wallofstarss: This isn't really a question, more of a statement. I'm a southern girl dreaming of moving to NYC at some point in my life, if I can ever afford it. You're inspiring :)
You’ll never be able to afford it—no one can! This place is ridiculous! Just come on up here already and be poor and fantastic like everyone else. As long as you can HUSTLE and can withstand the psychological trauma that comes with being surrounded by completely disgusting and talented and beautiful and terrible people 100% of the time, then you will thrive.
Also we have fried chicken up here, so that helps.
Congratulations—you’ve found another human being who wants to spend all his time and money and sex with you! Now don’t screw it up.
Don’t become crazy girl until there is a reason to become crazy girl. Look, if there’s anyone who has little to no faith in the male population, it’s me. But that doesn’t mean you need to proactively seek out their flaws and lies. Believe me, boys do an excellent job all on their own messing up a good thing. So until you witness him grabbing another girl’s bottom right in front of you, put a lid on your crazy.
Eat so much good food. The number one perk of having a boo is having a partner in eating. Brunch all the time. Cook all the time. Shower each other with treats. Get really, really fat and happy together. At least in the beginning. Then you can start bonding over exercise, or break up, or something.
Do stuff. The number two perk of having a boo is having an activity partner. I can’t tell you how easy it is to just wallow on a couch with your roommate all weekend marathoning Breaking Amish when you’re single, so use your boo as an excuse to get the fuck up. Not only will you feel super cultured from all the museums and shows you go to, but you’ll also have something more interesting to talk about at brunch than obscure reality shows on TLC. Oh also bonding. Yeah, bonding is important.
Be sweet. The best way to get sweetness is to give it. But then it’s like something something don’t give things expecting something in return, selflessness, blah blah. If you figure out how that works LET ME KNOW.
Scrump it out. Well, scrumping and then maybe talking through your problems like grownup human beings. It’s the best way to solve a fight, especially if the fight is about a certain lack of scrump and “growing apart” or whatever people call it.
Things to be honest about: Money, the deal with your ex, commitment issues, dessert preference, employment status.
Things to not be honest about: Poop, your number, that annoying thing his friend said, jealousy, toot suppression.
I have some very strict (but okay sometimes I always break them) rules for dating when you don’t have a serious boo-thing. It’s a cruel, cruel world out there, and a lady has to maintain her sanity.
No gifts. The most awkward thing is when you met a boy on the Tinders and two weeks later you’ve been on three dates, but WAIT it’s his birthday! Like what the fuck are you supposed to do with that? Send cupcakes to his office? NO. Buy him a tie? NO. Don’t give him anything except a suuuuper casual “happy birthday” text with the appropriate number of emojis. Too-soon gifts suck because the boy is either secretly (or not secretly) weirded out, or not adequately appreciative of the gesture. Let him give you all the gifts he wants, but you save that mess for a boyfriend.
A toothbrush means nothing. Just because a boy buys a toothbrush for you at his apartment or leaves one at yours does not mean y’all are going to be spending your Saturdays at Ikea any time soon. It means he likes a clean mouth to kiss. And let’s be honest, morning time loving is always better without morning breath. So if he falls of the face of the earth, save your “BUT HE BOUGHT ME A TOOTHBRUSH” monologue for someone else.
Most things mean nothing. Like meeting parents/family, becoming friends with his friends, GIRLS marathons, Instagram likes, brunch, article sharing, dieting together, and vacations. Men can fake entire relationships, remember?
Tell him what you like. A boy needs to know what kind of food you like to eat, what music you hate, and which activities you’re down for. Otherwise you’ll end up committing to a bike-n-brunch (which is just as miserable as it sounds). Same goes for the bedroom. If it’s casual and infrequent, it’d better be what you want.
Do not like him more than he likes you. In fact, don’t even like him as much as he likes you. I can’t tell you exactly how to do this, since I’m 100% sure I’ve never been successful, but for the love of god save yourselves! Maybe be a little mean? Don’t answer texts right away? Date at least 3 boys at once? I DON’T KNOW. Just don’t like him more, okay!
It’s totally fine to want to stay single forever. If you want to spend all you time and money browsing Apartment Therapy home tours and making your apartment totally rad, then GET IT GIRL. There are probably only like five men in the whole world who are worthy to step into your apartment anyway, and one of them is President Obama and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t come to Bushwick. So yeah, nest away and let a boy love on you every month or so, no strings attached.
Last week I had to go to a new dentist for my 6 month check up. I’ve been blacklisted from my old dentist because I foolishly made two 9:00 AM appointments, and predictably missed both of them. I am not welcome back.
My new dentist brands itself a “holistic dentistry.” Whatever that means. All I know is they dished out more floss shaming than any dentist I’ve ever been to. Both the assistant and the actual doctor nearly fainted when I told them I flossed “like once a week.” Like girlfriend, I know I’m supposed to floss. Everyone knows they’re supposed to floss. I choose to do watch TV and do face masks and put on make up and paint my nails instead.
Of course I didn’t tell her this. I just lied and said, “yeah, I just don’t really have time.”
She wasn’t buying it though.
"If you have time to put on a cat eye in the morning, you have time to floss."
When I moved to New York in May 2011, a freshly-graduated 22-year old with a pep in my step and a song in my heart, I did not know what I was getting myself into. But you couldn’t have told me that. No, I fancied myself a woman of the world, unfazed by the big city and too ready to eat up all its foods, drink all its wine, and date all its boys.
I was a hungry little blonde fool though, and as a result I spent most of my first year here in a perpetual financial—and literal—hangover. So had I been the kind of 22-year old who took advice, here’s what someone should have told me.
You can say no, but mostly say yes.
