Posts Tagged ‘thought catalog’

via Thought Catalog

Did you hear that? Visiting hours are over. Your membership to my mind and body has been revoked. Now go home with your tail between your legs because you don’t get to love me anymore. In fact, you lost that right some time ago. I used to be open 24/7 like some trashy diner or a pharmacy, but that was before everything bad that ever happened and now I’m just closed up for good. Just another thing that’s boarded you up along some disgusting highway. Your name is scrawled over it like graffiti.

Remember when I let you touch me? Remember when you owned stock in my dick? At a certain point, it felt like my body was more yours than it was even mine. You could do anything you wanted to me. Isn’t that an amazing feeling? Knowing that someone trusts you so completely you have free rein over them? When you have this power, you’re not supposed to abuse it. You’re supposed to always have their best interests at heart and protect your investment. You shouldn’t trade your stock! Hold on it, watch it grow in value.

Right. Why doesn’t it ever work out this way? Why do the people who are supposed to protect you often end up leaving you for dead? The Great Depression. The stock market’s terrible right now because of you. People are losing their homes because of your wandering eye.

There was a time when I accepted everything you said as truth. No questions asked. Why would I? Had you ever given me reason to doubt you? Your presence was always met with vulnerability and openness. I had no control over it. Whenever you would appear, I’d just open up for you. (Wait, ew.) Do you even know how special that is? Why would you ever screw up such a good gig?

You used to have all of me and now you have nothing. Not a damn thing. Not even a pinky toe. You could touch my neck/ my butt/ my ear/ my bellybutton whenever you wanted. You could’ve cried to me in bed and I would’ve been like, “OMG BEB! What’s wrong? Tell me more!” You could’ve gotten me to move somewhere like Montana with six roommates and I would’ve been like, “Um, okay…” Isn’t that so crazy? Everything to nothing in a single moment. All-acesss pass to blacklisted. From unguarded intimacy to being a stranger.

The worst part is that you’re surprised. “I don’t even get a pinky toe? After all we’ve been through together?” Um, no. And the fact that you’re surprised, the fact that you think everything somehow could be okay, makes me more unrelenting in my stance against you, against us. The only power you’ve left with me is the power to reject you. And I’m sure as hell not going to let that one go to waste.

I’m desperately trying to get to this place, desperately. I am going to have to force myself here.


via Thought Catalog

So you’ve been sleeping in this kid’s bed all week, and you’re still not sick of him. Or you’ve been in love with your best friend for four years and you’re finally inching towards a relationship that involves kissing. Or you’ve found someone on eHarmony you can actually tolerate.

That’s great! I’m excited for you. But hold up. Slow down. Before you put all your eggs (biological or otherwise) in this human being’s basket… before you throw precious time, energy and money into someone other than yourself… before you take your gorgeous, wonderful soul off the market… make extra-sure it’s not just your sex drive talking.

1. Fix something.

I don’t care if it’s putting together Ikea furniture or talking your roommate through her heartbreak: if you can’t work through problems or struggles with this person, you’re each going to be left with a lot of shattered pieces. So if you can tile the backsplash in your kitchen and still want to sleep with them: well, that’s a good sign. Bonus points if you’re dating someone who knows how to tile surfaces.

2. Text.

I’m a grammar nerd. I’m also a writer on my better days. So I have no qualms with admitting that I’ll judge you if you can’t punctuate correctly or take the time to spell out Y-O-U. I’m also looking to see if you can make a clever quip (or four) while still being pitch-perfect flirtatious. Everyone’s got their own text hang-ups, but you want to know that whoever you’re seeing isn’t going to flagrantly irritate you during casual communication.

3. Eat sushi.

Sushi isn’t any old dinner date. It’s a highly collaborative, potentially explosive tango that can tell you worlds about the person across the table from you toying with their chopsticks. Are they assertive or go-with-the-flow? Do they like variety, or do they want to eat four crispy eel rolls in a row? Did they go to Kindergarten and learn how to share? I once went for sushi with someone who hated my favorite roll, and vice versa. We both talked each other into giving the despised sushi in question another chance… and both ended up nauseated and taking the rest to go. Needless to say, that relationship didn’t work out.

But hey, while you’re at it…

4. Watch how they order and tip.

Do you want to be with someone who gives a waiter 13.5 percent of the bill? Who barks at your bartender? Who is picky beyond reason?

Well, go for it. I’m going to take my receipt and run.

5. Dance.

Dance movies are sexy not because Sean Patrick Thomas and Julia Stiles are amazing, but because movement is a barometer both for how you carry yourself and your compatibility with someone else. Is your date doing the worm in the middle of the floor? Or standing at the bar throwing back G&Ts? Are they fluid or stiff? Willing to make a fool of themselves or showing you up? Grindin’ up on you or giving you your space? I’m not saying you have to breakdance to win my heart (though it’d help), but I want to see you move before I move in with you… or go dancing with you again.

6. Drive.

The way someone navigates through traffic or reacts to a high-stress parallel park can be a) really goddamn sexy or b) completely horrific. Also, it’s just good to know if you’re putting your life in danger when you get it the front seat with this person.

Full disclosure: You’re putting your life in danger when you get in the front seat with me. I think that’s something my future significant other would want to know.

7. Hang out with your/their friends.

I rarely give out brownie points (unless it involves building stuff — See #1), but I always melt a little bit when someone gets along swimmingly with my friends. Likewise, you need to have great friends if I’m going to date you… mostly because I want to be That Cool Girlfriend who hangs out with them a lot and receives said brownie points. It’s bad news if the person you’re seeing can’t at least hold a conversation with your best friend while you’re putting on your mascara or get a drink with your crew once in a while. Your friends are going to be much more inclined to resent this person for the entirety of your relationship, one, but two, you’ve known said friends way longer than whoever this punk is. They’re a pretty good indicator of what kind of people you love.

8. Hang out with animals.

Cat person or dog person: the great existential question of our generation. I have a World Wildlife Foundation debit card, which involves my face on a piece of plastic next to a panda’s… so if you don’t love animals, I’m going to be hesitant. Similarly, if you hear me talk to my chocolate lab over the phone (which I do, often), you may think I’m certifiably insane. Whatever your stance on the creatures of the earth, it’s a good idea to get the animal question out of the way. So take them to the zoo, or watch your mood-swingy kitten react to their presence in your living room.

