret ?" or "How ever do you maintain that Kate Hudson circa 1980 physique?!"
And I tell them the truth, it's not easy. I follow a strict diet of Greek yogurt and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, plus I have my own patented work out plan. But I've decided to share my tried and true fitness secrets with the masses, so you too can obtain abs of steel.
1. Go on an elliptical and listen to your iPod. Put "Danza Kuduro" on repeat until you forget there are other people in the gym and start doing weird little dancing hand motions. You could also start singing in fake Spanish aloud. This will cause everyone around to leave, and you can now turn the TV closest to you to the Bravo reality show of your choice.
2. On the way into the gym, stop in the gym's apparel store. Buy a bunch of cute yoga outfits and tell yourself you are going to start taking yoga. Never attend yoga, but wear the comfortable clothes all over town. This way people don't assume you're too lazy for real pants, but that you simply came right from an intense yoga class.
3. Go into the gym's stretching area. Instead of using the mirrored walls to examine your squat technique, use this opportunity to fix your hair. That messy bun could use a few more bobby pins, you sexy fitness queen.
4. Get on a treadmill and walk on the slowest speed setting possible. This is necessary, because if you start going too fast you could miss important plot developments of a "Gallery Girls" rerun.
5. As you are perfecting your barely moving treadmill walk, an extremely fit brunette might get on the treadmill next you. She will start showing off and running. At this point, you need to race her to prove your superiority. Crank up your settings to match hers and refuse to get off until she does.
6. This race will probably cause you to tear your ACL or something equally as dramatic , you must now skip the gym for the rest of the week.
7. Start attending early morning workout classes to start your day off right. However if you wake up too late to get Starbucks on the way, skip the class altogether. Now feel free to sleep until noon and watch Dr. Dolittle on Netflix
8. Get hit on by the creepy gym janitor, feel great about yourself, immediately leave the gym , and reward yourself with a muffin on the way home.
9. A great way to end a workout is with a nice, refreshing steam. Go sit in the steam room for a bit. Then be freaked out by naked people and an intense fear of being locked in Final Destination style. Leave quickly.
So this summer I joined a gym. It's a really nice gym with a pool , a yoga studio, and scented towels. It's around the corner from Sprinkles Cupcakes, but that's neither here nor there. And after these few months of pumping iron, I probably could now be considered a fitness guru.
I'm just so sick of people stopping me on on the street and asking about my body. They always ask me, " What's your secret ?" or "How ever do you maintain that Kate Hudson circa 1980 physique?!"
And I tell them the truth, it's not easy. I follow a strict diet of Greek yogurt and Cinnamon Toast Crunch, plus I have my own patented work out plan. But I've decided to share my tried and true fitness secrets with the masses, so you too can obtain abs of steel.
1. Go on an elliptical and listen to your iPod. Put "Danza Kuduro" on repeat until you forget there are other people in the gym and start doing weird little dancing hand motions. You could also start singing in fake Spanish aloud. This will cause everyone around to leave, and you can now turn the TV closest to you to the Bravo reality show of your choice.
2. On the way into the gym, stop in the gym's apparel store. Buy a bunch of cute yoga outfits and tell yourself you are going to start taking yoga. Never attend yoga, but wear the comfortable clothes all over town. This way people don't assume you're too lazy for real pants, but that you simply came right from an intense yoga class.
3. Go into the gym's stretching area. Instead of using the mirrored walls to examine your squat technique, use this opportunity to fix your hair. That messy bun could use a few more bobby pins, you sexy fitness queen.
4. Get on a treadmill and walk on the slowest speed setting possible. This is necessary, because if you start going too fast you could miss important plot developments of a "Gallery Girls" rerun.
5. As you are perfecting your barely moving treadmill walk, an extremely fit brunette might get on the treadmill next you. She will start showing off and running. At this point, you need to race her to prove your superiority. Crank up your settings to match hers and refuse to get off until she does.
6. This race will probably cause you to tear your ACL or something equally as dramatic , you must now skip the gym for the rest of the week.
