IZZY

The boy: Wolf Boy

#TBT to:  Junior year of college

Izzy and I were in the same sorority in college. In October of our junior year, our sorority was having a Halloween-themed party, which was standard protocol. Because in college, almost every Greek life party in the month of October is a Halloween-themed one. I personally enjoyed this normative social agenda because it allowed me to fully diversify my costumes- slutty/funny/clever/’group’/inside-joke/alt. slutty.

This party wasn’t just a regular party, though. It was a ‘date party’. And a date party is the best kind of party. For those of you who do not know what date party is, at least where I went to college- It’s a party hosted by a fraternity or sorority, pre-paid for by dues, at a decently nice offsite venue that is attended only by members of the host sorority/fraternity and the guys/girls they ask to go with them as their dates. Hey- Thanks, mom and dad!!

Izzy was planning on asking this super-hot boy from the track team to go with her as her date. But then I accidentally went with him. And by ‘accidentally,’ I mean that I’m an asshole.

Whatever. Judge me. He was BANGIN’.

Izzy was set up with a fellow sorority sister’s guy friend in a frat, who was planning to meet her at the date party. Izzy, who dressed up as a sailor, went a bit overboard at the pregame (LOL) and blacked-out by the time she got the date party, which she ended up attending solo. It’s not that her date didn’t show up to the club. He did. But when he saw how wasted Izzy was, he immediately left.

Before you judge me too harshly for stealing Izzy’s intended date before the date party, Izzy stole someone else’s actual date during the date party.

Except this guy wasn’t a sexy, nationally-ranked track star. No. He was a scrawny, dorm-dwelling freshman boy. A scrawny, dorm-dwelling freshman boy who was dressed as a wolf, invited to the date party by a freshman girl who was dressed as Little Red Riding Hood.

Poor girl, now-dateless and wearing an irrelevant costume, made even less relevant.

Not yet initiated into the sorority, the freshman girl had no choice but to stand by and watch Izzy run off with (corner, and aggressively grind on) her canine sweetheart.  And of course, the freshman boy didn’t correct the situation because he’s thinking that he’s the man for running off with (getting cornered, and aggressively grinded on by) a junior girl, no matter how incapacitated she may be.

Fully committed to his character, the freshman boy, who I will further refer to as ‘Wolf Boy,’ wore a horrendous wig, had awkwardly adhered an amorphous-shaped patch of fake fur to his chest and painted very-thick black whiskers on his face.

After grinding with Wolf Boy, Izzy’s costume had some random chunks of fake fur on it. And after making out with Wolf Boy, her face was covered with black face paint. A real good look for a girl who was already holding up so well.

Izzy is now (unintentionally) making everyone around her laugh by drunkenly dancing, or stumbling about, on the club’s stage. This, combined with the blackface she’s now (also unintentionally) sporting, made it easy to confuse Izzy for a bigot dressed as a 19th century minstrel show performer. So, time to step in…

With more than a considerable degree of force, a friend finally detached Izzy’s big ass from Wolf Boy’s small crotch, and then dragged the drunken sailor into the bathroom to try and wash the paint off of her face. It didn’t really work, though. Partly because the paint was stubborn, and partly because so was Izzy. She kept turning her face in the opposite direction as the paper towel, so the paint kind of just smudged rather than came off completely. Only when the paper towel was held down would Izzy look straight at her friend, but only to ask over-and-over again, “Am I pretty? Amy I pretty?”

This is what Izzy looked like when she came out of the bathroom, so you decide for yourself:

You’re probably wondering what happened to Izzy, Wolf Boy, Little Red Riding Hood, Track Star, and myself at the end of the night, and afterwards.

And the answer is, kind of nothing…

Izzy (thankfully, and not without some slight restraining) went home sans-Wolf Boy shortly after coming out of the bathroom that night, and nursed a nasty hangover the next day. She never spoke to Wolf Boy again.

And because there were like 65 girls per pledge class in our sorority, and because it’s a sorority, Izzy pretty much never spoke to Little Red Riding Hood again either.

