Spared

I’m not entirely sure what spurred my recent purge of 103 people from my Facebook friends list, but for the most part, it was easy to decide who didn’t make the cut.

Met once at a party in college and never spoke again? Delete.

You finally had the oopsie baby we all had to pretend wasn’t an oopsie baby even though you purposely wore an empire waist wedding gown to hide the bump? Baby’s cute. Excitement’s over. You’re out.

You friended me because I was quasi-dating your friend? We all knew that wasn’t going anywhere even while it was happening. I appreciate you extending the olive branch. Bye.

For some reason, though, there were some people that fell into the above categories and I still couldn’t bring myself to bring the guillotine down. So, I decided to analyze it.

I really hope the following survivors read these reasonings and message me with their blessing/agreement to go our separate ways. Help me help myself.

How ‘bout you, Eyebrows?

We’ve known each other for several years and I’ve never really had strong feelings either way about you as a person. However, I have very strong feelings about your eyebrows. You either need to dye them or learn to fill them in. They disappear in photos. It’s disconcerting.

I’m hoping to forego all of my fucks one day and just comment these feelings on a photo so you might evolve into something besides a walking five head and I can finally be at peace. Or, you’ll get so offended that you’ll defriend me, instead. Either way works!

The Switcheroo

You got married when we were, like, 20 years old. It was confusing. You definitely changed your name at that time. I still cared about maintaining relationships then, no matter how stilted they were, so I didn’t delete you even when you posted pics of you and your (much older?) hubby’s new condo. This was the heyday of Four Loko, and I was busy destroying my organs. Couldn’t care less about your adult decisions.

However, in my quest to declutter my friend list, I noticed that you had your original last name again. I haven’t kept tabs on you because, like I said, couldn’t care less, but now I’m intrigued. You’ve survived until I can dedicate the appropriate amount of time to ascertain what the fuck went wrong. I’m excited!

Family/Friend Ties

I vehemently dislike you. I’ve never liked you. This is decades-long disdain.

Unfortunately, you’re friends with and/or related to people I’m friends with. We’re going to run into each other and be obligated to participate in group pictures together which you’re going to force us all to retake because you think your tooth looks weird. Face it: Your teeth are weird. The situation won’t be rectified in a matter of minutes.

You’re hateful, hypocritical, vain, and your values are completely out of whack. I legitimately hope you get the new strain of incurable gonorrhea going around. In fact, I’m banking on it.

Christopher Columbus

You’re moving across the country soon. I’m really just waiting until you post the obnoxious status update confirming that you and your girlfriend are on the plane and then it’s over.

Silent Supporter

When did we meet? I know it was in college, but when and how? I’ve had to consider this for several people and most of them got the axe, but not you. Why? Because you’re freakishly supportive of things I post and, apparently, find me hilarious. We haven’t spoken to or seen each other in at least five years and probably never will again, and yet, without fail, there you are.

This is literally all it takes to weasel your way into my good graces. A like or a “haha” reaction? Be still my heart.  

Keep doing your thing and I’ll keep doing mine, you preciously encouraging figment of my life successes.

The Disney Princess Bride

I think you’re getting married in Disney World soon. I very much want to see the photos from this wedding because I think they’ll be magically ridiculous. If you could somehow pull off repelling down the aisle a la Tinkerbell during the nightly fireworks show instead of the traditional walk, that’d be great. Happy for you.

Rage Inspiration

You do Crossfit. Ask me how I know.

Anyway, you’ve gotten in great shape and I’m very impressed by you, so I keep you around as inspiration.

You’re also annoying as fuck.

I do not care about your workouts or your diet or your supplements or your PR’s or your delts. I definitely don’t care that you’re trying to get your Pro Card at whatever bikini/figure/spray tan competition is happening in nine weeks. Regardless, you have my respect. I’ll throw you a like every now and then while muttering, “Oh, fuck off.”

Everyone else I generally know and genuinely like, or at least find interesting, or am obligated by relationship or family to be “friends” with.

So….congratulations?

7 Reasons Why I Defriended You

We're all adults here. As adults, we understand that sometimes friendships just don't work out. It's not anything anyone said or did or thought, it's just a fact...

Unless it's a Facebook friendship. In that case, a connection between two people relies solely on what is said or done or thought. If Christina and Sarah can see my profile but you can't anymore, and you don't know why, you probably committed one of the following crimes against my sanity:

We're full broken, not just bent

You Got Married - Lesbihonest: We weren't that great of friends in college. I actually almost defriended you a year and a half ago, but then you got engaged and I just had to see which Pinterest crafts you chose to employ in your reception (beautiful vintage lantern centerpieces, by the way). I'll stick it out for a week after the big day to view your pictures from the honeymoon in Punta Cana, but then we're back to square one, where the only conversation we've ever had was about our Shakespeare II class. Soon enough, every #TBT will be of three weeks ago (THAT'S NOT A THROWBACK) and how shocked you still are about being "Mrs. Brown!" Byeeee.