9. Go down on each other.

Some people think you should sleep with someone before you date them. Some think all it takes is a kiss to diagnose your level of physical chemistry. Either of these could be correct, but I’m going to just average them out and say that you should, well, get down to it and make sure you’re OHMYGODSOATTRACTEDTOTHISPERSON. Also, it’ll solve that terrible relationship issue of being with someone who hates giving oral sex. ‘Cause unless you hate it too, that’s just sad for everyone.

10. Do whatever you want.

I know I’ve just wasted 15 minutes of your would-be-productive life telling you what to do, but really, there’s no set of rules when you’re into someone. So if you like them… just go ahead and like them. Spend 48 hours straight at their house. Make out with them even if they hate dogs. Make fun of their dance moves and then still go home with them at the end of the night. Being in like or lust or even love is too much fun to not just go with it.

But really — if they’re awful tippers… just don’t.

via Thought Catalog

1. You don’t know why things are different between you and your best friend. You don’t know why things feel off. They just do. And here you are, feeling this immense amount of pressure to make it feel how it used to, and you both end up failing. You’re at lunch surrendering to the things you can’t control. When we were younger, we could blame everything on something tangible but it’s not like that anymore. Relationships shift in the night when you’re unconscious. And when you wake up, you find out you were robbed but don’t even bother finding the culprit.

2. You don’t know why you didn’t get the job. Your outfit was impeccable — very “23-year-old who deserves a job” — and the interview went swimmingly. You talked about your favorite books and your respective hometowns. Time just flew. You were supposed to be there for only thirty minutes but it turned into an hour. You left the office feeling like a million bucks but that slowly got depleted when you never heard back. When they finally informed you that they went with someone within the company, your spirit had become an overdrawn bank account.

3. You don’t know why this jerk isn’t texting you back. Maybe they don’t like you or are scared they like you too much. (Does the latter ever happen though? Do people ever get freaked out, like in a negative way, when they actually like someone and they know the person likes them back? Maybe they do. If so, we’re doomed.) You’re thinking of a myriad of different things while waiting for that response back. Most of which are some variant of “I’m not good enough. I probably smell weird. How am I supposed to get someone to love me when they can’t even send me a damn text message?” You’ll never know the real reasons why they aren’t going to text you back. Trust me. It’s better not knowing.

4. You don’t know if you’re going to transition well to adulthood and get a nice paying job. You don’t know if you’re ever going to get things the same way your parents did. Buying a house, 401ks, health insurance: are any of these things guaranteed to anyone anymore? What are the true markers of adulthood if we have to keep on living paycheck to paycheck, can’t afford to raise a family, or even buy a nice winter coat? How will we know if we made it?

5. You don’t know why you hooked up with that disgusting person years ago. You had no interest in seeing them naked and then it just happened. This foreign body was on top of you and trying to make your insides feel good when all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and watch Friday Night Lights. It’s amazing how many things we do without knowing the rationale behind it. We spend our days doing everything with a sense of purpose and then, all of a sudden, we just become possessed. I feel like we do things that are out of character because we need to shock ourselves. Self-awareness can be overrated and tiresome. By sleeping with someone who repulses you, we’re reminded that we don’t know ourselves completely.

6. You don’t know why you remember some people and forget others. It seems like you’re always missing people who never miss you back. Can that, like, stop?

7. You don’t know math. You don’t need to know math. Math is unknowable.

via Thought Catalog

Do you know what a shame crush is? It’s pretty self-explanatory but let me give you the basics just in case you’re not familiar. A shame crush is when you find yourself liking someone who’s totally not your type, someone who might even be a little embarrassing. The seminal Avril Lavigne pop hit,”Sk8er Boi” explored The Shame Crush with its star-crossed love story. (He was a punk. She did ballet, remember?)

Shame crushes come in all shapes and sizes and your first instinct might be to think that they’re all just hideous eyesores with lovely personalities but that’s not true. You can be ashamed of someone for reasons other than their subpar looks, duh! One of my ultimate shame crushes would be a yuppie type living in Midtown who plays “Hey Soul Sister” during sex — someone who clearly isn’t from the same “tribe” as me, but whom I adore anyway. Basically, you can rate a crush’s shame level based on how “WTF?!” your friends are going to be when you introduce them. Honestly, your friends are the main reason why shame crushes even exist. Think back again to Avril Lavigne’s “Sk8er Boi” or the amazing Nicolas Cage film, Valley Girl. Do you think the ballet princess or the Valley girl would’ve minded so much falling in love with an alterna-teen (especially if they were as hot as Nicolas Cage in the ’80s) if it weren’t for their friends being judgemental divas? Even though we hate to admit it, their opinions mean a lot to us, especially when we’re younger and more insecure.

The funny thing about shame crushes is that they’re often the most fun kind of crush to have. When we find ourselves attracted to someone we would’ve ordinarily been repulsed by, it’s exciting and sexy. It’s like, “You’re kind of chubby and balding and I’m 99% sure you go see Dave Matthews Band at the summer festivals, but I want to have SEX with you more than I would a supermodel and I have no idea why.” Oftentimes, we go through life dating the same kinds of people and have little success. We gravitate towards people who look good on paper (and in photographs) but actually fail to excite us in real life. They’re too obvious. (This is the part where I try to avoid saying “OPPOSITES ATTRACT, OMG!”)

Okay, I didn’t want to have to bring this up but it seems to be unavoidable. You guys know the most famous shame crush in pop culture, right? It’s Charlotte and Harry from Sex and the City! I know, I didn’t want to be on that Carrie Bradshaw tip but bear with me because it’s relevant. Charlotte spent most of her time dating the kind of men a WASPy girl from Connecticut was supposed to be dating: Stoic, wealthy bores. But when she met Harry — a hairy Jewish lawyer who was a total slob — she was like, “Gross slash come have sex with me.” Initially, Charlotte was shaming hard about her shame crush and couldn’t figure out why she was so attracted to them. Eventually though, she stopped questioning it and gave in to the shame.

Let Charlotte York be a lesson to all who have struggled with shame crushes before. In my experience, the more puzzled you are by an attraction, the more awesome it is. Sometimes it’s the ones we can’t figure out that end up making the most sense. So embrace the shame and stop worrying about what your friends think. No matter what happens, it’s important to note that shame crushes usually bring about the best sex anyway.

