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Category Archives: girls

Life in plastic, it’s fantastic

The lovely sj sent me an article that bears mention the other day. Thank you to sj, who is wonderful and awesome and keeps me the most sane. A lot of wonderful things have come from the internet. sj is heads-and-shoulders one of the best of those. Love you, sj!

So you know how there are some people in the world who are nuts? Whoa, that’s already super-mean. Let’s start over.

You know how there are people in the world who are like, super-boring, then there are some who are middle-of-the-road, then there are some who are awesome, then there are some who are BATSHIT CRAZY?

I’m not really making things better here.

OK, so twice now, in the past, shit, I don’t know, six months, maybe, or so, I’ve seen these people doing these weird-as-hell things and I’m just kind of confused. And sad for them. And I’m being a little over-the-top. Maybe they’re not nuts. Maybe it just makes them super-happy? And that’s great. But as happy as they are, the more confused I am.

First, there was the Barbie-lady. Do you remember the Barbie-lady?

OK, fine, her name wasn’t the Barbie-lady. Her name was Valeria Lukyanova. IS Valeria Lukyanova, I don’t think she’s dead or anything. Our pal Val is from the Ukraine and, through quite a little bit of plastic surgery, some major makeup, and some weird, dead-eyed posing, she has turned herself into the Human Barbie. AND IT IS UTTERLY TERRIFYING.

Seriously, what if this person was in your house? Would you hide in the pots-and-pans cupboard with Dumbcat? I think I would.

Now, listen. I’m all for people following their bliss and doing whatever jazzes ’em. Sure I am. I think cosplay is fun and awesome and empowering and creative. But also, after you’re done with that, you can take that off and be yourself again. Plastic surgery is PERMANENT. Also, seriously, the spinal issues from these GIGANTIC BOOBS are going to KILL this girl someday when she’s old. And…ok, it’s not just the breast augmentation, which, seriously, coming from hefty ol’ peasant stock, I absolutely am befuddled with. (OK, fine. I GET IT. If I wasn’t blessed by the mammary gods and goddesses maybe I’d be all “MAN I want those!” but I am here to tell you – they are not all they’re cracked up to be. Seriously. They are mostly just a cumbersome pain in the ass. Or, back, I guess. Pain in the back.) No, it’s not just the boobs and whatever’s going on in the face-area to make it all Botox-wooden. There’s this waist-situation going on, too.

Seriously. SERIOUSLY. The waist-thing! And those THIGHS! No one’s thighs look like this, not really, do they? I’m really kind of squicked-out by this whole thing. Oh, but just like an infomercial, there’s more. BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE.

I like this one the most because she blends right in with the couch. You’d probably sit on her and she’d be all “squeak!” and you’d be like, “dude, did I sit on a dog toy, or what?”

Now, ol’ Val says this is all natural and she’s not had any work done. I don’t know that even a high-powered regimen of diet and exercise could make you have a waist and thighs like that. Here’s a before-and-after of her face. I can almost believe she didn’t have any facial work done. The body…well, diet and exercise doesn’t make you a EEE cup, or whatever’s going on up topside there, Val.

Here’s the thing. SHE WAS ALREADY SO PRETTY. Why does she want to look like a Barbie doll? She was pretty before that! Why didn’t she just dress like one sometimes or something? Is it a sickness? Is it just something that makes someone happy? Oh, gross, ew ew ew is it a sex thing? Is it? Please say no. You can’t have sex with this girl, she’s too damn skinny. She’d break like a twig. Is she nuts? Because honestly, the girl in the photo above on the left, and even the girl in the photo above on the right, are prettier than the dead-eyed frozen-pose Barbie girl. Is it for the fame? Please to explain. I am honestly confused. You’ve all heard that Barbies wouldn’t be able to walk or stay upright if they were human, right? Like, with the topheavy-ness and the tipped-up feet and such? I’m not one of those “DON’T LET OUR GIRLS PLAY WITH BARBIES! NEGATIVE BODY IMAGE!” people. I played with Barbies and I never thought, “DAMN but if I could look like a Barbie my life would be complete!” Nope. Not even once. I mostly just liked all the sparkly dresses. And the little shoes. I found them so impressive. SO MANY SHOES. SMALL CUNNING SHOES. And I liked to braid their hair. I wasn’t a very good girl, I guess. I also equally liked my Legos and my brother’s G.I. Joe dolls and my paper dolls and my books. I wasn’t very Barbie-obsessed, I guess. Also, I never understood wanting a baby doll you fed and comforted and it peed and stuff. Why would you want that? To practice for when you were a mom? Good grief, who wants to be a mom when you’re a KID? Unless you’re one of those weird pregnancy-pact teens or something. I don’t know that I wanted to be a mom then any more than I do now. I FAILED BEING A GIRL.

Then there’s this person that sj found for me. Equally as confusing as the Barbie girl, we have the anime-girl!

This is Anastasiya Shpagina. She wants to be an anime character. Not just at comic-con or whatever. All the time.

She doesn’t seem to have had plastic surgery. She just uses a shit-ton of makeup. And what freaks me out the most here are these contacts. YOU ARE GOING TO GET PINKEYE. Listen, you don’t eff around with your EYES. Eyes are not something to be TOYED with. You are an IDIOT if you think your eyes are something to eff with. Do you WANT to spend the rest of your life blind? Because screw with your eyes, you could. I wore contacts for years and then they started to get itchy because I have these weird adult-onset year-round allergies so I stopped and now it’s all glasses, all the time for me (well, not while I’m sleeping, duh) and I can’t even BELIEVE some of the crap I’d do to my eyes. I’m lucky I’m not wearing dark glasses and tapping my way around town with a cane, seriously. I kind of want a seeing-eye dog, though. That’d be cool. Anyway, I slept in those things for DAYS. I put them in without sterilizing them, I was NOT cautious. I was such a dummy. Gigantic fake contacts are NOT A GOOD IDEA.

This chick is ALSO from the Ukraine. What’s going on in the Ukraine that everyone wants to look like a toy and/or a cartoon?

Wait, wait, I take back the no-plastic-surgery thing. WHAT IS UP WITH THE WAIST THING, YO. Are they removing RIBS? What is HAPPENING? Ouch ouch OUCH. Is this sexy? Please stop it.

And, lookie lookie, Barbie and Anime are FRE-YUNDS!

BFFs, yo! United in…weirdness? I don’t know.

