Writing Challenge

In A Nutshell, This Is Why I Am Single.

It’s hard to believe really. I’m walking around this world without a hand to hold.

(Sorry, Mom. I’m too old for your sweaty palms!)

Maybe I’m not “the total package,” maybe I can get too comfortable around boys and forget to get “out of the friendzone.”

Really though, I’m sorry I burped in front of you. I thought it was okay. My brothers don’t mind, but I guess that’s because they’re forced to have me in their immediate circle for the rest of my life. Where as you, unknown boyfriend of the future, you do not.

I mean like who wouldn’t want to date someone that does the following:

Disclaimer: Some of these have been embellished for entertainment. Either that or I’m just trying to have you not think I’m a total wack job. But I guess that has been thrown out the window by now.

Unbuckle my belt before I get into a stall in the bathroom
Constantly listen to female power ballads by Celine Dion in my car
Burp in front of the opposite sex and still expect them to think of me like a dainty, polished lady
Avoid showering for a couple days
Forget to shower for a couple days
Forget to shower for a week (I haven’t done this… in a long time)
Actively avoid eating vegetables
Lock myself out of my car and/or apartment
Drunk dial people on a Tuesday night
Barely shave my legs in the winter
Internally accept that “winter weight” is an epidemic and can’t do anything about it
Use the poop emoji more often than necessary
Talk about sexcapades in front of people I have a crush on and expect them to think I’m a pure, polished, non-hussy
Wake up on Saturday morning with ketchup stains on my elbow from the bar the night before
Argue with other humans that wine is just adult grapes, so I’m getting my fruit intake for the week
Irrationally hate other women for having good hair and a nice figure
Can’t civilly discuss politics or religion without going on a tangent about either (I know nothing about either, either.)
Attempt to talk to boys at the bar and the first thing out of my mouth is how rarely I do laundry
Utilize the same vocabulary as a filthy sailor man
~~Have daddy issues~~
Get too drunk and cry about all the feelings I internalize during the workweek
Think that twinkies and club soda is an acceptable dinner for a working professional female
Live in a closet
Sleep in a twin bed… with one set of sheets
Talk about my electronic devices as if they are humans
Throw a tizzy fit if I miss happy hour by 10 minutes

So boys, LINE UP!

It’s Friday… CHILL OUT.

It’s Friday. Here’s a list of all the things you can do tonight to unwind from that bitch of a work week.

Drink a ~~glass~~ bottle of wine
Go on a Netflix binge
Read an entire book
Take a long nap that actually ends up being an entire night’s sleep so you wake up at 6am on Saturday
Reorganize your closet
Watch Dateline NBC so you can fall asleep until tomorrow
Have a dance party in your apartment
Have a dance party at a bar
Have a dance party in the street
Put a $20 bill in a random pair of pants so when you go to wash them in three months you’ll get a present from yourself
Do your laundry
Eat your weight in Chinese food
Take a pregnancy test (this is only a good idea if you know there’s not a chance in hell you can be pregnant, otherwise this will just ADD to the stress)
Play the games on the back of a cereal box
Talk to another human being – scientists have done studies proving that talking about your problems sometimes results in relief of stress
Go for a run… not really though.
Drink another bottle of wine
Talk to a stranger(make sure he/she’s harmless first)
Try to adopt telekinesis with your television remote
Organize your closet by color
Drink a margarita
Drink a martini
Drink a vodka soda
Drink anything in your apartment
Stretch
Q-Tip your ears
Talk about your feelings on social media
Take your temperature
Paint your nails
Count the rats outside your apartment window (just me?)
Make a list of all the things you hate then light your gas stovetop and burn it responsibly
Make a fortune teller like you did when you were in third grade and have only good fortunes on it
Play MASH with all the hotties in your life
Think of a new way to insult someone
Don’t listen to any of these suggestions because they’re coming from a girl who was blacklisted by Chipotle and has already eaten her weight in Chinese food before 4pm

It’s Safe To Say Chipotle Blacklisted Me

There comes a time in every girl’s life where she has to stand up for what she believes in. It may not be the most popular opinion. It may not win her any awards. But in desperate times you need some desperate measures.