Track Star ended up ‘trading-up’ to a plain blonde girl who was in the #1 hottest sorority house on campus. And I moved on to his less-bangin’, but more interesting track teammate who had a small gauge earring.

MEGAN

The guy: Tarek

Megan’s boyfriend broke up with her.

She’s 27, and they were dating for 5 years. 5 years.

Megan thought she was going to marry him. Marry him.

Nothing specific happened to cause the break up- no one cheated, there was no blowout fight, no confessed homosexual preference. Plain and simple- Megan’s boyfriend broke up with her because he didn’t want to marry her. Deep down, though, Megan knew didn’t want to marry him either but she chose not acknowledge it, not to ‘go there.’ A decision due not to a lack of self-confidence, but to a known myriad of sucky break-up consequences. Such as:

1. Society’s all like, “You’re doing it wrong.”: Megan’s now in her late 20’s and single, an age at which (really emphasize the air quotes on this one) “society” says you should be thinking about settling down in a relationship, instead of starting over and trying to find a new one.

2. You have to re-define your life, without him in it: Megan’s boyfriend was a huge part of her entire post-graduate life. A break up will essentially put her back in the mindset of a timid 22-year-old experiencing life in NYC for the first time, instead of the mindset of a veteran 27-year-old.

3. You have to learn how to navigate the ‘now-future’ dating world: Five-years-ago, the dating world was a different place. Now, Megan has to learn about these new ‘scary apps’ and social norms. When she talks to her friends about dating, it sounds like she’s your parent. Similar phenomenon to when your mom calls weed “Mary Jane” or your dad’s life is turned around when he puts on noise canceling headphones for the first time (While dad has headphones on- “I LITERALLY CANNOT HEAR A THING. SAY SOMETHING, SAY SOMETHING.” After dad takes headphones off- “[Insert some joke about using the headphones to ignore your mom]”)

4. Your Jewish mother plays matchmaker: Megan’s Jewish mother will come to the ridiculous and illogical conclusion that she will never have grandchildren, so she will constantly try to set her daughter up on dates.

5. You will deeply upset your Jewish grandparents: Megan’s Jewish grandparents will act as though Megan has personally offended them, upset they will now have to “think of a way to tell their friends” the news. Some of the ways they will tell their friends:

• “Ya know, she’s already lost a few pounds.”
• “It’s for the best, his parents don’t even live on the East Coast.”
• “You know Megan, the granddaughter that graduated from [insert hard-to-get-into college].”
• “I think his family has a history of heart disease.”

After the break up, Megan was like “WAHHHHHHH” for a long time, but then she was finally like  “WOOHOOOOOO.” And when you’re like “WOOHOOOOOO,” you’re ready to talk to boys again.

Yes. That is how I explain the grieving process of the dissolution of a 5-year-relationship. In 2 stages: “WAH” and “WOOHOO.” Simple… and uniformed. Clearly, I’ve never experienced heartbreak like Megan’s.

Megan goes to her company’s holiday party, which started at 1PM. Then, she goes to the ‘after party’ (‘cuz we all know every company holiday party has one) at a cheesy Midtown East bar. One of Megan’s work friends tells her guyfriend (see definition below), Tarek to come.

Tarek is 32. The adult-kind of 32. He’s successful, a sharp dresser, uses hair gel in a sophisticated way, exudes confidence, etc etc. Megan wants to kiss Tarek, so she plays a game that only girls can successfully win- the “I’m younger and less informed than you are, so please teach me something so you feel big” game.

Tarek is a consultant for Blackberry, so Megan pretends like she can’t figure out how to use some of the features on her work phone, so he can teach her how to do it and feel big.

Normally, I’m not cool with this type of dating-game but in this kind of situation, it’s kosher. Izz coo. Typically, said game type involves a dumb girl perpetuating a negative female stereotype to get the guy. However, in this case, it involves a smart, yet very drunk girl strategically using a negative female stereotype to her advantage to get the guy. You see, a smart, yet very drunk girl cannot use her intelligence to get the guy because she’s so damn drunk.

