#PCB #YOLO #Lostmydignity

FUUCK BITHCES GET MONEYTYYYY!

HOW DID I GET SAND IN THERE?!

DUMP EM!

What’s up bro? Are you having a fucking sick time? Did you see that hot slut over there? What about the cottage cheese whale over there? FUCKED EM BOTH, YEAH I DID! What? WHAT? Dude I can’t hear you over all the dubstep! Tone it down a notch? Do you know who I fucking am, bro?

IT’S ME, PCB, BABY!

Dude I got so fucking hammered last night…. HAHA I’m fucking kidding, I’m still hammered. And I ain’t sobering up for shiiiiit. Yo can you hold on a second? I’ve gotta photobomb that group pic over there real quick.

THREW UP THE SHOCKER, YOU ALREADY KNOW!

Dude so tonight I was thinking pregame aka finish off the 30-rack I bought an hour ago and then let’s roll to La Vela? I know a guy who knows a guy who heard of someone that had a threesome on one of the beds there. Help me pick out which TapOut shirt to wear.

RACK CITY BITCH.

I don’t know why I just said that.

Let’s go talk to that group of girls over there. Do you think they can tell I went tanning (shh don’t tell anyone) and spent a month in the gym drinking nothing but Muscle Milk just as easily as I can tell they spent a week in the gym eating nothing but carrots dipped in Energy Vitamin Water? God I hope so.

Hey ladies! Having a good time? Where are you all from? Ohio University? I heard they never party there! Hahajustkidding so when are you gonna show me your tits? Hahajustkidding but no really I know you’re wasted you might as well just get it over with. Only if your Big does it too? ‘Oh it’s Spring Break why not’? THAT’S THE SPIRIT. Don’t worry, I still respect you.

Oh sure, I’d love to take a picture of you all jumping. Everyone ready? Hold hands!

1-2-3-JUMP!

Wait sorry, the DUFF on the far right got like half an inch of air, try again.

1-2-3-JUMP!

Girl in the middle might wanna put her Corona down. We get it, you’re a party animal.

1-2-3-JUMP!

Decent, let’s try one more for good luck.

1-2-3-JUMP!

Perfect. You’ll realize later that I just took four consecutive zoomed-in pictures of the brunette’s boob that conveniently popped out. Untag!

Do you girls like Luke Bryan? Heard he’s playing a show later, we should all meet up there! I hope Avicii makes a surprise appearance and remixes “Rain is a Good Thing,” wouldn’t that be awesome? Here, let me get one of your numbers aka hot blonde girl with the better body than everyone else who will conveniently find herself in my bed tonight. Peace!

Dude is the week over already? I barely remember anything but I’m pretty sure I had a fucking bomb-ass time. Did we ever find Rob after that night at Harpoon Harry’s? And did you see Veronica win the ass-shaking contest? Definitely hitting her up when we get back to school. Did you ever get that huge shard of the Bud Light Lime bottle out of your foot? You should probably get that checked out, bro.

What’s that? No I totally raw-dogged that calling-her-a-4-would-be-generous from University of Kentucky, why? No, I asked, she was all clean. I ASKED bro, it’s fine. Why? Yeah it does kind of burn when I pee, so what? Nah that’s not Chlamydia, that’s the hot sensation of Spring Break, baby! We went fuckin’ HAM, dawg!

The Anatomy of an All-Nighter

You’re sitting in class, half-paying attention because while you find your professor to be wildly intelligent, you realized three weeks ago that Human Perspectives on Sex Roles was never going to play an integral role in your life and you’d rather beat your high score in Tetris on your phone. You tune in when she reminds the class that the midterm will be in two weeks and that the three books you were supposed to have read thus far will comprise the majority of the exam. A wave of responsibility washes over and you decide that that information is important, so you break out the trusty agenda that you (and your GPA) could not survive without and go to jot down the reminder. You open up to today’s date and glance across the page as you flip it, only to violently flip back to look at the assignment written in tomorrow’s block:

“First Short Paper Due”

You wrote it in hot pink pen with stars around it like a third grader, how could you have missed this? Have you seriously not opened this agenda since last Thursday? Did you even go to class last Thursday? #Senioryearproblems. ‘Well eff,’ you think to yourself. Two years ago this would have sent you into a frantic tailspin, cancelling all plans and immediately going to the library to get started. Fortunately, you now know that a trip to the gym, scoring a turkey flatbread from Subway, and updating Twitter are much greater priorities, and you finally give the paper a second thought at about 8:30 pm.