In a nutshell, I’m at war with Chipotle.

My mother was not amused or supportive of my endeavors.

Let me start off by saying this war is 50% my fault. I’m not one to avoid taking responsibility for my actions. I’m also not the type of person to take all the blame for something either.

Back in February, Chipotle ran a haiku contest where entrants were asked to create a, you guessed it, haiku demonstrating their love of all things Chipotle burritos. So naturally, being creatively inclined in the writing department, I decided to take this chance and show the burrito conglomerate what my cerebral cortex really thinks about all the time: snacks.

The prize was two free burritos, chips and guac and a fountain soda of my choosing. JACKPOT.

Cut to the part that is my fault. Much like my entire academic career, I didn’t read the directions. I was so excited, so hopped up on burrito fueled creativity, I completely blanked on when the contest actually started and ended.

The letter of good intentions.

I created the most perfectly crafted haiku that I personally thought would be foolish to ignore as the clear winner, even though I didn’t see, read or care about any other haikus in the contest. I just knew mine was the best.

I went on a social media blitz. I asked my entire family to vote for me. I was dedicated. The only problem was I completely missed the deadline. The contest I so desperately wanted to win had ended three days prior to my attack. I was devastated, heartbroken, and downtrodden.

So I did the only rational thing any human being obsessed with winning a free burrito would do. I wrote Chipotle a letter.

(see above)

To me, that is a very strongly worded letter. Lots of feelings are involved. I was fully aware that I may be certifiably insane and could be put on Chipotle’s “No Fly” list – do they even have one? Probably.

But I was willing to put my mental state on display to show them how much I love them. Because when I’m committed to something, I am all in, and I wasn’t about to let a big, bad burrito company get the best of me.

NOT TODAY. Not ever.

So, finally Chipotle Joe responds to me. He asks for my mailing address to send me something. I have no idea what it is. I’m just filled with glee.

In my head, I’m thinking they’re sending an inflatable burrito toy, a “Lifetime Member” pin for my sweaters, maybe even a thousand coupons and free burritos for life.

The possibilities were endless.

Then a week went by, two weeks, and still nothing in the mail. So, maybe it got lost, so I sent Chipotle Joe another message. You know, just to check on the status of things. He responded, promptly.

(see below)

Chipotle Joe is on my shit list.

But now were almost two months in, and I still have yet to receive anything.

I’m wondering what I did to deserve this kind of treatment.

Don’t you always reward the best players on the team with the MVP trophy? Don’t you always give the promotion to the person who deserves it most? Don’t you care at all about people who love burritos?

My conclusion is that Chipotle does not care. And I may be asking a lot, but I’m asking all of you to boycott them.

Or just be on my side with this one. I know I may sound a little off the sane wagon, and by a little, I mean I’m fully aware that I’ve probably been blacklisted by Chipotle.

But I just need to feel validated. I need to know that what I’ve done cannot be ignored and I deserve my Lifetime Member pin!

What do you think? Am I really crazy? Or is Chipotle wrong? (Think before you answer, or you may be receiving one of these letters, and no one wants that.)

The Common White Girl’s Thoughts On Smiling

Honestly, I don’t really get why people don’t smile more often.

Life isn’t that hard. I put on my designer jeans one leg at a time just like everyone else. I embellish my elegantly tailored satin shirt with a cute, overpriced bubble necklace from J Crew. It compliments the color pallet perfectly.

I look great.

Granted, I won’t be smiling until I’ve had my Starbucks triple shot espresso macchiato with half skim, half regular milk straight from the cow’s udders, but the world could probably perk up a bit before 9am, for my sake at least.

If I’m having a bad day, which is pretty much any day that’s not on the weekend, I like to do therapy. Retail therapy. There is nothing that turns my frown upside down quicker than swiping my father’s credit card and getting a bag full of new outfits I don’t need at all. Because when you look good, you feel good.

I’ve learned that you have to smile through the hard things in order to get through life. One time my aunt gave me a Dolce and Gabbana bag that was clearly fake, clearly ugly, and clearly not my style. But I smiled through the pain of not having real leather to hold my car keys and used the extra cash my parents gave me because it was a Wednesday to go out and buy the new iPhone.