You Are Now Your Baby - Where'd you go? / I miss you so / Your profile pic is now a baby / In a Graco
Fine, your kid is adorable. His chubby Michelin Man legs evoke squeals of delight and I want to squeeze his cheeks. That being said, is he that fat because he ate you? Because I haven't seen your face grace my timeline in a solid three months. Children are beautiful miracles, yes, but I would like some indication that you still exist. Replacing your profile picture and cover photo with Avery's face and replacing all of your embarrassing college albums with pictures of all of her "firsts" is zero fun for me to stalk. Peace and blessinz.

You Advertise Your Good Deed - Hayley Joel Osment could've payed it forward to a lot more than three people if he had posted about his deeds on social media. Here's my thing: I'm proud of you for being a kind person and helping people in need; good on you, Mother Theresa, that's very admirable. I just think it loses a little bit of its sparkle when you post a three paragraph status detailing how saintly you are. Doing things out of the goodness of your heart is respectable--doing things to get 34 'likes' in five minutes is not. Keep it to yourself. Take it easy.

You and Your Boyfriend Apparently Don't Have Phones - If you have to post "I love you!"'s and "You're the best!"'s on your significant other's wall every other day, you won't even make it to the first grievance on this list. Text each other. Call each other. Be with each other. I feel like the third wheel of a hang out sesh I didn't even RSVP to and now I'm super uncomfortable, making comments about the episode of Shark Tank that, apparently, I'm the only one watching. Deuces.

You Post Pictures of Your Paleo Meals - "OMG guys this Dairy Free Dark Chocolate Coconut Pudding is so much better than regular pudding." Easyyy, there's no reason to be a fucking liar. I have followed your fitness journey long enough to see ab definition and a singular chin, I'm over it now. Ya look good. Why do you continue to accost me with nightly snapshots of your hunter-gatherer dinner? If you think I'm going to believe that your cauliflower crust pizza is better than my Papa John's Double Bacon 6-Cheese you're wrong. Eat some gluten, live a little. See ya later.

You're a Staunch Republican - Subscribe to whatever political affiliation you wish, that's all you, girl. Hell, open up an educated conversation about current issues, we could use a few more intelligent people speaking their minds. The second you start attacking a specific group of people or way of life simply because TFM sold you a "Reagan Bush '84" tank is the second I stop respecting your opinion. Having a view on a governmental matter is not a segue into being a douche. Seacrest out.

You Don't Ring a Bell - I literally don't know who you are. Awkward squint and head tilt.

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The Truth Behind the Backhanded Compliment

If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.
Likewise, if you think you're saying something nice but receive a head tilt and a, "Haha, thanks, I guess," you still shouldn't say anything at all and maybe recognize that you're a bit of an oblivious bitch.

I understand that some people don't grasp the concept of tact and have no control over what comes out of their mouths. I am one of these people, to a point, but my lack of discretion usually rears its offensive head in the form of telling drunken tales of yore at Easter dinner. Mama taught a girl right, and I'm extremely aware of my words when they could affect the personal feelings of others (unless I'm intentionally trying to snub you, in which case, prepare to cry).

Backhanded compliments are usually harmless, but just because you didn't mean it the way it sounded doesn't make you sound like any less of a jerk. Here's what your victim really heard:

"You look pretty in this picture!" = "Wow, you finally managed to find an angle that doesn't make you look like a disgruntled baboon someone smacked in the face with a soccer cleat. Only in this singular instance do you look decent; rest assured, none of your other pictures compare to this one and you should probably keep it up as long as possible, seriously."

"You're so brave to be wearing that" = "You look like a huge whore."

"I didn't know you had it in you!" = "I have literally always believed that you were a spineless sloth who would amount to nothing and could never put extra effort into any goal besides finishing his/her Qdoba in one sitting. I am really, seriously, genuinely shocked by this accomplishment. Give me a minute to process my overwhelming disbelief that you could do something substantial with your life."

"You look so skinny" = "Notice I did not say, "You are so skinny." See? Ya see that? Your wide belt and/or structured jacket isn't fooling anyone. A for effort, though." OR "I can't wait to text Catherine about your anorexia."

