Life advice I am not qualified to dish out.

Just because it zips, doesn’t mean it fits. I saw a fupa (Fat Upper Pussy Area) shoved uncomfortably in a pair of shorts last summer. I still can’t unsee this.

Don’t answer the phone for emotional problems when you’re drunk. I’m starting to think most people I know have radar for when I’m drunk. I really have to try not to answer my phone during these periods, because someone, anyone, is going to have an emotional crisis and for some reason come to me about it. And trust me, at this point I’m liable to say something like “Awww honey, it’s ok! Yes totally I’m completely free for brunch tomorrow! You can vent all you want! Okay, see you at 10 sweetie!” I don’t talk like this normally. A normal person doesn’t talk like this. Tequila talks like this. Also I don’t want to go anywhere at 10 AM after I’ve been drinking, unless it will make you feel better to see me suck down three glasses of water in five minutes out of desperation in front of you while looking like a melting wax figurine.

If a man (or woman!) complains about an aspect of your being which you cannot change (such as age), they’re butthurt with their own bullshit. You’re projecting and it’s weird. You may as well complain about someone’s eye color, Hitler.

“I’m really not a good reader.” Never trust a man who says this. Never trust a woman who says this, either. If a capable human does not read books, does not own books, or thinks it’s an acceptable thing to admit their defeat at the hands of books forever and ever, do not let them touch you. Listen to John Waters, who eloquently said “We need to make books cool again. If you go home with somebody and they don’t have books, don’t fuck them.”

Every movie ever is made better with a cute bro in it, even if the movie is terrible. I saw A Cinderella Story way too many times, in theaters, just because Chad Michael Murray was in his prime. He may have aged weird, but I sure as fuck didn’t think about that in 2004. Also not sure if I enjoyed In the Land of Women, or just Adam Brody.

Doing things out of desperation is always a bad idea. Unless your desperation stems from things like “I’m stealing a loaf of bread to feed my family because, poverty” (I think this happened in Aladdin but I also think a monkey did it and I’m not going to Google it), then doing things out of desperation is reallllllllly freshman year of college Spring Break-esque and we all know how that ends. Except for me, I never went on Spring Break excursions. Wait, yeah I did, and some dork tried to marry me.

If you call your parents your “roommates,” you have no business calling any girls to come over. A 30 year old, who had the biggest tribal tattoo (and assumed smallest dick) of anyone I’ve ever met, casually referred to his parents as his roommates. I told him that referring to your parents as your roommates is somehow way weirder than living with your parents at age 30.

Don’t trust anyone who avidly only appreciates one genre of music, or anything. Because that’s fucking weird.

Don’t bother trying to figure out what the fuck Lena Dunham is wearing, ever. It’s for the best. She dresses like a perpetually, and oddly, pregnant grandmother from the deep South in the 1950s with a hint of 13-pounds-overweight Lolita and I just don’t even want to fucking talk about this anymore.

Drunk texting is a bad idea. Good lord the things I’ve told people… But if you must drunkenly message individuals a long list of strange things that happen to pop into your brain when you’re three sheets to the wind, it is best to pick a close bro friend who does not judge you for texting them rambles about things at 2 AM, and following it with “I’m home now, drunk in bed and watching One Tree Hill on Netflix.” This friend has expressed that hearing about my life in these moments makes him think of me as a Sims character.

It’s OK if you don’t know what to do when you receive a dick pic out of nowhere. I just screenshot ’em. But seriously I don’t know what the hell you expect me to do with this.

It’s reasonable to hate it when celebrities aren’t funny on Twitter. I don’t know why I had high hopes that Paul Walker would be funny. I never expected Kim Kardashian to be smart or respectable, so I don’t know what my problem is.

After graduating college, it is in your best interest to stop attending shitty “art gallery parties.” It was kind of weird the first time I saw a used condom stapled to a wall, and I really don’t see the point in seeing it again, for like, the seventh time. I don’t care if you threw glitter in the reservoir tip, it’s still a creepy thing to do. I’d rather look at lampshades made out of human skin.

Don’t tell everyone about your child support, baby mama, baby daddy, ex girlfriend, ex boyfriend, etc., drama on Facebook, Twitter, or really anywhere on the Internet. I promise you people care about this, but when I say “people” I really mean your closest, personal friends and family members who you can call on the fucking phone. Pretend the Internet doesn’t exist in these situations. Call a friend.

Don’t tell someone they’re “humblebragging” when something good happens to them, and not you. Dick.

Slut-shaming is a terrible way to make friends. They made out with someone and you didn’t. I don’t think we need to point out who the loser is here.

Take a shower. I think this should be on a billboard in Wicker Park and Logan Square.

Complaining that some boy or girl didn’t call you back is asinine bullshit. Yes it sucks someone didn’t call you back, but whining about it isn’t some damned bat signal. When people don’t call me back I figure they forgot, or I’m just annoying. Either way, who cares! (My own mother doesn’t call me back sometimes, ok.)