Crisis averted, smile affixed.

When walking down the street in my new Michael Kors bedazzled flats and freshly painted nails, it’s hard to be sad about life. I’ve had my fair share of struggles but I’ve come out the other end of the tunnel victorious. I don’t understand why others don’t adopt my “can-do” attitude.

I actually had to interview for my job. At my father’s company. Working for my father. We went to breakfast and he asked me really tough questions about organizational tactics and people skills, to which I replied, “Have you seen my closet? I color code and arrange my clothing by season, organization is totally my thing!”

Really, I’m a simple girl. I am happiest when I’m driving in my Range Rover SUV, sunroof open, windows down, and sunglasses on my face. Normally, I don’t have anywhere to go, I just like driving. I never take public transportation, people always look miserable on the subway, and frankly, it brings down my mood.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take my lunch break and get a massage. I deserve it.

I Need To Talk To The Person In Charge Of Changing Humans Into Dogs

I went out with my roommates last night and drank too much wine. Story of my life.

Earlier this morning, I watched this video to help cure my hangover and take my mind off the fact that I have to sit in a rolly chair for the next eight hours and stare at my computer screen.

And then I realized… I’m so jealous of dogs.

Forget girls with nice hair, girls who can plow through three bacon cheeseburgers and not gain a pound, girls who have their dream job before age twenty-five, girls (and boys) with independently wealthy families that get to exclusively shop at Whole Foods. Forget all of them.

I want to be a dog.

Aside from the fact that they get to know one another by smelling butts, being a dog is pretty awesome. I guess I could also do without the whole eating bark flavored kibble bits, too. But we’ll save my grievances for the time I actually turn into a dog, which is hopefully my next life. My previous life I was a cat and I was just angry all the time, so I pray I’ve gathered enough good karma in my human life to be worthy of a canine in my next one.

First of all, I’d never have to wear clothes. It would completely eliminate the whole waking up every morning and try on seven outfits thing and still manage to walk out the door with one shoe. Nope. None of that would be an issue. Because I could roll out of bed and magically have a sweater on when it’s cold, or a furry bathing suit on when it’s hot. Just being happy in the skin suit God gave me ready to take on the world.

If I was a dog, no one would ever care if I was fat. Sure, I’ve set off a few alarms by feeding my pup too many pork chops or lamb shanks, but it’s because she deserves it. And as a dog, I would deserve it, too. Being loyal is a tough job, and it’s one that requires compensation in the form of delicious food you’re not allowed to eat, ever. No one ever complains about dogs being too fat, there’s just more to love, that’s all. Big is beautiful in Canine Country, and I have a one way ticket to Fat Island.

I’ve told a number of people this, but for my last ten minutes of life, I want someone with a good set of fingernails and a strong wrist to stroke my arm and give me a head rub. Maybe a bloody mary, but that can be negotiated. Pup life is full of these sorts of activities. People practically slap box each other to get a chance to pet a puppy. I WANT SOMEONE TO PET ME, DAMNIT. Head rubs and belly scratches will have me in a constant state of bliss, which last time I checked, no one complains about bliss.

A good wingwoman is hard to find. Not with a dog. If you want to attract someone, there is no better way than bringing along your four-legged friend. I don’t know what it is about humans, I think we have leg envy and are just innately jealous that we can go through life on all fours. There is no better conversation topic than asking what breed the dog is (I would obviously be a Saint Bernard and run shit) then following up by asking the age. What started off as an innocent walk through the park ends with you walking down the aisle and Meg the Saint Bernard is your ring bearer. You’re welcome.

Lastly, I want a bomb ass name. Dogs are always given the most extreme names that humans could never live up to. I want to saunter through life as Ulysses the Great Dane, or Chianti the cultured Sheppard. Instead I’m stuck here living life as a boring old human with the most basic one syllable name on the planet. Meg sucks. Ulysses RULES.

I just want to tan on my driveway during all seasons and soak up warmth. I just want to be a dog.

Well, I’m Going to Hell.

I’ll be the first to admit that I am not the most angelic person on the planet.