7. Start attending early morning workout classes to start your day off right. However if you wake up too late to get Starbucks on the way, skip the class altogether. Now feel free to sleep until noon and watch Dr. Dolittle on Netflix
8. Get hit on by the creepy gym janitor, feel great about yourself, immediately leave the gym , and reward yourself with a muffin on the way home.
9. A great way to end a workout is with a nice, refreshing steam. Go sit in the steam room for a bit. Then be freaked out by naked people and an intense fear of being locked in Final Destination style. Leave quickly.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
If I Should Die Before I Wake...
One of my favorite parts of Mindy Kaling's book is the section where she leaves explicit instructions for her funeral. I am also just as important and famous, so I decided to do the same.
I hate funerals/ wakes. They suck and are held at creepy places that smell like wax. I want my funeral to be like the Irish funeral depicted in the classic film "P.S. I Love You". But not at a pub, at a trendy bar with ceiling drapery and white leather couches that are low to the ground. And instead of shots of whiskey, my 12 closest loved ones will have to down a hot pink Cosmo before they can say what they love about me and flip the glass over on top of my little sparkly box. (My remains will be in a small, antique-y looking box covered in large rhinestones)
I don't want everyone wearing black, because then it looks like a goddamn episode of "The Addams Family". It can be a classy mix of black and white, so it looks like Diddy planned it. ( Be strict about this, nothing ruins a black and white party like some asshole trying to great creative with pink accents. It's tacky).
After my friends do the Cosmo Irish funeral thing, there will be one official eulogy. This could be designated to my loving astronaut/ investment banker husband. However, if he is too distraught to speak or does not exist, my cousin Kathen can do it.
No reading of anything unless I wrote it. No poems by Emily Dickinson or Bible verses. This is a celebration of me, and therefore everyone needs to celebrate my magic way with the written word. An option for this is someone performing a dramatic reading of my most profound tweets.
"If you're taking flash photography of your baby on a 9 am train , I probably hate you." -August 2012
"I want my life to be like the post- war Harry Potter years, all of the magic and none of the fear."- June 2012
"I'm so glad ugly people can find each other and be happy."- October 2011
"If I had to be buried alive, I would be buried alive in Easy Mac because I'm confident I could eat my way out."- September 2011
Nothing religious, unless my grandma is still alive. In which case this whole thing is irrelevant, and I will be buried like the 18th century Roman Catholic saint she always wanted me to be.
I want upbeat pop music to be playing so everyone will remember how fun I was. There should also be an open bar, because the best way to deal with sorrow is alcohol and Rihanna jams.
There should be food. I hate going to something and there not being food. If I am going to make people turn off a great episode of "The Mentalist" and put on pants that aren't of the yoga variety, there will at least be some mini corndogs offered. There probably should be a cupcake tower too.
Also, there should be a photo slideshow of pictures of me where I looked my hottest/ most fun. However, no bathing suit pics because I am not a trashy trailer park tween on MySpace. In between the pictures of me, the slideshow should include of the clips from all the Harry Potter films where there is apparent sexual tension between Ron and Harry. (Anyone who knows me , knows I enjoy nothing more than pointing out those erotic moments during a 12 hour HP marathon).
Ex- boyfriends are most definitely allowed at my funeral, if only so they can see the pictures of me at my hottest. They can slowly weep over how they wasted their chance with me, and missed their once shot at true happiness because I am awesome. As Mindy Kaling wisely decided, no current girlfriends of these ex- boyfriends are allowed. They will, in fact, only use my untimely passing to look hot and bitchy in a black dress.
Finally, once the funeral-ish part is over, a raging party should be begin. If my friends and family don't celebrate my life by getting intoxicated and drunk dancing to the Spice Girls, you are all doing my memory a great disservice.
