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Not Everyone Is Going To Like You. And People Are Going To Talk About You.

20 May

Not everyone is going to like you. And  they will express it (not to you most of the time). One of those lessons in life that is kind of hard to swallow when you know that you are fabulous motherfucking sorcerer. You can say that you don’t give a fuck what other people think, and maybe you are one of those lucky people who really don’t give a fuck. Or maybe you’re on pills so you literally can’t give a fuck because your default feeling is nonchalant. But if you aren’t on pills, and you do give a fuck and all you feel like you can do is repeat that Kanye West-ish (I assume) mantra “haters gonna hate”, then you must be pretty bummed because deep down you know that most people who say “haters gonna hate” sound like douchebags.

If you’re a total psycho, like me, you probably get kind of pissed off when you hear that someone is talking about you. I actually have a reaction, no matter how hard I try not to. I repeat to myself in a self-help books on tape monotone voice “Not everyone is going to like you, and that’s okay”. I almost always have to confront the person who talks about me even though I know that it’s very likely they are going to lie and nothing will come of it. It just makes me feel better and if something will make you feel better in life, without hurting someone else, I am all for it. But then there are those situations when you are told not to confront someone by the messenger. Which is probably the greatest first world problem ever. When a friend says “If I tell you something, promise you won’t say anything?”. It’s like, obviously now I have to make a promise that I could potentially break based on what you are about to tell me and that alone pisses me off. It’s like, if you care that the person talking about me is going to get mad at  you for telling me, then why are you telling me? Why aren’t you off talking about me with the person doing the talking because you obviously don’t care enough about me to let me confront this person if I want to. You follow me?

What confuses me about people not liking me or another person is that in order for me to not like someone, my life needs to somehow have been inconvenienced by someone for me to not like them. Example:  Last year I got pissed off on 4th of July because some chick banned me from a cookout at a mutual friend’s house because I had written a blog condemning her for bringing Stop & Shop brand hotdogs to my cookout. In my defense,  I had written the blog after hearing she had called me and my friends white trash. I guess in the eyes of a girl from Hingham, we are ripping white trash. But as someone not from Hingham, I think I’m classy as fuck. But back to my point. If I saw this girl now, or even a month after she banned me from the cookout, I would be totally indifferent to her. Because I stopped giving a fuck about her the day after the cookout. My plan for 4th of July was changed and it was out of my control and I didn’t like that. But I literally can’t not like someone for that long because it takes energy away from me and alters my life even longer than the duration of some whack ass cookout with meat that is not up to par. As someone who has self-induced chronic fatigue for staying up on the internet too late at night, I need that energy to get through my day without setting myself on fire. So in order to stay somewhat content, I try not to spend my time disliking someone. And if you don’t dislike someone, you don’t need to talk about them. The exception to this is when someone is jealous of you. They don’t have to dislike you to be jealous. They just need to hear that you have something that they don’t have to talk about you. So in my egotistical mind, either you don’t like me because you are investing your own energy into disliking me and you are resentful that I am altering your life in that manner, OR you are jealous of me. When I am talking about someone else, it’s because they have fucked up a period of my time, or because I am jealous that they have something I do not have, which is a normal feeling that happens even if you don’t want it to. When someone is talking about me, I spend a period of time wondering why. And spending a period of time that I could have used to catch up on celebrity gossip on things like asking myself why someone was talking about me stresses me out because I know I shouldn’t care about someone who just possibly wants something that I have that they don’t. So I repeat to myself that not everyone is going to like me, and they are going to talk about it to whoever will listen, and unless someone wants to fuck up a period of my day by telling me about it, I probably won’t find out about it because I’m off somewhere being a fabulous motherfucking sorcerer.

The first point to this unnecessarily long  blog is to say that it’s normal to give a fuck if someone doesn’t like you or if someone talks about you. It’s ideal to not give a fuck. If you don’t give a fuck because you are on pills, it’s science. People will tell you not to give a fuck or waste your time wondering, but that probably won’t matter. Just repeat to yourself that not everyone is going to like you and go on with your day because behavior becomes abnormal when you dwell. If it will make you feel better and makes you stop dwelling, confront the person with the expectation that it won’t do anything to change this person’s opinion of you and they will probably lie about it because some humans have the tendency to be pussies when put under pressure. You should do anything that makes you feel a little better as long as you are not hurting someone else. Example: The second point to this unnecessarily long blog was to confront the girl who was talking about me this weekend. I know what you said.  And I’m sorry you’re jealous of me. Ahhh, I feel better now. The third and most important point to this unnecessarily long blog is to say that no matter what other people say or think about you, you are still fabulous. Unless you aren’t. Either way, stop dwelling.

I typed the word “pussies”. Ew.