This is a video about anime-girl and Barbie-girl. It is in Russian. At least I think it is. I don’t know anyone who speaks Russian so I can’t get you a translation. If you want to help me translate, I’d be ever so grateful. I’ll make you a badge or something, won’t that be nice?

OK, listen, as I was saying. If it floats your boat, great. You go. You do your thing. But a., I worry that making all these permanent changes to yourself are a cry for help, and b., I think maybe you’re looking for attention because you’re not happy with yourself the way you are.

Are we all a little weird-looking and do we all have things about ourselves we’d like to change? Well, shit, yes. Of course. But come on, you don’t need to do this to yourself, not permanently. When you are 80 you’re not going to look back and say, “the best decision I ever made in my life was to become a human Barbie.” At least, I don’t think it will be. I can’t imagine a scenario where that would be the case.

You’re fine the way you are. I promise. Even if you don’t think you are. We are all our own worst and harshest critics.

Also, please don’t decide you want to become a cat. Because even the lion-lady changed her mind and is getting surgery to reverse all of the lion-ness.

I didn’t say it was SUCCESSFUL, just that she REGRETTED it and has ATTEMPTED to change it. This is why you don’t make weird permanent changes to your bodies, my little peach cobblers.

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Finally, Girl World was at peace.

This isn’t going to be funny. So, if you’re here for the funny, sorry. I’ll try to bring you some shiny funny tomorrow. Like a magpie of funny, I’ll be.

We need to discuss mean girls.

No, not the movie. Although, the movie’s awesome. I like the movie a great deal. It kind of makes me sad, because seeing Lindsay Lohan before she crashed and burned is always a sad thing for me, but it’s a great movie. It’s very funny, and it has a lot of great lines in it.

Before the movie, there was the book. Queen Bees and Wannabes: Helping Your Daughter Survive Cliques, Gossip, Boyfriends, and Other Realities of Adolescence, by Rosalind Wiseman. Before that book, there was Reviving Ophelia: Saving the Selves of Adolescent Girls by Mary Pipher. And there’s even Mean Girls Grown Up: Adult Women Who Are Still Queen Bees, Middle Bees, and Afraid-to-Bees by Cheryl Dellasega.

Now, if you’re a regular reader, you know I have a vested interest in cliques, and mean girls, and bullying. I keep an eye on things like this. And they upset me.

We all know about mean girls in school. Elementary, junior high, high school. The pretty, popular ones, who set out to make other’s lives a living hell, for what seems to be no reason at all. Even if you didn’t experience it, you’ve no doubt heard about it. How could you not have? It’s everywhere. It’s saturated the media.

And we tell our kids it gets better. That the world is a kinder place, once you leave school. That you find your people, and that you can choose to remove yourself from the presence of the mean girls. And that they get less mean.

And for the most part? That’s true. I’m here to attest to that. Not only is the world a better place once you’re no longer forced to be in a small, confined space with your tormentors, people are, for the most part, kinder. As we get older, it’s just not – well, cool, I guess, to mean girl others, as much as it is when you’re young.

But that’s for the most part.

Mean girls still exist. If you’re lucky, you won’t come across them much, or at all. But odds are good you will. They don’t hide much, you see. They thrive on confrontation. They feed on seeing the pain they’ve inflicted on you. So of course they’re not only out there, they’re lurking and they’re waiting and they’re pouncey. And there’s not much you can do to avoid them. Except stay completely silent, and off the internet completely, and don’t volunteer anywhere, or have a job, or have any sort of social life. So, be a Luddite hermit, then.

I don’t know about you, but that seems like a nightmare to me.

I’m writing this because some people I know were recently mean girled. For no reason whatsoever. I’ve promised not to link to the post where the mean girl spewed her hate all over the internet, because why give her more hits to justify what she’s doing?

But here, in a nutshell, is the situation. My friends write a blog that is just joyous and fun and wonderful. Like they are. The mean girl stumbled upon one of their posts, took it out of context, and wrote an entire post excoriating them, their blog, calling them names, making fun of the post, etc., etc.

For no reason. None at all. She’s not a reader of the blog. She doesn’t know my friends. They haven’t offended her in any way. She just did it because she’s mean, and people that are that mean love to hurt others. It fires them up. It jazzes them. They grow fat on it.

Now, we’ve discussed this before, my completely insane loyalty to my friends. I found out about this, and I wanted to go rip the mean girl a new one. I don’t deal well with bullies and I don’t deal well with my friends being attacked. I was asked not to. That’s good. It’s never good for me to react when I’m pissed. My rages are legendary and they always leave me embarrassed when they’re done. Yes, yes. I probably need anger management. I know. I KNOW.

I’m trying very hard to be calmer, lately. It’s a struggle, but I’m proud of my progress with it. I waited to post this because I didn’t trust myself to be all-caps screamy about it. So I’m going to be very, very calm, for the most part.

The mean girling needs to stop.

We’re grown women. There is no reason for this. We’re not in competition with one another; we’re not all fighting for one brass ring or one single available man or one kickass job or one whatever you value. If we’re mean girling each other, the reason has to be internal. We’re doing it to make ourselves feel bigger or better or more impressive. We’re doing it to build ourselves up where we’re lacking. We’re doing it out of jealousy or anger or just because we’re miserable human beings who feed on other’s pain.

What kind of a person does this? What kind of an emotional vampire feeds on someone’s else’s pain, gets off on someone else’s sorrow? And do you really want to be that person? Think about that, sincerely. Do you want to be the kind of person who is tearing others down in order to build yourself up?

Spoiler alert, darling. IT DOESN’T WORK. You can mean-girl a million other women, you still have to look at yourself in the mirror every morning. You still have to deal with whatever issues you have percolating around in your sad little brain. Issues that, maybe, you might want to work on with a therapist. Because they’re turning you into a monster. Do you want to be a monster? Do you really?

Here’s another thing. If we spent less time mean-girling each other, tearing each other down, making each other feel small and worthless and less-than, think of the unified force we could be. Think of the force to be reckoned with we could be. Women are the majority, population-wise, yet we’re still second-class citizens, in a lot of ways. But if we stood together and we didn’t fight one another? We would be unstoppable. We would be unbeatable.

But we keep tearing each other down in a million little ways. Telling each other we’re not good enough if we’re stay-at-home moms, or if we’re not married, or if we have kids, or if we don’t have kids, or if we don’t have enough kids, or if we have too many kids, or if we’re geeky, or if we’re not geeky enough, or if we’re geeky but about the wrong THINGS, or we’re not pretty enough, or we’re too thin, or we’re too heavy, or we’re just NOT LIKE YOU and therefore WRONG.