I don’t always wear my seatbelt, I eat dessert before dinner, and I’ve been known to throw out a curse word or two in a moment of frustration. While not deplorable, those kinds of antics are most certainly not getting me any closer to the golden gates, if you will.

A while back, I did one good deed and immediately assumed it erases all the bad stuff I did before and after, so I wrote a wish list I’d like to have for my afterlife, you know, cause I’m going to heaven and stuff.

As much as I try to be a good person, sometimes the bad just slips through the cracks. I can’t always pretend that I enjoy watching movies with Kristen Stewart in them, or tell the truth when my parents ask me if I have eaten any vegetables at all this week.

I know, I need to make some changes.

I have to believe heaven is just the best place ever to exist. Just naps all day, wine all night, and just a non-stop party with all your friends and family members.

I also have to believe that hell is the absolute worst place to ever exist. I am NOT trying to go there, but I have been put in some situations on this earth, and they have changed me to the point where I am henceforth making an honest effort to be so good that they won’t even ask me questions about myself when I try and enter like they do when I attempt to sneak a full sized shampoo bottles through airport security.

I fully believe the following are accurate events on Hell’s calendar:

Mist:

There are no sunny days in hell. Just constant mist in your face. You don’t get a raincoat or an umbrella. But in reality those things never help anyways. You’ll get gently pelted with moisture for your eternal afterlife and never be able to protect yourself.

DMV:

All you want to do is get up and have a relaxing day on your couch, maybe watch some netflix and eat some takeout. No. You will be forced to get up at 6am with the rest of Hell’s legion and told to wait in line for seven of the eight hours of freedom you have for the day. Once there is a glimmer of hope and you’re the next in line to go to the counter, they will say that it’s closing time and you have to do it all over again tomorrow.

Traffic Jams:

You’ll be having a bad day, because it’s hell, and you’ll want to get in your car and take a mindless drive to release some stress. Only you can’t because everywhere you go there will be stop and go traffic. You will never get to drive freely on the open road blasting music like you would in heaven.

And for those who were really big assholes on planet earth, you get stick shifts. Have fun with that, bucko.

Push-Button Faucets:

Washing your hands seems like a basic task. Not when you have the bathroom army determining how much water you’re allotted at your sink interval. You’ll always have leftover soap, and never enough water to wash it off. Soap hands for life.

Group Text Messages:

You’ll have one response to the initial message, but you’ll never be able to silence the eight other people in the chat who have ignored or forgotten you’re in the group text and have gone on to have a riveting conversation about cat pregnancies and plaid button-up shirts.

An Almost Loaded Website:

All you want to do is check your email. And you’ll forever be waiting to do it.

That Person You Can Never Pass:

You’ll want to walk to the grocery store – which in hell, is Trader Joes on a Sunday – and there will be that person in front of you walking at a glacial pace, taking up the entire sidewalk. You will never be able to pass them. Just destined for a life of following in the footsteps of the slowest human being on the planet, which is ironically the worker who called out of the DMV that morning and is the sole reason as to why they are short staffed and horrible.

Constantly Trying to Assemble Ikea Furniture:

After your seven hour stint at the DMV get ready to come home and assemble IKEA furniture! No directions, just rudimentary sketches that don’t pertain to anything. You’ll always slam your finger, and there will never be enough screws. God bless.

…

Be good, folks. This hellish life aint for you. I know it’s not for me. I’m going to find the nearest church and confess all my sins now, see you in a couple years. It’s a long list.

24 Things I Irrationally Hate

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Irrational Hatred: An immediate dislike for someone or something that can’t be justified or has no reason behind it. The main reason being that he/she/you/they/it ” just drives me insane.”

