terrible advice

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As a woman, I sometimes get approached by men who obviously just want to talk to a girl for a little bit, but they don’t know how to do it! They’re at a loss for words, or they opt for staring at me weirdly. No one wants to be a wallflower. Take some control over your life!

To help you guys out, I have come up with five strategies to help you talk to women. Whether you just want to be friendly or even something more, these tips will certainly help you get your foot in the door.

strategy #1: be a dog.

preferably one wearing tiny argyle socks, like the one seen below.


strategy #2: be a writer.

“hmm is Laura radiant or gorgeous, let me check my notes. oh yes of course she is both.”

Think about writing a short story where you simply write what you would say to me. Or perhaps a short film or something. Make me represent cultural excess or something, because I’m blonde so my hair is a symbol for gold or capitalism. I don’t know, I’m just throwing out ideas. But it’s your story! What we do is up to you, but the key here is to stay far, far away from me in real life. Have fun with it!

strategy #3: spend money on me.

I will only look at you if I am peeking out of a pile of money, much like this woman is.

Did you know it’s actually illegal to call me “cute” without buying me anything? Luckily I’m already tied up in several lawsuits regarding this, so legal action won’t be taken for quite some time, but if you’re going to interact with me, I suggest your purchase some kind of good to give to me in return. Whether this be a drink or a snack or perhaps even a burrito or two, it’s up to you, but do know that the length of time I feel like I’ll be obligated to give you is highly dependent on the price of whatever’s given to me.

And if you’re thinking, but what if she’s gay?? then you don’t exist because there does not exist a man out there who even considers the possibility that the girl he is into might possibly not be into him. Shrug!! Either way, I may be gay, but when it comes to people buying things for me, I find that labels are less relevant to me.

J Lo says that love don’t cost a thing, and while she’s right, forced convos actually cost quite a lot for me. Please be respectful.

strategy #4: don’t.

or maybe just don’t? maybe just leave me alone? I know you’ve seen a thousand meet-cutes where the strapping dude saunters up to the girl and whatever else, but this ain’t a movie!!! Try tinder, I hear it’s great for single people!!

Try to imagine a world where you don’t get to choose what conversations you have with people, and instead other people choose for you. Wouldn’t that be quite the dystopia for you???

strategy #5: try being a different dog?

like, idk, this one maybe?

tumblr_n0lo72cUuX1qdlh1io1_400Whatever strategy you try, I’m sure you’ll get some kind of result because life continues to move on because that’s how time and space works.

Good luck!


Once upon a time I worked at al cute little sandwich shop. I actually have worked at two different sandwich shops, buuuuuut this isn’t supposed to be about my dignity.

At this sandwich shop, I was asked frequently by people “how I stay so thin.” The conversation would typically occur in the following way:

Me: Hey, what would you like today?

Them: WELL do YOU eat here? What do eat to stay so thin????

The real answer is actually that I just maintain an incredibly complicated relationship with my body and food, as I am an American woman with a body. Did I have an eating disorder? Well, for many of us, that’s a shaky question to answer. Does starving yourself all day and then eating half a bag of Doritos in thirty minutes and then sobbing from even the possibility of gaining weight sound disordered? I guess, but at 15, it was just the thing to do.

Now, at 21, I’m sometimes a little weirded out at how thin I am, but my unhealthy habits are reinforced by people cooing over my boney frame. Thanks guys!

If you don’t know what I look like, I’ll give you this anecdote. One time, I was looking at my own naked body, trying to figure out what my body reminded me of. And then I realized that I was thinking of the pre-teen girl in the Sia music videos, except my tits are way smaller I think.

How that’s for a visceral image? So ladies and gentlemen, how do I maintain this desirable figure?

Generally my strategy is to shove as much horrible crap into my body, and then just hope my metabolism takes care of it.


Frozen chicken patties are staple of any good roommate’s diet. This means, you don’t have to buy them yourself, given that one of your roommates will buy a package large enough so that when you take one, they won’t notice. If not, then I guess you’re taking a risk and banking on the fact that women have taught to never be confrontational and to keep their mouths shut. I’d say it’s a pretty solid thing to bank on, but good luck dealing with whatever moral quandary you may be in afterwards.