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Selfies

2 May

Selfies: the virtual way to let your internet acquaintances know how into yourself and how corny you are. There is nothing wrong with taking a selfie every now and  then. Sometimes if I get a haircut that I like, or if I’m three sheets to the wind, or I need a new Because Molly Said So profile picture, I will take a selfie. But what makes me el oh el is when people take selfies then say something of no relevance to the selfie under the selfie. Like, there is a picture of them in a blazer and they’re all “Do what you love!!!“. Okay, so you are passionate about the blazer you picked up at H&M for $34.99? I hear you, girl! Or like, sometimes there is a totally random quote underneath the selfie that is supposed to be inspirational or something. Like, a picture of a girl looking lost in thought, with a caption that reads “And she vowed to never look back!”. Like, what the FUCK are you even talking about?! No, really though. Stop it. The second hand embarrassment is burning my cheeks!

The  funniest selfies are when girls take a picture of a low cut t-shirt they are wearing (usually a sports themed shirt), their boobs being the only thing visible, and they make some comment like “Go Bruins!“. Ahh, this selfie has NOTHING to do with the Bruins. Name one fucking thing that happens during the game, then tell me you are just showing off your support by purchasing memorabilia. This selfie has to do with you wanting to show off that your t-shirt is a showcase for your breasts. The sole purpose of this selfie was to show off you boobs, and that’s all. There is nothing wrong with this, I don’t judge. Upload the shit out of your cleavage until you have no more memory in your phone and you’ve offended your entire family. I just wish these chicks would stop the facade and hashtag #myboobs instead of pretending the selfie was about whatever stupid shirt they have on.

Sometimes the quote underneath a selfie is a country song lyric. A picture of a girl standing in front of her bathroom sink in flannel and the quote is like “Oh nothing’s sweeter than summer time, and American honey“.  Um, you’re uploading selfies, talking about summer time or some shit, and you’re wearing fucking flannel indoors in a bathroom. And the positions these girls put themselves in just to get the right angle. Positions that no human would ever attempt unless they are seeking total discomfort, paralysis…or the perfect selfie. Like, doesn’t your spine hurt from all that twisting to get your ass in the shot? Then they pucker their lips out, but just a little bit so they look natural and not like full on duck lips. The rest of their face is all serious and forlorn looking, as though they are thinking of something much deeper than concentrating on taking the perfect selfie. Filter is set to Kelvin. You look like you are taking a shit. Nice excuse for a selfie, you self absorbed weirdo. But let’s just cut the shit and call a spade a spade and a selfie a selfie!

ME#selfie

Girl Code 101

29 Apr

I’m all for that girl power shit, but some girls are dogs. Whatever happened to girl power and that talk of if you wanna be my lover you gotta get with my friends? Did that die out in the 90′s or did it just never exist? Guys have their own code that they brag about all the time, bros before hoes and shit. But girls don’t seem to follow suit, even siding with other guys sometimes. Some girls either don’t know girl code or they just don’t care to follow it, and honestly, I’m sick of seeing girls dog each other. So ladies, let’s stop being gross and start treating each other the way that we like to be treated. This should put an end to slut-shaming once and for all!!!!!!

Here’s is a girl code refresher course:

Don’t mack on a sistah’s man. Sharing is caring but not when it comes to bodily fluids and STD’s!!!! What a perfect world this would be if every time another girl’s boyfriend flirted with us, rather than flirt back, we told Romeo to LAY THE FUCK OFF!!!! And if you are the girl trying to flirt with a dude you know is hooked up, then maybe you need to check yourself before you wreck yourself because it’s never a good look, and never will be! I mean, you might as well be trying on another woman’s underwear when you are trying to get with her man, and that’s gross. If you feel like you don’t get enough attention from a special someone, then get a cat. They are similar to men in that they have ears but don’t give a fuck what you’re saying, so why risk hurting someone? Truth is, every girl has been that girl who has gotten cheated on and it’s not fun. If you didn’t like it when it happened to you, then don’t do it to someone else. Hint: if you don’t know he’s got a girlfriend, take a look at his claddagh ring. If he doesn’t have a claddagh ring, then a quick social media search will do the trick. The stalking technology is out there for us, only a click away. Utilize that shit. Stalking is one of our strongest instincts, ladies! Be stealth!

Be a solid wing-woman. Girls need them, too! When your single friend needs a little help meeting guys, be the wing-woman you would want for yourself. That means: don’t sulk the entire time, talk her up (not down!), take one for the team, don’t tell the story about the time she shit herself on Thanksgiving morning, and know when to bail.

Stop with the “But we aren’t friends, I don’t owe her anything” shit: Often times when a girl wrongs another girl, her excuse is “Well, I’m not friends with that girl so I don’t care because I don’t owe her shit”.  Well, you should care, because whether or not you know “that girl” doesn’t take away from the character that you are building for yourself. And what’s the the talk of not owing anyone anything? I don’t owe anyone money right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to rip apart their home life. If you want to be known as the scumbag who does shitty things to other females because you don’t ow anyone anything, then that’s your prerogative. Just know that Tupac is shaking his head from the heavens.