Yes, these are truly the worst. I have many of these, and I can’t help why.

via Thought Catalog

M Looking 4 a GILDCF (Grandma I’d Like to Do Chores For) I am a white male in his mid-twenties with a medium build. I live in New York, and my grandmother lives in the suburbs of Boston. I am looking for a little old lady who will tell me how tall and strong I am for taking things off of shelves and opening jars, no strings attached. Very few little old ladies probably browse this section, but if you know any, please e-mail me.

One Spite Stand – m4w You are the girlfriend of my nemesis. At a party we are all at together, you laugh super loud at all of my jokes in front of him.

Looking for my Perfect Compliment – m4m I am a heterosexual male in a relationship looking for a gay male to offer to buy me a drink while my girlfriend is in the bathroom. I will politely explain that I am not gay, and we will both laugh. My girlfriend will return, and you will tell her I have striking eyes. Everyone will feel nice about it, and it won’t be weird at all.

Looking for a One-Sided Platonic Interaction m4w Here’s the scene. We meet in a bar. I’m wearing a steel-blue necktie over a black dress shirt. You’re super hot and wearing a red dress. You make eyes at me while I drink a Coke and chat with my friends. I accidentally catch your gaze and offer a weak smile. As I leave with my buddies, one of them remarks: “That chick in the red dress was totally into you.” I smile and play it off, even though I think he was right. Then I go home alone and feel self-righteous about not cheating on my girlfriend who was away on business in Denver. Don’t judge me. It’s just what I’m into.

I Like It Dirty – m4bedroom I’m looking for anyone with a bedroom messier than mine. I don’t want to roll around in your dirty clothes or anything weird. I just want to see it and not feel so bad about the squalor in which I live.

I C Sum Ladies Who Should Be Havin My Baby, Baby – m4big I see you across the bar, rapping the lyrics to “Hypnotize” by the Notorious B.I.G. I choose “Mo Money, Mo Problems” on the jukebox. We alternate verses and high five. We never speak again. Also, I would love it if you’d call me Big Poppa. Your gender and physical appearance are unimportant.

Bro No Sexual – m4m Man seeking man to act like a leering creep at a bar so I can step in and be a gentleman and seem like a real good guy. You’ll be wearing a backwards baseball cap and Axe Body Spray. I’ll be the one saying: “Is this guy bothering you?”

Seeking Something Spicy and Ethnic in the Afternoon – m4burrito Me: A white guy who loves burritos. You: A taqueria employee from El Salvador. I order in Spanish. You compliment my pronunciation. I tip generously.

Ready 2 Play Ball – sox4sox We are two men wearing Red Sox caps in my neighborhood in Harlem. We make eye contact and exchange wordless nods. This can be a one-time thing, or we can do it every time we see each other if you live near me.

service me pleeze – m4hmo You work at my health insurance company. I call you with a question about my bill. You answer immediately without putting me on hold. You promise to reimburse me for medical costs that are clearly covered under my plan. I reluctantly agree to eat the cost of the twenty-dollar co-pay, which was five dollars more than I had expected. I promise to be courteous and respectful. We will both leave the exchange satisfied.

Kazaam! – m4shaq Man seeking Shaq for some no strings attached fist pounds.

blast from the past – m4m(emories) If we went to high school together, I would like to run into you when I’m home for the holidays. You can tell me who from our class is married, who is dead, and who lives out of state. We will promise to hang out in the future, but probably we will not.

The Hair Up There – m seeking 2w I’ve always had this fantasy of being with two women at once, neither of whom asks me how long I’ve been bald. If you can be one of those women, hit me up. Don’t try any sex stuff! Gross!

Grownups Only, Plz – m4peace&quiet This may sound weird, but I’m a guy looking to meet an airplane full of people who don’t have any screaming infants at all. I’m not asking for much of your time. Just five hours of cross-country travel. Seriously, though, no screaming infants. I’ve been burned before.

no thnx – m4dignity You’re a guy who wears sandals when it’s forty-five degrees outside. Let’s never meet.

via Thought Catalog

1. You have to actually break up in order to break up.

You can break up in theory, or you can break up in reality. Only one of them is an actual break-up. People who break up in theory decide they’re no longer together, then proceed to sleep together, call each other every day, and know each other’s daily plans.

People who break up in reality end the relationship and all elements of the behavior associated with the relationship for an undetermined period of time. Note: you can technically be “broken up while he’s in business school,” but not if you’re together every time he’s home for vacation.

If you’re unclear as to which of the above is an actual break-up, please don’t date my friends.

2. There is no such thing as a mutual break up.

It may feel mutual, look mutual, and be hailed as mutual to everyone you tell, but the truth is that someone in the relationship wanted the break up more than the other person. There may be an agreement that things aren’t working, but no one wants to be the person to come to that decision a day later than the other.

3. If you can break up in-person, do it.

If it’s long-distance or you’re dealing with a lunatic, you’re off the hook here. You’re also off the hook if your relationships lasted for less than two months, and the idea of exclusivity was never mentioned.

4. You might have to break up with someone you don’t think you’re dating.

There are differences between seeing each other, dating, dating exclusively, and “in-a-relationship.” In three out of those four situations, a formal break up is required. If you’re just seeing each other (under six dates, little to no meeting of each other’s friends, no daily communication) you can disappear on account of a “crazy upcoming work project” or “funk I just can’t climb out of,” but if this person is in your life to the point that they know what upcoming work projects you have and will message your friend to make sure your “funk” isn’t something serious, you need to have a talk.

5. You cannot be friends with someone you’ve just stopped dating.

This is not to say that you can’t be friends with someone you once dated — you just can’t slip from romance to friendship without consequence. Just say, “For now, distance would be the best thing for us. Would you like to contact me when you’re ready, or should I do so?” Or something less Dr. Phil than that.

via Thought Catalog

Here, a primer for when your future children want to know what the hell you were doing with your boxy, multicolored electronics.
While most things we experienced as tots in that headiest of eras seems pretty self-explanatory (plaid was everywhere, Leonardo DiCaprio was the molten ball of light around which the solar system turned, and there was no color too bright for your sweatpants) there are some things that will be a bit harder to explain. Here, a primer for when your future children want to know what the hell you were doing with your boxy, multicolored electronics.

