I am jealous over a tall leggy blonde with a nicer ass than mine, who happens to be my best friend. I just feel like she will always be a little more… well more. 

Look at this bitch flaunting her perfectly curated playlists (I mean I know they’re stolen just like mine, but the minute difference is she actually knows about the artist on hers). Doesn’t she have anything better to do with her precious time? 

Then there’s me, the girl who is terrorizing – I mean entertaining – everyone, running around drunk playing ventriloquist with a clown called Baby Cakes. The court jester if you will. Everyone laughs and I grab the attention of the room, but fuck I can’t even spell ventriloquist, Baby Cakes can, and he reminds me of it, while also reminding me that she can too. BITCH. 

The reason I love to joke and perform is so that no one looks too closely at all of my cracks and non-accomplishments. There are many cracks, and quite frankly not too many accomplishments, unless there is an award for best blow job in under 60 seconds flat. I can also do a one handed cartwheel with a full glass of red wine and not spill one drop! Beat that Yale!

I mean what a fucking whore if you ask me. Walking around with her Ivy League education, making me do tasks that benefit myself. Go to Pilates, write your essays, don’t drink tequila in the morning, blah, blah, blah. I can’t believe she is forcing me to write these dumb essays, for you dumb people, who I have zero respect for! Do you see how insecure I am? I have to belittle everything and everyone who would possibly like, respect, or be entertained by what I have to say. I mean let’s be honest– this is trash, it's good trash–but it’s definitely not Hemingway. 

I really should not be giving advice to anyone, even my cabbage patch doll Baby Cakes thinks so. (ATTENTION: I would like to take this time to mention a disclaimer–I am not a professional therapist, I should be seeing a professional psychiatrist). Ok now that legal is handled, back to the story. 

What I tell my friends is MY truth. I stand before you drunk, slightly leaning to the left on my own little soap box, and I am going to give you answers to all the questions you never asked me! Just like those men who yell out everything as facts. So let me womansplain away. 

To most people I grew up in a posh boarding school, and am too pretty to care about anything they have to say, the latter of which to be honest is mostly true. Unless for once a man says something interesting. I do have to admit I like it that way; people react differently to me when I make it clear that I don’t care, especially men. Nice girls really do finish last, and that’s a shame. 

I occasionally get drunk and very rarely all these super insightful and intelligent thoughts fall from my pretty little head down through my painted red mouth and come out as words! Even complete sentences, I am talking about well informed, beautifully articulated opinions! Fuck i think alcohol makes me smarter! Nope, unfortunately it just makes me brave. 

The performative side of me is what everyone is comfortable with. They love, adore and shower her with surface compliments. “You’re the best,” one says. While the other screams, “She just has the most giving heart… awwwww!” When the intellectual side of me comes out (you know, throwing my two cents into a conversation I am very well informed on), I am either ignored or attacked. 

I mean you would think I could be myself with my closest friends–they wouldn’t feel threatened by me. But no, they don't want to be outshined in front of other people (read: MEN), even though I let them shine on their stage, time and time again. The following situation would NEVER happen one on one with any of these girls. Now let me insert MY boyfriend, and hurt feelings here. This is how the story goes… 

When my new boyfriend was introduced to a few of my girlfriends (we will call them 1, 2, and 3: 1 I have known the longest and so forth in numerical order, but it does not make any one of them less close to me), these best friends of mine specifically talked about two subjects I know nothing about for hours. RUDE! Especially because they all knew that I didn’t know anything about these subjects, and were leaving me out on purpose. 

Come on ladies, why do this to me over a dick? A dick that is literally and emotionally only fucking me! And, just like a dick, he loves attention and doesn’t even notice that I’m being left out. I felt like I had nothing to contribute, left them to entertain my boyfriend, and felt insecure about it afterwards. I served the last course of dinner, and retreated to my room to cry. You could say I was being dramatic, but my feelings were hurt. At least one friend followed me in, asked what was wrong, gave me a big hug, and apologized. 

I get it girls, flatter the host, especially if he’s paying for your flights and your stay, but there is such a thing as going too far. After all, I am also hosting you, this is my home you have been welcomed into, not just his. These are my friends who came to visit me, not laugh at me, when I didn't get a reference to an original Broadway cast. I did not invite them to leave me out of conversations, and ignore me. 

You either live like girl 1, who will never learn, and will always compete for any male attention. Or you can learn like girl 2, and grow from the experience, realize you didn’t want to do that, and never do it again. Then there is girl 3, who is so inconsiderate she didn’t even notice you walk out of the room crying. Honestly I don’t have much hope for her.