Kristen Stewart and the fact that she never makes eye contact or smiles.
Starbucks employees who spell your name incorrectly, I’m on to you.
The first stall in any public bathroom.
Dave Matthews Band.
Using the word literally when something isn’t actually happening at the moment.
Teenage drama television shows where the central characters never have parents.
Boys, because they don’t have to wear bras. (If you’re a boy that wears a bra, GOOD FOR YOU!)
You, if you drive the speed limit.
People that knowingly leave their shopping cart taking up entire parking space; you jackass.
Girls who are able to apply makeup without making themselves look like a streetwalker that owns the corner of Harlot Avenue and Pay Me For This Boulevard.
People who order salads at restaurants because they’re “watching their weight.”
Tankinis… What are you?
Odd numbers. Get out of here.
Horizontal stripes for being my favorite pattern but at the same time paradoxically making me look four times larger than I really am (or am I?)
The weather being a universal and acceptable conversation topic.
Upforkers – for obvious reasons.
Crop circles. Farmers already have a tough life, let’s not make it worse, okay?
Chipotle for promising me things and not delivering.
Paying for things.
The snack aisle vortex at the grocery store for having a magnetic pull on my weak soul leaving me with the inability to avoid purchasing birthday cake oreos.
Hiding tampons in your sleeves, shirts, pants, ears, and pockets because even as an adult for some reason it’s still weird to have people know it’s that time of the month.
Cab drivers. Oh wait, nope that one is rational.
Diets and the people who can actually stick to them. I’ll be over here on day two spoons deep in nutella and stuffing my face with marshmallows (see #20).
Those elastic-waisted, maternity pants that are ~~supposedly~~ only for pregnant women. Non-preggos have fat days, too.

Fool Me Once, Shame On You!

I’m going to say it; there’s a lot of trickery going on in the world right now.

I’ll be the first to say I’m not discrete. I think wearing sunglasses allows me to stare at people without being noticed. It does not. Maybe when I turn thirty that will finally sink in.

Until then, please ignore my piercing stare through my slighting tinted lenses when you’re walking to work – I’m just harmlessly judging you. No cause for alarm.

I like to believe I have a keen eye when it comes to being able to determine what is real and what is fake. I am also one point upgrade in my prescription from being deemed legally blind, so maybe having a keen eye doesn’t really factor into my picture at all.

I’m not going as far as saying I’m gullible, but I guess I’m just prone to deception.

It’s easy to fall victim to every day impostors. But with a few double takes, a good google search, and a question everything personality, you can find out that things aren’t really what they seem.

Tinder (and every other dating app that is solely based on physical appearance):

Ever get matched up with a guy or girl and you’re hitting it off? Witty banter all the time. Can’t wait til he or she messages me back. This is great! His picture is awesome, his name is Kale and he’s a vegan. He’s got board shorts and a tuxedo tshirt on in every picture, looks like my type of man! Is that a fedora? Sign me up. When you finally agree to meet up with this technological man of mystery, you’re expecting tall, dark, and handsome Mr. Rico Suave in his Hawaiian tourist attire to be seated at the restaurant awaiting your arrival. Until you show up and it’s a 5 foot 2 kid named Kaleb and he’s already eaten a seaweed salad because you were five minutes late and he’s a stickler for time management. He was only tan because that picture was taken on spring break and he was standing on a rock wall so he looked taller than his friends.

You’ve been duped.

Sales:

You’re walking down the cereal aisle of the grocery store and you see a two-for-one deal on Frosted Flakes. Do you need two boxes of overly-sugared breakfast treats? No. But sale items make you think you’re getting a better deal, when you’re really just getting fatter. I hate you, sales. I hate you with a fire of a thousand suns. I go into the store thinking I need one avocado and a bag of chips and I walk out with four sweet potatoes, a Native American, and a Thanksgiving turkey in July because it was a festive presale. I didn’t even have a coupon either!

Food Photography:

I think food is becoming a trend in my life. We’ll get to that another time. There is nothing I love more than a lean cuisine. I pick things specifically because of how the food looks on the box. If I see broccoli practically jumping off the cardboard and into my mouth, I’m going to double down on those bad boys and take them home. When I open the box and in the container is a sad, congealed cheesy mess of a meal, I have immediate food remorse. The picture never adequately displays how the food looks. It’s like going on a first date with make up and showing up the second time around barefaced and hungover. Just not pretty.

I realized I just equated eating a grocery store frozen meal to dating. This is why I am single.