I can’t make you stop. I can’t stop each and every one of you from doing this. Of course I can’t.

Here’s the thing. I know I’ve mean girled before. And I can almost guarantee that some, if not all of you, reading this, have mean girled before. Now, there’s a difference between standing up for yourself or those you love and mean girling; there’s a difference between not being friendly and mean girling; there’s a difference between ignoring someone and mean girling (although those who feel you’ve wronged them may erroneously label it as such.) Mean girling is, very simply, tearing someone else down, publicly. Your reasons may vary – personal gain, general meanness, anger over one thing or another, general insanity, making yourself feel better, who knows what drives you.

So I’m just asking – please think before you act. Are you about to blast someone online? Is it a celebrity who’s done something hateful? Fine. Is it someone who wrote an article, and you’re rebutting that article (in an ADULT WAY, please?) Again, fine. Is it someone you don’t know, that you’ve never met, and they didn’t do anything other than ACT IN A WAY YOU WOULDN’T? And they’re NOT HARMING ANYONE? And are your words going to hurt them?

Back away from the computer. You have officially passed over into mean girl territory. The only thing that down that path is madness and hurtfulness and do you really want to do this? Do you really want to put more evil out there into the world? There’s already so much out there. Do you really want to add to it?

Or, how about this. You could switch it up and do the exact opposite. You could NICE girl someone. You could tell someone how much you love them, or admire them, or how much the most recent thing they wrote/drew/created touched you. You could tell someone how much they mean to you. How much you love having them in your life. You could support them through a hard time. You could celebrate a joyous time with them. You could live your life in the most positive, joyous way you know how. It might be hard? But try it for a little while. Here’s a tip: it starts getting easier. It turns out it’s a muscle you have to build up. And once you exercise it enough? Being kind and supportive and loving becomes second nature. And people respond in kind. People mirror your behavior. People are less likely to mean girl others when you’re modeling this behavior.

I promise it’s true. I know it is. I’ve seen it happen.

Women, we are amazing, in all of our differences. We are beautiful and we are strong and we are intelligent and we are funny and we are MILLIONS. And if we collectively spent our energy positively? Oh, that’s a world I want to live in. That’s a world I want to see.

Just stop and think? Please? Think of it as a personal favor to me, if you need to. I won’t ruin the ending by telling you that it’s really a personal favor to yourself.

Remember I mentioned Mean Girls? And the good quotes? How about “Calling somebody else fat won’t make you any skinnier. Calling someone stupid doesn’t make you any smarter…All you can do in life is try to solve the problem in front of you.”

(Mandy at Borkadventures and Wine Librarian at Homance Diaries blogged recently about this topic, and I want to give them both some love. Both of their posts have been read and are highly approved by yours truly. Give them a click, you’ll be glad you did.)


Oh, and I will make myself so beautiful.

OK, I’m late to the party here. AGAIN. Listen, it’s the last two weeks of tax season? Deadline is April 17? AND WE ARE BUSY AS HELL. So a lot of things pass me by unnoticed. Dad’s always saying, “Did you hear about…” and mentioned major things, and I’m like, “Nope.” Because I haven’t. I barely have my Twitter feed open. I have come to rely on people to tweet me. It has become a sad and singular little existence, my sugar plums. But the light is at the end of the tunnel. I can barely see it, but it’s there. It’s on the way. Dim, but it’s there.

So I kept noticing this morning everyone mentioning the name “Samantha Brick” and I made a mental note to Google this because they were insulting how attractive she was. And I hate that shit so it was annoying me. But from the tone, I assumed there was a backstory I was missing.

HOLY HELL was there a backstory I was missing.

So you all know about this Samantha Brick thing, right?

Samantha Brick is a British freelance journalist. She wrote an article Monday entitled – ready? – ‘There are downsides to looking this pretty’: Why women hate me for being beautiful in the Daily Mail. (British Twitter people inform me that the Daily Mail is the tabloidiest of the tabloidy papers over there. True?)

The article is – well, it’s pretty much described in the title. Samantha Brick claims she is SO PRETTY that she has been discriminated against at work and forced to wear dowdy clothing and passed over for promotion because of her stunningness and the jealousy it instills in the other ladies she works with; none of her female friends will ask her to be a bridesmaid because she’ll look better than them in the wedding party; she gets free food, drink, cab rides, etc. wherever she goes; random people take her photograph; and all the women of the world hate her. Oh, and if you read the article and have a vagina and hate her? It’s because you’re jealous. Jealous because she’s beautiful. And you’re not. Beautiful. At all. Compared to her beauty. Her prodigious beauty.

OK, listen, I think we all have beauty and worth and blah blah blah sunshine flowers? And I’m not here to run down anyone’s looks? But do you have a mental picture of what this woman (bee tee dubs, she’s 41, not 21, so you can’t even blame the idiocy of youth for this nonsense) looks like? If not, fix one in your mind.

Here’s what she really looks like.

Um.

She’s…fine?

Kevin blogged about this today (WAY TO BEAT ME TO THE PUNCH KEVIN), and I was interested to see an intelligent guy’s take on this.  He thinks she’s unpretty and her eyes are cockeyed. 

I’m not going to say she’s UNpretty. I hate to be judgey. I really do. I mean, I totally am judgey, in my HEAD. If you say you’re not, you’re a liar. We’re all judgey in our heads, don’t even deny it. But out loud…um…well, we all have shit we’re going through and dealing with, you know? And adding an extra layer of cattiness to that really isn’t productive to anyone. I don’t go around falsely complimenting people, either, I just want to make that clear. If I think someone looks pretty or handsome one day, or something’s a good photo of someone? If I genuinely think it? I say it. Otherwise, I just keep my mouth shut. It’s rude otherwise. Also, if you keep dishing out false compliments, people stop trusting you when you say a real one. And you can’t sleep with a clear conscience. At least I can’t. I hate false compliments. They taste like ashes in my mouth. Sincerely.

That being said…how to put this delicately.

She’s kind of plain. Not UGLY, I wouldn’t say UGLY. She’s plain. Average. She’s FINE. She’s just nothing special.

And her eyes really are crooked. Nice call on that, Kevin.

So what the hell’s going on in this article? Is she trolling the internet? Is she TRYING to get all the hits? There were almost 5,000 comments on her article when I went over there to gank the link for this post. Most of them all “WHAT AN UGLY HOSEBEAST” but still, that’s 5,000 people moved to comment – and if my own comments and stats are any indication? Only about 10% of the readership comments. So that’s about, what, 50,000 hits, or so?