"Don't worry, you can date him" = "I'm giving you my unwarranted permission to get with my ex. However, by no means are you exempt from incessant Facebook stalking and you can be sure that whenever you casually mention him in conversation I'll be quick to jump in with a, "Oh yeah, I remember when he used to do that" or, "Does that lip smacking thing annoy you too? LOL eskimo sisterssss."   

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Love and Order CVU: Creeper Victim's Unit - John Tucker Must Die

After the story of my embarrassing life hit the internet, I was inundated with texts and Facebook messages from other girls who had experienced similarly catastrophic dates. In the interest of group commiseration, I decided to create a series that would tell other girls that they're not alone, and tell weird guys that maybe they should pump the brakes a smidge. If you have a story that you would like shared, feel free to send it my way!

In the Serial Dating System, the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups: the bros who do creepy shit and the ladies who have to text their friends, "SAVE MEEE." These are their stories.

Last summer I started hanging out and hooking up with this 27-year-old babe who appropriately earned the name John Tucker. We got along great and the sex was awesome, but he never fully wanted to commit, and I knew he had another girl that lived in Philadelphia. Proximity and convenience trumps everything, so I had the upper hand (except when she would come to visit. Whatever).

This past July was about the one year mark of us doing whatever we were doing, and I asked him about this girl--who we'll call Philly--and what she was to him. He promised me it was nothing.

Wrong, obviously. He ended things with me to be with her, and she ended up living with him for the summer. WELL, we all played on the same softball team together and as much as I wanted to be a bitch, I really did like this girl because she was actually super nice. Fuck me, right?

Fast forward to the end of July, and John Tucker left Philly at one bar to come to another bar with me, a minor detail I wasn't aware of until later. She ends up meeting us at that bar anyway, and while we're all standing in line he breaks up with her with me standing right next to him, telling her he's not over me. So. Awkward.

So Philly moved back to Philly, and everything between John Tucker and I was great. It really seemed like we were a legit couple...up until he went an entire weekend without talking to me, that is. It was Labor Day Weekend and I get on Facebook to discover that he went to the beach with her. Spectacular.

Safe to say that things were over for good when I screen shotted him a pic of them together and he responded with, "Yeah I need to talk to you about that." Yeah, don't bother.

--Fresh Princess of Bel Air

Love and Order CVU: Creeper Victim's Unit - Pug Luvr

After the story of my embarrassing life hit the internet, I was inundated with texts and Facebook messages from other girls who had experienced similarly catastrophic dates. In the interest of group commiseration, I decided to create a series that would tell other girls that they're not alone, and tell weird guys that maybe they should pump the brakes a smidge. If you have a story that you would like shared, feel free to send it my way!

In the Serial Dating System, the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups: the bros who do creepy shit and the ladies who have to text their friends, "SAVE MEEE." These are their stories.

 

After my boyfriend and I broke up from our approximately four-and-a-half-year relationship, I went on a blind date with a guy who was 26. I figured older, more mature, distraction, all good. Let me just say THANK GOD we went out for drinks because if I wasn't drunk I don't know what I would have done.

 

So he's starts out seemingly normal, everything is going well. Then he proceeds to tell me that he's never had a girlfriend--not even middle school, hand holding, not-a-real-relationship relationship--so I figured I'd switch the subject and randomly talk about how I really want a husky. He tells me he hates big dogs (he's 6'4...) but he is obsessed with pugs--not because he thinks that they're so ugly they're cute, but because he thinks they are the most beautiful creatures in the world. He even has an "I love pugs" t-shirt that he frequently wears out to bars (amazing that he's never found the right girl, right?).

 

For whatever reason, I agreed to a second date, figuring I could just take shots beforehand. He took me to P.F. Changs, and all of a sudden he started asking me personal sex questions like, "What's your favorite position?" and, "Oh you were a gymnast? I bet you're real flexible!" "Do you like it dirty?!"

 

Needless to say the ride home was extremely awkward. And I proceeded to immediately defriend him on Facebook.

 

--Balto Babe





My Life in T-Shirts

If I were ever on an episode of "Hoarders," they wouldn't find me buried underneath years of old newspapers, dead cats and broken Precious Moments figurines; it'd be something more along the lines of leadless mechanical pencils, shoe boxes, and event t-shirts. I would have no problem getting rid of my grandmother's centuries-old china set, but I'd literally fight whoever tried to dispose of my pee-wee soccer jersey.
 
I finally bit the bullet the other morning and decided that owning multiple fraternity philanthropy event t-shirts--identical in everything but color--really wasn't that important. I also probably didn't need the high school spirit shirts from activities I didn't even do or the professional sports team shirts for teams I don't even like.

