A Strongly Worded Letter To People Who Ask Me What My 5 Year Plan Is

Dear Inquisitive Fucks,

Stop asking so many questions. It begins with you trying to make small talk because you’re awkward AF and think this stop and chat should be turned into something more. No, I don’t want to waste 20 minutes of my life grabbing coffee with you so you can “pick my brain.” The only thing you should be picking is maybe some lessons in social cues since my resting bitch face wasn’t enough of a cue to GTFO.

The people who usually ask you where you see yourself in 5 years are either old people or annoying assholes who are your own age and think they’re hot shit. The old people are easier to ward off most of the time because when you run away to avoid their third degree they can’t catch up to you since they’re slow and shit. These dinosaurs are trying to relive their “glory days” (AKA sitting in a cubicle dreaming of an exciting – read higher paying- job) so they ask you what you want to do with your life. It's called living in the moment, ever heard of it?

The ones your age bring this lame shit up for one of two reasons: to either make themselves feel better about their own pathetic career aspirations when you say something like, “Ummm, I’m not sure. But I’m late for Soul Cycle so TTYL!” or to see if they can weasel a contact out of you for their sad attempts at networking. The only kind of network I care about are those that are getting drinks with me tonight so try again, asshole.

The worst part about the people who ask these questions is that they don’t realize we have a life (read: staying skinny and trying not to get Ebola) and don’t spend our free time mapping out our futures. Maybe instead of grilling me on my life goals, you should create some goals of your own.  Like losing 20 pounds and learning how to put makeup on that flatters your face? But hey, don’t listen to us – it’s not like appearances matter or anything.

Best of luck with your depressing 5-year plan that includes finding a husband who will most likely have a beer gut and raising a handful of brats that inherit your shitty genes.


The Betches


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