ZEN AF

You what a super fun place to be in your life is?  Relating to the Narrator from Fight Club.  Watching Fight Club a few times.  Listening to podcasts about Fight Club.  Reading Fight Club.  Not because you relate to having an imaginary friend that is the personification of the hot to crazy ratio, but because your sleep deprivation is getting pretty out of hand, and you’re wondering how long until you start posing at coping groups.

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Literally no idea, thank you sooooo much.

I wasn’t sleep deprived because I was losing meaning in my consumerist, corporate life style.  Far from it.  The ball got rolling when my apartment was being shown nearly every day I had a shift; which meant waking up 2 hours earlier than normal.  AND I couldn’t fall asleep because I was worried I’d miss my alarm and my landlord would show a very nice couple into the main bedroom with my passed out self poking out from under the duvet.  Add on to the stress heap, trying to keep the apartment super clean and super cute, all-the-fucking-time.

So it was half a bottle of wine to fall asleep, 2 quadruple espressos to wake up.  Always 3 steps behind on my charting.  Not being able to string together two sentences during shift change.  I felt like I was losing my damn mind.  It all came to a head with what I think was a panic attack, but like, I’ve never had a panic attack before, so I’m not sure. My stress belly was as tight as a drum, I could pass for 5 months preggers from stuffing it with margarita mix and Lean Cuisines, and my sinuses were closed off because of seasons ch-ch-ch-ch-changin’.  I finally was just like…I need to go to a doctor.  I need to GET a doctor.

I chose my doc after researching years of practice, prescribing patterns, patient reviews, and area of expertise. Kidding, I found a guy under 50, who I could schedule online, and could see me within the week.  Long story short he wanted to check my thyroid and send me for a slept study.  Because learning how to sleep with my eyes open at work was not going to happen and nearly bouncing off a guard rail driving on 2 hours of REM…I was like:  yes, probably good.

Dream skill right here

I still felt like a garbage heap.  I hate the concepts of cleanses and “detoxing”, because they’re all bullshit, but I needed to re-calibrate.  So I have reluctantly decided to have a 2 week “reset”, I “started doing yoga”, and “abstained from alcohol”.  Going from the Narrator to Namaste.

First off, making my self go outside and see the fucking sun once a day is a start.  Instead of downing my quad espresso in my kitchen hunched over Instagram, I was relaxing on my porch downing my quad espresso leisurely scrolling Instagram.  The no alcohol concept came to me after sticking to lemon and water at a happy hour because it was the first time interacting with humans that weren’t co workers and parents in a hot minute.  I was like “Meh, this isn’t too bad.  And I’m still having a lot of fun”.  Then I just didn’t get around to having a beer on Memorial Day (how v unpatriotic of me, I know).  Having a Florida trip in 2 and half weeks and a fuck ton to do in the mean time, I was just like “k, no booze ’til Florida”.

I wasn’t making it to my beloved Zumba (the Jazzercise of our generation) thanks to the fucked up sleep schedule, but needed something I could do.  Taking time on my porch turned into walking in my neighborhood.  Then yoga happened.  Thank fuck for Pinterest and YouTube (not just for make up tutorials and animals videos to my shock and awe).  I have done yoga in the past but now I could barely touch my toes and downward facing dog was a challenge.  A week went by and I’m chaturanga dandansana-ing like a mutha fucka.  Switchin’ it up between Vinyasa, bed time flows, and “Detox” (still hate that word, but good for a de-puff and gettin’ the gut to do the damn thang) I’m feelin’ better.

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I’m not about to post any mat time on the ‘Gram.  Not that thirsty, and frankly not that skilled.  But I’m not locked into an hour class, I can chose the sweat level, and can deal with the people that think that hospital means “Hilton Double Tree” with all these fucking endorphines and zen shit.

The best thing about taking a stroll in my hood or rollin’ out in my living room is that it’s fucking free.  Doing some research, I’m not about to shell out the money that’s required to have someone twice my age and twice as fit “correcting” me while I’m holding Warrior 3 in 80 degree heat.  That being said, I’m trying out my first “suggested donation” (free) class this weekend.

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Can we keep it going for the air quotes, please?