I did, however, find some gems, and realized just how interesting my life has been through giveaway t-shirts alone. Follow me on an adventure through my life in 100% cotton:

MCI Commercial Try-Out Shirt: If there was ever hope that I could be a child star, it was shot down when I tried out for an MCI commercial at age five. Here's the thing: I don't like liars. The girl who was conducting this audition handed me a telephone and told me that Goofy was on the other end and that I should talk to him. Excuse me, bitch, but I can see you standing right in front of me with another fake phone to your ear putting on your worst Goofy impression, and I'm not amused. I remember just standing there, looking at this girl completely confused and a bit offended that she would take my childhood innocence for stupidity. I did not get the part, surprisingly, but my mom did get me a popsicle right after so it was still a success.

Cool Frogs Field Day Shirt: Field day was the most wonderful time of the year in elementary school. You got to wear your bathing suit to school and run around outside all day throwing water balloons at the kid you liked to show him how much you cared. Also, since I'm a June baby, Field Day almost always fell around or on my birthday. In second grade, I had an awesome teacher who helped us make these t-shirts, and ignoring the fact that the frog eyes I chose are particularly creepy, it's a pretty sweet artifact of my younger days. Even cooler is the fact that good ol' Facebook has connected me with the majority of the people on the back.

"Cheerleading" Shirt: In sixth grade, to promote a healthy rivalry and make sure that we would all enter middle school knowing which elementary school dominated the community, the PTA put on a friendly basketball game between our school and another. Naturally, I opted for the spirit section, because A) sports involving my hands are a no-go and B) I had just seen "Bring it On" and now had dreams to fulfill. I took the role to heart, doing high kicks and screaming my tiny little lungs out while simultaneously wishing the rest of the girls had their shit together enough so we could properly execute a basket toss. Instead, we performed our halftime show which involved half of us forgetting what we were supposed to cheer and one girl holding a sign upside down, leading us to inspire our team to "GO! PANDAS! OG!"

People Got to be Free! Shirt: In seventh grade, I was in show choir. Our teacher decided that we should be the cautionary songbirds of our generation and take our talents on the road, performing a live-action Don't Do Drugs PSA for all of the elementary schools in the area. We took [ahem] "popular" songs of the 70s and 80s to communicate our message, such as Lonesome Loser by Little River Band (1979). Basically, I'm all for telling little kids that crack is whack, but these were my formative years, and between my snaggletooth and the fact that my body was developing from the feet up (it was a mess to watch me dance, seriously), this was not helping my street cred whatsoever.

Seventh Grade Musical Shirt: I was in the school musical in seventh grade as well, because God forbid I waste my talents on "Get high on life!" sing-a-longs alone. Krazy Kamp was about a summer camp, and it was crazy. That's pretty much all I remember. I was an ensemble member, aka I tried out for the lead and got shot down. If you're guessing a theme to my life so far, you're on the right track.

Chuck E. Cheese Shirt: One of my best friends has a penchant for doing ridiculous things for her birthday. In college, she had a party at Taco Bell. When she turned 18, she had a pizza party at Cici's and then we went to the mall where something that qualifies for a 10 year secret happened and I'd rather not discuss it. When she turned 16, we went to Chuck E. Cheese. That's probably the last time I've ever been to that place, but it's an entirely new world when suddenly you know how to effectively cheat at skee ball and you realize that the guy dressed has Chuck has a particularly pungent cologne of weed and dumpster smell emanating from his fur. I'd like to think I won this shirt from my booty of tokens, but I probably bought it; and I'd like to say I regret it, but I definitely don't.

Official Hooters Tank: I take my Halloween costumes extremely seriously. I'm all about authenticity and when I go for something, I give it my all. My freshman year of college I decided I wanted to be a Hooters girl for Halloween, and went so far as to go on the Hooters website to see what the qualifications for employment actually were, just in case I was so comfortable in the tank top that I chose to pursue it as a career. I had my orange shorts, my tube socks, ugly white Reeboks that I happened to own, and hit up three different restaurants in order to score myself this little number. I keep it, thinking that maybe I'll break it out again some day, when in reality I put too much stock in the holiday do to repeatsies.

No Kangaroos in Austria Shirt: The majority of the people that I went on my study abroad trip to Austria with came back with souvenirs that were special to the country and reflected the culture that we had immersed ourselves in for a month and a half. I....came back with this. Do you know how many "Dumb and Dumber," "Let's put another shrimp on the barbie!" moments I put people through? Do you? It was the joke that never got old. I bought my family authentic beer steins and Bavarian blown-glass ornaments, so it's not like I completely dropped the ball, but this shirt was just too perfect to leave behind. Full disclosure: I also bought it in magnet form.