I hate funerals/ wakes. They suck and are held at creepy places that smell like wax. I want my funeral to be like the Irish funeral depicted in the classic film "P.S. I Love You". But not at a pub, at a trendy bar with ceiling drapery and white leather couches that are low to the ground. And instead of shots of whiskey, my 12 closest loved ones will have to down a hot pink Cosmo before they can say what they love about me and flip the glass over on top of my little sparkly box. (My remains will be in a small, antique-y looking box covered in large rhinestones)
I don't want everyone wearing black, because then it looks like a goddamn episode of "The Addams Family". It can be a classy mix of black and white, so it looks like Diddy planned it. ( Be strict about this, nothing ruins a black and white party like some asshole trying to great creative with pink accents. It's tacky).
After my friends do the Cosmo Irish funeral thing, there will be one official eulogy. This could be designated to my loving astronaut/ investment banker husband. However, if he is too distraught to speak or does not exist, my cousin Kathen can do it.
No reading of anything unless I wrote it. No poems by Emily Dickinson or Bible verses. This is a celebration of me, and therefore everyone needs to celebrate my magic way with the written word. An option for this is someone performing a dramatic reading of my most profound tweets.
"If you're taking flash photography of your baby on a 9 am train , I probably hate you." -August 2012
"I want my life to be like the post- war Harry Potter years, all of the magic and none of the fear."- June 2012
"I'm so glad ugly people can find each other and be happy."- October 2011
"If I had to be buried alive, I would be buried alive in Easy Mac because I'm confident I could eat my way out."- September 2011
Nothing religious, unless my grandma is still alive. In which case this whole thing is irrelevant, and I will be buried like the 18th century Roman Catholic saint she always wanted me to be.
I want upbeat pop music to be playing so everyone will remember how fun I was. There should also be an open bar, because the best way to deal with sorrow is alcohol and Rihanna jams.
There should be food. I hate going to something and there not being food. If I am going to make people turn off a great episode of "The Mentalist" and put on pants that aren't of the yoga variety, there will at least be some mini corndogs offered. There probably should be a cupcake tower too.
Also, there should be a photo slideshow of pictures of me where I looked my hottest/ most fun. However, no bathing suit pics because I am not a trashy trailer park tween on MySpace. In between the pictures of me, the slideshow should include of the clips from all the Harry Potter films where there is apparent sexual tension between Ron and Harry. (Anyone who knows me , knows I enjoy nothing more than pointing out those erotic moments during a 12 hour HP marathon).
(This picture could definitely be used. I look sad and pouty because I'm dead and can't drink vodka with my friends. Also, it showcases me in my natural state of never wearing pants)
Ex- boyfriends are most definitely allowed at my funeral, if only so they can see the pictures of me at my hottest. They can slowly weep over how they wasted their chance with me, and missed their once shot at true happiness because I am awesome. As Mindy Kaling wisely decided, no current girlfriends of these ex- boyfriends are allowed. They will, in fact, only use my untimely passing to look hot and bitchy in a black dress.
Finally, once the funeral-ish part is over, a raging party should be begin. If my friends and family don't celebrate my life by getting intoxicated and drunk dancing to the Spice Girls, you are all doing my memory a great disservice.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
10 Things That Are Easier Said Than Done
10. Quickly shopping at Forever 21 without experiencing a mild epileptic fit.
9. Showering without getting your hair wet.
8. Going to the Keg sober.
7. Going to Flattop and then Andy's for a light dessert.
6. Taking NyQuil to go to sleep and then not experiencing a very real exorcism/ the second coming of Jesus when you have to wake up at 8 a.m. for Journalism 201-1.
5. Actually working during the day, instead of Googling "Mischa Barton fat" for 6 hours.
4. Pulling off trendy hats and no one questioning your sexuality.
3. Going to Chipotle without Grace.
2. Going to a work-out dance fusion class and not ending the experience with self conscious tears.
1. At - home bikini wax.
9. Showering without getting your hair wet.
8. Going to the Keg sober.
7. Going to Flattop and then Andy's for a light dessert.
6. Taking NyQuil to go to sleep and then not experiencing a very real exorcism/ the second coming of Jesus when you have to wake up at 8 a.m. for Journalism 201-1.