I didn’t wake up from one of those hangover that have us like “I’m never drinking again.  I’ll eat baby carrots and hummus and start doing yoga and drink pressed green juice.” No.  I tried something, it worked.  Then I tried another thing, and I liked it.  Everything else in my life was whipping me around like Willow’s hair.  I needed a little me time that also may or may not help me feel a little better in a pair of shorts.  As much as I love Fight Club and could watch Edward Norton and Brad Pitt locked in a psycho homoerotic anarchist conflict on the weekly, it was all getting a little close for comfort.  This is working for me and I’m looking forward to a glass of champs and shramps with a beach front view.  You gotta shake it up when you start relating to “I am Jill’s left nipple” more than “YAS KWEEN”.

Give me a follow on Instagram @emilymsisco.

Stay Fabulous. Stay Weird.

 

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“Adulting”

Watching “Steven Universe” and “Vanderpump Rules” on my Ikea couch that easily turns into a double bed,  I “accidentally” let the neighbor’s cat in the house again and she’s not mad about the head scratches.  Got my favorite robe on, fuzzy socks on my feet, and a glass of rose in my hand.  My laptop is open to the various forms I have to fill out, print off, mail, and punch my bank info into, so I can get my nursing license transferred to California  in time for the move.  It’s a fucking drag, but at least I’m comfy.

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This is a pretty dream adult life so far.  I get to get my busy shit done while I get a little toasted with some TV on the side, then I’ll go to bed listening to a podcast where someone tells me a story.  I could be a little more organized, sure, but my bills get paid and I’m not living off mac’n’cheese and Oreos (not for lack of trying).  I honestly don’t get where this “adulting” accomplishment bullshit came from.  When did doing laundry and paying bills and grocery shopping suddenly became more anxiety producing than going to an actual job.  When I hear the word “adulting” I hear “mildly annoying life stuff getting blown out of proportion”.

I’ll say it myself, I can get a little internally misanthropic about my Millennial status.  There are pros and cons of every generation and I tend to be critical.   Whatever.  However, for some reason my generation has taken to doing life stuff, (keeping a clean house and answering e-mails) like self inflicted chore torture that deserves a prize at the end.  Have the fucking glass of wine whether you mopped your damn kitchen or not.  I don’t need to see your ripped off Instagram meme about it.  I love being melodramatic but this is BORING.

Procrastination in my middle name, folding laundry sucks, I can’t hear my music when my vacuum’s running, and I wish I could eat Chinese food every night.  But when I look up and my bills are late, I can’t find my favorite top, my house is fucked and I’m bloated until the next election, I’ll have no one to blame but myself.  And that is worse than stubbing your toe and knowing that you are literally emotionally enraged with a chair leg.

I get it.  We’re a generation of new adults entering a workforce with seemingly useless degrees and debt up to our ears at the same age our parents were birthing us and buying houses.  Cool.  Who gives a fuck.  My parents got married at 23 and bought my childhood home at 26.  Think about the guy you were dating at 23…husband material or no? And as far as buying a house, do you live in a place where you want to be locked in like that?  News flash:  Our parents had no idea what they were doing either.  No one does.  Just because we’re not hitting the same giant “milestones” doesn’t mean we’re not qualified to complete a mundane “to-do” list.  It doesn’t make us less “adult”.

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And since the fuck when did we hold to convention anyway?  We’re the generation that made it possible for people to out make the rest of us by being really, really, really, ridiculously good looking (and using FaceTune) on Instagram.

I like having a clean house, I like my closet organized, and I like being able to cook a dinner from what’s in my fridge. I like watching “Steven Universe” and seeing what shimmery nail polish looks like with a matte top coat.  Sometimes I won’t put on pants all day, but there won’t be any dishes in my sink.  And even if there are, I’m having some ice cream and champagne anyway.

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Stay fabulous.  Stay weird.

 

Weird Body. Fab Body. Every Body.

I don’t care how body positive you think you are, when someone says “beach trip” or “shorts season” you’re going to wonder if can  shed a few inches before that scary day is upon you.  I’m not asking to be Kate Moss or even have an Ashley Grahm moment.  But for the love of Christ on a cracker, if you ask me to wear anything other than maxi dress I WILL have to supress a panic attack.

I’m physically strong  and I love my wardrobe from September-April, but I am not what you call a “summer body”.  I UNDERSTAND why the kaftan was invented.  And I refuse to wear one…because I would never take it off. Hello, Kyle Richards.