Be honest: If you were walking around in some ridiculous new fashion trend and you looked like a total dope, wouldn’t you want to know? The answer, unless you’re a hipster douchebag, is YES, you would. We don’t always want our boyfriends to tell us when we aren’t looking our best (for example, I got a shirt that I really liked, and Ryan told me that I look like Mortal Kombat in it the first time I wore it, so I cannot wear that shirt anymore and that makes me think he thinks I look like Mortal Kombat all the time now. If my girlfriend had said it, I would have just told her to shut up and get out of the 90′s, then change my shirt). We need our girlfriends to (nicely) tell us the truth, even when we look like Mortal Kombat, because it hurts our feelings less than when our boyfriends break the news.

Look out for your girls: If you see that she’s hammered at the end of the night, make sure she got home alright. A dead friend is a friend that is not alive, and we want to hang out with real, live friends.

Stop hating on another female’s success: If a girl we know (or don’t know!) is doing well for herself, how about we take it as an accomplishment for women, instead or bashing her for being successful out of some fit of jealousy? Nothing wrong with working hard to achieve a goal, so why hate on it? And nothing wrong with a little healthy competition, but how about using it as a constructive tool to better ourselves and uplift one another. Corny? Yes! But so are your Maya Angelou quote Facebook statuses, so why not go balls to the wall? Or you know what? If we are going to hate on someone else’s success, let’s at LEAST  own it! Be like “EW SHE BOUGHT A HOUSE BECAUSE SHE WORKED HARD TO GET A GOOD JOB AND CAN AFFORD IT?! I AM SO JEALOUS!!! MAYBE I SHOULD TAKE A CUE FROM THIS BITCH AND GET A GOOD JOB SO I TOO CAN BUY A HOUSE!!!!”. This way, we know we are being ridiculous, but we are also vowing to work on ourselves so we aren’t jealous psychos who talk shit about innocent bystanders anymore.

Stop calling dibs on men: I hate this shit. If a girl hits it off with a guy, then as far as girl code is concerned, she has staked her claim. None of this “dibs” shit. This isn’t child’s play! We aren’t calling shotgun here, we are distributing men as pets and men are humans too!!! The girl who hits it off is the winning bidder, not the girl who calls “dibs!” when she sees an attractive man.

(wo)Man the fuck up!: If you’re pissed at your friend, stop talking about it behind her back to all your mutual friends and tell her! Go directly to the source to solve the problem. Start with “hey, you know I didn’t like that shit you did when blah blah blah” then go from there.  Actions speak louder than words. Don’t be a twat.

Be a therapist: Remember that time you got dumped? Yeah, that sucked. If your girl gets dumped, BE THERE FOR HER. Plan a girl’s night without your boyfriend lingering around like a weirdo who goes to girl’s night and do something to get her mind off her dumbass ex boyfriend.

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GIRL POWER! Now that you’ve read this, I can guarantee that you will never have to subject yourself to that whack new show on Mtv called Girl Code. Yay?

Lessons We Never Learn, by Molly

5 Apr

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Sometimes in life there are mistakes we make all the time, and we never learn. Take me for example. About 3 times a month I get in a good (enough) mood heading to work in the morning and decide that I don’t want to look like the face of death anymore. I then take some eye make up out of my bag during a red light and attempt to apply eyeliner. I find myself coming within 1mm of stabbing my eyeball out when the light turns green 100% of the time. Just another lesson that is never learned.

Fin.

Are You Allowed To Tell A Friend To Dump Her Boyfriend?

22 Mar

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No idea why, but I find myself in this debate with someone at least once a month: if you think your friend’s boyfriend is a dick, are you allowed to tell her to give him the boot? Well, obviously you are allowed to, but SHOULD you? Most of the time I hear girls say that it’s totally kosher to let her girl know her man sucks if it’s in her best interest. But to be honest: I disrespectfully disagree. The only time that it’s okay to butt in is when you are talking about any kind of abuse – so for the sake of this blog, I am not talking about abusive relationships. I am talking about normal relationships with your (somewhat) typical problems. Say for instance he’s the most annoying fucker you’ve ever met, I’m talking a one-upper who uses “Just saying!” at the end of every douchebag comment he makes. Unless your friend directly asks for your opinion, there is nothing you can do except wait it out and hope that she comes to her senses. You can try to get around this by perhaps bringing up petty shit about your own boyfriend that you don’t like (he plays Call of Duty one hour longer than you’d like, for example) to see if maybe your friend will open up about the issues in her relationship to kind of pave the way for you to gently point out that he might not be the right guy for her. But if you just come right out and start letting her in on all of your negative feelings towards him, chances are she will get defensive, feel ganged up on, or shut down completely. And when that’s over with, she will know that she cannot go to you to talk or confide in you about her relationship problems. She may even resent you for laying it on her so thick. She is a big girl and she can take care of her own shit. If she doesn’t take care of her own shit after a gentle warning, that should be your cue to sort of  fade away and let her learn for herself. If during the learning process she complains about him all the time, let her know that you told her what your take was, and that your stance is the same.