5. Actually working during the day, instead of Googling "Mischa Barton fat" for 6 hours.
4. Pulling off trendy hats and no one questioning your sexuality.
3. Going to Chipotle without Grace.
2. Going to a work-out dance fusion class and not ending the experience with self conscious tears.
1. At - home bikini wax.
Saturday, August 4, 2012
The Worst Person in the World
A lot of people have said to me, "Emma , you seem to hate almost everyone, you should blog about a person you really hate!"
Which I think is a great idea. I mean, when has cyber-bullying ever yielded negative results? I mean, I'm pro-bullying in general. I was bullied for the majority of my young life for a having a weird middle name and a hot mom. But look at me now! All that verbal abuse has allowed me to develop a mean- spirited sense of humor and an inflated sense of self.
So here it is, a list of 5 things that make one person in this world just the worst. And as you all already knew, that person is me. Seriously, I suck.
1. Please stop telling the same long story over and over again. No one cares that Harry Caray held you as a baby after your parents took you to "Pocahontas". Just like no one cares about the one time your dad saved a mouse and you named it Alfredo. Just because some one in Sargent once told you that you were a great storyteller, does not mean it's true. If you keep telling your friends boring stories about your senior year A.P. Euro class , they will eventually smother you with your own sweatpants collection. Just shut up already, you sound like a drunk uncle at Christmas.
2. You do not look like Hayden Panettiere. Stop saying that. She has way better eyebrows than you and she can pull off spaghetti straps. No one agrees when you suggest you look like her. And if they do, they're lying. I get that she often plays a cheerleader and has a large forehead. Your similarities end there. She has movie star good looks, you do not. Get over yourself psychopath.
3. I've met 4th grade girls with a better developed taste in music. "Legally Blonde: The Musical" is not an appropriate answer for the question, "What is your favorite band?" You constantly say that you don't enjoy concerts, but that's because you never listen to any good music. Unfortunately for you, "The Little Mermaid" soundtrack does not go on tour. It honestly wouldn't kill to explore some music that isn't featured on iTunes Top Songs list or sung by animated crabs.
4. You are ridiculously horrible at math. How do you expect to make it through life like that? You stopped taking math at Algebra II ? How did you even get into college? I don't think you even understand the latent hatred all your friends probably have for you. They are the only reason you passed your pathetic three years of high school math. You could at least learn how to calculate tip or figure out how much you owe at group meals. You just end up throwing wads of singles at innocent friends, and dangerously under-tipping waiters at Eggsperience.
5. Being from Joliet does not make you that good of a dancer . Just because years of age inappropriate grinding at the St. Joe's grade school dance has taught you how get somewhat low, and years of cheerleading has allowed you a mediocre sense of rhythm, does not mean you are Beyonce. You were not considered a good dancer at your high school, so you're having a field day in college. All those white, nerdy, uncoordinated Wildcats are boosting your self- confidence to unhealthy levels. Stop dougie-ing at family events, and please don't attempt complicated footwork on a slippery dance floor again.
Which I think is a great idea. I mean, when has cyber-bullying ever yielded negative results? I mean, I'm pro-bullying in general. I was bullied for the majority of my young life for a having a weird middle name and a hot mom. But look at me now! All that verbal abuse has allowed me to develop a mean- spirited sense of humor and an inflated sense of self.
So here it is, a list of 5 things that make one person in this world just the worst. And as you all already knew, that person is me. Seriously, I suck.
1. Please stop telling the same long story over and over again. No one cares that Harry Caray held you as a baby after your parents took you to "Pocahontas". Just like no one cares about the one time your dad saved a mouse and you named it Alfredo. Just because some one in Sargent once told you that you were a great storyteller, does not mean it's true. If you keep telling your friends boring stories about your senior year A.P. Euro class , they will eventually smother you with your own sweatpants collection. Just shut up already, you sound like a drunk uncle at Christmas.
2. You do not look like Hayden Panettiere. Stop saying that. She has way better eyebrows than you and she can pull off spaghetti straps. No one agrees when you suggest you look like her. And if they do, they're lying. I get that she often plays a cheerleader and has a large forehead. Your similarities end there. She has movie star good looks, you do not. Get over yourself psychopath.