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So to my excitement and horror four things are happening this summer that will probably shatter my body image to the point of literally wearing nothing but scrubs ( you’d be surprised how often people just assume I just left work).  But…fuck me, I’m going to suck it up and attempt fabulous.  Either way I’m going to be sweaty and self conscious, so I may as look like I give a fuck.

Florida mid- June

It was literally the only week my boyfriend was not going to be traveling for business and my cousin isn’t hosting company.  Did I mention my cousin has run the NYC Marathon and literally snapped back into a six pack after having her child?  Even if we’re not hangin’ on the beach every minute, I do not feel like walking around with my hair sticking to my neck, getting under-boob sweat, things ridingwhere they shouldn’t….UGH…I can barely handle the humidity in Ohio.  I want to enjoy the time with my cousin and her kid, not freak about whether or not I look like the Blob rolling down the board walk, consuming everything in sight.  Thank God I can sleep naked.

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4th of July  Family Reunion

Again with the beach and the good looking family.  I am the least attractive person in my family, and on my mom’s half by a landslide.  Speaking of snapping back after kids, my mom’s approaching 60 with a six pack.  This is probably the least panic inducing event of my summer because north east Ohio on the lake can be unseasonably cool.  I’m hoping to get away with a black sundress with a slouchy sheer duster for when the sun goes down.  One thing I love about my family (other than the fact that they’re fabulous) is that no one bats an eye if you wear black in the dead of summer.

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Giant Coastal Beach House

Actual in-laws, potential in-laws, a baby, a dog, and a case of rose.  I super can’t wait to be in the center of all of it; and all with the September weather in the Carolinas being fickle as fuck.  I’m not to the point with my potential in-laws where I can let my freak flag fly.  They usually see me as a littl square on Skype twice a month.  And although I would love this week to be anything but athleisure…I think that’s what’s gonna have to happen.  I’m not going to take a gamble in a bell sleeve romper with this much family time going on.  Well fit tees, leggings, chambray, low top Chucks, sports bras…no bras.  I think the biggest risk I’ll take that week is a pair of linen shorts I have for emergency cases.

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Moving to LA

This is what is making the rest of my summer super stressful.  Every bead of sweat, every fat day, every zit, is filling me with dread about the town where terms like “LA fat” and “LA 6” are dead on.  On one hand I’m stoked to explore a new city and for my boyfriend to enhance his resume, on the other I’m writing down the math of losing 50 lbs.  Technically we’re going to Pasadena, where the brainiacs of NASA and CalTech reside, so hopfully it won’t be that bad on a day-to-day.  But I don’t want to feel like jumping off Mount Hollywood after hitting a WeHo bar.  But as stated before, I don’t want to live my exsistence in an exciting place insecure to the point that I don’t have fun.  I’m going to atleast be at Mia Thermapolus level of self conscious at all times so I may as well look like Julie Andrews’ glam squad got to me.

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My brain is going to have to buckle the fuck up this summer.  Lots going on.  Luckily I have spring to ease into exposing my skin to outside air and do some shopping.  Poshmark and Marshall’s betta be ready.

Stay fabulous, stay weird.

Gator Aide

Gator Aide

 


Heidi Klein striped dress
$365 – mytheresa.com

BA SH rayon shirt
$145 – the-dressingroom.com

Print shirt
everlane.com

Bondi Born neoprene bikini
carnetdemode.com

Pink romper
genuine-people.com

M Co boy short swimwear
$31 – mandco.com

Swimsuits bikini
rosegal.com

Swimsuit cover up
amazon.com

John Robshaw beach towel
saksfifthavenue.com

Beach towel
belk.com

Cotton beach towel
victoriassecret.com

Basic Beach

Basic Beach

 


J Crew chambray shirt
$105 – jcrew.com

J Crew j crew t shirt
nordstrom.com

High waisted swimsuit
bonadrag.com

Express
express.com

River Island pajamas
riverisland.com

Pajama top
etsy.com

Schutz beach sandals
bergdorfgoodman.com

Converse white sneaker
$56 – johnlewis.com

M&Co gold shoes
$27 – mandco.com

Mykita cat eye sunglasses
modaoperandi.com

Victoria Beckham sunglasses
$345 – forwardbyelysewalker.com

I Choo-Choo-Choose You

 

Oooooohhhhh Valentines’s Day.  It’s so easy to say “Fuck off”.  It’s a holiday that has nothing to do with the dude that’s it’s named after, it puts pressure on couples to have a good time just because the calendar say 2/14, and it makes single people feel like shit.  Hallmark sure knows how to jazz up a dry spell.