Also, Twitter blew up, as I mentioned. It’s what we do. We’re good at it. It’s one of the many reasons I love Twitter. Here, click on this. The hashtag (or, if you’re my dad, hashbrown) #samanthabrickfacts is full of people making jokes about her. Some are humorous: “She can’t walk through wooded areas in case she attracts many furry animals, singing to her.” Some are mean as hell and I’m not going to repeat them. The good ones make fun of her self-involvement; the bad ones make fun of her looks, or, worse, seem to vaguely threaten her? Way to be, weirdos of the interwebs.

If this paper really is a tabloid, I’m guessing content really isn’t that big of a deal to them? Are British tabloids like American tabloids, like, with “BAT BOY SPOTTED IN KANSAS CITY” and “WHITNEY HOUSTON PREDICTED HER OWN DEATH” and such presented as real news items?

Does it depress anyone else that the Weekly World News went out of business? I used to love looking at this thing at the checkout.

Who can answer that for me. Rod? Elaine? My new internet kid sis Emma who I would protect from a marauding herd of water buffalo if called upon to do so?

Or – and this is my inclination – does she really think this is the case? Does she really think she is SO PRETTY that it’s holding her back, that it’s causing rifts in her personal life, that it’s the root of all evil?

If I had to guess, here’s what I think the ACTUAL root of all evil is.

She has an inflated sense of self-worth, she’s kind of a twatwaffle, and no one wants to hang out with her. She, like most twatwaffles, doesn’t put the blame on her OWN plate, no no, why would you do THAT? She, INSTEAD, blames HER EXTREME BEAUTY. Because they can’t POSSIBLY dislike her PERSONALITY! I mean, what’s to dislike? She’s OBVIOUSLY the very model of utter perfection in word and deed. It can’t POSSIBLY be HER. It’s her GORGEOUS VISAGE. And, by extension, everyone who treats her poorly is such a jealous asshole!

Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar, and sometimes when no one wants to hang out with you it’s because you’re a complete and utter douche-kebab, you know?

I mean, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she lives in the part of France (the article says she lives in France) where all the people with facial deformities live, so she’s like a goddess, comparatively, I don’t know. I’m just saying, I can walk through my office – which is just your everyday average office – and every single woman in that office is as pretty or prettier than this chick. And no one’s sending them spur-of-the-moment flowers because they couldn’t help themselves. No one’s going all cartoon-goggly-eyed if they wear a skirt. No one’s telling them they can’t be in a wedding because they’ll upstage the bride.

Kevin mentioned this in his post as well, and I agree – I think all these amazing wonderful acts of kindness (which are actually, ZOMG, OPPRESSING her) are like Brian’s Canadian girlfriend in The Breakfast Club. No one’s actually SEEN them happen, but she SAYS they’ve happened, so they MUST have happened. “She lives in Canada, met her at Niagara Falls, you wouldn’t know her.” “Oh, ANOTHER man PAID for my CAB today, help, help, I’m being OPPRESSED because I’m so BEAUUUUTIFUL. When? Oh, when you were over feeding the meter, you wouldn’t have seen it, sorry.”

SHE LIVES IN CANADA I SAID.

I honestly am befuddled about this whole situation. I mean, I’m all for thinking you’re beautiful. I’d like all of us to think we’re a little MORE beautiful. I’d like even a quarter of this self-esteem, some mornings. But if this chick’s for real – um – there’s a fine line between self-esteem and delusional, isn’t there? I’m not saying she’s ugly. I’m really not. She’s just fine. And that’s IT. She’s FINE. She’s AVERAGE. And honestly, I don’t know if, say, Heidi Klum, who I think is just stunning, or Kate Winslet, who’s my total girl-crush, are getting all these random “people buy shit for me because of my stunning stunningness” or “all the ladies hate me because I SO PURTY,” you know? Even the two of them! Who ARE stunning!

I'd be half-tempted to give Heidi a free latte...

...and I'd give my girl Kate anything she wanted. She recently RESCUED someone's GRAMMA from a burning BUILDING. I LURVE HER.

So what the hell? Is it delusion? Is it a day-late April Fools’ joke? Is it trolling the internet, trying to get hits and get the name of either the paper or the author out there? What say you, minions? I’m genuinely curious what your take on this is. I’m just flummoxed.

I know. I know. I wouldn’t be saying all this if I wasn’t just so damn JEALOUS, Samantha Brick. *skulks off kicking rocks*

As I was just about to publish, my lovely Amanda also blogged about this. So check out Amanda’s take, because I adore her. If it matters, Amanda, I’m TOTALLY daunted by both your beauty AND your brains. But I don’t hate you for them. I LOVE YOU MORE.

(Title’s from the Hole song “Reasons to be Beautiful.” Have we talked about my Courtney Love/Hole obsession yet? Probably not. In a nutshell: I have a Courtney Love/Hole obsession. I know, but listen! Have you ever been in a really bad mood? Put on a Hole CD and scream along with the lyrics in your car while you’re driving. IT CURES ALL ILLS. I swear.)


My seasons in the sun are fading. I think it’s like, late fall for my seasons in the sun. THANKS SEVENTEEN MAGAZINE.

When I was a totally angsty teen with very tall Aquanet bangs and a regrettable perm (SHUT UP IT WAS THE 80s AND SOME OF THE 90s) there was nothing I liked more than Seventeen magazine. It was just the best. It taught you all the smart things: how to dress, how to get guys to like you, what to do in difficult situations like if you caught your BFF smoking dope in the bathroom. VERY HELPFUL.

The best things were the quizzes. My friends and I would just obsess over these quizzes. We’d get the magazine and we’d all huddle around each other in study hall and think VERY SERIOUSLY about our answers and then score them on scrap paper like we were taking the SAT and wait none-too-patiently for our results and then discuss our results. VERY SERIOUS STUFF, this. Like, “Does He Like Me More Than a Friend?” And “What Will I Be When I Grow Up?” and “What Haircut Is Best for Me?” I mean, seriously. HOW were we supposed to plan our lives without Seventeen quizzes?

So today I was thinking, probably I need help, let’s see if Seventeen quizzes can help me out. I totally have a lot of questions. Seventeen was always so helpful, yo.

Um. Apparently I am very, very old. Or Seventeen got really stupid. Or a little of both. I think I failed all the Seventeen quizzes today.