3. I've met 4th grade girls with a better developed taste in music. "Legally Blonde: The Musical" is not an appropriate answer for the question, "What is your favorite band?" You constantly say that you don't enjoy concerts, but that's because you never listen to any good music. Unfortunately for you, "The Little Mermaid" soundtrack does not go on tour. It honestly wouldn't kill to explore some music that isn't featured on iTunes Top Songs list or sung by animated crabs.
4. You are ridiculously horrible at math. How do you expect to make it through life like that? You stopped taking math at Algebra II ? How did you even get into college? I don't think you even understand the latent hatred all your friends probably have for you. They are the only reason you passed your pathetic three years of high school math. You could at least learn how to calculate tip or figure out how much you owe at group meals. You just end up throwing wads of singles at innocent friends, and dangerously under-tipping waiters at Eggsperience.
5. Being from Joliet does not make you that good of a dancer . Just because years of age inappropriate grinding at the St. Joe's grade school dance has taught you how get somewhat low, and years of cheerleading has allowed you a mediocre sense of rhythm, does not mean you are Beyonce. You were not considered a good dancer at your high school, so you're having a field day in college. All those white, nerdy, uncoordinated Wildcats are boosting your self- confidence to unhealthy levels. Stop dougie-ing at family events, and please don't attempt complicated footwork on a slippery dance floor again.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Miley Cyrus Was Right All Along
But not about the whole teenage marriage thing. I can't wait to see that backwoods- but -with -Disney-money wedding celebration. Between her hillbilly clan grinding to "Achy Breaky Heart' and Hemsworth's muscular, Australian stoner family, this thing will be oozing Cyrus class.
But Miley Ray did really hit the nail on the head with one of her earlier tween jams. No, it's not the spine-tingling ballad to Nick Jonas, "7 Things". I'm talking about her well constructed female anthem, G.N.O. Here's a sample of the lyrics:
"Don't call me
Leave me alone
Not gonna answer my phone
Cause I don't
No I won't see you"
"Cause it's a girl's night
It's alright without you
I'm gonna stay out
And play out without you
You better hold tight
This girl's night is without you"
I like that Ms. Cyrus gets right to the heart of the issue. Girls coordinate their lives around guys who wouldn't even notice if they got both their nipples pierced. Girls go out with their friends to prove they don't need you. They get dressed up and Instagram themselves at bars so you dudes get your proverbial shit together and pay attention to them. Or they go out and black out so they can forget that you responded to their last text with "K sounds good". The only reason most girl's nights exist is male gender screwed up in some way. Nonetheless, girl's night are often my favorite nights for just that reason.
Most girls are different when they aren't around guys. At parties with males around, girls are often trying to impress a some loser in the room, or they are stalking the guy they are obsessed with on Facebook for iPhone.
This is why I love the girl's night. I love when my crazy friends steal my phone for the evening (until I get so drunk I bite their hands while they're sleeping to get it back), so I'm not staring at it all night waiting for Chris Noth to somehow get my number and sext me. Hanging out with just girls is often hilarious. Whether it's getting inappropriately drunk in a suburban basement while wearing yoga pants , or going to a bar on a Wednesday with 20 girls you've never met before. Girls are funnier without guys around, and way more likely to tell stories about hooking up in a movie theater during "Step Up 2: The Streets" when playing Never Have I Ever.
However, the G.N.O is not to be taken lightly. When you take all that estrogen, put it in a Forever 21 tube skirt, and pour tequila down its throat, you run the risk of creating a monster with running mascara. You can end up playing slap cup in basement for two hours until you begin debating the diversity of the American Girl dolls. Or you can end up performing Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" karaoke in a crowded bar, then watching your friend make out with an Irish dude , and inexplicably losing some of your entourage to the emergency room.
However, girls and guys aren't that different. When we are alone we talk about all the same things: sex, alcohol, and "The Dark Knight Rises". We don't sit on the beach discussing wedding dresses or chihuahua outfits. Just like how you all are fascinated with how our boobs look in swimsuit tops, we're discussing your muscle definition and how weird your body looks playing beach volleyball (Ade).