Louisville National Champions Shirt: My school is better than your school in every sense of the word. Yes, I had been graduated for almost a year when this happened, but they could (and will) do it again and again for many years to come, and I will get every single one of those commemorative t-shirts as well. Kentucky pride runs deep, y'all.

I have a feeling the next chapter of my life will involve a lot fewer t-shirts and more promotional goodies like mouse pads and letter openers emblazoned with company logos, and I'm fine with that, but there's just something about wearable memorabilia that makes a life event that much more significant. If I'm not presented with a "You got engaged!" shirt right after my man pops the question, or a "You got your hip replaced!" one when I turn 85 then it's like those things didn't even happen.

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Birthday Gift Guide 2013

As you all are probably aware, my birthday is in a week.

Don’t panic, everything is fine; you still have time to set up a lavish get-together with 1,012 of my closest Facebook friends. I promise to act completely surprised when the Cinderella-esque horse-drawn carriage arrives at my door to bring me to a romantic, table-cloth-clad dinner at White Castle—or if you’re really trying to woo me, Arby’s (basically anywhere that makes stellar mozzarella sticks).

Love you

Dinner’s over and it’s present time. Tickets to a Kip Moore concert? You shouldn’t have!

No really. You shouldn’t have. We’ll let it slide this time, but had you followed the list below, you might not have to live in fear that I’ll be getting you back on your birthday with a photo album of everything my friends have eaten for dinner over the past six months, courtesy of Instagram.

Here is the Skylar Birthday Gift Guide 2013. Links included for your convenience!

FoodSaver V3880 Vacuum Sealer - The Master Chef Kit ($183) – I have a sick obsession with anything infomercial-related. The As Seen on TV store is my heaven. I already own a Magic Bullet, a PedEgg, a Stretch Genie, and a Quick Chop, but the FoodSaver would really put my collection over the edge. Have you ever used one of these things? It’s fucking magic. We have one at the winery I work at, and the amount of satisfaction I get out of watching all of the air get sucked out of salami and cheddar cheese is wonderfully embarrassing. I want to vacuum seal everything I own. I would vacuum seal my dog (neck down) if PETA wouldn’t come find me. Please make my dreams come true.

Virginia AND/OR Kentucky Home T ($25) – These are the only two places in my life so far that I have felt completely at ease. Virginia is home to my parents, my best friend and Wegman’s Chocolate Chip Muffins. Kentucky is home to my other best friends, the best school in the entire world, and the version of myself who pronounces fine “fahn.” I will accept both of these shirts and wear them interchangeably so as not to offend either location.

Jaguar Hood Ornament Replacement ($52.50) – Someone who wanted to do hoodrat stuff with their friends jacked my leaping emblem of glory right off of Nigel’s face last year, completely depleting him of any and all dignity. If you know how to reattach one of these babies that would be ideal, as I…don’t. But really, who steals hood ornaments?

Buddy Bounce Outdoor Play Ball (2 for $34.98 each) – Who doesn’t want these? They’d be the be-all-end-all to any confrontation I’ll ever have for the rest of my life. Roommate ate my Cheesecake Factory leftovers? Co-worker made me look bad in front of my boss? Boyfriend comes home smelling like Britney Spears Curious and Fruit Punch Burnetts? Break out the Buddy Bounces and let’s solve this the real way. A welcome alternative would be Sock ‘Em Boppers.

Vino2Go XL Wine Sippy Cup ($16.99) – I am a classy woman on the go. I also have a newfound appreciation for reds. Pouring my Cab into an empty Dasani bottle en route to the pregame seems a bit uncouth, but spills are even more so, and that’s where this nifty little number comes in. It holds 12 ounces and comes in a variety of colors, and I swear I’d keep my pinky up through every sip slash gulp.

An e-mail from a magazine offering me a job (priceless) – Seriously. This is all I want. I thrive in a fast-paced environment, expertly meet deadlines and have a sharp wit inspired by Phyllis Diller and Chelsea Handler. I will stop cut back on cursing in my writing if that’s the main issue. My resume is hotter and readier than a cheese pizza.

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How to do The Pose (i.e. How to Look Deceptively Skinny in Pictures)

Ah, being skinny. The elusive mark of superiority that tells the world either A) I was born this way, B) My workout routine makes Ivan Drago look like a pansy, or C) I ate the entire sleeve of Thin Mints but puked it all up afterwards, deal with it.