What started all of this was that I was typing in “How to…” into Google to look something up and you know how it autofills shit and sometimes it’s hysterical? One of the things that popped up was “How to Make Out.” What? People worry about this? Was I supposed to worry about this? I just did it, I mean, back when I used to do it. Not NOW. I’m not doing it NOW. Grumble. ANYWAY. Was I doing it wrong all those years ago? I mean, no one COMPLAINED. But I didn’t go online and look up HELPFUL TIPS, either. SHIT. Now I feel like I probably should have had a makeout to-do list and I let a lot of people down. Dammit.

So one of the results was a Seventeen quiz about “What is Your Kissing Style.” Well! I mean, I’ve gone almost forty years without knowing what my kissing style is. Probably I should figure that out. I mean, the next time I’m on a date and I start having ALL THE SEX that’s totally right around the corner according to Dr. Ernie probably that imaginary boyfriend’s going to be all, “Amy, what is your kissing style, I don’t date just any yahoo WHAT IF OUR KISSING STYLE IS NOT SYMPATICO” and what if I didn’t know the answer? That would be alarming. And who even knew there were STYLES? A-LAR-MING.

So you KNOW I had to take the quiz.

After asking me some totally weirdo questions, one of which was squeeing about Pattison and Twilight and sparkly vampires (I don’t like the direction Seventeen is going with this) I found out this:

“You’re a Phi Beta Kisser! When it comes to kissing, you’re at the head of the class! You’re kissing M.O. is simple: Smooch well and smooch often, even if it’s on your first date with a guy! As long as you keep things from getting too heated up, why not have a little fun?”

I think Seventeen just called me a cocktease. A sorority cocktease.

Then I was totally pissed at Seventeen for implying I was a cocktease (SEVENTEEN, it’s like you don’t know me at ALL, I TOTALLY put out) so they recommended I take some Hunger Games quizzes. I like The Hunger Games. I’ll totally take some Hunger Games quizzes, Seventeen.

So first they wanted to know what Hunger Games character I should date. Well, really the only viable answer is Haymitch. Because anyone else would be jailbait. I was fairly sure that Seventeen would figure this out about me, because Seventeen is nothing if not savvy.

SEVENTEEN TOTALLY FIXED ME UP WITH PEETA.

OK, fine, I’m all about Team Peeta, but not to DATE him. I’d like to feed him a cookie and tell him to stay in school, Seventeen. I’m old enough to be his MOM. Seriously, Seventeen, I’m starting to doubt your veracity.

However, I’m not taking any more of these Hunger Games quizzes, Seventeen, they’re creeping me out.

But I was NOT DAUNTED. Next Seventeen indicated that I should take a quiz to find out which “HGP” was right for me. What’s a HGP? I don’t know. Research tells me it is “Hot Guy Panelist.” Um. I don’t think this is going to end well at all. BUT I PERSEVERE. It’s what I DO. There’s isn’t a dead horse between here and Antarctica I haven’t beaten into submission, seriously. One time Ken gave me an AWARD for it. SHUT RIGHT UP. It was NICE of him. It’s because I LOVE awards. And he KNOWS that. Even for horse-beating. That is NOT A EUPHEMISM.

Now, already, on the first page of this thing, it asked me what my dream date was, and I sat here for like three minutes confused by one of the answers. Answer C was “You like your date to go all out — candals, mood music, dancing, the whole works!” And I was all, “What the hell is a candal? Is it a sandal? Why would he bring me sandals? Or am I wearing sandals? I hate wearing sandals, I never do that, toes are ick. Or is HE wearing sandals? If this asshat can’t even be bothered to put on real shoes for our dream date, we are SO OVER.” But then I realized it was “candles.” Who is writing these things? I could do a better job with my eyes pecked out by a flock of sparrows.

Then on the next page, it wanted me to describe my “flirting style.” Since my “flirting style” is pretty much to ignore the object of my affection and be confused why they don’t psychically understand I want them, and that wasn’t one of my choices, I was forced to choose something else. Some of my choices were “baking for him” (um…I’m not Betty Crocker, make your own damn brownies, lazy) and “writing your crush a song” (hee! Yep! That would TOTALLY get him for me. I am SO the next Sondheim. I would totally throw in jazz hands which would NOT AT ALL scare him off!) I chose “showing off your smarts.” I think that could be interpreted as “sitting in a corner ignoring him until he gets the psychic call I want him to lick me like a summertime popsicle,” right?

Then it wanted to know if I have a big date, what I wear. THIS IS SO MUCH WORK. One of my choices was “A flirty dress and ballet falts.” WHAT THE HELL IS A BALLET FALT. I am not impressed with your copyediting skillzzzz, Seventeen. I don’t remember this being that bad when I WAS seventeen. And I was a totally snotty spellchecker even then.

Then Seventeen won my love again by having one of the options for “what is your biggest turnoff” be “bad grammar” because you KNOW it totally is. Well, that and being a psychokiller but that wasn’t an option.

Then Seventeen told me this was my dream date.

I feel dirty right now. This is distressing.

THIS BOY IS LIKE TWELVE.

He doesn’t even have any CHEST HAIR. I mean, come ON. Also, what’s with that HAT? It looks like one of those hats you get free with purchase if you buy really shitty beer or an oil change at Jiffy Lube or something. Also, too many lady-necklaces and bracelets. I AM NOT IMPRESSED WITH THIS CHILD SEVENTEEN. Even if he DOES list “people who screw up your and you’re” as his biggest turn-off. Aw, Hector. Stay in school, here’s a cookie.

Well, I have just had enough. There was a whole section of “Vampire Quizzes” and I know ALL THE THINGS about vampires but much to my chagrin they were all Twilight-related. THERE ARE OTHER VAMPIRES IN THE WORLD SEVENTEEN. Even my new friend Hector probably knows that.

So THEN I thought, Seventeen! You are NOT helpful NOT AT ALL. So I will MAKE YOU BE HELPFUL. I found a quiz about “Could you Date Justin Bieber?” If Seventeen says yes I can? Then Seventeen is DEAD to me. You all KNOW I could not date La Biebs. His lips are too red and moist, I’ve TOLD you this. They squick me OUT.