Baby Carrots:

This one hurt the most. I recently found out that baby carrots are just shaved down big carrots. How insane is that? That must be the only thing on the planet where the full sized version isn’t good enough to the point where they have to make a mini version of it to sell better. Just trust your parents, kids, vegetables are good for you! Wait, is that why pygmy goats exist? Can someone get me a confirmation on that?

Craigslist:

You’re in the market for a new apartment. You’re scouring the internet for a deal, and you come across this unbelieveable find. Why is it still listed? This can’t be real life! The pictures look great, immaculate construction, clean, wood floors, and nicely decorated. Until you show up and it’s a revamped bomb shelter from World War two and your room has three walls that consist of deluxe paper towel sheets and chicken wire. Cozy!

SitComs:

Laugh tracks aren’t really people laughing at the jokes. They are essentially telling the viewer when to laugh. So does that mean sitcoms aren’t funny? I don’t even know anymore. I’m brainwashed by television and I’m not afraid to admit it.

…

Like I said, folks. The world is full of trickery. Keep your head on a swivel. Keep your eyes on the prize.

I’m going to go investigate whether or not I actually have a lactose allergy or if my mom was just saying that to me so I wouldn’t eat ice cream. I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d plow through a carton of mint choco chip when I was a kid; she may have just been doing me a service.

You want to know if I hate my job?

It’s all in a day’s work.

If you are one of those people who springs up out of your sleep sack bursting with energy, excitement oozing out your eyeballs, ears and nose, beaming with unlimited joy because you’re just so elated to strut into work and get grinding, you are not a real person because no one is that happy.

On the contrary, if you are lucky enough to not absolutely abhor the idea of going into work, whether it be the office environment is awesome, you love the people, or you’ve found yourself in a career in which you are equally passionate and satisfied, that is amazing, and don’t take it for granted.

A lot of people hate their jobs.

Fortunately, I am not one of them. In the two scenarios I described above, I fall into the latter. Even though when I was growing up, my father repeatedly told me to avoid marketing and advertising, as he has been in the business for over twenty years, I stayed true to my stubborn and disobedient nature by doing the exact opposite of what he told me and was formally employed at a marketing agency starting in August of 2013.

I’ve either ignored or stubbornly brushed aside a lot of my father’s wisdom tidbits throughout the years, but one piece of advice I did accept rings true. He has always urged me to constantly look for ways to better myself in my career and never settle.

For me, this is one of those aim high, shoot low situations. Because while I’m ambitious, I realize the reality of me attaining my actual dream job is extremely unlikely, and here’s why:

I don’t think my dream jobs are actually real jobs.

What I do know is that I am extremely qualified for these positions should they exist. Also, if they do happen to exist, and on the small chance that a CEO of a company that has an opening for one of these positions may be reading this, the hope is that he or she will direct their mouse’s curser to the “Want To Give Me A Job?” tab and promptly fill out a contact form in order to offer me employment.

Like I said, aim high, shoot low. I’ll stick with my day job for now. But just in case, here is a list of jobs that I am extremely qualified to obtain, if only they existed in real life:

Onion Ring Connoisseur

If you don’t know by now, you should understand that one of my truest loves on planet Earth are the majestic side item this world likes to call onion rings. I just love them. So much so that I make a point to try them at every restaurant and rate them. Gotta have a great crispy outside, and a non stringy inside. Not that difficult, but apparently very difficult because I’ve only found a handful of restaurants crack the top half of the 1-10 scale, so all you fine dining establishments better step up your game. And maybe call up Dennys and ask what their secret is, because those rings are FLAMES.

Live Tweeter

This is a position that does actually exist, but I assume is extremely difficult to obtain. There is nothing I love more than crushing a bottle of wine and making outlandish judgments about celebrities on award shows. Well, maybe puppies. I do love puppies a lot. If I could do that for monetary compensation, my endorphins would be so high through the roof I’d practically be metaphorically flying through the Twittersphere.

Dog Voice Creator

Ever wanted to know what your dog would sound like if it was a human? No problem, bring it on down to my apartment, I’ll take one good look at him or her, and promptly give you an accent that you can have 0% confidence in its accuracy. It may not be correct, but it will give you the slightest smile when your dog is incessantly barking at that squirrel for you to think about him or her saying, “I want to go outside, Mom!” in a British accent with a monocle and a pipe. Disclaimer: Golden Retrievers are always going to be surfers, it just makes sense.