It’s nice to substitute a white bun for whole wheat, because that’s more nutritious I think? Or just eat whatever kind of bread is within reach. You can never have too many carbs, is what I say.

A frozen chicken patty takes a minute and a half in the microwave. Afterwards, it will be sitting in a pool of it’s own grease and skin. For an added touch of pathetic, take a napkin and pat the chicken patty dry before placing it on your bun. Not only will you feel sad, you’ll get to feel the texture and consistency of what you’re about to put into your body.

All that’s left is to consume and hope it doesn’t completely kill you.


This is a great option for anyone thinking about cutting back their dairy!

So, say you took a shower at 4:30 PM, and shortly afterwards, it’s dinner time. You feel kinda shitty for not waking up until after 1 in the afternoon, but what can you really do at this point. You decide to brighten things up with a nice bowl of Kraft mac and cheese.

Now, the key to this recipe is that you’re alone, and you can’t eat an entire box of mac and cheese by yourself, so you make half the box. This is a technique that takes little to no precision, as the power that comes with this brand of mac and cheese turns into a toxic paste, no matter how much you end up putting in.

Boil the water, cook the noodles, add the butter, and the cheese powder.

This is when it hits you – the only milk in your apartment is vanilla flavored almond milk. FUCK. Your hair is wet, which means you can’t go outside in this 25 degree weather because it’ll freeze. And you already cooked it. There’s no where else to really go with this.

So you eat it anyway. You reign in that gag reflex, and you go for it. Do you have a better option bitch?


Now this one is a real treat. First of all, a couple of days before, you’re gonna need to cook some white rice. Next, shove the extra into a plastic container and sit it in your fridge for however long you decide. I recommend as long as possible, maybe three days, just to let all of the original flavor completely disappear and for the rice to turn into a nice, gravelly texture.

And you want the color and look of it to be so horrible that you think “okay if you don’t look at it then it’s kind of okay” while you eat it.

Season with generic brand soy sauce.


A lot of people lack the real discipline to really implement this meal so that it can be fully effective. Preparation is simple, just buy a package of classic Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies. I don’t want to see you reaching for the chewy ones or the fudgy ones.

Now what you’re going to do, is just eat them. I know, seems impossible, but you just gotta focus and really lay into it. It’s okay. You’ll get through it. Just put on a movie, like a documentary on late term abortions or a documentary on physician assisted suicide, and you’ll be done before you know it.

I recommend setting aside a whole day to really do this right. Don’t leave your apartment, don’t shower, don’t talk to anyone, don’t even really leave your bed. The trick to this is to remain as sedentary as possible. And with luck, this will be the only meal you’ll need to eat all day!

And there you have it guys! Just a simple diet to follow so you can finally have the stick thin body that I have. This is just the beginner course, though, obviously. If you really want to commit, make sure you live your life hating everything you eat and constantly being unsatisfied with whatever you’re doing at any moment.

Good luck!


Roommates are a sad reality of life sometimes. It’s an important thing, to learn how to live with another person, so they tell me. I’ve had roommates for the better part of 3 and a half years now, and I would like to share with you some cool tips I’ve learned on how to be a good roommate when common problems occur.


  • being too loud!

ignore it

  • crying!

ignore it

  • too messy!

ignore it

  • neglecting to take out the trash!

ignore it & do it yourself

  • performing elaborate seances!

ignore it

  • cooking food that makes you nauseous!

ignore it

  • snoring loudly!

ignore it

  • attempting to reawaken the spirit of her dead cat that died two weeks ago!

ignore it

  • not respecting your space!

ignore it

  • having sex with her boyfriend all the time!

ignore it

  • refusing to respect your brand!

ignore it

  • throwing too many parties!

ignore it

  • forcing her weird zombie cat on you!

ignore it

  • splitting up the cost of utilities unfairly!

ignore it

  • racist!

ignore it (but also maybe go see Selma together and start a dialogue, it could be a chance to start some real change!)

  • fucking obsessed with holidays and is decorating your apartment with paper hearts!

ignore it

  • judging you for eating mac and cheese every day!

ignore it

  • leaving hair in the drain!

ignore it

These strategies have really helped me in the past, and I really hope they help you too! Good luck and happy rooming!