I am not saying that you shouldn’t be honest. Be honest without any selfish intent (like wanting her to ditch him so you can be single together). Let her know that you don’t like his behavior when he acts a fool.  But if you don’t like your friend’s boyfriend just over some personality differences you have with him, keep it to yourself and just don’t double date with them. Easy peasy! I am all for girl power and shit, but I think us girls get a little too into it when it comes to our friends relationships. It’s not your relationship. It’s not your place to meddle unless your  friends are in some kind of danger. If your friend is happy with a guy you think is kind of a tool, then it is what it is. It’s rare that us humans can accept that is it what it is because we want what we want, but really: IT IS WHAT IT IS. Stop trying to be the hero and settle for the supportive friend role. If she needs you, she will come, and she will appreciate you a lot more when you stop doling out unsolicited advice. Let’s be real: she’s not going to listen to you anyways. We want what is best for our friends, but we need to learn for ourselves sometimes.

Exceptions:

  • Your friend is dating a guy who is really into crystals for the purpose of inviting positive vibes into their atmosphere.
  • Your friend is dating a gay man and you have solid proof of it.
  • Your friend is dating Kanye West.

You Made Me Like This!: Confessions of Ex Girlfriends

1 Mar

So I was thinking of making Fridays more interesting by compiling psycho ex stories. Even though the title is “Confessions of Ex Girlfriends”, guys can feel free to send their psycho ex stories in as well. If you have something you need to get off your chest, feel free to send your story to bcmollysaidso@gmail.com, and don’t worry – 10% anonymous. And we don’t judge you (yes we will).

Here are the *brave women who have decided to share their confessions with you, the internet:

*anonymous

shovel

Busted

Senior year I was dating Guy #1 but was secretly hooking up with/dating Guy #2 who was like 3 year younger, but he was hot and a quarterback…

So I was drinking gin and juice (out of an extra larger McDonald’s cup) at Cavanaugh field (in North Quincy)  and hanging out with Guy#2. I got white girl wasted, legit couldn’t drive my car, etc. So Guy #2 drives my car to my house and to my surprise Guy #1 is there.  I’m shitfaced and cheating so my logical thought was to run into my house and take a shower fully clothed. Little did I know Guy #1 was outside chasing Guy #2 in circles around my car while my little sisters watched from my porch. Oops.

Sign Language, Violence  & All Around Bad Decisions On A Humid Day At The Marina

It was a humid summer day at the Marina. All was fine And dandy as I received numerous free shots at roughly 2pm at Ocean Club. Leaving the company I was with (bad idea) I drove down Harvard street while trying to maneuver my cheesy pop tunes blasting through my iPod. Needless to say I drilled the curb and got a vicious flat tire. Rather then help me out, my man was with another chick at the time. Upon receiving this information my mind began to wander: Revenge? Pain? What type of action should I take to harm this ass wipe? Two friends came to the rescue while a deaf man walking down the street changed my tire. I Googled thank you in sign language for his good deed. First stop – a random shed behind the hotel on Morrissey where I find a shovel. Proceed to Columbia Road where I spotted the shit stained vehicle my man drove. Three whacks with the shovel and the windshield was toast. I huddled next to a parked car and hopped into my getaway car like a straight ninja. The end.

(Note: BecauseMollySaidSo.com does not condone drinking and driving or malicious destruction of property.)

Break & Enter At Your Own Risk

Okay, so broke up with my ex boyfriend of 2 years. We owned a house together, so I moved out. He changed the locks. Two months later he is dating a new girl. One day a friend of mine and I were out and did a drive by of the house …. no one was home. We decided to see if my keys would still work to get some of my stuff that was still there. Keys didn’t work so we broke in through the open kitchen window. Upon going through the house I find she has pretty much moved into my house, her stuff was everywhere. Not to mention used condom wrappers on the night stand and a used pregnancy test in the trash. I find the digital camera my ex had gotten me for my birthday a few months before on his side of the bed. I turn it on and what do I find …. naked pictures of the new girlfriend!  So I took the camera and other stuff of mine in the house. Uploaded the nude pictures and saved them to my computer … may or may not have posted them to Facebook and tagged him in them :)

(Note: BecauseMollySaidSo.com does not condone breaking and entering…or really anything on this entire blog post at this point.)

