I’ve seen a disturbing trend on my timeline recently, and it’s not just because I only became Facebook friends with my dad a few months ago: people posting Facebook eulogies about their dead dogs. I know it’s 2017 and there are a lot more offensive things going on, especially on Facebook, than people posting about their dead dogs. But you know what? I don’t care. Call the Special Victims Unit, because this social media crime is especially heinous.
Yeah, I’m that monster who doesn’t care about your dead dog, and I don’t care who knows it. I mean, I sort of care because I’m writing from a semi-anonymous pseudonym as opposed to my real name. But that’s neither here nor there. I’m here to tell you why I don’t give a shit about your dead dog, and I’m willing to bet nobody else does either.
First I would like to say that I am not a cat person, nor am I a soulless robot who has never felt joy. On the contrary—I have had three dogs in my lifetime thus far, two of whom are now dead. So yes, I understand your pain and I know what you’re going through. But there are acceptable ways to express your grief and unacceptable ways. Uploading a photo of your deceased dog is fine. So is changing your profile picture to one of you and your late pup. Posting one—ONE—short status is also acceptable, with the key word being short. The world is certainly a darker place with one less dog in it, so it’s fine to let us know. You know what’s not fine? Posting a 1,000 word eulogy to your dog that sounds like it was actually written for a close family member, only for me to find out at the end after reading your entire essay that it was eulogizing your 17-year-old dog who’s had cancer for the last 4 years of its life. Stop it. You’re not a eugoogolizer. That shit is melodramatic. Dogs die. You knew going into it that your dog would age seven times faster than you. You can’t really be surprised.
“Today I lost my companion, my best friend, someone who’s been there for me through thick and thin for the past 11 years” — No I’m not copying and pasting from my timeline (I’m not that savage); I’ve just read so many of these and they all start the same fucking way. Like, first of all, your dog has not actually been “there for you.” Your dog wasn’t like, giving you advice and taking you out to the bars when your ex dumped you—they were just physically present. Also, and I’m not afraid to say it, if your parents took care of the dog while you were away at college and for most of your adult life and you hardly ever even walked this dog or picked up its shit, that hardly fucking counts. Like, you didn’t even do any of the heavy lifting and now you want to reap the sympathy points? Nah. I see you.
As if it weren’t bad enough to put more thought into your dog’s memorial than your grandma’s, where this shit really gets extra is when you have the people who just won’t fucking get over it. The people who are posting daily updates on their grief and flashback photos every chance they get. Your dog died two years ago AND you got a new puppy a week later, give it a rest, Catherine! You are allowed one sympathy post. ONE. After that, you’re just fishing for attention and it’s sad and annoying. Not to mention, where’s your new dog in all of this? Why is Fluffers being neglected because Mr. Peanutbutter (may he rest in peace) passed away two years ago? We’d all much rather see photos of your new, alive dog.
And you can tell everyone else is sick of it too because the flood of “Thinking of you!” “Sorry for your loss!” comments and likes dwindle from a solid 100 to like, just your aunt Judy and the girl in your international relations class who’s afraid you’ll botch your half of the group project without constant reassurance. Dogs are like babies: I can guarantee you that nobody else thinks your dog was as cute or friendly or lovable as you did.
To be clear, I’m not telling you that you can’t be sad when your dog dies—just stop fucking posting about it. Honestly, just stop posting about most things. Is the common denominator me? Am I the problem? …Probably. On that note, I’ll see myself out.
Dear Chauvinistic Assholes,
I’ve been seeing a very, very unfortunate trend in modern millennial dating in which guys throw out the terms “crazy”, “psycho”, or “stage 5 clinger” when a girl so much as texts him to be like, “Hey u up?”. News fucking flash: It’s 2018. You know what’s really “crazy”? Here’s a refresher, losers.
- Donald Trump being the goddamn President of the United States
- ZAYN leaving One Direction and his last name in the dust (RIP)
- North Korea lauching missiles … YES THAT IS HAPPENING
- Permanent freckle tattoos. Somebody please tell me why that is even a thing.