Having had so many of these experiences, I adapted a style: to be the quiet girl at first. I do love observing. And as much as I love attention I do NOT like being asked questions about myself, it’s downright hostile to me. What if I don’t say the right thing, or come off in an unflattering way? I know I am being judged, by my suitors and definitely by all of the other women in the room. Seriously, why do you need to know my business anyway, worry about yourself! Plus if I contributed anything to the conversation, someone might start to ask me questions. What if I am not as well versed in the subject, are they going to laugh at me like my own friends did? These type of interactions with women have made me put up a wall. 

A part of me wants to be respected, and listened to, like a real life human being, instead of being treated like a doll. I want to learn new and interesting things. If someone would only teach me without speaking incredibly slowly and loudly; I am pretty, not deaf. The only catch is that I don’t want to fully put myself out there to really be a part of it all. By all I mean voicing my opinions on things that matter, because if I say the wrong thing one time, it will not be let go of, ever. I will be that girl who confused Winston Churchill for Charlie Chaplin. Basically labeled a bimbo for life. That’s quite a lot of shame to carry around; I would need to move across the country and start a whole new life. Maybe even change my name. 

I have also noticed, however, that even when I do have a semi intellectual conversation with men, they are really surprised. This really bothers me. Why am I already assumed to be ill informed and surface level. You’re telling me I am basic without actually saying the words, but ouch I can feel them, coward. 

Did I mention I am also sensitive as fuck? I act like I can take what I love to dish out, but it always tends to go way too far. It’s the pressure, I am sure of it, I refuse to admit it’s a character flaw. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 

“I am happy your mom is dead, so she couldn’t see what a disappointment you are,  and everyone knows your dad never loved you,” I scream unaware of what the fuck just came out of my mouth. 

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

“Girl, he just said that he thinks NFTs don’t make sense,” my friends stare at me confused, and embarrassed by my insane stance on the subject. 

“Oh what? Ya i don’t think so either, sorry! I was totally joking!” Saying anything to make the situation go away.

Then I either flash my boobs or put whoever I just yelled at in a choke hold so they won’t remember the interaction, or choose to let it go. Usually it’s the oxygen being cut off to their brain and not the boob thing, which is a shame. I have amazing tits. So for the most part I just play up the fun party girl character and stay in my fun party girl lane. Seriously, you can’t take me anywhere.

Why do I care so much about what other people, mostly men, think of me? I crave their validation to the point of emotional outbursts, and use shifty tactics such as purposefully one upping a friend, knowing it will make me look a little more shiny in their eyes. 

My friends and I have put many men in some pretty embarrassing situations. It usually ends with laughter, some jibjabbing, but never the kind of sabotage I see go on amongst girlfriends. I am somewhat jealous of how they literally don’t give a fuck enough to ruin each other’s lives. 

I see it all the time with my girlfriends, “That dress makes you look skinny,” it definitely did not, it made said girl look like a square. “YASSSS QUEEN, red lipstick is your color!” (Especially with that caked on make up, inside eye roll, and evil smirk.) “OMG, girl do you remember that time you peed on a barstool you got so drunk? That was so insane,” someone says in front of a guy they want to like them more than me. 

I used to be in denial about why we were being so mean to each other. I am now at the first step: acceptance. I am accepting the fact that we plainly want to outshine one another, maybe to the point where we don’t even know we’re doing it. It’s almost encoded in our chromosomes. 

Do I play myself down, to make my friends comfortable? Am I asking my friends to play themselves down, and being the mean girl with or without me even being aware of it? These questions often run through my head, while observing social interactions, watching people put on airs, kiss, kiss on both cheeks with a sly smile, while another girl side eyes from across the room, letting her stance be known. 

I am starting to feel like we are being set up to fail. What in the world could possibly cause this type of behavior in seemingly normal, intelligent, rational women? Let’s examine a typical social situation that we have all probably been a part of at some point in our adult lives. A wedding, I mean who hasn’t been to a wedding?

When you think of a wedding, you should be thinking of the celebration of love right? Being happy for your friends and family, getting caught up in their moment of romance. Well, not if you’re a woman over a certain age who shows up single. Although I always have a date of course, it is anxiety provoking for the friends of mine who don’t. I feel their anxieties and loneliness, poor things.  It’s even worse for the girls who have been in a 5 year relationship and haven’t sealed the deal with their semi permanent boyfriends. (See me talking that mean girl shit? At this point it's second nature). 

Ok so I lied. I have attended many weddings solo before, and there always comes this awkward point in the night where they force all the single ladies into the middle of the room, as if we are all about to be burnt at the stake. Sadly that might be more pleasant than what I can only describe as a mob: full on pulling at each other’s hair and scratching faces to catch the bouquet being thrown. All these seemingly normal women are pushed into a tight group, in the center of the party, making fools of themselves. This is so ridiculous, I don’t know why, but I absolutely have to do it! And I am pretty competitive so I usually win, unless some giant gets it and I have to kick her in the shin so she drops it, FUMBLE! 