After some online shopping and a trip to the vending machine, you give the paper a third thought and figure looking at the assignment sheet will grant you thirty minutes of Facebooking. You earned it, worker bee. The paper is for your philosophy class, which clearly doesn’t mean anything of value (What do philosophy majors grow up to be, Socrates?), so when the assignment reads: “Discuss how a focus on culture and identities speaks to the nature of philosophy as a discipline that is partly driven by historical awareness,” you read it over three more times and see what you can find on Pinterest.

10:30 pm. Well shit, time flies when you’re obsessively looking at how to crochet your own coasters even though you’ve never sewn in your life and the condition of your stolen-from-the-side-of-the-road coffee table might actually improve by a few drink rings. Let’s read that assignment again… Nope, still doesn’t make sense. As your fingers hover over your mouse like the possessed hand from the Addams Family and try to get you to check if anyone’s commented on your witty status update, you fight the urge and instead reach for everyone’s favorite party animal, Adderall. You’re about to be a MACHINE. You’re about to be INVINCIBLE. You’re about… to read every Wikipedia page for every band you’ve ever liked and take meticulous notes on their discography so you can proceed to update your iTunes with any missing songs. If you weren’t the biggest Neil Diamond fan of all time before, you definitely are now. Sweeeeeet Caroliiiine…

You announce to no one in particular that “it’s already tomorrow!” and figure 1:00 am is as good a time as any to get started. How long did this thing have to be again? FIVE PAGES?! Cool your jets, we both know you’re going to adjust the periods and commas to size 14. But still, FOUR AND A QUARTER PAGES?! On “culture and identities”?! This is why all philosophy majors are hippies, there’s no way anyone would obtain their degree if they weren’t constantly blazed and realized how stupid their classes were. Luckily, you and Addy have hit a symbiotic stride and you breeze through the first four paragraphs in like five minutes. At this rate, you’ll be home in time to see tonight’s re-run of E News. Part of you knows that the logical thing to do would be to proofread what you’ve already got down, but the more intelligent part of you knows that you’ll be very disappointed in what you see and that it’s better for everyone if you just let the nonsense lie. If ignorance is bliss, you’re about to be the happiest dumbass on the planet.

A social lap around the library conjured neither entertaining gossip nor an idea for the next four pages you had to write, so you return to your seat and start picking at your split ends. Over the course of the next hour and a half you plunk a few quotes that have nothing to do with anything in the middle of your paragraphs and BS a few sentences with every synonym of “identity” that Microsoft Word’s Thesaurus has to offer. After sending a mass text announcing that you are “literally” going to kill yourself if you have to look at these words for another five seconds, you decide that the paper is going to suck regardless and you might as well just cut your losses and go home.

You start to feel guilty about being such a procrastinator/bad student/lazy bum and try to squeeze one more paragraph of nonsense onto the page. It’s 4:45. After performing the anti-climactic task of double-spacing the entire paper only to find that it’s at three pages plus a sentence, you quickly throw together a bibliography and hit “Save.” Like a mother who has just given birth to a Rick Roll-level ginger, you can barely look at your paper without gagging in disgust. You print it, wash your hands clean of the entire experience, and proceed to sit on your couch watching the Magic Bullet infomercial on repeat for the next four hours because your Adderall is still kickin’. Oh what a night.

Gifts No One Wants on Valentine's Day

The movie Valentine’s Day was on HBO tonight and while it’s a well-known fact that I don’t condone anything associated with Taylor Swift or her whiny “Pick Me Choose Me Love Meeee” music, I somehow still got sucked into watching the entire thing. Again. In between calling bullshit on the fact that Bradley Cooper could ever be gay and that Anne Hathaway’s character could moonlight as a phone sex operator from her cell phone (it’s required that you do it from a landline. I looked into it), I was mostly distracted by the obnoxious, gigantic teddy bear that TSwift’s character chose to carry around everywhere. All I could think about was how unromantic (and yeah, uncool) I would feel lugging a ginormous Winnie the Pooh on my back all day, and how anyone who was trying to win my affection would only have to hand me a plate of Cheesecake Factory four-cheese pasta and catch me on the flipside. 