It is one thing to be skinny in everyday life. There is a significant decrease in chub rub when you wear short shorts to music festivals in 90-degree heat, for starters. You can also absent-mindedly massage your hip bones while you wait in line at Express to purchase your size 0 jeggings and crop tops. Your life is filled with showers of compliments like, “I want to borrow your dress but it’ll never look that good on me,” and, “Your collarbones are so prominent!” Sweet victory.

For normal people, however, looking skinny is a skill crafted through Facebook profile pics; it’s all about finding the light, knowing your angles, and rotating your leg juuuust like that to make your butt look smaller. Photo deception is a talent that every girl—no matter what her dress size—learns within her first two weeks of college and perfects over the course of those four years, so much so that she’ll beg her advisor to add it as a second major on her diploma. It’s just what we do. If you have ever gathered a group of girlfriends together to get a group shot before a night out, you have undoubtedly heard the following phrases:

“Ugh Brittany will you switch with me? This is my bad side!”

“Hold on I need to do a hair flip. Big hair little hips, duh.”

“Suck it in ladies!”

“Ew. When did I grow three chins?? Take one more.”

Got it down to a science

Guys do not understand the carefully-crafted ballet that is the female picture-taking experience. When they pose for pictures, all they really worry about is what to do with their hands—a problem solved by holding a beer, throwing the shocker, or simply shoving them in their pockets.

I recently attempted to explain the logistics of the female photo pose to a guy friend of mine. He was left just as mystified as before, but it made me realize that there are rules to The Pose and its variations, and as absurd as those rules might be to the layman, they’re pretty effing important if you want at least ten ‘likes’ on your default picture within three minutes of posting it. Let’s review:



Baby Spice to Posh: YOU CAN'T SIT WITH US.

1.       The Hand on Hip – Arm flab is a dead giveaway that the closest thing you do to exercise is spend six hours repinning Crossfit workouts that you’d totally do if you weren’t so busy. Easy fix? Pop that hand on your hip and watch bicep definition appear out of thin air. If you are the member of the posse that got shafted to the end of the line, it is your responsibility to represent the hotness of the group as a whole by poking your elbow out for the world to see. Who runs the world? Your upper arm, girl.

       Side note: pay attention to your fingers. Thumb goes towards the back, the rest relax around your hip/waist. Claw hands are weird. Don’t be weird.

2.       The Twist and Shout (aka just The Twist) – One of my friends recently let me in on a little “secret,” saying that the edges of a picture are always slightly less in-focus and thus more expanded than the rest, so people on the ends always look a bit wider. I was coming off a two-month-long eat-pancakes-in-bed-while-watching-Gilmore-Girls bender, so this was probably an act of sympathy, but should it still hold some truth I think it’s important that everyone masters the beauty of The Twist: with your hand firmly on your hip, plant your feet and rotate your upper body so your shoulders are facing the camera, but your hips are still at an angle. OH MY GOD where did those three pounds go?! Exactly.

3.       The Tilt – I actually hate The Tilt. Unless you’re losing a fight with gravity or have a debilitating case of scoliosis, no one naturally stands with that much of an arch in their back. It doesn’t do much in the ways of making you look tinier anyway, except if you’re trying to literally bring yourself closer to the ground and/or spontaneously practice the bridge you learned in your second grade gymnastics class. The Head Tilt, The Tilt’s slightly cooler semi-functioning cousin, can sometimes create a shadow along the outer jaw that creates the illusion of not-jowls, but generally you just look like you’re in pain. Posture is our friend, everyone.

4.       The Jut – This is actually one of those tricks that they taught in etiquette classes back in the ‘40s, I kid you not. Jutting your head out just a bit creates definition in your neck and keeps your double chin at bay much more successfully than the Head Tilt. It also makes you look interested in and grateful to the poor shmuck you wrangled into taking umpteen photos of you and your friends at the bar. The Jut can go horribly wrong if you get overzealous and start to mimic Sling Blade, so try to keep your jut at a reasonable level. As a general rule, jutting to the point that you can slightly feel it is fine; jutting so that you head butt your friend Rebecca in the nose is probably too far.

Well done

5.       The Knee Pop – The most controversial move on the list. A Knee Pop serves to tighten your leg muscles and give you a bit of extra flair should your Hand on Hip and Tilt be flawless or you’re an overachiever. I myself utilize the Knee Pop from time to time to show off my fabulous calf muscles (it’s not bragging if it’s true). Sometimes, though, the Knee Pop can actually accentuate weird thighs and make you look shorter, which is a pro if you’re an Amazon but generally a con for the rest of the population.  Also, take note that it is a knee POP, not a preparatory move to start the Can-Can. If your friend Anna thinks you’re about to knee her in the boob, you’re doing too much. You should be forewarned that if not executed with conviction the Knee Pop can come off as a bit timid, like, “When this picture’s over I’ll go back to standing in the corner by myself, twiddling my thumbs and eating my hair.” That’s typically something we like to avoid.