A Friendly Game of Air Hockey

Once my ex was missing for 3 days, leaving me with a baby and no food or diapers. When his friend dropped him off, shitfaced, I smiled and thanked him. After his friend had left, I turned around and hauled off an upper right punch with all my might and hit him so hard in the eye that his thick glasses were broken and he had a shiner that could be seen from the next galaxy. He landed on an air hockey game, causing further damage. Out of work 2 weeks. He had a very difficult prescription for glasses, and in those days you had to wait for a lab to make them for you.

It was worth it.

Ass Kicked By A Girl

Last year at some point I met up with my ex for a late night. Obviously both of us were lonely, drunk… you know: your typical weekend night shenanigans that end up with you on your bedroom floor the next day hating yourself.

Well, after a little, how should I phrase it, “pillow fight” he got very blunt and says “You can leave now”… What? No recovery time? I’m exhausted, drunk (on the verge of feeling hungover) and you want me to leave???

I got so pissed/ angry/ hurt (cause hey- I can dream that he might change his ways and sweep me off my feet) that I punched him square in his face, knocking off his glasses. I’m talking straight haymaker, right hook, Mike tyson style punch. So while he was keeled over, holding his face for dear life, I walked off, slammed the front door of his apartment and proceeded to get into my car.

“Well look here!” I said to myself as I stared at his beautiful chromed out black jeep Cherokee and before you know it I was giggling to myself as I took my car keys and proceeded to frolic around his car keying the crap out of it.

Then, I got into my car, texted him “you got a nice car there”, drove off and waited a few minutes and drove by his house again. I beeped and waved as W saw him, dumfounded, staring at his beloved car in the middle of a school parking lot.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.
Mama Knows Best

This story isn’t about me, but it’s about my mom in the 80′s. My mom is a pure-bred Quincy girl. She was the crazy, loud, funny, tough chick. She had this boyfriend back in her senior year of high school and suspected him of cheating on her. For the next couple weeks her and her best friend K would follow him home in K’s dad’s car. Finally one night they saw him take another girl in the house. The two of them climbed up a tree next to his house and slid in the open window, to find him banging this other chick. K started beating the shit out of this girl (who was stark naked) while my mom did the same to her now-ex boyfriend.

Car Trouble

I was dating a kid who cheated on me with a friend of mine. One night I saw her out at a bar. I went out in the parking lot and saw her car and wanted to key it or slash the tires … but a guy friend I was with told me to put oil in her gas tank. He just so happened to have a bottle of oil in his truck.  I made sure to put every last drop of oil in the bitch’s gas tank. Come to find out it ruined her entire car,  and they had to replace the entire engine and fuel lines :)

Taking The IOU To A Whole New Level

First off, Quincy guys are nuts too. Like, psycho. I kicked out a guy who had been living with me because he stole money from me. That night he slept on one of our mutual friends couches. When that friend came home from work the next day my ex was gone, and so was 200 bucks out of his undies drawer. The psycho part is that my ex thought he was being courteous by leaving an “IOU” except it wasn’t an IOU, it was a “Victoria owes you”. Yup, my ex wrote a note saying that I had ruined his life, so it was my fault that he needed the dough and I will pay him back. Luckily our friend found this ridiculous and didn’t come after me with a baseball bat and a horses head which is what I’m pretty sure my ex wanted.

Anddddd Saved The Most Psychotic For Last…

I had an old friend who was in the most psycho relationship going. The guy was a hard core junkie, and he beat the crap out of her all the time.   There was no trust on either part (nor was the trust really deserved because they were both crazy train and cheating on the other left and right).   So, one day, I get a call from the friend saying that she had enough of her man, and she put windshield washer fluid in his blue Gatorade before he went to work.   She asked me what I think she should do, should she tell him or just leave it
be.   He didn’t die, so I don’t know what the hell she did.

A few weeks later, I wake up to texted pics of what appears to be a naked 14 year old girl from a number I don’t recognize.  I start deleting, deleting, deleting thinking good lord some one’s framing me or something for child porn.  I was a step away from calling the cops on the psycho sending the texts when my cell rings from that old friend.   Before I can even begin to tell her about the craziness, she goes, can you believe that my boyfriend had these pics of this little girl on his phone?   He gave her drugs and had sex with her and took these pictures.   She goes on to say, I’m going to send them to her parents, but i want you to keep a copy for safe keeping.   I was like what?  No, i can’t keep these pictures, this is crazy.   You should call the cops on him.  She goes, no the girl’s 18.  She wouldn’t call, instead she had them printed off, and started a fight with him one night, and kept throwing different copies of the pics at him.  He ended up beating the crap out of her, their neighbors called the cops, and she climbed out of the window to get away from him, and basically landed at the cops feet.   The boyfriend was pulling at her hair so hard to pull her back into the apartment, he pulled out a chunk of her hair and scalp, that the cop found in the apartment.   He got arrested, somehow the child porn wasn’t discovered, and two weeks later they got back together- like everything was fine.  Then he bought her plastic surgery.