I’m not sure what it is, but it seems that come February everyone is still burnt out from Christmas shopping and totally blows it in the V-Day gift-giving department. Yeah yeah, we know, “it’s the thought that counts,” but if your boyfriend/girlfriend put actual effort into any of the gifts mentioned below, you all either found each other on Craigslist or you’re pushing 40 and this is as good as it’s gonna get. Do your relationship a favor and refrain from exchanging the following gifts that no one wants to receive on this day o’ love.

Oh, and remember that there is no shame whatsoever in sending yourself an Edible Arrangement and calling it a night. Or so I’ve heard.

A puppy – In theory, this seems like a great idea. “It’s a symbol of our love! As we raise this little animal together it’s like we’re growing our bond! We can name it Cupid!” Then it pees all over your girlfriend’s carpet and cries all through the strip tease she’s trying to replicate from her Flirty Girl Fitness DVD, completely ruining an otherwise perfectly romantic moment. The most difficult part about a Valentine’s Day puppy is that by February 15 it has become a Forever puppy and suddenly everyone remembers that puppies like to be fed occasionally. Soon enough, your cutesy gift takes a cruel turn as you have to return it to the Humane Society and receive disapproving glares of hatred from the volunteers. How sweet.

Clothing in a size M, L, or XL – Logic is not a big part of Valentine’s Day. Or relationships. Or life in general, for that matter. The sooner you understand this, the better. Now I know what you’re thinking: “But she is a medium!” And yes, the medium sweater will fit her and be far more flattering and blah blah blah. But does she want to wear a medium? No. Does she want you to think she wears a medium? Absolutely not. Girls have some twisted reasoning when it comes to sizing, but as a general rule, anything with the letter “S” in it will suffice. Don’t worry about whether or not it fits, worry about whether or not you’ll be in the doghouse for assuming her correct size is made with an inch more of fabric.

A subscription to Maxim – You may think this is the coolest move you could pull in your quest to become Girlfriend of the Year, and in some ways it might be. You’re essentially giving him a free pass to look at hotties, proving how secure you are not only with yourself but also your relationship… But real talk, we both know that you’re overcompensating for the fact that he caught you looking through his texts and this is your peace offering. He knows just as well as you do that he has no chance with any of the girls in that magazine, but that won’t keep you from kidnapping each new issue and using the pages as your puppy’s crate liner because you “ran out” of newspaper.

Love Coupons –

“One free back massage.”

“Two free kisses on the forehead.”

“One five-minute session of ‘No, YOU hang up!’”

“One free offer to pick up a box of tampons for you.”

“Three minutes of being understanding when I see you talking to your ex-girlfriend.”

“One promise to buy you flowers tomorrow to make up for this stupid excuse for a present.”

Valentine’s Day on DVD – Seriously, this movie sucks.

The Walk of Shame vs. The Stride of Pride

Classic weekend scenario: You and your roommates decided while pregaming the pregame that you were going to go much harder in the paint than usual tonight (“Like, if I leave the bar with both my earrings and without stumbling like a newborn baby deer, the night is a failure”). Consequently, you took more shots than is respectful of your BMI and the kid who complimented your new top, touched your leg once during your conversation (“Ugh, he totally loves me”), and bought you three Vegas Bombs offered you a ride home.

To your home? Of course not.

Fast forward four hours and you wake up in a strange bed staring at posters of Brooklyn Decker and Beer Pong Rules. Roll over and check to see if Dude Bro is awake attractive. If yes, sneak to the bathroom, wash your face, make yourself look halfway decent, climb back in bed, and pretend you look this flawless every morning. If no, silently gather your things and GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE.

It is at this time that quick-decision-making skills are a must. You have two options, and they are integral in making the 20-30 minute trek you’re about to go through justifiable – or if nothing else, bearable. Ask yourself: do I want to maintain a shred of dignity, or am I chalking this up to experience and understanding that having “WELCOME TO COLLEGE!” yelled at me from passers-by is absolutely mandatory? Either way, here’s a survival guide to both scenarios.