1. Topanga was at some point in human history considered not only a legitimate first name for a human being, but the kind of name that would inspire in malleable teenage boys a life-long infatuation. Topanga, in our day, was leading lady name-material. Topanga (pronounced Tah-payne-ga, for those who will have only ever seen in it written down) is the name of the quintessential girl-next-door who will live, along with Feeney, in our hearts forever.

2. At some point, we carried around little plastic eggs with tiny screens on them — in these screens lived our hearts, our pets, our raison d’etre, our very own Tomagotchi. We loved them, we listened to their tiny electronic screams of malnourishment, and we occasionally forgot to pick up their poop for long enough that they died a tortured, poop-filled death. They were perhaps our first foray into the life-consuming world of electronics and self-absorption, later to be fully manifested by Facebook.

3. The black Power Ranger was black and the yellow Power Ranger was Asian because…we were so completely ahead of our time and beyond the capacity to even think in terms of something as inconsequential as race that… uh… I don’t know. Casting directors were racist in the nineties.

4. Long before he was spending his days foisting his mediocre children on us, Will Smith was actually the perfect human specimen. He also undoubtedly holds some world record for saving the world the most times while simultaneously delivering flawless catchphrases and giving cool guy nods to the camera. The Men In Black rap song, at the time, was created and received by the public without the slightest trace of irony. Really. He was that good.

5. In some inevitable shift of the time-space continuum in which James Cameron continues to rob humanity of all that is good and sacred in this world, Fern Gully will be known as that movie that ripped off Avatar. It will be up to us to crusade for what is right. It is up to us to explain that Fern Gully was not only a predecessor to Avatar, but far better, in that it contained both Tim Curry as a singing pile of molasses and Robin Williams rapping about animal testing in the pharmaceutical industry. (As a side note, if you have not recently listened to the full lyrics of the “Batty Rap,” I recommend you do, as they are horrifying.)

6. A neighborhood boy who completely disregards your family and puts a ladder directly under the teenage girl’s window to climb up at his discretion is not only acceptable, it’s charming. It’s the kind of stuff that would make said family take the ladder boy under their wing and into their heart. The nineties were a simpler time, one where we didn’t have to worry about things like breaking and entering. Clarissa today would have steel bars on the inside of her window and her father would continually remind her that the next-door boy with his ladder and his touchy hands have no place in his household.

7. Though on the surface, they are the exact same thing in every conceivable way, whether you liked The Backstreet Boys or N*SYNC said more about your character than all of the terrible macaroni art you could ever make for your child psychologist. Essentially, liking N*SYNC meant you liked Justin Timberlake, as he was clearly the Seabiscuit in that race from the get-go. You even liked him with his terrible, icy-blond mini-fro. Liking the Backstreet Boys gave you a bit more of a cultured palate, as there was no clear Diana in those Supremes. Nick was kind of the wholesome, if northern-Florida-redneck safe choice (save for his humiliating younger brother, Aaron). Bryan was the shy, sensitive type. AJ was the hottt, dangerous meth addict. Kevin Richardson was mute with sexy, sculpted facial hair. No one liked Howie. Choosing between the two groups was like choosing between two beloved children, but once that line was crossed–there was no going back.

8. “I wanna really really really wanna zig a zig ahh,” has a meaning, and all true nineties kids know it, but we must never share it. Like the Illuminati, it must remain between us, the keyholders. With great power comes great responsibility.

9. Lisa Frank is not the name of a woman, it is the name of a movement, a culture, a way of living. It is a theory, a concept, a belief in something greater than yourself. It is the belief that all girls are entitled to dolphins covered with rainbows, jewel-encrusted frogs, and unicorns in acid-trip colors hugging each other. It is the ideology that no notebook is complete until it literally hurts your eyes to look at from so much color saturation. It is the hope that no school supply, no matter how insignificant, will be left un-bedazzled. It is the knowledge that your eraser cap, and that of your granddaughter’s, and her granddaughter’s after her, will not be some boring little nub–it will be a diamond covered with butterflies in a rainbow of colors. It is the dream of a better tomorrow.

10. Incredibly depressing women in Indiana covered in cats and glass figurines they buy at The Hallmark Store used to troll the web 1.0 to invest thousands of dollars in tiny stuffed animals filled with plastic beans. That happened. Beanie Babies were not just significant, they were the first example most of us had of envy, greed, and wrath. If someone messed up that little heart-shaped Ty tag, so help you God, that was the end of whatever contact you had with that monster of a human being. That tag-less Beanie Baby was now trash, and you had to deal with the consequence. It was at that moment, that de-valued Beanie Baby moment, that most of us accepted the truth… we’ll never have nice things.

via Thought Catalog

The Summer Boyfriend

The Summer Boyfriend is easy breezy. You can find him on a fire escape at someone’s house party, smoking cigarettes and clutching a sangria. He is the definition of someone you don’t want when the weather gets cold but he’s perfect for the warmer temperatures. You envision him on a beach with the sand in his toes. You see him shirtless and drinking margaritas on a rooftop. The sun hits his skin in the most perfect way and it will be hard for you to not have sex with him every moment of every day. That’s The Summer Boyfriend’s job though—to give you multiple orgasms a day—and the rest is just light and fluffy like clouds. You only like him in June, July, and August. When Labor Day hits, feelings will shift and you’ll feel the need to exit the relationship ASAP. He’ll walk you to the train on the first day you need to wear a cardigan and you’ll know it’s done. The second it gets cold, so do the feelings. “I don’t want to see you in sweaters. I want to see you in a tank top. It’s been real, dude.”

The Fall Boyfriend

The Fall Boyfriend is nice. Too nice. You meet him at school or a cafe and are charmed by his sweetness. You think to yourself, “This is a person I want to drink hot chocolate with and spoon and tickle and listen to jazz or something. We’ll have meaningful conversations, maybe talk about politics, and walk in the park together.” If nothing else, it will feel stable. Ultimately though, you’ll discover that nice wears thin, nice doesn’t pay the love bills, nice doesn’t leave you wanting more, nice doesn’t create desire, nice chops your penis off. Bye bye, Fall Boyfriend. It’s starting to snow.