The worst birthday I ever had was when I was very young. I don’t remember what age I was turning, but my party was on April Fools Day, and I was under 10 years old because this memory takes place very vividly in my old house. It’s also highly possible that I’m conflating two different shitty birthdays into one day, but I don’t think that matters so much.

So first of all, there were these series of games that the group of us played at my house, and every time a person won a game, they would get to pick a prize. These prizes were Lisa Frank themed, because obviously. They were the fucking bomb, except there were two that were clearly more inferior than the rest of the prizes.

They were mini notebooks that were on a keychain, and they had classic Lisa Frank covers. The yellow puppy, the multicolored neon lion, a pre-Bratz cartoon girl with a huge head. And I know you’re like “how could any of these be a terrible option?” and I get that, but two of these mini notebook keychains had a cover with two aliens on it.


It was quickly decided that these aliens were like, not the thing to get. Compared to dolphins, unicorns, and puppies these aliens were like if Lisa Frank had just drawn Hitler and put it on a notebook.

Looking at them now, they’re actually kind of cool, but NO. While playing these party games, it became less about winning a prize than not getting the notebooks with the aliens on it. It was ridiculous and stupid and meaningless, but I was like 7 or something. Nothing had meant more to me in my whole life at that point, except for maybe getting into fifth grade honors chorus a couple years later (which I did, by the way).

We played these games, and I don’t remember any of them, but I do remember that I didn’t win a single one. So I was simply given the prize that was left, which was covered by these shitty aliens.

IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY. At some point I should have been given some kind of birthday handicap, because this was the worst thing that could have happened. I want to say that I put on a brave face and made some joke about it, but I was seven. So I probably threw a huge tantrum about it, but let’s try to save a little bit of my dignity and say that I handled it with grace.

This could have been the only thing that happened that day, BUT NO. I also had a pinata at my birthday party, because I’m not some kind of dork that doesn’t get a pinata. This one was shaped like a smiley face, and I loved it so much that I fully intended on keeping it after the party. I would often stare at the pinata before my birthday, imagining how good it would look in my room and how I could look at it and remember the awesome birthday party that I had.

So we do the thing with the pinata, grab the candy, and that was that. I left to do something probably super cool, like eat cake or something, and we I returned I found two of my “friends” pulling the tissue paper off the front of the pinata.

And this is why I remember this party happened on April Fools Day because when they saw that I was clearly angry with them, one of them said, “April Fools….?”


I’ve had other shitty birthdays. On my 15th birthday, I had to spend it at a tech rehearsal for a musical because I was playing oboe in the pit band, which I didn’t even want to do and it caused me so much stress that I’m pretty sure I contracted mono and I only ate french fries and cheez-its for about two weeks. The rehearsal was something like 13 hours long, and when I called to get a ride home from my parents, no one picked up. So I had to get a ride from someone I barely knew, and when I got home, no one was there because my family had gone out to dinner without me.

I remember sitting on the living room floor and petting my dog and I whispered to him, “it’s my birthday” in the saddest, most overdramatic 15 year old voice I could manage.

There was also the time when I had been grounded because I dyed my hair pink without my parents permission, so I was walking to the library to where my mom worked and on the way a kid sped past me on his bike and flipped me off and told me to go fuck myself.

Those are probably the top three.

I used to be obsessed with my birthday, and while it was 90% a joke, it was also 10% very serious. Birthdays are fun, and people are extra nice to you, and you get to eat cake. What’s not to like, you know? I used to think that people that weren’t excited for their birthday were lying about it. It’s the best holiday of the year.

But there’s nothing worse than expecting something and not getting it, right? It hurts to be counting on something, and then missing it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about entitlement, and what people think they deserve. It’s so easy to look at what someone has and think like “they don’t deserve that but I do” and I’m starting to think that maybe it’s all bullshit.

Ugh, I want to try really hard not to sound cynical, but I don’t think anyone really deserves anything. I’m 21, and I think a lot of the time people criticize people my age by saying that we’re entitled. We think that we are owed something. And they say this comes from being given awards for participation or everyone being told that we’re special or whatever the heck these people are saying.


essentially what my undergraduate degree says

I don’t know. I think I used to feel that way, but now I don’t. I used to think that I deserved to have people be nice to me and happy for me on my birthday, but I don’t really feel that way anymore. There is a certain kind of arrogance that I have, and I know that because I still think I’m special and I still think that I’m smart. But I don’t know if that means that I deserve anything. There are plenty of people that are special and they, like, I don’t fucking know, disappear on planes and stuff like that. I don’t think anyone really deserves that, except for fucking Rebecca who ruined my pinata over a decade a go.