- This little thing called ISIS and global terror—ever heard of it?
I hope that puts things into perspective for you. Trying to communicate and show positive interest and affirmation (aka, texting you 1-2 times a week) doesn’t make a girl “thirsty” or “insane.” It makes her a normal fucking person—and BTW, you should feel #blessed that a betch is into you in the first place.
Of course, there are real “stage 5 clingers” out there, both men and women. Case in point: My (female) best friend once met a perfectly nice, cute guy in a bar. They exchanged numbers and went on one date which was pretty okay. Next thing she knew, she’d be looking at her Instagram notifications and he’d be tagging her in AT LEAST SIXTEEN posts per day. He’d send her paragraphs and paragraphs at a time, Snapchat her twenty times a day, and even put a down payment on a puppy that she mentioned she wanted, assuming they would raise it together when their one mediocre dinner date turned into a fruitful marriage. (He actually raises the puppy alone now because obviously she had to ghost him.) Does this guy warrant a “crazy” label? Absolutely. But unless you can honestly say that every girl you’re calling “crazy” acts like this—in which case, you have bigger problems, like why you’re a magnet for the mentally unstable—then it’s time to reassess your vocab.
There is a very problematic, gendered paradox when it comes to men and women in romantic relationships. For example, T-Swift gets called “crazy” all the time for writing songs about her exes. When Robin Thicke wrote and performed Paula, AN ENTIRE ALBUM that was a desperate plea for his ex-wife Paula Patton to take him back after he got caught cheating, it was dubbed by the media as “a heartfelt reconciliation”. WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS?
Bottom line, the word “crazy” is a convenient term for men, and an often discriminatory word for women. Some men (#notallmen, wouldn’t want you to get too butthurt) simply throw out the term because it’s easier than getting down and dirty with their real emotions and addressing real issues within their relationships in a healthy way. So, next time you’re about to call a betch crazy, boys, think before you speak. It’s like, the rules of feminism.
Not your BSCB,
Dear World Traveler,
I would say welcome back, but I get the feeling you’re not all that happy to be here. Although nobody’s excited to come back from vacation, you’re taking the whole “take me back!” thing too far—so far the light of acceptable behavior won’t reach you for millions of years. Allow me to walk you through every faux pas you’ve committed since returning from your international vacay.
First, let’s talk about the endless Instagrams. While you were out of the country, I was forgiving of your habit of posting multiple times a day. Sure, it’s fucking annoying and better suited to Snapchat, but what’s the point of going somewhere cool for vacation if you can’t rub it in everyone’s faces back home? But as much as you may pretend otherwise, you’ve been home for weeks now. Stop posting pics like you’re still traipsing around Thailand. Literally everyone knows you’re back at the office, largely because you won’t shut up about how you’re saving up to go abroad again. If you must post your 342nd bikini pic in a week, at least have the decency to tag it #tbt.
Let’s also discuss this obsession with blending in with the locals. You’re not Beyoncé. Not a single resident in any given country gives a shit whether you specifically come visit. Tourism is an industry; as long as dumb Americans are spending their money in some way, the locals you so heroically befriended (read: followed around) couldn’t care less that you’re, like, super in tune with their culture. Newsflash: You’re not! I don’t care if you consider yourself a “traveler” instead of a tourist—either way, you don’t fucking live there. Partying with your surf instructor and learning how to order coffee in another language doesn’t make you an honorary citizen any more than twerking made Miley Cyrus black.
While we’re on the subject, everyone knows the U.S. grows shitty coffee; you don’t need to keep comparing it to the espresso you drank in your favorite café every morning. Suck it up and go to Starbucks like the rest of us.
Then there’s the one-upping. Good God, the one-upping. Not only do you find the excuse to turn every single conversation into a story from your vacation, but you refuse to entertain the possibility that anyone in the history of white girls visiting exotic party locales had a better time than you. Honestly, the only upside to this is your expression when someone busts out a story you can’t top.
In conclusion, I get it. Visiting another country is super fucking cool. But there’s a time and a place for bragging about your newfound worldly sophistication, and you flew past both a long time ago. Save the vacay pics for your grandma—nobody else cares.