The Winter Boyfriend

All hail The Winter Boyfriend! Arguably the best of the seasonal boyfriends, the guy you date in winter is a borderline keeper. You’ve usually got to start searching for them in October as they’re at risk of selling out. As you know, no one likes to be single when it’s cold out so get one while you still can. Obligations for The Winter Boyfriend include but aren’t limited to: Letting you develop your own “winter coat” by eating whatever you damn please without a peep, staying in and getting drunk on whiskey together, holding your hand during a blizzard and, last but not least, buying you a nice Christmas present. Winter can be a #dark time for all of us. I pity the fool whose job it is to love me in thirty degree weather.

The Spring Boyfriend

Your Spring Boyfriend resembles the season itself: Gorgeous and quick. You’ll fall for them fast but they’ll be gone before you can say “Can you do that again?” You always want more of spring but you’re never going to get it. You’ll be permanently blue-balled.

via Thought Catalog

Two girls run into each other at a house party. They have the following exchange.

You: Oh my god, SO good to see you. Sorry I didn’t make it to your birthday party last month. I really felt like I was coming down with something.

Your Frenemy: Oh my god, don’t you even worry about it! I figured you wouldn’t be able to make it. Seriously. Not EVEN an issue.

You: Cool. You know, I LOVE your bangs. Did you just get them done? I’ve always wanted to get them but I really don’t think they’d look good on me. You have a big forehead so they look perfect on you but my forehead is smaller so, you know…..

Your Frenemy: Thanks! You’re too sweet. They’re not new though. I’ve had them for, like, three years. I just don’t think you’ve ever noticed.

You:Are you sure? God, you must’ve just done something different with them tonight.

Your Frenemy: Nope. I’m wearing it the same way I always have…

You: Okay, well, my mistake!

Your Frenemy: Hey, did I see you walking out of Planned Parenthood the other day? The one on Elm? I was driving by and I could’ve sworn it was you…

You: (STIFFENS UP) Um, no. I don’t think so! Haven’t been there recently so it couldn’t have been me.

Your Frenemy: That’s so funny because I was almost positive it was you. You were wearing that backpack with your name stitched on the back. Gosh, you must have a twin roaming around…

You: Yeah, it’s uncanny!

Your Frenemy (WHISPERS) You know, I just wanted you to know that if you’re going through something, I’M HERE FOR YOU. Seriously. I mean that. Anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.

You: Um, thanks. I know you’ve been such a good friend to me. I would totally tell you if something was up. I feel like we’ve become close again. I mean, I’m totally over that one time you told everyone I had herpes. Forgive and forget, sister!

Your Frenemy: I’m so glad we’ve moved on from that. It was just such a huge misunderstanding…

You: Oh, I know. And I’ve healed and moved on. No more drama. I think we’re in a good place.

Your Frenemy: Such a good place.

You: I’ve also forgiven the time you switched my birth control with Xanax. And the time you made out with my boyfriend in Cancun. And the time–

Your Frenemy: I was roofied in Cancun, okay?! You know that. I was straight up Marisa Cooper in TJ! And regarding the birth control and Xanax, it was a common mistake! I thought we were past those issues.

You: We are! OMG, we so are. I’m just mentioning it again to show how forgiving I can be.

Your Frenemy: Right. Well. maybe we shouldn’t rehash the painful past. In case you didn’t know, I’ve changed and become a better person.

You: And so have I. You know what? Let’s just hug.

Your Frenemy: We need a hug.

You: Let’s do it.

They embrace awkwardly.

Your Frenemy: I’m glad we did this. To be honest, I feel like there’s been some unresolved tension and I think you and I both needed to have some real talk.

You: Agreed. Well, I’m going to get a drink but I’ll see you in a sec.

Your Frenemy: Perfect.

The second they separate, The frenemy grabs a friend and mouths:

Your Frenemy: I hate that bitch. Let’s go.

So I know this exchange is exaggerated but we’ve all had a variation of this conversation with someone we don’t like. We’re not allowed to hate anyone openly because that would be “too high school” so what do you do instead? Act completely fake and spout off some BS like it’s our job. No one said we had to like everyone. But everyone says we have to pretend. WTF? No. How many times have we sat through conversations when someone is throwing tiny little daggers at us disguised as compliments and we can’t say anything? Instead, we exact our revenge by canceling on plans and not following them back on Twitter. It’s the 2011 way! Oh, and also, don’t ever say that I look “healthy”. We all know that means I look like I bathed in a deep fryer.

via Thought Catalog

1. Starve yourself
Under normal circumstances, I would never advise anyone to Karen Carpenter themselves but on Thanksgiving day it’s pretty much essential that you experience hunger pains before digging in. By residing in Starvation Nation all day, the taste of the turkey, mashed potatoes, veggies, and pumpkin pie will explode on your taste buds and have you moaning in ecstasy in front of your startled family. Be careful though. If you’re truly ravenous you risk eating everything in ten minutes and lying down on the couch in a food coma. So eat slowly! Now that I think about it, Thanksgiving is nothing BUT experiencing food-related pain. Your starved stomach is in agony until you stuff it with fat and then it’s in another type of pain for the rest of the night. Cool.

2. Tell your whole family you’re gay…even if you’re not!
Is your Thanksgiving turning into a snoozefest? Has your drunk grandma not begun sobbing and smashing plates yet? No worries! You can pump up the volume (or Valium, in your Aunt Judy’s case) by telling your whole family that you’re gay! It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not. It will get the family in an uproar and then you can give yourself a dramatic exit. When your conservative uncle asks you with pained eyes, “WHY?!”, blame it on going to Christian youth groups in high school and watching an inordinate amount of wrestling as a child.

3. Text your friends a minute-by-minute update of the festivities
12:30pm- Um, my uncle Rory just farted and everyone is pretending that it didn’t happen. WTF? Come save me!
1:00pm- My aunt is secretly eating the pumpkin pie already. So much for the gastric bypass!
1:20pm: My grandma is on her fifth glass of wine and just asked me to braid her hair. Let it be noted that she’s balding.
1:40pm- BRB, raiding grandma’s medicine cabinet. What’s Flexeril? Will it kill me? Let’s find out!
2:20pm- My cousin who just got out of jail just came over. Did I tell you about the time he tried to make out with my sister when they were 14 and she was like, “Um, we’re related.”
3:00pm- Dinner is served. There’s one slice of pumpkin pie left and my aunt is shifting uncomfortably in her seat.
3:10pm- The turkey’s dry.
3:40pm- My mom and her sister are fighting about a forgotten birthday present from ten years ago. In other news, Flexeril is making me see everyone’s aura.
4:00pm- Someone just locked themselves in the bathroom. Oh wait, that person is me.
5:40pm- We’re leaving now. I grabbed some more of grandma’s pills so I’ll come over and we’ll get weird. Bye.