Complaint Writer

UPDATE: still waiting to “receive something in the mail”

I have no problem writing long winded emails to large corporations citing my reasons for unhappiness. If anyone had a problem and they couldn’t find the words to verbalize their dissatisfaction, I would totally love to be that person. Case and point: this little letter I wrote to Chipotle about the time I missed their haiku contest and was unintentionally disqualified from winning the contest. (Inquire within to get help writing your complaints today!)

*** Really, I’d like to be an actual writer paid for my work. But that just seems absurd. So I’ll go on selling my soul to Elite Daily solely for exposure hoping that someone thinks I’m worthy somewhere down the line.

… So, anyone want to give me a job?

The Girls’ Guide to Packing for a Trip

We the people women, in order to enjoy the most perfect excursion, establish justice, make good fashion choices, ensure domestic tranquility, peace of mind, and provide sanity of our peers, must follow the following set of rules when determining which outfits to bring forth on said trip:

Article 1: Overpack

Are you going away for a night, two days, tops? You should most definitely put enough outfits for a week long excursion through Europe. A general rule of thumb: if you have too many outfits in your suitcase, you don’t have enough outfits in your suitcase.

Article 2: Bring Things You Never Intend To Wear

For example, if you plan on going skiing, it’s a good idea to pack a Hula skirt. As women, we tend to fantasize that our decorative costume attire will somehow serve a purpose on our future vacation trips. That, or we like to think that our drunk purchase of a $88 genuine, handcrafted, bamboo hula skirt freshly made by a nice Caribbean man named Peter during Spring Break ’09 wasn’t a complete and total waste of money.

Article 3: Always Pack A Bathing Suit

Point blank, you just never know when there will be a hot tub or an indoor pool. You do not want to be that girl who has to wear some boy’s boxers and the sports bra you brought for sleeping because you were too lazy to stuff two small pieces of fabric into your underwear pocket.

Article 4: Forget Something Important

Toothbrush. Tampons. Make Up. Anything that requires an annoying, necessary, extra trip after an extensive journey is encouraged. You will spend so much time planning your attire for the exterior of your body, you’ll completely forget that you need to adhere to that mondo pimple conveniently located on your forehead, or making sure you’ve supplied yourself with an instrument to ensure your breath doesn’t smell like taquitos and Cabernet each morning.

Article 5: Rely On Friends For Outfit Adjustments

You’ve packed an entire suitcase, but the second everyone does the, “3, 2, 1, UNZIP!” suitcase challenge, it’s a mad dash wardrobe buffet. You brought your favorite outfits, heels that make your legs look awesome, and the dress that makes you look so hot even on a fat day. Yet, you are going to throw all that into the wind and contemplate thoroughly about the kind of lubricant involved in order to fit into your best friend’s size two pants even though you haven’t been that small since sixth grade.

Article 6: Don’t Skimp on Hair Products

If there is one thing that is certain, that is that you don’t know how your hair will react outside its element. You may have a shower sent straight from Jesus himself, but that means nothing when it comes to your hair being outside its natural habitat. Go to CVS, stock up on all the travel bottles and sprays you can fit into that annoying clear plastic bag, and be prepared. There will always be pictures, and frizz looks good on nobody, not even Beyonce.

Article 7: Conveniently Avoid Looking at the Weather

You could be attending your best friends wedding in South Carolina in May. Instinctively, you will equate below the Mason Dixon line with warmth, you will pack accordingly, and get off the plan with shorts and tshirt and a slap in the face from 45 degrees. Please refer to Article 4 where you will forget something important, ie: a jacket, sweatshirt, or your general ability to use a computer and navigate the internet to determine the temperature of your destination.

On March 19, 2014, The Coalition of Women in the World hereby decree that said rules constitute the process of packing for a trip. Failure to comply with the above stated rules and regulations will result in the fact that you are either a male, a mother, or a generally organized human being.

Half and Half