I’m already having a really bad feeling about this. None of the options are “Does Justin Bieber squick you out?” Also it’s asking me questions I can’t answer honestly. Like, “Which MTV reality show is your favorite?” and I’ve never SEEN any of them but I have to answer this or I can’t go on to the next page and is getting really mad at me all, “please answer question four PLEASE ANSWER QUESTION FOUR” and I hate when people or webpages yell at me. Also, it wants to know which of these three teen girls I want to hang out with and has photos and names and the only one I’ve ever heard of is Miley Cyrus and I KNOW I don’t want to hang out with her because she annoys me but I don’t know who the other two are. I AM VERY WORRIED I’M GOING TO LOSE THIS QUIZ.

I AM JUSTIN BIEBER’S PROM DATE. SEVENTEEN SAYS I HAVE TO GO TO THE PROM WITH THE BIEBS.

OK, I’m thinking that probably NONE of the answers were “you can’t date Justin Bieber” because then there would be a rash of teen suicides. Right? And who wants that, so much mess to clean up. But I don’t want to go to the prom with the Biebs. First, is he even 18? I think I’d be arrested. Second, THOSE LIPS UGH they look like FRUIT ROLLUPS. Third, the blurb where I won this date with Justin Bieber says that I am a “girly girl to the core” (what? I KNEW I picked the wrong teen girl to want to hang with) and that on our date we would be “spend(ing) serious quality time together (slow dancing, anyone?)” I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS I THINK I HAVE A PRIOR ENGAGEMENT THAT NIGHT WHAT IF HE TRIED TO TOUCH ME WITH THOSE RED RED LIPS THEY’RE LIKE CLOWN LIPS SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS SERIOUSLY.

I know I said Seventeen was dead to me but now I have to have one more palate-cleanser to get the thought of being forced to attend the prom with Justin Bieber out of my head.

Are you Emotionally Ready for Sex. AWESOME. I’ve always wondered. (They would NEVER, BTW, have had this quiz when I was a kid reading Seventeen. They were so not talking about sex in Seventeen in the late 80s/early 90s. They pretended we were all anatomically built like Barbies and Kens back then.)

Um…this test is bogus. One of the questions is, “What’s the reason you want to have sex” and my options are “I really love him and he really loves me,” “All my friends are doing it,” or “He’s pressuring me to.” THERE NEEDS TO BE A D. “Because sex is awesomesauce, momma.” Sheesh.

YAHOO. Seventeen totally thinks I’m ready to go all the way. This is fortuitous news! But it thinks I need to talk it over with a parent first. Probably I should call my dad. I think he’d love to have this conversation again and it would not at ALL give him flashbacks to when I was seventeen and he found out the FIRST time and there was all the screaming and yelling and crying. Cool cool cool I’ll call him tonight this won’t be awkward at ALL. THANKS SEVENTEEN!

Well, what have we learned today, ladies and gentlemen?

Seventeen is NOT GEARED TOWARD OLD PEOPLE who totally found enough white hairs on their head today that they have a little skunk-stripey thing going on that is the most awesome and they love it but probably other people won’t love it as much as they do.

Or people who like things to be typo-free.

Or people who don’t like Twilight.

Or people who think Justin Bieber’s mouth looks like the mouth of the Flukeman from The X-Files.

Would you rather go to the prom with this...

...or this? The answer is obviously "I'd stay home and play videogames."

I HAVE OUTGROWN SEVENTEEN QUIZZES YOU GUYS.

This is just the worst, no fooling. Shit. Sorry. I have to go. I have to go prom-dress shopping, I think probably if I don’t go soon I’ll end up with the leftover dregs. Does anyone know what Flukeman Bieber wants me to wear to prom? Anyone? Sigh. This is just going to be the worst date ever, and one time I went out with a guy who had just gone off his meds and kept threatening to jump off this footbridge all night but the footbridge was only about a foot high (ha! FOOTbridge, get it?) so I kind of wanted to be all “whatever, go for it” but that seemed rude because he was threatening suicide and all. See what it’s come to, Seventeen? SEE WHAT YOU DID? Shame on you, Seventeen. SHAME.


Volcanic Eruptions! VOLCANIC ERUPTIONS! Also super-cool hats.

One of my favorite movies is Magnolia. I know, I know. A LOT of people hate this movie, like, with the fire of a million billion fiery suns. I get it. But I adore it. Which is funny, because it stars one of my least-favorite actors on the entire planet.

Gah.

Tom Cruise makes me nervous. It’s the teeth. And the grinning. And the laugh. And the couch-jumping. And the Scientology, but really, anyone into any religion that insanely would make me nervous. And the “Matt you’re so GLIB.” And the arrogance. And that I think probably he’s got his wife in some sort of drugged up cult haze. And in Rob Lowe’s autobiography, he came across as a gigantic douchenozzle. And I totally like Rob Lowe. If Rob Lowe says you’re a douchenozzle, you probably are. AND THE TEETH. Also, I didn’t even like him when all the girls were all “SQUEE SQUEE” back in Top Gun days, because he’s short and wee. I hate short and wee men with little-man complexes.

Also, once, I was sort of bashing him on Twitter? But only a little? And HE TOTALLY STARTED FOLLOWING ME. No, not a Tom Cruise FAN BOT or something. THE REAL TOM CRUISE. With the blue check next to his name and EVERYTHING. So I’m pretty sure he’s coming to eat me with those gigantic teeth any day now.

So, anyway. Magnolia. In Magnolia, Cruise plays Frank “T.J.” Mackey, who’s a love guru who runs this live infomercial thing called “Seduce and Destroy.” And I totally hate Cruise. Like, in EVERYTHING. Even Tropic Thunder, where everyone was all “HE’S SO FUNNY,” I was disgusted when his shouty ass came on screen. I know. He’s coming to eat me any day. If I stop posting, you’ll know to check his stool for little chunks of me, right? Right. ANYWAY. I love him in Magnolia. I can only assume it’s the writing and directing, because it sure as hell isn’t Cruise.

Here’s a scene of Mackey doing his seminar for men, teaching them how to both seduce AND destroy. It’s got some naughty language. I promise I have a point and this clip ties into it. But if you hate naughty language, it’s ok to skip it. I’ll still love you. (SPEAKING OF NAUGHTY LANGUAGE SIDE NOTE! At the theater last night? There was this group of children from a school who all looked like they couldn’t be more than probably 14 or 15? And they were TOTALLY CUSSING THE MOST YOU GUYS. Like, SO MUCH USE OF THE EFF WORD. Is that normal? Really? I didn’t use the eff word out LOUD until college, at least. Because I thought it would send me directly to hell without stopping to pass Go OR collect $200. Little baby-faced teenagers are saying it like it’s just another word? Is this worrisome or am I being an old person about this? I totally wanted to go wash their little mouths out with all the Lava soap. My stars and garters.)