You can be special and get nothing. You can be nothing and get something really special. I don’t really think there’s a trick to it. It just is what it is.

I think I used to make a huge deal about my birthday because I was scared that if I didn’t, no one would care about it and then I would get let down. But it turns out that even when I did make a big deal about it, I still got let down.

So I guess the moral of the story is to just chill out. I don’t want to take things so seriously any more, and I don’t think anyone should. Who fucking cares if someone you know has a cooler job or more twitter followers or more money or more friends? I don’t. I make myself happy. I write these stupid blogs because I want to. I go to open mics that no one cares about because I feel happy when I do.

Who cares that Rebecca ruined your pinata? You don’t need it.

Though seriously if you’re not following me on Twitter, than you’re just missing out. Like that’s more for your happiness than mine, really.

I am a lonely person, but to be fair, I prefer it this way. I’m most comfortable when I’m alone. I don’t have to answer to anyone, I can do the weird shit I enjoy doing without having to explain it to anyone, I can cook mac and cheese while listening to T-Pain’s “I’m in Luv Wit a Stripper” as loud as I want. It’s great for me.

Last summer I went slightly agoraphobic. I say slightly, because I was able to leave my apartment, but only if I was fairly certain I wouldn’t have to interact with anyone that knew me. So, yeah, while I was able to leave, a lot of things made me burst into tears and it was generally not a fun experience. I got so used to crying in public that one time I was sitting in a park with a book, tears just streaming down my face, and a child came up to me and asked me why I was crying. I told her it was just a really sad book, but I should have just said that when you grow up, you get lonely. College dorms may be a breeding ground for Meningitis and Herpes, but that’s because you’re all socializing and things are great and you don’t have bills and you’re softly nestled in the comfort of a long, undergraduate career.

Until you’re where I am, and you look forward to having enough money to afford the luxury of tissues (TISSUES I can’t fucking afford tissues) and then having those dreams dashed when you have to pay your phone bill and you went $60 over your data limit because favoriting tweets is the only thing that makes you feel alive anymore.

SO when life gets me down and I realize that if I somehow choke to death in my apartment that no one would notice for, like, a week maybe, I resort to these following tips! Don’t you wanna have a lifestyle like me???

1. Go to the Apple Store

There is a fucking village of people all dressed the same who want to talk to you. Yeah, I’m never going to be able to afford another Apple product for at least the next century, but they don’t know that! The best part is that you don’t even need to act like you want anyone to come up and talk to you. Just stand next to an iPad, start some Words With Friends and they’ll swarm on top of you almost like you have money.

Some suggested buzz words to keep them talking:

  • WiFi
  • “but I heard that an Andriod is better for…..”
  • Steve Jobs
  • Minimalistic design
  • money money money money I’m rich
  • “do you know what kind of phone taylor swift has?”

And so on. This tactic was able to sustain me for another 20 minutes for a train ride back home, so I could have my daily panic attack, and remind myself what my own voice sounds like! Win win!

2. Go to Tiffany’s

Okay yeah most of these are going to involve pretending to be rich, but like hey, if being obsessed with celebrities has taught me anything, it’s that lots of money is the key to having friends. Britney Spears used to get paparazzi to pump her gas for her. Such good friends!

You’re going to need to clean yourself up a little bit for this one. Put a bra on, maybe shave your armpits if you’re wearing short sleeves, watch a few videos from British YouTubers until you train yourself to talk like one of them. You are regal, you are expensive. Maybe listen to that song “Fancy” if you can get past the casual racism of Iggy Azalea.

Once there, try many pieces on, admiring the way they look on your fingers. Say some rich people stuff like “oh but will this fully compliment the architecture of France?” or “I think my maid will be too tempted to steal this from my third jewelry chest.” They will dote on you, since they don’t know that you’re a poor person in poor person’s clothes pretending to be a rich person. You know?