Another time, she went through his car looking for signs of cheating. She found genital wart cream instead. So, to get back with him, she sent out a mass text to all his and our friends letting us know that
he had genital warts.   I’m really not sure what she thought she was accomplishing by this because everyone assumed she had them too.   I’m just glad she wasn’t on Facebook!

Only in Quincy!

Well, now that I’ve lost in my faith in humanity, let’s give a hell yeah for the weekend! Hellllll yeaaahhhhhhh!

Bridesmaid Dress Shopping: Stuff Nightmares Are Made Of?

25 Feb

Dedicated to all of my 9 bridesmaids who I love love love! <3 Thank you for being so supportive.

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When I walked into the bridal shop  Saturday afternoon I initially wanted to kill myself. How God awful was it going to be to find a dress that 9 girls of different shapes and sizes would all approve of? Not to mention the movie Bridesmaids has given me this bizarre fear that my girls (or worse…me) were going to shit themselves in the middle of the fittings. Even the girl who was greeting us at the door looked like she wanted to punch as all in the face as soon as we crossed the threshold. She gave us a good 67 dirty looks and proceeded to tell us that we could start browsing until our *wedding dress consultant (*lady with same body type as the old psychic bitch from Poltergeist who tells Carolann to go into the light) found a *large room (*3 empty changing stalls in the same room as about 7 other girls with giant back tattoos trying on dresses). As soon as we hit the racks, I found myself trying to think of ways that suicide could be an option at a bridal boutique. Maybe I could douse some chiffon in gasoline and lock the doors. But no, I don’t want to murder any innocent flower girls in the process of my misery. As you can probably tell, I hate this kind of shit. I also knew that some of my friends (myself included) had weight goals that they had yet to fulfill and they probably wanted to stab me with scalding hot bobby pins for making them spend their Saturday at this place they hadn’t been since they weighed less right before senior prom.

So anyways, I instruct them to “do whatever the fuck you want” as I play with my Iphone. They begin picking through dresses, finding their sizes, and shaking their heads because of how fucked we knew we were. Because I am getting married in the Fall and my bridesmaids have to wear long dresses, the selection was at a minimum unless they were okay with looking like Princess Peach. Within 5 minutes I found myself wondering if there was anyone in the store that could get me some meth to smoke in a changing stall while my friends continued browsing. Surely the girl with the Celtic inspired rosary bead tattoo on her wrist would have a connect, right? Better time now than ever to get a raging addiction problem, correct?

One of my friends who just lost a lot of weight picked up a dress that was kind of “eh” looking at first glance and announced that she was trying it on. At this point our wedding consultant had walked by to introduce herself and lead us to the changing rooms. Being confident, and rightfully so, that same friend who just lost weight offered to try her selection on first. We all await anxiously outside the stall, knowing in our hearts that what would fit her, wouldn’t fit an average sized girl (she’s tiny). Sure enough, she opens up the curtain and struts out onto the carpeted runway. She looks stunning and I am obviously thrilled, but in the back of my mind feel that the other girls won’t feel the same way about the dress when they tried it on in their sizes. The short bitch who reminded me of the “Go into the light Carolann” lady from Poltergeist went off to grab the dress in a few more sizes. One by one, each of my bridesmaids tried on the dress that had fit the first girl so perfectly. And one by one, the dress fit and looked so flattering on every single one of my girls. I am telling you, it was the sisterhood of the traveling fucking pants of dresses. They all looked fabulous. How fucking lucky is that? That my obnoxiously large number of bridesmaids each looked phenomenal in the FIRST dress at the FIRST  bridal store we went to? Unheard of, right? Or maybe it’s not, I don’t know, this is my first time (hopefully last, cross your fingers for me!) marriage.

So obviously we bailed on the appointment at the second bridal shop and got shitfaced instead. That’s pretty much the only thing you should do when you find one dress that 9 of your friends actually like and will wear on your wedding day, isn’t it?

