One would think that after a 3 day party weekend I’d had such a hangover that I wouldn’t be able to think something other than “Another one, please! And keep ‘em coming!” (this applies to Martinis as much as to aspirins)… But I did, I managed to learn something along the way. Two somethings, actually. *Clears throat*
- Some (emphasis on that word) girls try too hard.
- I’m way too old for this shit.
I’ve always been a stay-home girl but now that I have such a freedom to go out, I have decided I need to try something up before I decide that I hate it… What I’m trying to say is that I’m kinda new to this whole social ritual and I’m amazed of how hard women have it (and by amazed, I mean fucking scared). Do you, guys, know how much time does it take for a girl to get ready? Ha… I already knew the answer, I just wanted to mess with you. However, I’ll still say it: it’s fucking annoying. I don’t get why it’s so hard for them to chose a freaking outfit, I find it incredibly easy: “My boobs look great on that dress + I want my boobs to look great tonight=I’ll wear that dress” It’s simple math, people. Then comes the make-up, god forgive if they leave the house without privatizing an inch of skin from oxygen… Finally, my worse enemy: High heels. I get heels (I don’t wear them, even if my 5’2 height begs me to, but I do understand why people wear them), what I don’t get is high heels. Just super models can walk in high heels, the rest of the mortals just look like they have osteoporosis.
I guess the reason I don’t worry too much about it, is because I know something most 18 year olds don’t. I could be wearing an oversized t-shirt and no make up, tell a guy in a bar I’m horny and I’m pretty sure the answer won’t be: “Sorry girl, you’re totally wearing the wrong shoes… And I like licking the eye shadow out of my girls, gets me going”.
Point number two doesn’t need much of an explanation, right? I think even at 16 I was too old for this; people call it being “an old soul”… I don’t think that’s my case, but if I have to put my finger on it, I’d say I have the soul of a bitter old woman. I’m getting a bit too tired of hearing these girls complain about every little thing when we go out… And I know what you’re thinking, I’m complaining about people who complain (and if you weren’t thinking that, shame on you, it’s a great argument), that’s part of my charm, I’m full of contradictions.
I’m fat. No. You’re not.
I have nothing to wear. Then don’t wear anything. Guys will love you.
My nose/teeth/feet/etc is/are too big. Probably yeah, but what are you going to do about it right now? Just own it.
What I’m not too old for is playing match-up, as if I was in elementary school. Ok, ok, hear me out, this was actually kinda fun. Girls and boys received a little paper, at a party, where it was written the name of an animal; it was very biblical, one guy had an animal and some girl out there had it too. I was a tuna! And just like life itself I harassed a couple of guys outside of their bathrooms asking them if they were my ‘tuna’. One of the guys answered “Sorry, I don’t smoke”… It was either a mix because of my accent or he thought that the only possible reason I could be asking that kinda stuff would be because I was smoking marijuana. Oh, well. I didn’t find my ‘other half’; should I take this as foreshadowing?