As you can see, Mackey is teaching a conference room at the HoJo’s or something how to seduce and destroy ladies. It’s both hysterical and sad.

WELL! @grngeekgirl, my partner in crime over at Insatiable Booksluts, pointed THIS out to me the other day.

ZOMG YOU GUYS. Real-life T.J. Mackeys. REAL LIFE T.J. MACKEYS.

There’s a call for this? IN REAL LIFE?

I can’t even. NOT EVEN.

So! From the about page, we see that these people are J.D. Dallas and Johnny Bravo, running this thing called the “Modern Male Lifestyle.” The “Modern Male Lifestyle” means you walk into bars and you pick up ALL THE LADIES just by using ALL THESE TECHNIQUES. I mean, all the ladies. ALL. No lady is immune. EVEN STRIPPERS AREN’T IMMUNE. This is AMAZING.

This is J.D. Dallas. No, I am not 100% sure what’ s going on in this photo, either. He’s playing with a guitar while ignoring a girl who looks embarrassed to be there, based on her posture. Also, is the “modern male lifestyle” sneering? That’s sure to get a lot of embarrassed women and guitars into your bed. Oh, and suitcases. I think there’s a suitcase over there, too. He also wrote a book about how to pick up women on MySpace, which I’m sure is selling a LOT of copies.

ZOMG this is Johnny Bravo. I feel a chill. IT IS BECAUSE MY PANTIES JUST FELL TO THE FLOOR. THROUGH MY JEANS. According to his bio, which has some really odd random capitalization, he used to be into “world of war craft” but then started learning the rules of being a “PUA” (that is PICK UP ARTIST, come on, people, if you can’t learn the terminology, I don’t know if I can work with you here) and now NO WOMAN IS OUT OF HIS REACH NO WOMAN.

OK. Here’s the scoop. I have a lot of male readers. And you know what? I love you to pieces. I totally want you to get laid. So, because I love you all, I’m going to help YOU become a PUA (you remember what that is, right? Pick up artist. Seriously, if I have to keep holding your hand through this, it’s going to be a long haul) so YOU, TOO, can wear an awesome hat and ripped-up jeans in a doorway or get an embarrassed girl, just like Johnny or J.D. I am going to READ THIS WEBSITE and GLEAN THE MOST HELPFUL TIPS FOR YOU.

Oh, probably this might work for my lesbian readers, too. So also this is for you. Just switch out “male” for “female” and you’re golden. Sorry, straight female readers. Also, married and coupley male readers, this COULD work for you, but probably don’t use these tips. I don’t want to break up your happy home. I’d feel terrible. And gay male readers, this won’t work for you at all. Also, I don’t think you would wear a kickin’ cowboy hat and rippy jeans, anyway.

I know. I can hear you starting to cry tears of joy. Please just invite me to your weddings. I do so love wedding cake. Why does it always taste better than regular cake? It’s like it’s baked with magic.

Become an Alpha Male

First, you have to become an Alpha Male. Apparently, that’s the key to this whole thing. Alpha males are winners and can screw all the strippers. Beta males are apparently losers who lose.

Here are some traits of Alpha Males. THESE ARE TOTALLY IMPORTANT YO.

  • Never makes excuses. For example, if he doesn’t want to ride a roller coaster, he doesn’t say, “I don’t want to ride that roller coaster, because I am scared of heights and also might hork into your hair.” He INSTEAD says, and I QUOTE, “Roller coasters? Nah, that’s not me. Let’s do something cool instead.” So, as you can see, not only did you get out of rollin’ and coastin’, you subtly insulted your female friend. TWO FOR ONE BABY.
  • Is confident and honey badger don’t give a shit about what people say about him.
  • Talks slowly and in deep tones, and his movements are smooth. His movements are like he’s “walking through water.” Like Barry White, I’m thinking. Like a merman Barry White.
  • Never apologizes for his desires and beliefs. NEVER.
  • Does not have a big ego – has an ego that is his ally. “Here is the truth: big egos are a result of low-esteem, lack of control over emotion, and too many female feelings.” ZOMG. You do NOT want too many female feelings, Alphas! What’s next, getting in the kitchen and making up a mess of pie or something?
  • Does not get jealous. “He laughs at the thought of his girlfriend choosing another guy over him.” LAUGHS I TELL YOU LAUGHS. Uproariously.

Now you are totally an Alpha, but what do you do? You can’t sit at home. There are women to conquer like wolves in the night. WHAT DO YOU DO.

Well! Don’t fret, my little butterbeans!

Johnny Bravo says you should:

  • Join online communities of pick up artists. I guess you can share techniques with them? Because I’m sure the people in the community aren’t really losers in their mom’s basements eating HoHos in the dark.
  • Join a local lair. A LAIR. This shit is getting REAL. I hope there are FRESH KILLS and SPOOR in the lair. Oh, wait, it’s not a wolf lair, nevermind. Apparently, it’s a place where all the PUAs go to be together and share tips for how best to get ALL THE LADIES. Apparently, if you hang out with your regular friends who have known you forever as you embark on your new lifestyle as a playa, those friends might “hold you back.” You need a wolfpack, yo.
  • Next, you need to study the THEORY of being a PUA. If you want to study Johnny and J.D.’s theory, it’s available but you totally have to pay for it. Apparently there are places you can get other theories but they’re probably not as good. I mean, scroll back up there. HE HAS A GIRL IN HIS BED YOU GUYS. A REAL LIVE GIRL. Who I assume has REAL WOMAN-BOOBIES. I mean, do you NEED any more proof?
  • Go to a training or boot camp. BOOT CAMP. This is NOT dicking around. No no no. I hope they ask you to spit-shine your shoes or do KP duty or something. That’s how you know it’s a real boot camp.
  • Go out in “the field” and practice technique. I guess that doesn’t mean a real field like with cow shit in it. I think it means bars. Bring money. You’re probably going to have to buy a lot of drinks and shit, and also on your way home you’ll be sad so you’ll want to stop at Taco Bell and buy Fourth Meal.

Now, both Johnny Bravo and J.D. have some articles they’ve written with helpful tips. And, to help YOU, my little budding PUAs, I’ve read them ALL* (*not many of them at all) and pulled out the tips that I think would totally help you in your quest. LISTEN. I think you all will be getting laid tonight. Barring that, the Chicken Quesadillas at Taco Bell are really tasty. There’s nothing embarrassing about Fourth Meal. NOTHING.