There are a million things to do, dates to go on, and experiences to feel in the city. You have to do as many of them as you can, but when you need a break, take one.Then put your eyeliner back on, and get out there again.
Don’t move to the East Village.
And do not pay more than $1,000/month for your first apartment(s). Unless you’re making bank or someone else is funding your extravagant lifestyle, rent within your means. There are plenty of cool, safe places to live in Brooklyn. Do not be afraid because you’ve never seen them on TV or in a movie.
If there’s a way to make something seem hilarious rather than sad, make it seem hilarious.
Most of your dates will be terrible. But is there anything funnier than a bad date? Most certainly not. You will be poor and fat from all the brunch, but isn’t it supremely uproarious that you can’t afford baby powder to fight the chub rub? Yes. Start a blog.
Things you can save money on: a gym, groceries, cabs.
Gyms are not a good place to make friends or pick up boys. Since you’re not going to the gym, you’ll need to eat less, so no need to waste your dollas at Whole Foods. And most of the grandestadventures take place on the New York City subway. Do not deprive yourself of them because you’re lazy and want a car to haul you around like a common suburban American. Unless of course you need to avoid the walk or subway ride of shame. In that case, wipe last night’s mascara from under your eyes and hail yourself a cab, darling.
Things you must spend money on: shoes, brunch, hair products.
New York City will eat your shoes. Invest in good ones. Brunch is where the best stories are made and told. Your hair is all you have left, so take care of it, you thrifty minx.
Force everyone to visit you.
They will believe your life is far more fabulous than it actually is, and their misguided perceptions will validate your reckless decision to live in New York.
The boys will not always pay.
It doesn’t matter if they picked the restaurant, initiated the asking-out, wore a nice suit, or make six figures. When that bill comes to the table, you’d better be fully prepared to go halfsies. Example. Two months in to my relationship with New York City, I went on an OkCupid (should have known then) date with a gentleman I’ve since dubbed “Bobblehead.” I was a lowly intern at the time, and Bobblehead had invited me to a taqueria speakeasy for dinner. Silly southern belle that I am assumed that since he’d invited me, my job was to get dolled up and be charming, and his job was to pay. I realized my error when the $300 bill arrived and he asked me for my card so we could split it. I handed it to him in a margarita daze, and after narrowly escaping an embarrassing DECLINE, I survived solely on cereal from my office for the next week and a half.
So there you have it. I’d like to say it gets better, but really you just make more money and different mistakes. And you have way more fun making them.
Plenty of pep in my step on my first day of work. May 16, 2011.
Will your boo like you without mascara? Yeah, probably. Will he like you after witnessing the jean wiggle? Debatable.
You see, there are some things a lady likes to keep to herself.
The jean wiggle is the thing of where you washed and dried your jeans and you’ve been eating carbs like you have the metabolism of Miranda Kerr, but spoiler alert YOU DON’T. And now you have a pooch full of bagels, which makes your tight, highwaisted jeans situation RUL difficult.
So you wiggle. And wiggle. And wiggle those god forsaken size 25s until they succumb to your might and you nearly burst a lung making that button happen.
No one should see this. Especially not someone who I’m tricking into spending all his free time and monies and sex on me.
Breakups are the actual worst. And when your boo-thing is no more, the first 24 hours post-breakup are critical. Don’t get me wrong, your life will still be a stupid rotten mess, but if you behave accordingly, you may be able to achieve some semblance of sanity. So here’s what you gotsta do.
Cuddle with your best friend. Let her pet your hair, scratch your back, and shower you with tissues and chocolates.
Wash your sheets. I don’t care if the breakup convo wrapped up around 4:00 AM, you run to your nearest 24 hour laundromat and wash those bad boys. Because for the LOVE OF GOD you do not want your bed smelling like your boo-no-more. Also you’ll want to get the mascara tears out of the pillowcases ASAP.
Delete the texts. If there are some texts you need to screen shot for future proof/ammunition, okay fine. But if you don’t immediately delete your text history, you’ll stay up all night trying to pinpoint the exact iMessage where it all went wrong.
Throw away his toothbrush. If there’s anything that 25 years of dating boys and watching Sex and the City have taught me, it’s that a toothbrush means nothing. This becomes painfully evident when you’re boo-love is gone, but his toothbrush remains at your sink. Just because a boy likes to sleep over and have clean teeth doesn’t mean he will love you forever. It’s just science.
Watch Mob Wives. Or any trash of your choosing, but preferably something with lots of wine throwing, fake eyelashes, and drug addiction.
Scream a little. With your best friend. Get into a little rant where you shout phrases like, “BOYS ARE DO DUMB.” “HE IS AN ACTUAL MONSTER.” “BUT YOU ARE THE PRETTY ONE!” It helps if you stomp your foot and gesture with a glass of wine.
Delete all SDOAs.Social displays of affection must be removed. And shame on you, you naive dummy, for thinking that your boo-thing would last longer than the internets. The internets are forever. Boos are not.
Listen to Tegan & Sara. If you think you can handle it, listen to Hearthrob, but if you’re too fragile, stick with So Jealous.
Work from home. There’s no need for your coworkers to see you hysterical. Plus working from home means you get to TREAT YOSELF with a luxurious lunch, TV breaks, and jammies.
Avoid pictures of pretty people. Whatever you do, DO NOT click on any pictures of Emma Watson’s new Wonderland cover or Michelle Williams, or Allison Williams for that matter. And for the love of god, DO NOT watch Beyonce and Jay-Z’s Grammy performance. It will push you over the edge.
Call your mama. She will be sweet, soothing, and sympathetic for the first three minutes. And then she will tell you, “Now buck up, and put some powder on your nose.”
And for god’s sake put some powder on your nose. Nothing will perk you up like a cute dress and a FLAWLESS cateye. Trust.