Merit Badge: you earned it

You chose: The Walk of Shame – Bold move. There are a few things you should reside yourself to from the get-go. First, even if you wiped the mascara from under your eyes and fixed your hair into a casual “I meant for it to look like this” messy bun, it’s still 9:30 am on Saturday and you’re still carrying your heels. Everyone knows it. See that old man taking his dog on a walk? He definitely knows it, because he’s probably seen several hot messes walk out of that same apartment building. Do not make eye contact with him. Hopefully your side bangs have nonchalantly fallen into your face to mask the amount of indignity you should be feeling, and hopefully you recognize your surroundings well enough to bee-line it home through back alleys and side streets. You should already be on the phone with your BFF demanding immediate pick-up in exchange for a Qdoba thank-you; however, if she enjoys having you embarrass yourself or happens to be making a Walk of Shame of her own, you should immediately change your tune and hope that no one you know will be driving by anytime soon. Not that it matters: anyone who has ever been to college will know what’s up and will be yelling hilariously rude things to you as they speed by. You have no control over this, and quite frankly, you fucking deserve it, so just keep your body/pride angled toward the ground and wonder how people who just have a glass or two of wine spend their mornings.



What an inspiration



You chose: The Stride of Pride – You either really couldn’t care less about what people think of you, or you’ve done this so many times before that you’re a seasoned pro. Whatever the case may be, you know for a fact that smudged eyeliner is inherently sexy and that a red banded mini dress is appropriate all hours of the day. If you carry your shoes, you’re swinging those babies around like a baton twirler. Of course, the experienced Strider of Pride has slipped her heels right back on and swags past the morning joggers like it’s for sale and the rent is due tonight. When people call to you from their cars, you throw up an “Oh hey girl!” hand and smile big. This is the closest you’ll ever get to being Ms. America so you better own the shit out of it. Sure, you’ve broken out your phone, but only to have a normal conversation with your boss/mom/rabbi about the weather or the recent State of the Union address. Finger comb that rat’s nest and throw those shoulders back: you’re a veteran of the Slut Strut, and you’ve gotta show these hoes-in-training how to do it up right.

Bad to the Tone

Any 17-year-old emo high schooler with an asymmetrical haircut and angsty poetry scribbled in Sharpie on their Converses will tell you how powerful music is and how Saosin really communicates their pain. How much “pain” you have when you’re living in suburbia and your parents bought you a brand new Ford Focus for your birthday is beyond me, but that’s neither here nor there. What I’m getting at is, people like to connect to music, and will find any nuance in a song to cling to because, really, how else are we going to know how to feel if Adele doesn’t belt it out for us? We empathize with these songs because they strike a certain personal cord and we see a direct, realistic correlation between the lyrics and our everyday lives.

Then again, some songs are just absurd.

I can imagine myself acting out the lyrics to the Eagles’ “Hotel California,” Nelly’s “Hot in Herre,” and Christina Aguilera’s “Genie in a Bottle” without much negative consequence, simply because these songs have a plausible storyline. Other songs, regardless of catchiness and overall sing-a-long-ability, are just too ridiculous to pass the test of probability. The connection between how the song sounds and what the song says is extremely important, and while the songs below are addictive musically, lyrically…dat shit cray. Let me know if you agree that if these songs were actually lived up to, the effect would be completely different than what was intended.   

Aaliyah’s “Come Over” – Aaliyah is easily one of my favorite artists of all time, and I’m not just saying that to seem sensitive and compassionate because she’s dead. Ridiculous voice, incredible songs, love her love her love her. “Are You That Somebody” and “We Need a Resolution” are classics and are jam-worthy any second of the day. Unfortunately, I get a little distracted when listening to “Can I Come Over.” It’s just…creepy. For the record, I’ve never actually used this tactic to see someone, mostly because people usually ask me to come hang out before I’d ever have to invite myself (I’m irresistible, what can I say). But stepping off a plane and immediately calling someone, begging to bang them is not sexy or enticing or even justifiable – it’s desperate. This is the theme song for every clingy girl that’s ever walked the planet and doesn’t get the hint that a guy may find having sexual intercourse with them to be a pleasurable experience but only at his convenience. Two in the morning? You’re just “wantin’ to hold [him], embrace [him], want to guide [him],” etc. etc.? Child please. Even if he does agree to let you stop by, he’s totally going to pretend to be asleep the next morning until you show yourself out. Have a little self-respect and demonstrate some assertiveness by jumping off that plane and demanding that he meet you at your house. Until then, maintain some dignity and just drive home.   