Don’t go out wearing high heels if you know that you cannot walk in them. It is violently absurd to see someone hobbling down the street, early in the night, completely unaware how to walk in heels like an adult. It is even worse when the person in question removes the heels and walks barefoot. In Chicago. Where bums piss and college students vomit on the sidewalk. I saw a woman remove her $1,200 Louboutins and walk barefoot in Lakeview. If you have that much money to spend on a pair of shoes, you should know better!

Don’t be that person who looks in someone else’s cart at Target. I hate running errands enough as it is, so why must I be subjected to some crazy lady standing oddly close to me and staring in my cart? I don’t think hairspray, mascara, or tampons are really that interesting, or scandalous. It’s fucking Target. Don’t be that weirdo.

You cannot complain about how you think you’re fat if you don’t take steps to take care of yourself. Seriously, anyone who complains about their weight on a regular basis deserves a time out. You are in charge of how often you exercise, what the hell you put in your mouth, if you decide to take your vitamins, etc. This is not the job of someone else. Everyone has “fat days,” but it isn’t a necessary daily topic of conversation. It’s just not a day to wear a crop top.

Pajamas are not outside clothes. It’s 2013 when will this END?

Carly Rae Jepsen is devastatingly terrible. I guess that wasn’t advice.

Am I supposed to be living my life like I’m pregnant all the time?

My mom said something really fucking weird the other day, but I mean, she always does, she raised me and look at the shit that perpetually spills out of my mouth without my consent. I kept talking about circle jerks a few days ago with my 65 year old aunt and I had no shame about it.

Anyway, she was commenting on my eating habits. Not in a weird way like she does when she says “YOU’RE NOT EATING ENOUGH BLAHBLAHBLAH” or something stupid like that, but I have some recent thing where everything edible I shove in my face is some form of seafood. I don’t know why, okay? I just like it. That eel totally sucked though. I digress.

She said “I read a statistic (moms love statistics) that women your age shouldn’t consume seafood more than three times a week.” I hate “should/should not” shit, but in my curiosity I asked why. “Because it’s bad for the fetus, should you become pregnant.” But, uh, mom, I’m recently single again, and uh, who the fuck? I already think it’s weird that on a seemingly regular basis, you’re hounding me, your youngest child, about grandchildren. Sorry, but I don’t want any babies right now, what the hell? “Well, I’m saying, should you accidentally become pregnant.” I’m not going to accidentally get pregnant. “But, if it’s unplanned, I mean.” Of course it would be “unplanned.” Like I’d PLAN to get pregnant? Look, I laugh at 16 & Pregnant on the reg and make fun of the teenagers like it’s going out of style. Was it ever in style? I was hiding in my room listening to The Smiths and dyeing my hair burgundy at 16, certainly not humping any boys. Missing out on two minutes (being so generous with that) of sweaty backseat time while I was in high school really doesn’t pain me much.

So, in the basic sense, my mother is hoping that I am going to be living my life like I’m pregnant all the time. I totally have domestic skills and what have you, but isn’t taking care of people when they’re drunk some sort of “mother-like” skill? Can’t I pretend one of my friends is my drunk baby? Babies ARE like drunk people anyway. They vomit and shit themselves and cry all the damn time and they just want their bottle back. Side note: None of my friends have shit themselves, that I know of. Some have peed themselves. (Sorry yall, but I didn’t name any names.)

I recall, on more than one occasion, that I really only wanted a kid if I could guarantee it would turn out like Kevin McCallister. That kid is self-sufficient! You wouldn’t even need a babysitter. Babysitters are expensive and you have to hire an old/ugly one unless you want your husband to have a wandering eye. I’m only assuming you’d have a man around if you have a kid, but, lezbehonest, look at 16 & Pregnant. They all think they’ll have a man around but then they get fat and emotional and the guy is like SEE YA. Then the poor fertile infantile being posts several sad Facebook statuses like “~*~My BB DaDdY sKiPpEd OuT oN mEEE.~*~” Or something. I don’t know how teenagers these days type like that yet they don’t know how to spell properly. It takes WAY longer to type like that than it does to look up a word in a dictionary. But then again, I don’t know how they think buying condoms/birth control/the morning after pill is more embarrassing than being a pregnant teenager. Maybe I was the only one that just found sex in high school to be completely pointless and easy to avoid. I did laugh every time I was asked on a date though, so, maybe that was just my own social issue. And there wasn’t an MTV show dedicated to teen pregnancy when I was a teenager, either.

I’ll only have a kid when I’ve decided I can give up seafood and drinking for nine months. And I’m going to name it Wolf or something. Hopefully I can stand its father.

Ps. Some damn tarot cards said I was going to get knocked up recently. Those fucking things better be lying. Damn black magic.