4. Surrender to the food coma
Don’t fight it. It’s futile. Give into it. Give it a warm hug and a kiss. After all, you only see this mofo once a year. If your parents try to make you move from the couch, just point to your stomach and pretend to pass out. Make a Facebook status update that says, “Girlfriend in a food coma. I know, I know. It’s really serious.” Get 6 likes from the people who get it. Watch TV while half conscious and tell yourself that you’ll never eat again. You’ll be forever full. Somehow be eating leftovers at midnight…..

5. Think about what you’re thankful for
Or not. You don’t have to do this but it’s sort of fun. This year I’m thankful for Twitter and not having any STDs. What about you?

via Thought Catalog

While I’m sober, while I have my wits about me and my ducks in a row, while I can form coherent thoughts and make good decisions — I must give myself a small list of things to remember for when I won’t be so good on the decision-making tip. Perhaps I’ll duct tape it to my chest.

1. Be smart about money. I must just set aside a specific amount of money, in cash, and leave my cards at home. I can’t just give my drunk self unlimited access to my checking account, or those horrendous beeping lie machines commonly referred to as ATMs. It is well-accepted science that money stops being real at exactly 1 a.m., and it is at that very moment that your trip to the bar for another round becomes an episode of Supermarket Sweep: “GIVE ME ALL OF THEM, ALL OF THE ALCOHOLS. I HAVE A TAB OPEN.” I must avoid that part of the night where I convince myself that, feh, what does money even mean, anyway, and I’ll just make some tomorrow because how hard could counterfeiting possibly be. And, of course, I only live once. These kinds of mistakes are a sure recipe for finding myself tomorrow staring in anger and disbelief at my checking account as I berate myself for buying so many lemon drops for the girls I met in line for the bathroom.

2. Drink some damn water. It’s a pretty heavy demand, expecting myself to remember to put some water down my trap at three in the morning when I’m crawling into bed with my shoes on and thanking whatever friend bit the bullet and brought me home for being just such a wonderful person. It would require getting up, going to the kitchen, getting a glass, AND filling it with water — each task daunting on its own, together, it’s completely insurmountable. So I recommend that I leave a nice, big bottle with a fancy, Alice In Wonderland-style note attached saying “Drink Me” next to my bed. I imagine that I’ll wonder, upon seeing it when I get home, what nice little house elf put it there for me and whether or not I should lobby for their equal rights with us wizards. But no matter what I’m thinking, or what oppressed magical creature I think brought it to me, I’ll be happily swigging down my water (and likely dribbling half of it all over my pillow) as I drift off into a not-critically-dehydrated dreamland.

3. Make sure I have a way to get home. Whether it’s catching a bus, dashing to the metro before it cruelly, thoughtlessly closes its doors, having enough cash for a taxi, or hitting up the one friend who was selfless enough not to drink tonight (How does one nominate a Nobel candidate, again?) I must find a way to get back. No one wants to be that person who is standing outside the bar/ club at 2 a.m. with no clue where their friends went, no money in their pockets, a tenuous-at-best grasp on their surroundings, and a sad little dribble of Jager on their shirt. They become the lost little puppy of the people standing outside smoking, whose job it then becomes to find this little person a home. It’s essentially the grown-up version of when you’re a little kid and you get separated from your mom at the department store and you go into a psychological tailspin as the customer service lady repeats over the intercom: “Could a Julie Green please come to customer service? Julie Green. We have your daughter. Please come and acknowledge your spawn, and perhaps consider one of those humiliating child-leashes for future outings.” I can’t be that guy.

4. Do not drink if I am sad, remorseful, bitter, or angry. I know well enough by now that whatever emotion I’m experiencing before that first drink hits my lips is the one I’ll feel to the power of ten by the end of the night. Drinking essentially takes a magnifying glass to your feelings, and though we can occasionally experience that first-few-drink “happy drunk” where we no longer care that our boyfriend cheated on us with that horrendous girl from the salon, eventually we’ll get to the last-few-drink “sad drunk” in which all we can think about is how he probably only did it because she always looks perfectly coiffed and made-up, even when she’s out buying pads or whatever at the grocery store, which is just a ridiculous standard to hold any woman to because we all know the only women who attain it are the ones that work in salons and have constant, unyielding access to all things beauty and frankly, why is it that salon chicks always look so good and put-together when really they should look like clowns because no facial structure can truly support that much MAC and they dye their hair every other weekend and as far as I know, that is not good for the follicles and oh god why doesn’t he love me any more I have to pee.
This, all of this, must be avoided. And worse, if I stay home and don’t have friends to at least nod along sympathetically, I could end up drinking directly out of a bottle of wine while I cry and reblog inspirational quotes. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.

5. No matter what, I do not look as sexy as I imagine. There is almost nothing worse than that feeling when you’re walking around feeling sexy, buzzing super hard, swirling your finger around the rim of your glass and just knowing you’ve got it all under control — until you walk past a decently-lit mirror and see some kind of swamp creature staring back at you. Your makeup has migrated halfway down your face, your fly is open, the back of your hair is sticking straight out, and everything is stained with what is either sweat or alcohol. You’re just generally… humid… and not in the good way. So this time, I must remind myself that when I’m out, finishing up a 20-minute dance marathon because not one single Usher song can be missed, and I feel like I’m sex incarnate — look in the mirror. I am likely to find that, like most times I’m feeling so fly it hurts, the Viking trickster god Loki has gotten me again. I am actually looking like Tammy Faye Bakker under a heat lamp. Better to just touch up every now and again, I find.

Now I may not completely save myself from my own folly, but with these things in mind, I can at least get the basics down and just focus on having a good, safe, makeup-intact and tear-free evening.

ALL of this resonates with my going out habits except #5

via Thought Catalog

Being pretty has some major benefits. I’ve definitely passed a few classes I shouldn’t have by batting my big brown eyes and crying crocodile tears. I used to be a hit at the bars (back when I still went to bars) because I could get free drinks just by asking for them, and I’ve avoided arrest a few times when I probably shouldn’t have. If you’re funny and smart, people tend to think you are a legitimate genius – probably because people never have expectations for pretty people anyway – except to stay pretty.