Then, find the most expensive thing in the store. Act incredibly excited and happy and overjoyed. This is the one!!! Try it on, examine yourself in it from all angles, get pictures of yourself in the jewels. And then, just when you’re about to seal the deal, say to them, “ugh but I don’t know if I really need a second one of these.”

Say you’ll think about it and leave. Never return.

3. Try to Virginia Woolf yourself

Now if you have a flair for performance, this one may be for you. As you know, Virginia Woolf put some rocks in her pockets and drowned herself when she finally succumbed to the severe depression that had plagued her for years. Okay like I get it. Depression is rough no matter what time period you’re in. But seriously Virginia? You got out when the going was good. We have this thing called LinkedIn now. Thought Catalog exists. Virginia Woolf was living it up, being a writer and having sex with ladies while she was married to a man and just doing whatever the fuck she wanted cause she was bipolar.

And I’m like, alright Virginia, I’ve got my room of one’s own, but where’s your treatise on how to deal with people trying to get me to like their blog on Facebook?

So I got this idea while I was sitting out by a shallow, very public body of water that’s filled with the worlds most putrid creatures: geese. Fuck geese. Like obviously, no one can drown themselves here. It’s too shallow, there are people everywhere, someone would want to be the hero and someone would film it and post it to Upworthy or something.

But what if you just went for it? You’d have to really do it though, like get the period costume, really fill those pockets with rocks, and just wade out there, talking about Mrs. Dalloway and a lighthouse.

People will be all over you. Pass it off as some performance art, bringing literature to the masses or something, and you’ll be lauded. Virginia Woolfing yourself will be the new planking, and that’s your legacy!! How could you ever be lonely again?

So there you go, some of the best ideas I have for combating the horrible, pervasive loneliness that plagues us all. It’s also nice to remember that no matter how many friends you have, death could come at any minute.

As the quest for Internet celebrity continues, I have found that writing about lesbian sex brings a lot of attention to you. We’ll just add that to the long list of the perks of being gay. Quick shout out to everyone who found this blog through various searches involving the word “cunnilingus.” I genuinely hope you stick around and comment and then I’ll comment back and then we’ll be lifelong friends, because I seriously would love a friendship that evolved through “cunnilingus.” The word, not the action. Although I’d be okay with that as well.

I would love to write more about lesbian sex because I am all about exploiting certain aspects of your life for fame and fortune, but I simply just can’t. Mostly because it’s distinctly missing from my life at the moment due to the fact that my girlfriend lives 200 miles away from me, but also because that person probably doesn’t want our sexual exploits described on the Internet, especially not to make me more famous because she’s a just and modest person. And I’d like to continue our relationship because who else would like my personal tumblr posts? And also because I don’t deal with being single very well. I am not known for exiting gracefully, in any sense of the phrase.

So we’re keeping it under wraps for now so I don’t reveal any more of my dickheadish tendencies and get myself dumped. And I’ve been managing to do this for a while in terms of all of my relationships, and because I am a homebody who is generally terrified of the outside world, I maintain and create pretty much all friendships through the Internet. Those things combined have come together in this short little advice column.

We’ll call it How Not to Be That Guy Online. It’s worth noting that this is (a) a working title, and (b) “guy” in this case is being in a gender neutral sense. We can all be that guy, regardless of gender presentation (tip: trying to control someone’s gender presentation would get you labeled as “that guy.” See how I artfully avoided that? Keep reading for all these tips and more!)

The first and most important word of advice I have for all those secret dickheads like myself out there is this: self-deprecation is key. If you admit to being a dickhead, like I have three or four times in this one blog post alone, no one can make you feel bad for calling you a dickhead! Obviously this is within reason. Like, don’t, you know, be an actual jerk to people who don’t deserve it. I’ll leave it up to your best judgement to muddle through these things, but it goes without saying that you shouldn’t be an Internet bully because that is also called cyberbullying and I saw a made for TV movie that aired on ABC Family about it and it got pretty out of hand by the looks of it.

What I’m saying is that you can get away with a lot more than you think you can. People who actually try to be good people get scrutinized so harshly. Just lower people’s expectations so that you can be a dick most of a time, and then you can tweet something really nice or progressive and everyone will be so impressed with you. Trust me, this works way more than it should.