deb

What Not To Say To A Bride To Be

22 Feb

When I first announced my engagement, I had a wide range of reactions from people. My family was stoked. My good friends were happy for me, and were amazing and showed me they were thrilled. I don’t think that they were that surprised by it. I had told them that Ryan and I had had conversations about the topic of marriage numerous times. Another “friend” who I have had years of rocky friendship with was shocked and could not have been more obvious when it came to feigning excitement. To top off her douchebaggery and overall lack of caring, when she looked at my ring she uttered the words that no bride-to-be wants to hear when flashing around their new bling, “I like that it’s not big., with a big ass fake grin. I would like to just put it out there that Ryan did an amazing job picking out my ring. He brought his diamond expert/wonderful cousin with him so she could help. It wasn’t one of those chain jewelers that rip people off and sell people diamonds that turn yellow after a month. I don’t want to brag about my ring, but it is absolutely not small.  I’m not typically this super showy/blinged out girl, that’s not my style. Ryan knew my favorite cut was solitaire and he didn’t stray from it. I didn’t want a million smaller diamonds surrounding the big diamond, or diamonds covering the entire band. Now maybe you are thinking that what she said wasn’t THAT rude. But to a girl who JUST got engaged, it was. I also could feel in my gut that she was not happy for me, so I felt like it was an intentionally rude remark. All brides (well, most brides) love their rings and don’t want to hear any opinions other than how wonderful it is. Same goes for everything about their wedding. Skip the rudeness. As for the friend, a few more things happened afterwards with this chick, just subtle comments and my female intuition telling me that something was off….so I reevaluated the friendship with her, decided that I didn’t need it, and cut off all communication. No words or explanation necessary. I’ve never done that before. Just cut someone off without an explanation. She doesn’t know why I stopped speaking to her. But our friendship had always been rocky, so everything I could have said had been said before in some past disagreement. The definition of insanity is doing something over and over again and expecting different results, so basically: fuck that friendship.

But this isn’t a blog about faux friends. It’s about things not to say to a bride-to-be so ONWARD with the list!:

“Aren’t you young to be getting married?”- Or any insinuation of age when the bride is over the age of 21. There is theis new era of people waiting until much later to get married. That’s totally fine, the world is evolving. But that doesn’t mean that everyone is being young and stupid about a decision as important as marriage. I’m going to be 26, Ryan will be 27. We are still young, but we aren’t that young. It’s not like I’m Leah fucking Messer from Teen Mom 2. I can definitely see where people are coming from when they have opinions about what age is too young to get married – to be honest every time I’ve heard of a couple 21 or under announce an engagement, I tend to assume they are pregnant – but my point is: keep your age requirements to yourself. People are ready when they are ready. And if they are wrong, then they can get divorced and you can say “Almost told ya so!” to yourself.

“Are you nervous?” -Uhhh, are you implying that I should be?

“Do you REALLY want to have a big wedding? All that money could go to a down payment on a house!”: I realize that. I want a big wedding or I wouldn’t be having a big wedding. And either way, I cannot afford a house so fuck you.

“I can’t wait for the wedding!”- Dude, if you ain’t in my cell phone contacts, you ain’t  invited. Nothing personal. Assuming only makes it awkward for everyone.

“I’m broke from spending money on your wedding”: Going to a wedding/being in a wedding is not cheap. Go or do not go. Don’t make the bride feel guilty. Chances are a million to one that she is spending a lot more money throwing the wedding than you are spending to attend it. If you can’t afford it, politely let her know you can’t make the financial commitment at the moment. Guilt trips will cause stress.

“You’re having an entire church ceremony?!”: Another thing a bride feels bad about (well, me anyway), is putting her guests through an entire church ceremony. I was raised Catholic and have gone through all the sacraments before marriage, so why stop now? My parents are helping me and their only request is a church ceremony. It’s a small price to pay for the money they are shelling out. Be an adult and suck it up. I know leaning in the pews hurts your knees, but you can always do that half-assed kneel when you lean forward on the pew, bum still sitting halfway on the bench, knees barely carrying a quarter of your weight. Do I have to explain this to anyone under the age of 94?

“Are you going to have children right away?”: Fuck off with that noise.

ring3

No One Gives A Shit About Your Stop & Shop Flowers.

14 Feb

Today is the day that every single person in America loves to pretend to hate more than they actually hate it: Valentine’s Day. The made up day during which we are supposed to spend money and be lovey and nice to our significant others. Not sure why we aren’t lovey and nice to our loved ones every day but I think it has to do with Hallmark wanting us to spend money or something. Of course us girls are suckers for a bullshit holiday and love anything that gives us an excuse to drink too much wine on a work night.

My personal favorite part of Valentine’s day are all the haters who hate love but would probably love love if they fell into it. Typically these people have just gotten their hearts broken and are still irrationally angry and openly expressive about it on social media. I find little more hilarious than irrational anger. Like, woah, you just status updated that you want couples to die because you got dumped by a dude that you dated for only 1 month! These people also are known for commenting “puke” under uploads of flowers and chocolates and teddy bears. I dig your insanity, mostly because it’s crazy entertaining, but what is wrong with you?! Go get shitfaced with friends on Valentine’s day, maybe watch some slasher flicks to calm yourself down.