It ain’t always easy, though. People expect you to be an idiot, and when it turns out you have brains too, they tend to get freaked out. Prepare to get passed over for jobs with female hiring managers, and prepare for a string of jobs working for pervy male managers who gave you the job because they could see down your dress during the interview. Move to a bad neighborhood, and you better get a bodyguard or a boyfriend because the prison bodies down the street WILL say something inappropriate to you every chance they get. Something like, “Hey girl, you look like you taste sweet!” or “Dang, mama – lemme take a bite outta THAT!” “Can I be your sugar daddy?” or even just bark at you like a dog as they drive by (yes, all of these things really happen, sometimes even when I’ve got my glasses on).

Nice guys will never, ever hit on you (presumably because they’re intimidated), but you will have more undateables flirting with you than you even thought existed. The #1 attempted pickup line will be, “Hey, are you a model?” which will embarrass you because A) obviously you’re not a model, and B) what are you supposed to say? “No, I’m not a model, I’m just NATURALLY GORGEOUS. SOAK IT UP.”

You will get so used to creepers creepin’ that it won’t faze you when the gas station attendant tells you he won’t accept your money because his payment is watching you suck on one of the Blow Pops you like to buy before work. And once you get to work, you will be forced to play nice when men try to hold your hand over the counter and give you “business cards” that are very clearly just a phone number written on the back of a Rite-Aid receipt.

On the flip side, you’ll get so used to this kind of attention that you’ll feel a misplaced sense of disappointment when you fail to attract catcalls from construction workers and garden-variety weirdos. You will also inevitably start to lean on your good looks in sticky situations, which will make you wholly unprepared to deal with the occasional hardass that doesn’t fall for pseudo-meaningful eye contact and flirty smiles. You are aware of this tendency, which gives you increasing levels of anxiety as you grow older and too broke to afford expensive skin-tightening cream from Sephora. You will, at least once, have a minor meltdown over morning pillow face, hyperventilating in the mirror over the overnight appearance of fine lines.

You won’t have many girlfriends; that much should be obvious. And when you start dating someone, you’ll have to get rid of all your non-gay guy friends because your boo factor will assume they all want to date/fuck you (which, to some extent, is probably true). On that note – be careful whom you choose to date, because years of only getting attention from losers with (excuse my pun) nothing to lose will do a number on your self-image.

When you go out, you always end up getting too messed up due to a combination of accepting too many free drinks from losers and drinking by yourself in the corner while your friends meet nice, college-educated guys with jobs. You take home a lot of gross guys out of boredom and loneliness. Your friends inevitably tire of taking you out because you end each night rolling around on the couch/bathroom floor clutching a bottle of CVS Chardonnay, crying “why don’t any cute boys LIKE ME??” while your friends roll their eyes because you got more attention from guys than anyone else.

Obviously I would rather be good-looking than average or even (gasp) unattractive, but once in a while it would be great if someone commented on something other than my appearance. “Wow, you’re so exotic, you should be a Laker girl” sounds like a compliment, but what I hear is “You should be a Laker girl because you look vaguely Puerto Rican and nobody cares that you can spell ‘facetious’ without looking at the dictionary.”

I guess ultimately I would rather have all the advantages that good-looking people have, because we really do have it easier. But sometimes it would be nice to just be a face in the crowd. Sometimes I just want to go to the donut store down the street without having to bring my pepper spray with me just in case the neighborhood teens decide to follow me there and threateningly back me up against the counter while demanding my phone number and address again, ya know?

via Thought Catalog

We all have to get up and do stuff we don’t want to do — go to work, go to that math class we put off until the last possible semester, go to the post office, etc. — and we have all come to dread the heinous sounds of our various alarm clocks. However, there are some people who seem to rise with the birds, singing a beautiful song and praising the Sun Goddess or whatever the hell they do. But how is this physically possible? And why, why must we reward them for how bright and early their internal clocks seem to wake them up? A few points I have true intellectual difficulty grasping:

Who actually likes going for a six a.m. run? Who hears that alarm clock go off and think, “Screw getting an extra hour of sleep! I’m gonna go outside in the freezing rain and wear my poor, poor knees down repeatedly against the unforgiving pavement! YES!” I refuse to accept that this an actual human impulse for some. It’s just too absurd, too cruel, too masochistic. Maybe that’s it. Maybe morning people are just the most civilized of masochists, and it was either this or hiring a dominatrix, and this was the less expensive option.

What is the desire, the need, to make others aware of their Morning Person status? There is no doubt in my mind that the inspiration for all the various statuses and tweets along the lines of: “What a beautiful morning, a nice hour of yoga and I’m so ready to attack today! #GettinThatWormBro” is simply to make the rest of us feel bad as we stand, comatose, in front of our coffee machines. I hate you, social networking-capable morning person. You are the worst part of waking up. You are the Anti-Folgers.

How early do you people have to go to sleep? In order for me to jump out of bed at 7 and dance around my room as my clothes magically appear on my body, as I imagine happens with morning people, I would realistically have to be in bed by 6 p.m. the night before. The amount of good, solid sleep I would need to justify/ power being such a chipper douchebag at such an ungodly hour is something not physically possible with my current evening schedule. If you bastards are going to sleep at midnight, I refuse to accept you are human.

Who actually eats legitimate breakfasts in the early morning? I have friends who talk openly about their ritual of eating granola, greek yogurt, soft-boiled eggs (in the little egg cups, no less) a glass of OJ, and a coffee in the morning. WHAT. That is straight brunch material, and we’re talking on a Sunday in which getting out of bed at 11:30 is a great success. Even if I could theoretically be up early enough to prepare this on weekdays, who has that kind of appetite when the sun is not even up yet? I am lucky if I can stomach a half-piece of toast as I struggle to pull my boots up. That is a good day for me.

Who gets up early on weekends? Who? WHO?! Who are those people that go out on a bender Friday night and pop up, like a jack-in-the-box, at 9 a.m. on Saturday, ready to run a marathon and compose a symphony? THE WEEKENDS ARE YOUR TIME. God didn’t even get out of bed on Sunday, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even sleep. That’s it, morning people are just trying to prove they need less rest than THE GOOD LORD. Blasphemers.