Isn’t this kind of dedication for winning something we should be celebrating? Nope it’s not, I just look like I’d literally kill someone so I could be married. It’s not even true, I would literally kill someone to be the winner and have all of the attention on me though. Which of the two is worse is up for debate.

Honestly I could care less what I am getting attention for, (as long as it’s positive). Maybe because I am so beautiful, or witty, I do tell amazing jokes, I am pretty awesome so the list is really endless. It’s human nature to want attention, some want it more than others but we all do want it. We like to shine. 

So we do it, huddle into a group and go for it! Yesss, I got it, and now the celebrating and praise starts right? No, it’s a social masacre masquerading as a celebration. Did I just hear dad bod call me desperate, while hair plugs laughs and adds, no wonder she’s single! What in the actual fuck? This is so not fair and very annoying. 

I end up dancing with a decent enough looking guy, who’s charming and I start to feel a little better. I can tell he’s into me, self-esteem restored. We flirt and have some drinks together, maybe this ritual isn’t too bad after all. 

Later I find out he has been dating someone for years, and basically didn’t bring her so he could get the opportunity to score with someone as lonely as I was. This bouquet thing went back to being wack. 

Here I am, a highly functioning, pleasant looking woman being called desperate. Is it because I am over the age of 30 and have no serious prospects of marriage yet? That isn’t desperate, we are way past the days of a biological clock. Eggs can be frozen, we live a lot longer, and women are finally able to date more casually, figuring out what does and does not work for us. 

So I am “desperate,” and I am just taking a wild guess here that he’s for sure calling his gf “crazy” because he didn’t invite her. Somehow the only person who scathes by unaffected is the guy who is trolling a wedding for a sad pussy. I refuse to believe any happy pussy would let a troll like that near her. (HISSSSS)

Women are fighting over dead flowers, for the luck of being next in line to be married. Men… they’re fighting for a piece of lingerie from the bride's leg, not a dead weed, talk about getting the raw end of the deal ladies. BUT did you know the garter toss is also for good luck to become the next groom? We are playing the same game of love, but the rules are different for men and women. 

Taking the garter off of the perfectly polished bride, and basically tossing her panties to a group of available men is way more sexy than fighting over funeral flowers. That screams rockstar, not hand me down flowers that are half dead. If the garter toss is technically the same thing, why don’t we look at it in the same way?

We brush off the garter toss as a game, boys will be boys, if they took it seriously I am pretty sure they’d be dodging it, rather than fighting for it. What makes us believe we have to be perfect, in order to land a guy? They’re not perfect, and they are just as single as we are. 

Something about weddings screams loneliness for single women, frustration for women in relationships, and seems only to rekindle already married couples’ affections, even if it’s just for a night. As for the families, they are either relieved or horrified about the union.

Writing this all out now makes me feel fucking pathetic, especially because of the way I would shoulder check girls like I played for the NFL. And for what, so I can dance with some weirdo on the other side of the room. It’s not like I’d be fighting for a dance with Jason Momoa, now that would be a prize! 

Having been the bride myself and hearing all the groomsmen gossip, here is the information that I gathered. 

The single men are all watching, nudging each other, smug looks on their faces, appraising each girl and deciding which ones they would have at the end of the night. I mean the girls are desperate and unwanted, single for a reason over 30, and as previously stated feeling extra lonely tonight. Might as well prey on their vulnerability and be her hero by taking her up to his hotel room, giving her a fake name and then ghosting her. What a knight in shining armor, am I right?

This has been done to me before, and as I lick my wounds the next morning, a little more bitter, less confident, and discouraged, my mind attacks me out of nowhere kicking me while I’m down. 

Did I get too drunk? 

I bet you he thinks I am too old, or maybe too young? 

I wish I would have lost more weight before this event. 

I shoudln’t have been making all those stupid jokes. 

Maybe I should have kept the conversation lighter, I need to stop debating and just be more agreeable. 

WHAT WAS IT!? 

This random interaction leaves me tearing myself apart piece by piece. I re-up on Botox, look into a boob job, and spend an exorbitant amount of money trying to gloss myself up as if I am a Kardashian. 

This is why we tear each other apart, it’s fucking men. There’s an evolutionary theory that we needed to legitimately protect our bodies (WOMBS), so we would use self-promotion (tacky), and catty behavior to keep ourselves safe while crushing the competition, which basically means we get the bigger cave. 

Then we have a feminist theory that tells us as women came to view their worth / achievement / and identity through the eyes of men as the ultimate prize, they became brainwashed to fight other women for that “prize”. In short: When our value is tied to the people who can impregnate us, we turn on each other, gross! Let’s not forget that it is in mens’ best interest to reinforce this competition. 