Sadly, there really is no male equivalent to the girl's night out. Unfortunately, it's socially unacceptable for men to go out in packs, dance in tight circles, and talk about how much they hate the opposite sex for 4 hours straight. It really is a shame, because whenever I'm feeling down the G.N.O really restores my faith in humanity. It's there to remind us that no matter what happens, you don't need men to have a good time, and it's possible to finish a bottle of Jose in under 10 minutes. I will take the ability to have a girl's night out as a repayment for the fact women still make 80 cents to the male dollar. We may be the victim of inequality, but at least we can get dressed up, drink pink drinks with weird names, and jump around in circle after we beg an innocent DJ to play Madonna. Preach Madame Cyrus-Hemsworth, preach.
But Miley Ray did really hit the nail on the head with one of her earlier tween jams. No, it's not the spine-tingling ballad to Nick Jonas, "7 Things". I'm talking about her well constructed female anthem, G.N.O. Here's a sample of the lyrics:
"Don't call me
Leave me alone
Not gonna answer my phone
Cause I don't
No I won't see you"
"Cause it's a girl's night
It's alright without you
I'm gonna stay out
And play out without you
You better hold tight
This girl's night is without you"
I like that Ms. Cyrus gets right to the heart of the issue. Girls coordinate their lives around guys who wouldn't even notice if they got both their nipples pierced. Girls go out with their friends to prove they don't need you. They get dressed up and Instagram themselves at bars so you dudes get your proverbial shit together and pay attention to them. Or they go out and black out so they can forget that you responded to their last text with "K sounds good". The only reason most girl's nights exist is male gender screwed up in some way. Nonetheless, girl's night are often my favorite nights for just that reason.
Most girls are different when they aren't around guys. At parties with males around, girls are often trying to impress a some loser in the room, or they are stalking the guy they are obsessed with on Facebook for iPhone.
This is why I love the girl's night. I love when my crazy friends steal my phone for the evening (until I get so drunk I bite their hands while they're sleeping to get it back), so I'm not staring at it all night waiting for Chris Noth to somehow get my number and sext me. Hanging out with just girls is often hilarious. Whether it's getting inappropriately drunk in a suburban basement while wearing yoga pants , or going to a bar on a Wednesday with 20 girls you've never met before. Girls are funnier without guys around, and way more likely to tell stories about hooking up in a movie theater during "Step Up 2: The Streets" when playing Never Have I Ever.
However, the G.N.O is not to be taken lightly. When you take all that estrogen, put it in a Forever 21 tube skirt, and pour tequila down its throat, you run the risk of creating a monster with running mascara. You can end up playing slap cup in basement for two hours until you begin debating the diversity of the American Girl dolls. Or you can end up performing Bruce Springsteen's "Born in the USA" karaoke in a crowded bar, then watching your friend make out with an Irish dude , and inexplicably losing some of your entourage to the emergency room.
However, girls and guys aren't that different. When we are alone we talk about all the same things: sex, alcohol, and "The Dark Knight Rises". We don't sit on the beach discussing wedding dresses or chihuahua outfits. Just like how you all are fascinated with how our boobs look in swimsuit tops, we're discussing your muscle definition and how weird your body looks playing beach volleyball (Ade).
Sadly, there really is no male equivalent to the girl's night out. Unfortunately, it's socially unacceptable for men to go out in packs, dance in tight circles, and talk about how much they hate the opposite sex for 4 hours straight. It really is a shame, because whenever I'm feeling down the G.N.O really restores my faith in humanity. It's there to remind us that no matter what happens, you don't need men to have a good time, and it's possible to finish a bottle of Jose in under 10 minutes. I will take the ability to have a girl's night out as a repayment for the fact women still make 80 cents to the male dollar. We may be the victim of inequality, but at least we can get dressed up, drink pink drinks with weird names, and jump around in circle after we beg an innocent DJ to play Madonna. Preach Madame Cyrus-Hemsworth, preach.
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