Maroon 5’s “Wake Up Call” – There probably isn’t any worse feeling than walking in on your significant other doing the dirty with someone that isn’t you. I wouldn’t know, because when people done do me wrong, they typically have the courtesy to be extremely sneaky about it and I don’t find out until three months after the fact. Chivalry isn’t dead! While I can admit that I’ve wondered how I would react under such circumstances, my talent for saying extremely offensive things when pissed off would be about as violent and hurtful as I’d get. In short, I could never shoot a person. If I could, I definitely wouldn’t waste the bullet on the “innocent” party in the whole sexcapade. Why on earth is Adam Levine wasting his time on the manwhore his girlfriend is boning on the side when he should be offing her? She knew what [and who] she was[n’t] doing! It’s like when a guy cheats on a girl and the girlfriend gets mad at the guy but then spreads terrible rumors about the girl, too. Sure, she may have been a slut, but that skanky ho-bag could be completely unaware of what she was a part of. It’s better to spend your time (and your ammo) on the asshole who was intentionally trying to have his cake and eat it too. Really, Adam, you had to shoot him dead? Even if he didn’t die, he sure as hell “won’t come around here anymore” because his bootycall’s boyfriend is a Yosemite Sam lunatic! Either quietly walk out of the room and break up with her via text message or walk out of the room and into the arms of the girl you’ve secretly been hooking up with for two months. Win-win!

Taylor Swift’s “You Belong with Me” – There are few artists that bother me more than Taylor Swift. There are several reasons for this, best summarized by her appearance in Valentine’s Day, as well as my long withstanding belief that the reason she had no friends or boyfriends in high school was not because people were jealous of her fame, but because she was a fucking psycho. I am 97% positive that whatever poor male soul this song was written about would rather deal with an irrational girlfriend getting mad at him for calling fifteen minutes later when he said he’d call her in ten than Ms. Swift’s propensity toward falsely believing every boy she ever looked at was her soulmate. You’re listening to the type of music his girlfriend doesn’t like? Was it Tim McGraw? Not everyone’s a country fan, don’t be so close-minded. She goes on to say that she knows all of his favorite songs so clearly the friendship the two share is based largely off of music, and while that’s all fine and good, it takes a little more than a mutual appreciation for shitty guitar playing for love to occur. This song was written and released before Taylor had her borderline-statutory-rapelationship with John Mayer, so it’s safe to assume that she was dealing largely with the 17-and-under set. With that in mind, was it really that shocking that a high school boy would prefer a girl in a short skirt as opposed to a girl in a huge t-shirt? Honestly girl, even if he did see something in you, he’s dating the captain of the cheerleading squad, and no high school boy in his right mind is going to pass up that opportunity. Bow out gracefully before you pen another “masterpiece” about a guy that you won’t be able to look in the face for at least three years.

Blu Cantrell’s “Hit ‘Em Up Style” – This song has lawsuit written all over it. Anybody knows that I despise cheating and normally would advise serious retaliation against the guilty party, but only in a tell-every-girl-you-know-that-he-was-a-terrible-kisser kind of way. Racking up a hefty credit card bill while restocking your closet sounds fun in theory, but there’s probably no easier way to end up on Judge Judy than to fraudulently max out your (now ex-) boyfriend’s Visa. The added-on tagline of “(Oops!)” that goes along with this song does nothing to make me see Blu’s behavior as warranted; this was no accident. The fact that Soley and Mia didn’t try to talk some rationality into their friend before she sells everything the man owns is just downright irresponsible and I would really hope that they would face charges as well. Furthermore, Blu mentions that she “paid all the bills about a month too late.” Uh, hate to break it to you sweetheart, but if you’re really trying to stick it to your man you wouldn’t have paid the bills at all and then your next hit could have been titled, “Here Comes the Repo Man to Take All My Ex’s Possessions.” If you’re going to screw the guy over, don’t half-ass the job. And it looks like you and your friends have the scheming theft thing all figured out; please don’t “Hey Ladies!” me into joining.