We are constantly expected to be a fantasy, a literal unicorn, something that doesn’t exist! It is hard to fake that funk the same way they do, I don’t have the confidence these average Joe’s put on display. 

The fact is we are not even competing with each other, we are competing with ourselves, which is a game that can never be won. We look at other women and see a version of ourselves that is better, prettier, smarter, something… let’s just say, more.  

We don’t see the other woman at all. It’s time to stop tearing each other and ourselves apart, we are more evolved than that. We don’t even need men to have a baby unless you count going to a sperm bank as needing them. Plus who wants kids these days anyway? I mean if you do, I wish you the best, and there is nothing wrong with that. 

But In the words of a wise woman, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?” Ru-Paul. It’s time to become self-aware and self-empowered, it's now or never ladies. And it’s quite literally entirely up to us to follow it through, and change the meaning of the rules we play by. Men can’t and won’t do it for us. 

I wish I stopped being so agreeable sooner than I did. If they only had heard a fragment of what goes on in our heads, their egos would implode. 

-Girl: Well, he’s over 35, not a lost cause, I can get him to the gym, shave his body, I think he’s nice and I’m crossing my fingers that he has a good cock. PLEASE GOD I hope he pays his taxes. 

While were really eyeing the 6’2, nicely dressed, perfectly mannered, Adonis of a man in the corner who we already know is gay.

All the while this is what is going on in one of his two heads, which of the two I am not entirely sure.

-Guy: She better be over 5’7, have a tight ass, big boobs, small waist, be articulate, but not smart enough to ask too many questions…. Ahhh…. Fuck it i am going to troll a university for sophomores. 

Although men do compete with each other, they just do it in a much different way. They are expected to be providers and protectors, which I guess is a pretty big responsibility.  

Maybe that is why they feel entitled to sew their wild oats while they can, and to have high standards if they are going to be expected so much of. Choosing wrong can have a high cost (literally), so might as well go for gold baby! 

I’m not saying there is anything wrong with men having standards, as long as they’re realistic. Don’t be a shitty human being, with a mediocre at best job, have one redeeming quality like being cute or good in bed, and believe you deserve it all. Ya don’t!

The only men who truly know how women feel competing to be these perfect non existent unicorns are gay men. They really go through it too, and I stand by you sis. It’s expensive and exhausting, being expected to be perfect all the time. 

These mother fuckers should be courting us, at least pretend to be interested in what we like, not the other way around. After all, aren't they the hunters in this narrative? 

You’re lucky I am too short to see your hair plugs (this is the second time I’ve used this plug, during this essay; personal experience ;))?

Give me your resume, what is your repertoire for entertainment? 

Jesus Christ…. The boy is not well read, he’s a dunce, he’s not tall and does’t have washboard abs, ewwww…. 

No one wants to breed with that!

His family is super weird. Did you also hear he was breastfed until 6?

Oh hell no, we don’t associate with people like that. 

Imagine if women treated men the way they treat us? I am pretty sure we wouldn't have a population problem. It’s easy to get caught up in competing with other women, especially when the playing field isn't fair. 

Men don’t compete under this type of scrutiny, they shouldn’t have to, but neither should we. 

They can be from a family of humble beginnings but they are self-made, not trash; they can not be self-made, but have potential. They can be good looking and stupid but still need to lead the family, because you obviously don’t have a brain. I mean you didn’t when you started a family with him, but you live and you learn. 

If he fucks up as a father it’s not rubbed in his face, only in yours as a mother, even if you’re’ both co-parents. Men can lose their jobs, wives, cheat, beat, and be down right evil, but their reputation never really seems to follow them for long.

After a while we all forget, being in the “boys will be boys,” club says it all.

We all have something to offer each one of those little turds, and it’s what our mamas gave us, just the best version of ourselves. Fuck faking it, or tailoring ourselves, competing, or putting on a show; we all do it, but it’s time for the clowns to entertain. Circus, Circus… where you at?

Let's be honest, who wants to date a 20 year old, when you're ten/plus years her senior? 

Only a Clown.

This essay was triggered by late night balcony talks, sipping on too much champagne, and a moment of vulnerability. The ridiculously tall blonde with the nice ass taught me to throw all that shit that lives in my head away. Who the fuck cares? Honestly, it’s not everyone else judging me, it’s me ripping myself to shreds. We really need to stop emotionally mutilating ourselves as women. It’s the constant comparing and pressure to be perfect that turns us on eachother. Now as I step off my soap box a little more sober and feeling a lot lighter, I urge us all to give ourselves and each other just a little more compassion. 

