I’m moving out of my apartment in a week. At current, I live in a large refrigerator box. Seriously, it’s 400 square feet and the ceiling leaks when it rains too hard. I’m excited to get the h-e-double hockey sticks outta there. My new apartment is double in size, spacious, new and has a separate bedroom where I can put my bed and stuff!
However, I’d like to make a toast to my first apartment. To its cold hardwood floors and stupid, weak shower head. Little apartment, you taught me things. You taught me how to turn horrible situations into humorous ones, shut my blinds while I’m changing and build character in 100 degree heat with no air conditioning. You made me appreciate living and learn to raise the bar for bigger and better things.
From one twenty-something to another, let’s raise a glass to change.
Rule #64: Facebook is not spelled d-i-a-r-y. Deal with your problems like an adult.
They created the Facebook “like” button (and only the “like” button) for a reason. So you don’t hang your dramatic issues out to dry via social network. Go to Barnes & Noble, visit the section near the cash registers and thank you cards, pick out a cute leather journal with an embossed owl on the front, make some tea and scribble your thoughts down in the privacy of your own home. Thank you kindly.
Rule #65: Act like a lady, but snort when you laugh.
Don’t swear at the dinner table, use proper grammar, know how to write an organized email, smile with your teeth, blow your nose in private, don’t admit to enjoying Keeping Up with the Kardashians, go to Christmas Eve church or the Nutcracker at least once every two years (for your mother) and own proper china. But for God’s sake, snort when you laugh, make mistakes, forget to put the toilet paper on the roll, accidentally leave some chocolate on your face and wear blue on black every once and awhile. You ain’t perfect or the Queen of England.
Rule #66: Want to feel dangerous? Wear over the knee boots and listen to some Shania Twain.
Man, I feel like a woman. It’s one thing to look bad-ass, it’s another to feel it.
Rule #67: If the skirt was $5…don’t tell people.
If someone compliments you on your new skirt, don’t whip out the “Oh my God, it was only $5 at Target, do you DIE?” A simple “thank you” will do, ladies.
Rule #68: Stop saying “sorry” so much.
I’ve reached a point in my life where I actually apologize to myself for stubbing my own toe; and I need to stop. If you violently bump an old lady “working out at the mall” and nearly cause her to topple over in her stark white Sketchers, apologize. But no need to apologize for the petty things: being on the phone, getting the wrong coffee order for your co-worker, or saying someone’s name wrong. There will come a point where you’re going to sound like a broken record, and mistakenly weak.
Note: The phrase “sorry I’m not sorry” also applies to this rule.
Rule #69: Point and giggle whenever you see the number of this rule.
Because we all know that never gets old. No one is above a good 69 joke.
Rule #70: Nobody likes a winer.
No, that does not say wiener. And no, it doesn’t say whiner either. It say’s winer and I know that’s not even a word. Let’s define:
1. To produce copious amounts of tears and emotional riddance blubbering after consuming various amounts of red/white wine.
2. To seek the deepest and darkest secrets of your soul after a few glasses of vino and share with anyone around you. In tears.
Say it with me: Let’s not be winers.