TIPS FROM JOHNNY BRAVO

Ask random questions that are not at all creepy

Examples:

“You must plan your own death. How old are you? How does it happen? And what is the funeral like?”

This is a GOOD QUESTION to ask at a bar. I’m pretty sure the minute you ask it, the girl will be humping your leg like a Scottie dog, right? I mean, nothing turns someone on more than talking about pre-planning their funeral. FUNERAL PLANNING IS SEXAY.

Make her talk about high school

“…for the most part, we tend to remember all the good times – how wonderful it was to be in high school for example, even though when you were there it seemed like hell. But now we remember it fondly. So ask her about, say, high school. And when she goes on that’s the time to pull her in. While she’s experiencing these good feelings, she’s looking at YOU. And she associates your face with feeling good, innocent and fun. Then she’s into you.”

Oh, this is EXCELLENT. YES. Please use this. Please grab me at a bar and start talking to me about THE WORST TIME OF MY LIFE while maintaining creepy eye contact and refusing to change the subject. This will get me into your bed faster than you can say “I was a victim of childhood bullying for years and years and I still cringe when I hear a locker door slam!”

Know what women want

According to Johnny Bravo, that is “someone to take charge, be confident, and have zero insecurities.” I AM SO GLAD SOMEONE TOLD ME WHAT I WANT WHOO.

Also, according to this totally helpful article, women want:

  • you to never email, text, or call them
  • you to tell them stories like the following: “I ate a Rattle Snake once, riding on a four wheeler through the desert, and ran that bitch over, it was all wigglin’ and shit, grabbed it up, and cooked it over an open flame.” (I’m sorry, a., this made me laugh so hard I snorted, and b., does this NOT sound so much like something I’d write? Hee! I mean, not the CONTENT, but the DELIVERY.)
  • you to ask them for their number, then shove it in your pocket and say, “I’ll add it to the list of women’s numbers I got tonight and call you, maybe”
  • you to do magic tricks or play the guitar
  • you to “peacock” which is apparently to dress like a gigantic douchebag like with a hat with a feather or something because that will make you stand out in a crowd and also make everyone want to take a ride on your pocket rocket and not laugh at you until they get a side-cramp

I expect you to learn these things and start practicing them, seriously. I can’t expect you to get all the ladies until you do them.

TIPS FROM J.D. DALLAS

Don’t be nice

If you are nice, then women WIN. You don’t want women to WIN, do you? No. According to J.D. Dallas, you want to be the man inside your man. Or – well, I’ll let him tell you: “Be the man inside you – the volcanic eruption below the surface – and you’ll start to experience the success you desire. Trust me, it’s in there. You just need to let it out.”

VOLCANIC ERUPTIONNNNN

Also, I am officially getting creeped out reading J.D. Dallas’s blog because I think I know where the Twitter spambots are getting their profile pictures. SO MANY GROSS SHOTS OF PLASTIC CHICKS IN BIKINIS MAKING DUCKFACE YOU GUYS.

Ignore her and/or lie to her

If she texts you asking what you’re doing, either tell her you’re busy or don’t answer. She’ll love that. Because you don’t want her to think you’re available whenever she wants you to be. FOR THE LOVE OF PETE PEOPLE.

Don’t act like a lady

Women are emotional! And insane! THEY WILL BUY TEN PAIRS OF SHOES! And SPEND THE RENT MONEY ON THEM! HA HA! But not men, no no! And you know how opposites attract? Crazy women like CALM RATIONAL MANLY MEN. So if YOU act crazy and womanly, women won’t want you! Act like a MAN! Probably THUMP YOUR CHEST and GROWL!

I don’t exactly know what this says about you if you WANT one of these insane women who would spend the rent on shoes and not a nice normal woman who spends the rent on…oh, I don’t know…RENT. But I am not J.D. Dallas. I DON’T HAVE REGRETFUL WOMEN IN MY BED AND ALSO GUITARS.

Now you have TIPS and you are an ALPHA MALE and you are READY TO HIT THE DATING SCENE. Also, probably bring protection. You’re totally going to be having all the sex with regretful duckfaced girls. And the website says you also need to work out a lot. I don’t know when you’re going to have time to do all of this, so probably quit your job. There are also about fifty sections on how to score with exotic dancers. People want to sleep with exotic dancers? Really? That seems sad to me. Don’t they think that’s a bad idea and probably that will end badly? Life isn’t Pretty Woman, you know?

Then I was thinking, back in the day, my roommate and I used to watch this show that made us laugh like morons on VH1 called The Pickup Artist that starred this guy called Mystery trying to turn losery men into PUAs and it was the worst because THIS was what Mystery looked like and he purportedly could get every woman he wanted:

I did not make this graphic, but it kind of makes my point for me, so I stole it.

Seriously, this guy would give tips like the ones above (he had a friend whose name was Matador, no, I’m totally serious) and the two of them would go into bars and Mystery would be wearing this HUGE FURRY HAT and sometimes there would be goggles on it and he has a neck tattoo of lips and he’d be all, “I’m PEACOCKING” and my roommate and I would laugh so hard we almost died. It was obvious the bar was filled with extras because no one in the bar even pointed and laughed when he came in like I’d have been doing. Why aren’t there awesome shows like this on anymore? I feel cheated.

Here is a random video of him teaching a room full of women how to…sway? I’m not sure what’s happening here. Also, I don’t remember him sounding this Canadian. It makes me laugh.

BACK TO THE TOPIC AT HAND.

Anyway. You now have the tools you need at your disposal! To summarize:

  • Lie constantly.
  • Treat women like disposable shit.
  • Be super-cool, to the point of meanness.
  • Get a guitar and a suitcase and put them on your bed.
  • Get a large hat of some sort. Either cowboy or furry will do.
  • Learn some magic.
  • Get your shots up-to-date because you’re totally going to be exposed to syphilis.

Also, I just think it bears mention that you might want to go somewhere that the women you’re trying to pick up have either all had lobotomies or have been exposed to high levels of toxic gases so are extraordinarily drugged-out. Because otherwise I think maybe they might either walk away laughing or be onto your clever ruses in like .0004 seconds. Or laugh at your hats.

I’d wish you good luck but I’m pretty sure Alphas don’t NEED luck. Alphas either make their OWN luck or they TAKE IT LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT.

Have fun, my naughty friends. Don’t blame me if you have so many women outside your house you have to beat them off with sticks! (Disclaimer: please don’t beat anyone with sticks, thanks.)


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