Now for my next tip, it’s important to remember that Internet Douchebaggery can spread through several social networking platforms. The best way to avoid this is to pretend you don’t give a shit about anything that’s not Twitter, Facebook, or Tumblr. But if you’re anything like me, you fucking love Instagram way more than a human being should. A passion for taking shitty photos and making them look all vintagey cannot and should not be hidden!

But I also realize that there are some things that don’t belong on Instagram. Do with your selfies as you wish, I know that the arrangement of those is a personal decision that is not made lightly. However, I try to make sure that I don’t have more than one selfie per row of three Instagrams. It’s just what works for me. But I’m talking about pictures that you see in your feed and you’re like “…c’mon dude.”

This includes, but is not limited to: funerals, memorial services, candlelight vigils, births, and gratuitous pictures of your lunch when you eat the same thing for lunch every day. How many pictures of sandwiches are you going to post? It’s just getting out of hand.

A good rule of thumb when trying to determine whether or not you’re being That Guy on Instagram, if you would look like an asshat pointing your iPhone at whatever you’re Instagramming, you probably shouldn’t post it on Instagram. Don’t take photos of sad dogs off the ASPCA website and slap Earlybird on top of it! The only thing honest about that is that the sweet sweet puppy would look sadly into your iPhone camera while weeping, “why must you exploit my sadness?”

Other pet peeves: fucking tag your shit with actual real tags of your damn photos. And dont twitpic the same pictures that you Instagram please for the love of god.

We’re going to end this on a positive note, however, because I believe we were all put on this Earth to make everyone’s days shine a little brighter by “liking” their dumb posts on Facebook. This is something I need to work on myself because I am a bitter, jealous dickhead (just weave things like this in naturally) but be obscenely generous with your “likes” and “favorites” and whatever the fuck else we do now. It’s not like you get a limited number of them, and unless you know you get a little twinge of pride when more than 7 people like your new cover photo. Don’t lie to me. Just make everyone feel like their pitiful Internet existence makes you happy and they’ll carry it like a little smile in their pocket. It’s like complimenting someone when they’re blatantly asking for it. Just make them feel a little better and they’ll do the same thing for you. And if they don’t, you get to secretly hate them and “forget” to write happy birthday on their Facebook wall.

Mostly because I like to think of this blog as a curse upon your souls and all good curses come in threes, those are all the tips I have today. But believe me there is way more you can do to make me not be consumed with rage whenever I go on the Internet. That’s always the ultimate goal. To make me happy.

(and remember that last tip when I’m talking about this on my twitter and tumblr and whatever else hahaha just kidding you don’t have to like it I’ll keep being fucking annoying over here regardless of your actions)

I live in a very overdramatic household. It’s mostly because we’re all borderline insane (and not in the ha-ha-my-family-is-so-cah-razy way and more in a psychotherapy-twice-a-week way) and all that’s on the TV is late night crime dramas where we watch women almost get turned into candles by insane (in a sociopathic way, which my family has seemed to avoid so far) cab drivers. But anyway this can lead to some pretty overdramatic reactions. Just recently my mother spent nearly $300 on train tickets when I had already gotten bus tickets for under $20 because she was terrified of my body getting made into candles.

And the best is when we all freak out about the same thing, and we adopt the insane (this time it’s in a bad, cliche way) dialogue of soap opera regulars. Usually it just makes me even angrier than before. There are three that are the most popular, and they are forever stamped on my amygdala (there’s a very nuanced theme in these paragraphs, if you haven’t noticed) (the theme is parentheses).

The first one that comes to mind is  The Interrupting I-Saw-This-In-A-Movie-Once-Aren’t-I-So-Clever Move.

This is most infamously seen in the classic: “I just didn’t think-” “NO, YOU DIDN’T THINK.” I feel like many dramatic moments are created in these words. How many actors have won academy awards for their amazing deliveries of these lines? I wonder if the first person who wrote this is really proud of them. I wonder if their mom is proud of them. Or maybe this just came up organically in his or her life and then later they improved it into a scene and now it’s a common staple in all of my household arguments.

Either way, I hate this so much. First of all, interrupting someone is rude, even if that person is me trying to defend how out of my way I went to go deceive my parents and skip school and then subsequently get bad grades which led me to lie about my report card in high school. I demand respect.