1bc6b4b6-38b8-458a-a187-f8c2d0a675bf-5479-00000a16f5d9650d_tmpNo one ever got chocolate and laid for Presidents’ Day.

What’s worse than the commercial holiday concept, is the people that get unreasonably upset by the holiday.  We GETTTTT it, you’re not blinded by a fake holiday.  But you’re probably are the same type of person that get unreasonably excited around Christmas time.  In the words of great Countess Lou-Ann “Be cool!  Don’t be like…uncool.”  Have some fucking chill people.  It’s just a day.  If you have a person, throw on your favorite undies and given ’em a show.  If you don’t, go buy yourself some kick ass flowers or those expensive chocolates from the ma
rket’s candy aisle.  Or here’s a thought:  don’t!  Do whatever the fuck you want on 2/14, and for the love of fuck don’t judge those who celebrate, or not, differently than you (unless there’s an Instagram collage and inspirational quote followed by “Thank you for being my best friend and partner-in-crime *various emojis*”.  Then judge away.)

cbd6d449-a3e2-470b-b424-4c15a1e1dd0f-5479-00000a16d97ce156_tmpHow  dare you!  I was rooting for you! We were all rooting for you!

Getting weird and judgey about Valentine’s Day is the adult equivalent of judging people’s taste in music when you’re in high school.  What’s the point?  You’re the only one feeling bad!  We as a generation need stop pretending it’s okay to be love with pepperoni pizza and our pets and maybe actually suck it up and have some human contact.  Although eating pizza while petting my cat is the closest thing to heroin I will probably ever experience.

So grab brunch with the girls, have a date night, watch horrible rom-coms, make-out with someone, yell “LIAR!” and throw a box of chocolate at your TV.  Do.  Fucking.  You.

I won’t say Happy Valentine’s Day, I’llsay have a fabulously weird February 14th.

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InstaShopper

Instagram has taken over the way we stalk research dates, stalk get inspo from celebrities, stalk see the goings on with an old frenemy from high school, and of course hope that others stalk double tap our selfies that only took 12 tries and some FaceTune to get just right.

It’s past the most neurotic time of the year, and we’re allowed to buy things for ourselves again.  InstaBoutiques add to the list of how ubiquitous Instagram is to our daily survival.  And unlike those fake Facebook to-good-to-be-true $10 dress shops, these Instragram shilling weirdos are the real fucking deal.

@shopBetches

Brought to you by those Betches with the fabulous memes on Insta and their new podcast, that I personally love.  shopBetches has all the t shirts, hats, and even bedding to keep you in a perpetual betchy state.  From plays on Yonce and Mean Girls, to the most relate-able vodka/soda, spin-class, Netflix and Leave Me Alone everything,  shopBetches has everything you need to be your unapologetically Millenial Betchy self.

Stalk them at their Insta and spend your monies at their site.

@Tulipoise

This weirdo isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.  Liz hand makes all of her metal jewelry just for you.  She even puts up with the weather in her garage to deliver, that’s commitment!  Remind the world that us nasty women are still alive and well with her stamped necklaces or go a little more low key with a “fuck anxiety” or monogram ring.  She takes special orders.  She fucking rocks.

Admire her handiwork at her Instagram or her Etsy page.

@BadWitchBoutique

Oooooooooh this witchy little Aussie hit me right in the fuzzy.  Crystal necklaces, earrings, and rings, are just a few of of the gorgeous pieces offered; fully sized crystals are fully available.  Before you know it, you’ll be longing to dawn a merlot lip and take a stroll through your local woodland area.  Although she’s based in Australia, the site will let you know how much you’ll have to pay in American monies.

Summon her goods from BadWitchBoutique.com and lurk on her Insta.

@grungesource

It’s EXACTLY what it sounds like.  Although I’m likely to cringe at the repackaged trends of the 1990s, as assumed by people born after 1998, Grunge Source manages to keep when I love intact.  They offer the obligatory crop tops, alien chokers, alien beanies, strategically placed alien hologram tee shirts, alien power banks, ect.  Hologram back packs and phone cases are available in case you are worried about not being seen by cars at night when getting into adolescent mischief.    The Instagram page is everything you need to fuel your angsty teen side (or just your angsty side if you’re a teen), as your ironically scroll on your iPhone snuggled in its new Cat Middle Finger case.