Crazy Girl Saying Whattup Betchezz

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Adults on Facebook

There are certain things in life that just operate much more smoothly when rules are followed. A game of Monopoly, for instance. Or the whole “beer before liquor get drunk quicker” mantra. Adhering to the status quo just makes the world go round, and makes me personally feel a lot more at ease. For this reason, I take up serious issue with adults on Facebook.

Allow me to clarify a couple things. First, when I say “adults,” I don’t mean the legal definition of a person age 18 and older. Do you know how many idiotic, immature 18-year-olds there are out there? All of them. That is not an adult; that is permission to buy cigarettes without begging your friend’s older brother to get them for you. Secondly, don’t take me literally and assume I mean all adults. My dad has a Facebook and has probably used it twice. I don’t think he even knows his own password. It’s his middle-aged peers that abuse status updates and mobile uploads that really get under my skin. Clearly, I do not consider myself to be an adult. Why? Because I still laugh at the word “balls.”

We’ve all seen The Social Network and know that Facebook was invented so college kids could stalk each other and tag pictures of themselves that would severely hinder their chances of landing a respectable job after graduation. Why do my 45-year-old neighbors need one? Exactly, they don’t. Here’s why:

They comment on statuses with statements that have nothing to do with that status –

Example:

“I heard people were dying over some sneakers.

I love shoes too but are you serious?”

~ “We had a good Xmas the kids all came home we missed you and your mom hope you had a good one – Anne.”

I’m sorry, but what on Earth does this response pertain to? The person was discussing the homicides over Jordans; I really doubt they have any sort of interest in your made-for-TV-movie holiday. If I wanted to receive your Christmas card to this person I would just rifle through their mail – I really don’t need blurbs about a stranger on my newsfeed. Side note: signing your name after anything you post on Facebook is irrelevant. This bothers me more than it should.

They give a play-by-play of their day –

Example:

“It’s a chilly but beautiful day here in Chicago!

Ron and I have decided to go downtown

for a little Christmas change of pace.

We’ve never really explored the city and there

seem to be a lot of restaurants there.”

“Now eating at _____.

So many beautiful Christmas lights!

Walking around after dinner

to see some more.”

“Now we are driving to _____ to have a

drink or two somewhere!”

“_____ is so crazy! Now we’re going to _____ and to see _____ and whatever else we can find to do!”

“Just saw the _____ and going to _____ for

a little Christmas snack. It’s so fun here!”

…You done? Yeah. You’re done. Unsubscribe.

They’re about 10 years late on pop culture humor –

Example:

“Hey everybody, come see how great I look!”

~ “LOUD NOISES!”

~ “I like scotch. Scotchity scotch scotch.”

You are not hip and clever for posting Anchorman quotes (albeit, incorrect ones) and having all of your friends follow suit with subsequent comments. We all know you just passed by the living room where your 22-year-old son was watching it on Netflix and happened to catch a scene. No one is impressed. Stick to what you know, like Bruce Springsteen and House Hunters marathons.

They thank people –

Examples:

“Thanks for posting a picture

of your beautiful family!”

“Thanks for the updates Cheryl, sounds

like you’re having a blast!”

“Thanks to this YouTube account holder for

compiling all of these photos and setting it to

music for my enjoyment!”

This is not a Golden Globes acceptance speech – you have no obligation to express gratitude to every single person you’ve ever met for every single thing they’ve ever done. I’m honored that your personal happiness is contingent on me posting ridiculous pictures of my dog, but I wasn’t expecting a “thank you,” and I will not respond when you give me one.

Adults joining Facebook was going to happen sooner or later, and I have to give all the old folks out there kudos for at least trying to stay in touch with one another while covertly stalking their children. But it has to be said – the majority of you are worse than a 12-year-old girl when it comes to status updates and sharing information that absolutely no one cares about, and you really need to cool it. Why do none of the aforementioned actions bother me when they’re performed by people my own age? Because my generation created Facebook, and we do what we want.