I am jealous over a tall leggy blonde with a nicer ass than mine, who happens to be my best friend. I just feel like she will always be a little more… well more. 

Look at this bitch flaunting her perfectly curated playlists (I mean I know they’re stolen just like mine, but the minute difference is she actually knows about the artist on hers). Doesn’t she have anything better to do with her precious time? 

Then there’s me, the girl who is terrorizing – I mean entertaining – everyone, running around drunk playing ventriloquist with a clown called Baby Cakes. The court jester if you will. Everyone laughs and I grab the attention of the room, but fuck I can’t even spell ventriloquist, Baby Cakes can, and he reminds me of it, while also reminding me that she can too. BITCH. 

The reason I love to joke and perform is so that no one looks too closely at all of my cracks and non-accomplishments. There are many cracks, and quite frankly not too many accomplishments, unless there is an award for best blow job in under 60 seconds flat. I can also do a one handed cartwheel with a full glass of red wine and not spill one drop! Beat that Yale!

I mean what a fucking whore if you ask me. Walking around with her Ivy League education, making me do tasks that benefit myself. Go to Pilates, write your essays, don’t drink tequila in the morning, blah, blah, blah. I can’t believe she is forcing me to write these dumb essays, for you dumb people, who I have zero respect for! Do you see how insecure I am? I have to belittle everything and everyone who would possibly like, respect, or be entertained by what I have to say. I mean let’s be honest– this is trash, it's good trash–but it’s definitely not Hemingway. 

I really should not be giving advice to anyone, even my cabbage patch doll Baby Cakes thinks so. (ATTENTION: I would like to take this time to mention a disclaimer–I am not a professional therapist, I should be seeing a professional psychiatrist). Ok now that legal is handled, back to the story. 

What I tell my friends is MY truth. I stand before you drunk, slightly leaning to the left on my own little soap box, and I am going to give you answers to all the questions you never asked me! Just like those men who yell out everything as facts. So let me womansplain away. 

To most people I grew up in a posh boarding school, and am too pretty to care about anything they have to say, the latter of which to be honest is mostly true. Unless for once a man says something interesting. I do have to admit I like it that way; people react differently to me when I make it clear that I don’t care, especially men. Nice girls really do finish last, and that’s a shame. 

I occasionally get drunk and very rarely all these super insightful and intelligent thoughts fall from my pretty little head down through my painted red mouth and come out as words! Even complete sentences, I am talking about well informed, beautifully articulated opinions! Fuck i think alcohol makes me smarter! Nope, unfortunately it just makes me brave. 

The performative side of me is what everyone is comfortable with. They love, adore and shower her with surface compliments. “You’re the best,” one says. While the other screams, “She just has the most giving heart… awwwww!” When the intellectual side of me comes out (you know, throwing my two cents into a conversation I am very well informed on), I am either ignored or attacked. 

I mean you would think I could be myself with my closest friends–they wouldn’t feel threatened by me. But no, they don't want to be outshined in front of other people (read: MEN), even though I let them shine on their stage, time and time again. The following situation would NEVER happen one on one with any of these girls. Now let me insert MY boyfriend, and hurt feelings here. This is how the story goes… 

When my new boyfriend was introduced to a few of my girlfriends (we will call them 1, 2, and 3: 1 I have known the longest and so forth in numerical order, but it does not make any one of them less close to me), these best friends of mine specifically talked about two subjects I know nothing about for hours. RUDE! Especially because they all knew that I didn’t know anything about these subjects, and were leaving me out on purpose. 

Come on ladies, why do this to me over a dick? A dick that is literally and emotionally only fucking me! And, just like a dick, he loves attention and doesn’t even notice that I’m being left out. I felt like I had nothing to contribute, left them to entertain my boyfriend, and felt insecure about it afterwards. I served the last course of dinner, and retreated to my room to cry. You could say I was being dramatic, but my feelings were hurt. At least one friend followed me in, asked what was wrong, gave me a big hug, and apologized. 

I get it girls, flatter the host, especially if he’s paying for your flights and your stay, but there is such a thing as going too far. After all, I am also hosting you, this is my home you have been welcomed into, not just his. These are my friends who came to visit me, not laugh at me, when I didn't get a reference to an original Broadway cast. I did not invite them to leave me out of conversations, and ignore me. 

You either live like girl 1, who will never learn, and will always compete for any male attention. Or you can learn like girl 2, and grow from the experience, realize you didn’t want to do that, and never do it again. Then there is girl 3, who is so inconsiderate she didn’t even notice you walk out of the room crying. Honestly I don’t have much hope for her.