My second favorite part of Valentine’s day are all the haters who hate the haters of Valentine’s day. These people are typically Miss Lippy-esque, and wish that everyone would wear red and pink on February 14th. They proclaim to the world via social media that if they are in relationships they should love like it’s the last day on earth, and if they are single that they should love themselves enough to write a self help book about it. It’s like, obviously the haters got dumped and are still sad about it, let them live. Just look at their open misery as entertaining at their expense. It’s pretty much a fact that miserable people are the funniest, so go with it.

My third favorite part about Valentine’s day are all the girlfriends who think that the world cares about their bouquet of supermarket flowers. They take pictures of their vase of roses and Instagram it, Facebook it, Tweet it, the whole nine. Hashtag best boyfriend EVER!!!!! Followed by a paragraph of emoji hearts. They don’t realize that people either A) don’t care, B) are judging their boyfriend after seeing the pink flower wrap from Stop and Shop, or C) wish that the packet of flower food was actually anthrax. Hey, I’m not giving these ladies shit. I am one of them. Except I stay away from the best boyfriend ever hashtag because I want to have friends that don’t secretly hate me. So really, who cares if no one gives a shit about your Stop & Shop flowers? You do because they made you feel special and that’s what matters.

Kind of funny that all of my favorite parts of holidays now are based off of people’s cyber actions. The internet is basically reality now, right? But in all seriousness, I think it’s nice to make people feel special even if it’s on a day that they expect it, like today. Doesn’t have to be a boyfriend or girlfriend or husband or wife. Could be a friend, or family, a random stranger. For example: I just gave a homeless man a dollar and 35 cents and now we are in love forever. Or here is something unconventional you could do: treat yourself like you are special. I mean, how can you expect someone else to love you if you don’t even love you? Shiiiiit! vday

Dopamine + Norepinephrine + Phenylethylamine = love. Yay!

The Art of the Sunday Funda

31 Jan

Mimosa-003-de1

There is nothing that females love more than a good Sunday Funday. Sadly, I can longer participate in this weekly tradition, as I now work Sundays at a 2nd job to pay for chair covers and flowers and other wedding things, because us females also love spending what could be a down payment on a house, on one day of our fucking lives. So anyways, I had to give up my Sunday Fundays. Gasps all around! What kind of a 25 year old Monday-Friday working girl would ever give up her Sundays?! I’ll tell you: A BROKE ONE. As someone who can no longer Funday the shit out of a Sunday, I feel like it is my obligation to tell all the non weekend working girls to get the fuck out there this Sunday, and get in the game of pretending to watch the game as an excuse to drink.

First off,  what exactly is a Sunday Funday? We see our friends hashtag it, status it, and Instagram picture upload Sepia full champagne glass about it every day of the Sabbath. Well people, a Sunday Funday is when we try to tame our hangovers from Saturday night by drinking mimosas in the South Boston or Dorchester area from 11am on. It is more than a day that we wake up to perform our regular activities of tweeting/bitching about work. It is a weekly excuse to get drunk the day before we go back to work. It is a defense mechanism that prepares us for Monday. It is denial of the fact that we will work for another 50 years before we are allowed to retire, then die.  Another term for Sunday Funday is “Brunch With The Girls”. A Sunday Funday is the art of washing down an omelette with 7 red Sangrias in under 45 minutes, only to bar hop to the next establishment. (Note that it is acceptable to move on to beer after the transition from one bar to the next). Pack your Tums and remember to check you and your girls in on Facebook after every threshold you might cross.

If you are in the same position as me, your boyfriend might give you shit for your Fundaying. “How the hell can you drink at 12 in the afternoon after the weekend we just had? So gross.”  Well, don’t call the kettle black, boys. You have a Sunday Funday, it just starts a few hours after you have already slept through your hangovers and you call it something else. Starts with an ‘F’ and ends with an “ootball”. That’s right, the game is a Sunday Funday that you think excuses you from being a socially acceptable drunk on a day of rest. But guess what? It’s still a fun day on a motherfuckin’ Sunday. Call it whatever you want. It’s a Sunday Funday sans the mimosas and eggs,  add in Budweisers and wings. Even when football is over, they find some excuse to drink and eat shitty foods on a Sunday. My boyfriend had his friends over to watch every single Christopher Nolan Batman movie this past Sunday. I come home from work to empty Pizza Connection calzone boxes and empties all over my coffee table. A little nerdy, but still an excuse to Sunday Funday. Remind your mans of THEIR VERSION of Sunday Funday next time he’s bitching that your friends are blowing up your phone at 9am Sunday morning.

The saddest part of the Sunday Funday is the end of Sunday Funday. But no woman, no cry, bitches. There is a solution. And that solution is weeknight trivia. A place where you go to “stimulate your mind and brush up on useless knowledge” to prepare for work the following morning. At least that’s what you tell yourself. As long as you’re in bed by midnight and sip that light brew slowly, you’ll use no sick days ;)

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