Are there any Pose tips I missed? Sharing is caring, ladies, and we’ll all benefit from knowing the ins and outs of looking good in pictures. Statistically, 75% of us will have some kind of online dating profile that we’ll need to bluff our way through in the next few years, so you might as well start the lies at your unbelievably phenomenal photo and end with the fact that you’re a “triathlete” (aka you like to drink margs by the pool, ride on the back of motorcycles, and half-assedly jog across the street when a car’s approaching).

Like what you read? I'm this entertaining 24/7 on Twitter. Follow me @BTDubs_Skylar!

Vote or Die

It’s Election Day.

 

This used to mean exercising your rights and making your voice heard at the polls.

Now, it means sitting at your computer and ranting about your well-rounded, fully-informed opinions via Facebook. And probably not voting but definitely letting everyone know that “If so-and-so wins, I’m moving to Canada.”

 

I don’t post my political beliefs on Facebook for two reasons:

#1 I don’t believe it’s my place to shove my views down everyone’s throats.

#2 That’s what my blog is for. Teehee.

 

I would like to take this time to have a one-sided discussion with some of the Facebook statuses appearing on my newsfeed, because I figure if someone can disparage the issues that I believe to be most important to this country, I should do the same to their ego. Vote Skylar 2012.

 

“Well Obama...It's been fun. Oh wait...No it hasn't.”

You are a frat star who wears $200 sunglasses and went to a private Catholic high school; I really doubt that any of Obama’s policies over the last four years have affected you all that dramatically.

 

“Cliché something or another about how you should vote! But, really, you should!”

This is completely unrelated to the election, but I really hate when people think posting statuses like this is funny. It’s not. It’s not ever funny. Next time, don’t. I appreciate your unbiased approach though.

 

“Super excited to vote for the 1st time! I just wish George Bush was on the ballot!”

You should be very embarrassed and might consider waiting another four years. Also, I'm pretty sure you only feel this way because your boyfriend votes Republican.

 

“Here's to endless war and warrantless wiretapping and the destruction of individual rights.”

Very subtle. Granted, this isn’t entirely accurate in terms Romney’s true goals for the presidency, but at least you got the gist of it and subsequently started a Facebook status argument. Those are my crack.

 

“I'm predicting Obama will take an early lead tomorrow... Until all the Republicans get off work. #RomneyRyan2012”

This was clever the first time I saw it. Then everyone started slapping it up on the interweb as if their cunning ass came up with it all by themselves. Then I got hostile, because I hate copycats.

 

“I’m voting for Regina George, because she got hit by a bus.”

“I’m voting for Cady Heron, because she pushed her.”

Mean Girls quotes are overdone, but your timing on this was excellent. Touché.

 

Whether you’re an elephant or a donkey, or one of the other political positions that sorryI’mnotsorry will probably never win an election, get out there and do your thing. If you’re not informed about the issues, that’s why God invented Google. If you’re actively choosing not to exercise your right, it’s safe to assume that your founding fathers are not Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin, but Mike D, MCA, and Ad-Rock…and that you won’t understand that joke for at least another three days.  USA! USA! USA!

It's Me! The Picture You Didn't Share

I can't even look at you right now.

I told you your mom would die, Jesus would smite you, and that precious little girl with leukemia would also develop AIDS unless you "liked" or "shared" the picture, and you just kept scrolling down your newsfeed, not thinking twice about the damage you were doing. 

Do you know who I am? 

Do you know what I'm capable of?! 

I'M THE INTERNET, BITCH.

You really think that those posts don't matter? I'm sure you remember the "Don't step on a crack or you'll break your mother's back" chant that everyone sang in elementary school as they walked down the sidewalk. Welcome to the modern adaptation. Obviously, by bypassing the post, you despise your mom, the woman who gave you LIFE and tolerated your bullshit when you were 13 and thought frosted pink LipSmackers were a good look. Now, everyone that is either overwhelmingly superstitious or isn't aware that such things appear on your newsfeed is considered a much better child than you will ever be, all because they clicked the thumbs up. 