Having had so many of these experiences, I adapted a style: to be the quiet girl at first. I do love observing. And as much as I love attention I do NOT like being asked questions about myself, it’s downright hostile to me. What if I don’t say the right thing, or come off in an unflattering way? I know I am being judged, by my suitors and definitely by all of the other women in the room. Seriously, why do you need to know my business anyway, worry about yourself! Plus if I contributed anything to the conversation, someone might start to ask me questions. What if I am not as well versed in the subject, are they going to laugh at me like my own friends did? These type of interactions with women have made me put up a wall. 

A part of me wants to be respected, and listened to, like a real life human being, instead of being treated like a doll. I want to learn new and interesting things. If someone would only teach me without speaking incredibly slowly and loudly; I am pretty, not deaf. The only catch is that I don’t want to fully put myself out there to really be a part of it all. By all I mean voicing my opinions on things that matter, because if I say the wrong thing one time, it will not be let go of, ever. I will be that girl who confused Winston Churchill for Charlie Chaplin. Basically labeled a bimbo for life. That’s quite a lot of shame to carry around; I would need to move across the country and start a whole new life. Maybe even change my name. 

I have also noticed, however, that even when I do have a semi intellectual conversation with men, they are really surprised. This really bothers me. Why am I already assumed to be ill informed and surface level. You’re telling me I am basic without actually saying the words, but ouch I can feel them, coward. 

Did I mention I am also sensitive as fuck? I act like I can take what I love to dish out, but it always tends to go way too far. It’s the pressure, I am sure of it, I refuse to admit it’s a character flaw. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 

“I am happy your mom is dead, so she couldn’t see what a disappointment you are,  and everyone knows your dad never loved you,” I scream unaware of what the fuck just came out of my mouth. 

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?

“Girl, he just said that he thinks NFTs don’t make sense,” my friends stare at me confused, and embarrassed by my insane stance on the subject. 

“Oh what? Ya i don’t think so either, sorry! I was totally joking!” Saying anything to make the situation go away.

Then I either flash my boobs or put whoever I just yelled at in a choke hold so they won’t remember the interaction, or choose to let it go. Usually it’s the oxygen being cut off to their brain and not the boob thing, which is a shame. I have amazing tits. So for the most part I just play up the fun party girl character and stay in my fun party girl lane. Seriously, you can’t take me anywhere.

Why do I care so much about what other people, mostly men, think of me? I crave their validation to the point of emotional outbursts, and use shifty tactics such as purposefully one upping a friend, knowing it will make me look a little more shiny in their eyes. 

My friends and I have put many men in some pretty embarrassing situations. It usually ends with laughter, some jibjabbing, but never the kind of sabotage I see go on amongst girlfriends. I am somewhat jealous of how they literally don’t give a fuck enough to ruin each other’s lives. 

I see it all the time with my girlfriends, “That dress makes you look skinny,” it definitely did not, it made said girl look like a square. “YASSSS QUEEN, red lipstick is your color!” (Especially with that caked on make up, inside eye roll, and evil smirk.) “OMG, girl do you remember that time you peed on a barstool you got so drunk? That was so insane,” someone says in front of a guy they want to like them more than me. 

I used to be in denial about why we were being so mean to each other. I am now at the first step: acceptance. I am accepting the fact that we plainly want to outshine one another, maybe to the point where we don’t even know we’re doing it. It’s almost encoded in our chromosomes. 

Do I play myself down, to make my friends comfortable? Am I asking my friends to play themselves down, and being the mean girl with or without me even being aware of it? These questions often run through my head, while observing social interactions, watching people put on airs, kiss, kiss on both cheeks with a sly smile, while another girl side eyes from across the room, letting her stance be known. 

I am starting to feel like we are being set up to fail. What in the world could possibly cause this type of behavior in seemingly normal, intelligent, rational women? Let’s examine a typical social situation that we have all probably been a part of at some point in our adult lives. A wedding, I mean who hasn’t been to a wedding?

When you think of a wedding, you should be thinking of the celebration of love right? Being happy for your friends and family, getting caught up in their moment of romance. Well, not if you’re a woman over a certain age who shows up single. Although I always have a date of course, it is anxiety provoking for the friends of mine who don’t. I feel their anxieties and loneliness, poor things.  It’s even worse for the girls who have been in a 5 year relationship and haven’t sealed the deal with their semi permanent boyfriends. (See me talking that mean girl shit? At this point it's second nature). 

Ok so I lied. I have attended many weddings solo before, and there always comes this awkward point in the night where they force all the single ladies into the middle of the room, as if we are all about to be burnt at the stake. Sadly that might be more pleasant than what I can only describe as a mob: full on pulling at each other’s hair and scratching faces to catch the bouquet being thrown. All these seemingly normal women are pushed into a tight group, in the center of the party, making fools of themselves. This is so ridiculous, I don’t know why, but I absolutely have to do it! And I am pretty competitive so I usually win, unless some giant gets it and I have to kick her in the shin so she drops it, FUMBLE! 