But mostly it’s because the person who does the interrupting becomes a cocky asshole and no matter how the conversation was going before, they now have the upper hand because this line is just so goddamn smart that anything the other person says sounds like immature drivel. I fall into this trap so much that now I try to avoid the word “think” in all conversations. Examples: I just didn’t foresee my actions as creating negative reactions. Or there’s also a new phrase that I’m trying to adopt, which is “go fuck yourself.” That one is pretty empowering.

Now the next one doesn’t come up in arguments so much, and it exists solely to make other people feel bad and that is “Are you okay?” “NO I’M NOT OKAY.”

Alright so I know that all of you have said this at one point in your life and you’re currently reliving this moment now and you feel personally victimized by me right now, and that’s okay, because I’m victimizing myself. I said this once when I was eleven to a girl younger than me when I stubbed my toe on a rock and I periodically randomly recall that moment and the shame and horror that I feel can ruin my entire day.

The thing is, “Are you okay?” is kind of the go-to phrase when someone gets hurt and if you don’t say it you look like a heartless douchebag who just floats through life without any regard to people’s feelings. And while I actually go through life like that, I do need some human interaction on a semi-weekly basis so I’m forced to keep up appearances. So you have to say it, or else you look like you don’t care, but then if someone follows it up with “No, I’m not okay” it just ruins it all.

I’m an avoider. I avoid all problems and pain and confrontation and I will find any total and completely crazy way to make sure that I can keep the frail look of panic off my face. And by doing that, I have found that, a lot of the time, if you ignore something, it goes away. Now this is sometimes a harsh reality and also it can backfire on you and make things a million times worse, but when it comes to things like this, I could be in the worst pain ever imagined and if someone asked me, “Are you okay?” I would respond with “Yeah, totally, not a big deal.” I’ll probably end up giving birth while getting my hair cut because I’m so terrified of causing any kind of attention to myself.

But people who go nuts and take their moment in the sun with “NO I’M NOT OKAY” are not avoiders. And you know what I do to people who are not avoiders? I avoid them. Like I do with most people.

I’ll just never understand it. If I didn’t really care if you were okay when I asked the first time, you can be completely sure that I do not absolutely give a shit if you respond with, “No, I’m not okay.” Like, what do you want me to do? What will make you okay? Should I pull out my scalpel and perform surgery on whatever the fuck you accidentally banged on a pole or something? I apologize for expressing concern over your well being, I’ll let you deal with it on your own now, your highness.

But I would rather deal with a million of these if I never had to experience this last one ever again. And that is the “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry.”

There is not a single phrase in the English language that makes me angrier. I’m a lesbian who’s 1/3rd Polish and you could say every offensive term in the book, real or made up, and I wouldn’t be half as angry as I am when you say this to me.

I can’t even joke about it. And the thing is, if you’re apologizing to someone, you can’t be like “Well, fuck you then, I take my apology back” because obviously you already feel like an idiot for doing whatever you did and then when you try to apologize to maybe ease your own conscience you get a “Don’t be sorry.”

Is it supposed to be comforting? I just feel like people heard this in Silver Linings Playbook or something and then adopted it as this thing that people say when a moment in real life feels dramatic. Does it make you feel better? I’ll never understand this.

This one is rare, though, and thank god. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it usually takes a lot to get me to apologize to someone, but when it happens the person who says it is immediately drops to the bottom of my list. Again I just feel like a lot of the time you have to say that you’re sorry and I will just never understand people who just ruin it for you. You’re just trying to be a normal, decent human being and they had to turn it into their Academy Award winning performance and make you feel like shit in return.

So what’s the point of this? Mostly it’s just to vent about previous experiences that I’ve had while interacting with the human race because life is a bitch. But also please dear god do not ever say these things. I’m wondering if I should just carry around a stack of cards that has the URL to this blog post so when someone says them I can let them know what a jerk they are.

BE NICE TO PEOPLE. Am I crazy, or is pretty much 70% of what we say really just because we don’t want people to know we’re the worst people on Earth inside our heads? We’re all just trying not to be that guy that everyone hates so don’t be that guy that everyone hates.

Though it is clearly possible that I am just actually crazy.