You are also obviously completely ashamed of your love for Jesus. What's that? You're Buddhist? Fuck if I care, this is America, and as is the case with gay marriage and abortion laws, you are not allowed to think anything different without being chastised relentlessly. What's that smell you say? Sorry, I ate Chik-fil-A earlier. Waffle fries, nom. Anyway, all I'm saying is, you are going straight to hell and are now going to be known by all 1,100 of your best friends as a hethen. 

As if we all (including God) didn't hate you already, you really sealed your fate by bypassing the photo of sweet little Hannah, 7, suffering with leukemia. Every single "like" equals a dollar that could magically cure her, because THAT'S how charity works. Hannah is a fighter, and you are a weakling who doesn't have any compassion in their whole body. You volunteered with the Make a Wish Foundation last summer and spent an entire month in the youth cancer ward? Erroneous, because you didn't share Hannah's story. Asshole. 

You can try to explain yourself, but we've all judged you already (HARD) and have come to the firm conclusion that you're a self-centered, heartless loser. I will continue to bombard your Facebook with similar posts because my beliefs are superior to yours, and I insist on driving this point home one share at a time. Think long and hard about the life you're living, because it's clear that your lack of dedication to the online realm is leading you nowhere fast.

Technical Difficulties

I am a bad computer mommy.

To whom it may concern: I have not/will not/cannot be posting as much hilarious stuff for your reading pleasure in the next few weeks because Wanda, my laptop, has kicked the bucket.

This probably could've been prevented.
- When her battery started to go and she needed to be constantly plugged in, I simply scoped out every outlet in a 2-mile radius and kept on keeping on.
- When I incurred second-degree burns on my thighs while Facebooking in bed, I should've realized that her fan was working overtime and that she needed to see the IT doctor in order to fix her fever.
- When my speakers went silent and I could no longer blast Christina Aguilera Pandora at 100-level volume, I cheated on Wanda by getting my "Dirrty" fix through Nadine, my phone.
- When she warned me with a random shut-down, I let her have her space for about an hour, only to turn her on again and have her work for me like nothing happened. I am a slut (to be fair, so is she).
- When she died for good, she made sure I felt the error of my ways by doing so on the day that I had two huge interviews to conduct that required e-mail correspondence and audio transcription.

For all of this, I am deeply ashamed and inexplicably sorry.

So this is just a case of too little too late. I'm also broke as a joke and will probably sell my kidney, eggs, and blood plasma simultaneously in order to rack up some funds to buy a new Wanda. Of course, I'll pick a new name, because the memories will just be too painful.

R.I.P. Wanda H. Packard. You were a good piece of machinery. Thank you for never judging my lack of tech-savvy, ignoring the crumbs in the keyboard, and keeping just how often I actually YouTube scenes from "Best in Show" on the downlow. 

Thrust into the Real World: Month 1

It would be wonderful if I could tell you that, since graduating on May 12, I had secured my dream job and was moving to Boston to become a successful twenty-something with a fabulous loft apartment and a newfound taste for Chai Tea lattes.

This could probably not be more false.

Instead, my entrance into the real world has consisted of downloading a weight loss app, riding a mechanical bull, and buying a pair of wedges on mega clearance ($70 down to $17, I’m still not over it). My one saving grace is the fact that my name has finally been printed in the magazine I’m interning for, and even with that I’m trying not to overanalyze just how much of an asset they consider me to be after listing my name last out of all interns (alphabetizing be damned).

Is this how it’s supposed to be?

Is it still acceptable that I’m eating Ramen and canned tuna and considering them both to be balanced meals?

Isn’t my resume magically supposed to be overflowing with achievements and valuable experience by now?

Aren’t I supposed to be discovered by some Hollywood agent who sees promise in my mildly offensive humor and ignores my lack of acting experience, making me the new long-lost cousin on Modern Family?

When exactly do I have to stop taking satisfaction in passive aggressive Facebook status fights between couples?

What the hell is this whole “adulthood” bullshit?

I did not spend four years of my life Sparknotesing Shakespeare just to learn that half of the apartments advertised on Craigslist are actually in the ghetto and that coin laundry is not, in fact, a thing of the past. Getting frustrated with the whole apartment-search experience has, however, led me to my newest hobby/obsession: Craigslist personals ads, specifically Men Seeking Trannies. But I digress.

Hopefully, I’ll find a job sometime in the near future that does not require me to ask “Are you looking for jeans today?” or “Would you like the receipt with you or in the bag?” Until then, I just hope that at least a few other post-grad lives out there look as bleak and unassuming as mine. Now if you’ll excuse me, One Day is on HBO for the twelfth time in the past three weeks and I’d like to go criticize Anne Hathaway’s debatably “British” accent.