Isn’t this kind of dedication for winning something we should be celebrating? Nope it’s not, I just look like I’d literally kill someone so I could be married. It’s not even true, I would literally kill someone to be the winner and have all of the attention on me though. Which of the two is worse is up for debate.

Honestly I could care less what I am getting attention for, (as long as it’s positive). Maybe because I am so beautiful, or witty, I do tell amazing jokes, I am pretty awesome so the list is really endless. It’s human nature to want attention, some want it more than others but we all do want it. We like to shine. 

So we do it, huddle into a group and go for it! Yesss, I got it, and now the celebrating and praise starts right? No, it’s a social masacre masquerading as a celebration. Did I just hear dad bod call me desperate, while hair plugs laughs and adds, no wonder she’s single! What in the actual fuck? This is so not fair and very annoying. 

I end up dancing with a decent enough looking guy, who’s charming and I start to feel a little better. I can tell he’s into me, self-esteem restored. We flirt and have some drinks together, maybe this ritual isn’t too bad after all. 

Later I find out he has been dating someone for years, and basically didn’t bring her so he could get the opportunity to score with someone as lonely as I was. This bouquet thing went back to being wack. 

Here I am, a highly functioning, pleasant looking woman being called desperate. Is it because I am over the age of 30 and have no serious prospects of marriage yet? That isn’t desperate, we are way past the days of a biological clock. Eggs can be frozen, we live a lot longer, and women are finally able to date more casually, figuring out what does and does not work for us. 

So I am “desperate,” and I am just taking a wild guess here that he’s for sure calling his gf “crazy” because he didn’t invite her. Somehow the only person who scathes by unaffected is the guy who is trolling a wedding for a sad pussy. I refuse to believe any happy pussy would let a troll like that near her. (HISSSSS)

Women are fighting over dead flowers, for the luck of being next in line to be married. Men… they’re fighting for a piece of lingerie from the bride's leg, not a dead weed, talk about getting the raw end of the deal ladies. BUT did you know the garter toss is also for good luck to become the next groom? We are playing the same game of love, but the rules are different for men and women. 

Taking the garter off of the perfectly polished bride, and basically tossing her panties to a group of available men is way more sexy than fighting over funeral flowers. That screams rockstar, not hand me down flowers that are half dead. If the garter toss is technically the same thing, why don’t we look at it in the same way?

We brush off the garter toss as a game, boys will be boys, if they took it seriously I am pretty sure they’d be dodging it, rather than fighting for it. What makes us believe we have to be perfect, in order to land a guy? They’re not perfect, and they are just as single as we are. 

Something about weddings screams loneliness for single women, frustration for women in relationships, and seems only to rekindle already married couples’ affections, even if it’s just for a night. As for the families, they are either relieved or horrified about the union.

Writing this all out now makes me feel fucking pathetic, especially because of the way I would shoulder check girls like I played for the NFL. And for what, so I can dance with some weirdo on the other side of the room. It’s not like I’d be fighting for a dance with Jason Momoa, now that would be a prize! 

Having been the bride myself and hearing all the groomsmen gossip, here is the information that I gathered. 

The single men are all watching, nudging each other, smug looks on their faces, appraising each girl and deciding which ones they would have at the end of the night. I mean the girls are desperate and unwanted, single for a reason over 30, and as previously stated feeling extra lonely tonight. Might as well prey on their vulnerability and be her hero by taking her up to his hotel room, giving her a fake name and then ghosting her. What a knight in shining armor, am I right?

This has been done to me before, and as I lick my wounds the next morning, a little more bitter, less confident, and discouraged, my mind attacks me out of nowhere kicking me while I’m down. 

Did I get too drunk? 

I bet you he thinks I am too old, or maybe too young? 

I wish I would have lost more weight before this event. 

I shoudln’t have been making all those stupid jokes. 

Maybe I should have kept the conversation lighter, I need to stop debating and just be more agreeable. 

WHAT WAS IT!? 

This random interaction leaves me tearing myself apart piece by piece. I re-up on Botox, look into a boob job, and spend an exorbitant amount of money trying to gloss myself up as if I am a Kardashian. 

This is why we tear each other apart, it’s fucking men. There’s an evolutionary theory that we needed to legitimately protect our bodies (WOMBS), so we would use self-promotion (tacky), and catty behavior to keep ourselves safe while crushing the competition, which basically means we get the bigger cave. 

Then we have a feminist theory that tells us as women came to view their worth / achievement / and identity through the eyes of men as the ultimate prize, they became brainwashed to fight other women for that “prize”. In short: When our value is tied to the people who can impregnate us, we turn on each other, gross! Let’s not forget that it is in mens’ best interest to reinforce this competition. 