Find the rest of their stuff at GrungeSource.com and the mood setter on their Insta.

@PackedParty

Fuck yes to all the glitter.  Send the other fab weirdos in your life delightful gift boxes for a fancy Thank You, Happy Birthday, Break Up Package, or their Seasonal Box.  Or you can go a la cart with Disco Ball tumblers, adorable door necklaces, and sparkley pouches that are impossible to lose in the infinite abyss of your purse.  Packed Party has everything you need when you’re feeling especially eccentric and colorful.

Get your glitter fix on their Instagram or PackedParty.com

Weirdo Wears Winter Wares

Winter/ cold weather style is a great way to show off how fabulous and weird you are.  Being a midwesterner myself, I resigned to the fact that once mid-November hits, Hell will be frozen over until April and will be a PMSing bitch immediately before and after.  Although we’re in the throws of winter, we still have at least 10 weeks of sunless,  face hurting air, freezing rain weather to go.  So we buckle down, layer up, and make it weird.

A Fabulous Coat

There’s nothing worse than going to a great party in a great outfit, and having to wear the coat that your shlep groceries in.  It’s always great to have a statement coat that you can feel fabulous in whether you’re having a date, bundling up for a tree lighting, mid woods seance, or a boozy brunch.

Boots

Tall, ankle, Chelsea, over the knee (not “thigh- high”…apparently it’s hookerish.  Thanks guest from Straight Up With Stassi), there are so many options.  Because I’m likely not walking nearly as much as when the sun is shining, I tend to like more or a heel.

Opaque Legging

Emphasis on the opaque.  As Blaire Waldorf famously once yelled at one of her minions “TIGHTS ARE NOT PANTS!”  I’m pretty well endowed in the booty arena, so it is an actual nightmare of mine to have a see-through situation…discovered suddenly in a store mirror…around less well endowed peers.  I don’t need to make an argument for these God sends, just make sure you’re camel-toe and pantie-show free.

Scarves Galore

I need to have my scarf clear up to my ears.  The bigger the better.  I like an infinity style because I find them more managable, but I do have a great long-ass white one from a knock off shop in Berlin.  I have yet to conquer a blanket scarf, but I think their super chic, very midwestern of me.  They’re also great if you want to have a no make-up day.  Scarf, hat, sunglass, no problem.

Head Ware

Give me a big sparkely pom, preferably faux fur.  A slouchy beanie is a no from me.  I don’t understand how they stay on your head!  It looks like a balancing act.  No thank you.  Headbands are cute for a not so cold day.  I notice that there is nothing covering the top of my head, it feels incomplete.  But they work great with a high poney.  If you are fortunate enough to live in a not-so-windy area (sorry greater Chicago area), a felt brimmed number is very witchy bitchy.

Camisoles

Layers, layers, layers, people!!  Camisoles provide insulation, and a extra shelf to make for bra-less days.  If there is nothing else good about winter (and post holidays the pros are pretty hard to come by) there is the fact that it’s super easy to go a whole day bra-less.

Cozy Sweaters

Big, over sized, cozy mutha fukas.  I like them big enough that none of the fabric actually touches my torso when I’m vertical.  With a camisole insulating me, and some opaque leggings maximizing my range of motion, I’m unstoppable.

Hater Blockers

Nothing inspires my inner narcissist like a pair of big tortoise shell Erika Ray Bans.  Sunglasses are not just for summer.  With the ball of fire in the sky reflecting light off the snow, it’s a little too much joyful light for my black heart to take.  Mirrored lenses are super on trend, bonus points for rose gold.  Large round frames are timeless, but are also having a moment right now.  The most important things to remember are to find a frame that maximizes the hotness of your face, and make sure their polarized so your eye balls don’t burn.

Fresh Face

Tinted moisturized with SPF, groomed brow, quality lip balm.  Done.  Keep yo shit moisturized!!  When it’s time to glam up, you’ll be working with a supple palette that won’t be as prone to caking.  Cake is for stuffing you face, not your foundation.