I hate you, morning people, because society loves you more… and I’ve never seen a sunrise, but I hear they’re pretty cool. I’m jealous, okay? Just stop rubbing it in my face, please, mornings are hard enough as it is.

via Thought Catalog

I am so glad that we’re both fine. I mean, it wasn’t my original plan, but since you sort of spearheaded being fine I thought it best to just follow suit. Seriously, how awkward would it have been if one of us hadn’t been fine? I’m just saying it’s a godsend that we were both able to walk away from our relationship and both are totally, completely, mind-numbingly fine.

It wasn’t like I loved you or anything, so why wouldn’t I be fine? It wasn’t like you made me happy or anything. Because if you had done any of those things, I definitely wouldn’t have been fine.

It’s not like I loved your apartment because it reminded me of you, with its chipped crown molding and pristine washed dishes and shoes always lined up in pairs because you were always tidy and I was always in disarray. I’ll tell you what, if that had been the case, that last day in your apartment would have made me awfully sad. But since I didn’t feel that way, I’m fine.

I never spent my days waiting around for you to text me back because I couldn’t focus on anything, knowing that an unanswered text message was out there floating around in the stratosphere, waiting for your reply. I never spent entire days thinking almost exclusively about you, and one fleeting moment with you was never the best part of my week. My friends never tired of me constantly bringing you up in conversation because, of course, I never did bring you up. Because I didn’t like you that much. That’s why I’m fine.

I’m so happy that I didn’t share all my personal baggage with you, and I’m glad that you never did the same. I’m glad that after the night in which you didn’t tell me your secrets, I didn’t rub your back until you nodded asleep, whispering “It’s ok, you’re ok, I love you.” Because believe me, if I had done that, I would probably be a little attached to you, and then I wouldn’t be fine.

I didn’t sacrifice things for you, I didn’t push myself out of my comfort level for you, I didn’t cater to you, I didn’t care about you, I didn’t think that we were doing anything besides having fun, I didn’t secretly hope that we would become something more, and I absolutely didn’t think that you were thinking any of those things. Because if I had thought that you felt any of those things for me, I probably would have been crushed after you ended things to abruptly. Severing our ties for all of eternity. Because if that had been the situation, I may have done some drastic things, like lock myself in my apartment for three days with nothing to eat except an old half-finished bottle of Bacardi, refusing to answer phone calls, untying myself from the outside world, hoping I would float away. Lucky for me though, none of that happened, and we’re both fine. Really, I am so fine.

Wow, can we talk about this? This piece is truly something else. We all really do pretend like we’re ‘fine’ when we are truly and sadly so thoroughly hurt. For me, it’s been over 6 months — twice as long as the relationship — and I still kinda feel like to say it’s ‘fine’ would be a major untruth. But when it’s put in terms like this you really see how fine you aren’t, how you really don’t get over anyone, no matter how sucky they became.

And now I sound like a love-hurt guy. I’m not, I’m ‘fine’ actually.

via Thought Catalog

I don’t really care about your name, age, religion, race, or anything that you might think I would care about unless it’s actually relevant to your story. I really want to know who the person is behind the Kindle-reading, iPad-checking, music-listening wall that we’ve all consciously created so that no one bothers us.

“Thank you, Music Man. Normally, I would call you a douche bag for blasting your music so incredibly loud that the entire train car can hear what you’re listening to, but today was a long day. Today was one of those days that made me question whether or not my life was passing me by. That one day I might wake up to go to work, and suddenly, ten years would’ve passed me by, and I won’t have any idea what happened to the boy that wanted to ‘change the world.’ Hearing Jimi Hendrix’s rendition of the “Star-Spangled Banner” at a volume that makes me question the long term endurance of your ear buds rejuvenated me for just a moment. It made me feel pride in my country, and it made me remember that no one should be able to question or condemn our choices to make us happy — even if we are disturbing other people on the subway. More often than not, I will look at you with rage, but today, I give you a fist bump.”

“Where are you going with that enormous suitcase? Since your monstrosity of a suitcase has a perfectly minted white tag that says “SFO to JFK” it looks like you’re a new resident to one of the greatest cities on Earth. So, what brought you here? Has this always been part of your post-undergrad plan or did you decide one day to pack up your whole life and move out here to figure out what you want to be? Did you watch too many movies and fall madly in love with an idea of what the Big Apple could be like? If so, what movies were they and has the harsh reality smashed through that fragile image like a wrecking ball through glass? Because behind all of the bright lights, great theater, and beautiful sites [and people], New York will bleed your bank account till there’s not a drop of liquid left, and unless you have an immense amount of determination, it will take all of your hopes and dreams, kick you out when your year lease is done, and fill your spot with the next bright-eyed, eager twentysomething looking to ‘make it big.’”

“You are wonderful. Judging from the sand pail, shovel, and neon green beach towel, you probably just took your boy to Coney Island. Also, since it’s now 7 p.m. and your son’s head is resting on your lap, you probably spent the entire day running around and doing whatever you could to make him happy, and the fact that you’re still doing your best to keep your eyes open so the two of you won’t miss your stop is absolutely amazing. I want to give you a hug and a medal and tell you that these are the moments you and your son will cherish forever, and that when he’s older and he argues with you and tells you, rather hastily, that he hates you, he will, in fact, always love you for taking him to the beach and building sand castles.”

“What’s your story? I don’t really care about your name, age, religion, race, or anything that you might think I would care about unless it’s actually relevant to your story. I really want to know who the person is behind the Kindle-reading, iPad-checking, music-listening wall that we’ve all consciously created so that no one bothers us. No judgment! I do it too, but I’m trying something new and maybe you could give me your story and tell me what brought you to this subway stop at this very moment? Why did you pick the seat that you picked? What music are you listening to? Why do you — or rather, why does society — feel that it’s necessary to build walls to be left alone? Do you think that the world would be a better place if we looked up from what we were doing and smiled at each other, or read the signs above the seats that said ‘Priority for Handicapped’ and actually followed them? Do you think that if we just put down our eReaders, unplugged our iPods, and saw the world around us that we would see beautiful people that have amazing stories to tell but are too jaded to even give just an inch of who they are to another person in fear of being vulnerable? And do you think that if we just shared a fraction of who we are, where we’re going, or where we’ve been that maybe we can see how we all struggle, how we all have bills to pay, and how we all are, in some form or another, looking for happiness? And do you think that if we could just begin this journey with a simple ‘Hello’ that maybe the world might be a better place? Or are you just really tired and want to be left alone?”