We are constantly expected to be a fantasy, a literal unicorn, something that doesn’t exist! It is hard to fake that funk the same way they do, I don’t have the confidence these average Joe’s put on display. 

The fact is we are not even competing with each other, we are competing with ourselves, which is a game that can never be won. We look at other women and see a version of ourselves that is better, prettier, smarter, something… let’s just say, more.  

We don’t see the other woman at all. It’s time to stop tearing each other and ourselves apart, we are more evolved than that. We don’t even need men to have a baby unless you count going to a sperm bank as needing them. Plus who wants kids these days anyway? I mean if you do, I wish you the best, and there is nothing wrong with that. 

But In the words of a wise woman, “If you can’t love yourself, how in the hell are you gonna love somebody else?” Ru-Paul. It’s time to become self-aware and self-empowered, it's now or never ladies. And it’s quite literally entirely up to us to follow it through, and change the meaning of the rules we play by. Men can’t and won’t do it for us. 

I wish I stopped being so agreeable sooner than I did. If they only had heard a fragment of what goes on in our heads, their egos would implode. 

-Girl: Well, he’s over 35, not a lost cause, I can get him to the gym, shave his body, I think he’s nice and I’m crossing my fingers that he has a good cock. PLEASE GOD I hope he pays his taxes. 

While were really eyeing the 6’2, nicely dressed, perfectly mannered, Adonis of a man in the corner who we already know is gay.

All the while this is what is going on in one of his two heads, which of the two I am not entirely sure.

-Guy: She better be over 5’7, have a tight ass, big boobs, small waist, be articulate, but not smart enough to ask too many questions…. Ahhh…. Fuck it i am going to troll a university for sophomores. 

Although men do compete with each other, they just do it in a much different way. They are expected to be providers and protectors, which I guess is a pretty big responsibility.  

Maybe that is why they feel entitled to sew their wild oats while they can, and to have high standards if they are going to be expected so much of. Choosing wrong can have a high cost (literally), so might as well go for gold baby! 

I’m not saying there is anything wrong with men having standards, as long as they’re realistic. Don’t be a shitty human being, with a mediocre at best job, have one redeeming quality like being cute or good in bed, and believe you deserve it all. Ya don’t!

The only men who truly know how women feel competing to be these perfect non existent unicorns are gay men. They really go through it too, and I stand by you sis. It’s expensive and exhausting, being expected to be perfect all the time. 

These mother fuckers should be courting us, at least pretend to be interested in what we like, not the other way around. After all, aren't they the hunters in this narrative? 

You’re lucky I am too short to see your hair plugs (this is the second time I’ve used this plug, during this essay; personal experience ;))?

Give me your resume, what is your repertoire for entertainment? 

Jesus Christ…. The boy is not well read, he’s a dunce, he’s not tall and does’t have washboard abs, ewwww…. 

No one wants to breed with that!

His family is super weird. Did you also hear he was breastfed until 6?

Oh hell no, we don’t associate with people like that. 

Imagine if women treated men the way they treat us? I am pretty sure we wouldn't have a population problem. It’s easy to get caught up in competing with other women, especially when the playing field isn't fair. 

Men don’t compete under this type of scrutiny, they shouldn’t have to, but neither should we. 

They can be from a family of humble beginnings but they are self-made, not trash; they can not be self-made, but have potential. They can be good looking and stupid but still need to lead the family, because you obviously don’t have a brain. I mean you didn’t when you started a family with him, but you live and you learn. 

If he fucks up as a father it’s not rubbed in his face, only in yours as a mother, even if you’re’ both co-parents. Men can lose their jobs, wives, cheat, beat, and be down right evil, but their reputation never really seems to follow them for long.

After a while we all forget, being in the “boys will be boys,” club says it all.

We all have something to offer each one of those little turds, and it’s what our mamas gave us, just the best version of ourselves. Fuck faking it, or tailoring ourselves, competing, or putting on a show; we all do it, but it’s time for the clowns to entertain. Circus, Circus… where you at?

Let's be honest, who wants to date a 20 year old, when you're ten/plus years her senior? 

Only a Clown.

This essay was triggered by late night balcony talks, sipping on too much champagne, and a moment of vulnerability. The ridiculously tall blonde with the nice ass taught me to throw all that shit that lives in my head away. Who the fuck cares? Honestly, it’s not everyone else judging me, it’s me ripping myself to shreds. We really need to stop emotionally mutilating ourselves as women. It’s the constant comparing and pressure to be perfect that turns us on eachother. Now as I step off my soap box a little more sober and feeling a lot lighter, I urge us all to give ourselves and each other just a little more compassion.