The Basic Bro, and You

Hello my Fabulous Weirdos!  Today I am going to take a break from all the Halloween fun and talk to you today about a very modern problem of a modern weirdo :  The Basic Bro.  Who doesn’t love a good pigeon hole?  Of course everyone is a special individual with independent thoughts and feelings (except maybe…the basic bro) but this legion of Sperry wearing, Harambee loving (dicks out), Kanye crushing, Ken dolls sticks out like a sore thumb.

Don’t get me wrong.  These guys are overall tempting.  Usually pretty hot, everything from the gym rat to the dad bod depending on your taste, he’s down to buy you and your friends a drink or 5, he’s funny and up to date on pop culture.  Some have “small town values”, some can’t shut up about how “progressive” they are.  It can all be a little overwhelming; especially mixed in with the labyrinth that is millennial dating culture.  Hopefully this can be a weird little road map, to help you spot a deal with a basic bro.

The Pack

The pack of bros in a unavoidable spectacle.  It’s a wedding after party, a happy hour that turned into a night out, the big (or any) game is on.  Who can tell?

There’s probably a bit a of a uniform going on.  It could a hipster flannel/ hennely situation, oxfords and chinos, skinny jeans and V neck tees…there’s a bit of variety, each as potentially douchey as the last.  When talking to a guy who travels in a pack, always bring back up.  A wing girl can distract the louder, drunker, douchier friend, while you get some face time.  Here’s the thing though, if he tells you where his pack is going that night or you run into him while you’re out (totally  on accident, of course) and it takes everything you’ve got to get his interest, or he corners you but won’t involve you in the group, get the fuck out of there.  He’s just not that into you, honey buns.

Dicks Out For Harambee

At one point I thought the “Dicks Out for Harambee” fad was limited to basic bros in training and some early college goers.  How terribly fucking wrong I was.  More than a handful of guys I graduated with (one basic bro I had the experiencing of “dating”) have Tweeted, Snapped, Facebooked something linking their dick to Harambee.  One basic brought it up at work…not ironically. Then he went back to watching cross bow demos on live deer on YouTube.  Charming.

Don’t deal, just avoid.  Fucking run.

Update:  1,500 write in votes for Hamarbe as if 11/09/16.  Thanks not quite alt-right bros.

 

Da Cluuuuurrrbb

In da club, we all fam.  No.   Go away.  There is one reason guys go to clubs:  drunk sluts in bandage dresses and rompers that show some under melon and heels they can handle.  That’s fucking it.  No one likes to stand 4 deep to get a $5 BudLight.  Literally no one.  Only the probability of tail makes that tolerable.  Just don’t go to the club.  They are only acceptable for bachelorette parties and even that’s a little thin.  I went to a club for a friend’s birthday and couldn’t drink because I had a shift at 7am the next day.  She twerked her way into the VIP.  Guys stand one of two places in a club.  1) on the periferal or high vantage point and observe…creepily.  2) In the center stabbing chicks with their denim cocks.  If the guy you like frequents da clurb, he’s not looking for anyone he wants to have a conversation with.  If you’re looking for a fuck buddy, go for it.  But if you want that boyfriend material…head to the microbrew.

White Knights

“Grab Her by the Brain”…Uh no, thank you.  “A Woman’s Place is in the House and the Senate”…Ahh!  I see what you did there!  I was really looking for your validation of my independence, thank you soooo much.  I don’t experience many of these out in the wild and that’s because they mostly live online.  They ride up on their social media platforms, defending women in the comment section, or worse, fill their Insta feeds with posts with rhetoric along the lines of the “Free the Nipple” campaign.  Have you seen Matt McGorry’s Instagram feed…it’s a white knight wet dream

It’s great to find a guy that genuinely respects women and doesn’t think twice about how your independence effects him.  But shilling out an opening line about gender roles or bashing men in general is just pandering for pussy.  Buy me a drink, tell me I’m pretty, and leave your “I’m With Her” shirt at home.

Menenist

On the surface this could look pretty great.  He has a job, he’s masculine, he’s smart.  They can take a while to spot.  But after a date or two he’s telling you how to do your job, explaining simple concepts to you, throwing shade about women in general.  Yawn.  Personally, I wouldn’t bother with the argument, you don’t have time for it.

There’s also the menenist that parades around like a white knight in a flannel but some how every break up he’s even been through is because his ex was too dumb, a smart ass, too slutty, too coy, way vain, wasn’t effortlessly adorable at all times, or disagreed with him on any topic.  And he’s all too excited to talk about it.