We Will Not “Take You Back”,
To Anyone Who Aspires To Have a Wedding,
Pretty much every girl dreams about her wedding day, and everyone’s dream wedding looks different. That being said, there’s one important rule that needs to be stated. There is ABSOLUTELY NO REASON your wedding should have a theme. Even if a wedding looks stunning, a cheesy theme is the fastest way to turn the best day of your life into a fucking joke. This sounds harsh, so let me explain further:
I can’t imagine anything more disappointing than seeing a bride in her beautiful gown, then finding out that the dress was “inspired by Cinderella’s ball gown.” Excuse me, are you a child? If this sounds like something you would do, you are taking the concept of a fairytale wedding WAY too seriously. Like, I’m pretty sure you don’t want a ton of mice and birds at your reception, so you can suck it up and leave the Disney magic at home for a day.
There are really only a few occasions in a betch’s life that warrant an elaborate theme, and a wedding just isn’t one of them. Honestly, your parents probably already dropped 20 grand on a tacky theme for your Bat Mitzvah, so the least you can do is make them pay for something a little more subtle than a giant fucking banner that says “Sarah’s Sweet Shoppe” this time around.
In a classic example of tragic wedding themes, Snooki had a Great Gatsby themed reception. Let that sink in. TBH, Snooki probably hadn’t even heard of Gatsby until the Leo DiCaprio movie, but obvi no one told her that this literally isn’t okay. I start to cry a little when I think of how many times they must have played that fucking Fergie song from the movie, and I wasn’t even there. Ugh.
To make the point clearer, here are some other wedding themes that need to not exist: Elvis. Country (fringe at a wedding is NEVER okay). Pixar. Sports. 60s, 50s, etc. Paris. Italy. New York. Hollywood. Downton Abbey. Portlandia. Mad Men. Frozen. Frozen. SERIOUSLY FUCKING FROZEN.
Just please, for the love of God, don’t do it.
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Logging on to social media today consists of scrolling through pictures of dogs doing cute shit, engagement photos, weird fucking memes, racist posts from people in your Trump-supporting hometown, and an inexplicable showcase of really, fucking godawful grammar.
There are obvi more egregious offenses on social media than the occasional confusion of “your” and “you’re,” but it’s really just unbelievable that Americans are so incapable of fundamental English—especially when those same Americans accuse immigrants of not speaking English. But that’s for a different letter. I mean, really, have you ever checked out the comments on a celebrity’s Instagram?
“Your the worst.”
“They’re really aren’t any reasons you should have done that plastic surgery on you’re body”
“Chrissy Teigen, you can do whatever you want weather or not I like you.”
1. I was really hoping 2017 would bring about a new generation of people commenting on celebrity social media platforms who don’t actually expecting a response.
2. HOW do you fucking idiots not know basic grammar?
There’s honestly nothing worse than hitting it off with a bro at a bar and getting a text the next morning that says something to the effect of “your something else lol.” Charlie from the University of Wisconsin, you are now dead to me.
Let’s assume that (unfortunately) most of the individuals in our great country posting these innocuous messages have some form of formal education. In the 2012-2013 school year, the United States had an 81 percent high school graduation rate, its highest ever. Inevitably, a portion of these graduates are receiving a diploma without a basic knowledge of English grammar.
Before you write me off as a huge raging bitch, I’ll concede there are certain rules that I am perfectly fine with my creepy uncle never mastering in his Facebook rants. The proper use of “who” and “whom,” for example. I don’t give a shit.
But the next person who tries to diss me with a “your the bitch comment”….I’ll realistically do nothing, but I’ll continue to be really fucking annoyed.
If Ross from Friends can sum up the difference between “your” and “you’re” in one fucking sentence, your ass should have figured it out in the two-plus decades you’ve been alive. Honestly, the fact that Rachel fucked it up in her 18-page letter should’ve been all the reason Ross needed to walk away from her and never look back, but we’re not here to critique the merits of one of the greatest shows of all time. But for all of you who are grammatically challenged:
Now get YOUR shit together.