It worked, and Megan is French kissing the shit out of Tarek in the middle of the bar. It’s only 8PM but for wasted Megan, who has now been drinking for 7 hours, it’s the end of the night. And at the end of the night, which is typically post 1AM, this type of behavior is common and those observing this type of behavior are unfazed by it.

Tarek, so consumed by Megan having had her tongue in his mouth, forgot his laptop case, with his laptop in it, when he left the bar. He remembers, though, that he stashed the case somewhere, mid-make out, in an effort to hide it, so that he can fully discover Megan’s body with his hands.

The next day:

Hungover-Tarek goes to the bar, where the manager allows him to go into the back room and watch the security tape from the night before. Tarek starts the tape from the initial peck until he sees himself walk over to the corner booth, and stuff his laptop into the triangular-shaped negative space between the wall and the curved booth. This happens 17 minutes into the make-out sesh.

What happens, at the exact minute, while Tarek watches the security tape  in the back room

• Minute 4: One of the bus boys walks by and sees Tarek watching the security tape.
• Minute 5: That same bus boy leaves and tells two fellow bus boys about the back-room screening.
• Minute 8: Three bus boys are standing behind Tarek while he watches the security tape.
• Minute 10: All six bus boys on-shift are standing behind Tarek while he watches the security tapes, a hootin’ and a hollerin’.
• Minute 11: Now only five bus boys are standing behind Tarek while he watches the security tape, a hootin’ and a hollerin’.
• Minute 13: The sixth bus boy comes back into the back room with a few bread baskets.
• Minutes 14-16: Six now-satiated bus boys-turned-ANIMALS are standing over Tarek, really vocalizing their excitement.
• Minute 17: A six-man loud and uniform sigh ensues.

Tarek leaves the bar feeling fully embarrassed and totally violated.

Things didn’t end up working out between Megan and Tarek (the relationship quickly fizzled, as these types of relationships usually do), but Tarek got his laptop back and Megan, her mojo.

It’s this mojo that helped Megan French kiss a lot more frogs and finally, a year later, land her prince.

Megan’s now married and her husband is the fucking BEST. So suck it Jeff Tinker.

Guy Friend → Dude Friend → Man Friend → Boyfriend

*Developed by the wonderful Whitney

Guy Friend:

A friend who just happens to have a penis. Your friendship with him is as close to platonic as a straight male and female can achieve. You have never hooked up.

Dude Friend:

A friend who has a penis, which you have touched, or at least thought about touching, once or twice before. You’ve hooked up in the past when you were both wasted, but have no intention of doing it again. Unless you’re both wasted.

Man Friend:

A male friend for whom you have feelings, and whose penis you have consistently been touching. You both essentially act like you’re in a relationship but you’re also both very aware that you’re not. You’re incredibly worried about accidentally letting the word “boyfriend” slip during conversation, as if you’ll spontaneously combust if you do so. Your relationship is in that grey area before it’s either defined as a relationship, or blows up in your face. One of you is hesitant to move out of that grey area.

Boyfriend:

A male with whom you are in a relationship. You introduce him as your boyfriend and he introduces you as his girlfriend.

BOYFRIEND FOR THE NIGHT:

/’boiˌfrend/ /’fawr/ /’th-uh/ /nīt/

When you meet a boy out and that night, and that night only, you both act like you’re in a relationship. You don’t go anywhere without him. You drink at his pace. You wait in a designated spot (“I’ll be right here.”) when he goes to use the bathroom. You move over to his group of friends and, after you introduce yourself, you act as though they’re your group of friends, too. ‘Vice-versa’ applies to all. You effectively break up when you leave the bar.

• How was last night?
• It was fun. I played “boyfriend for the night.” 

NOODLE STABBER:

/ˈno͞odl/ /stab’-ur/

When you think his penis is hard enough to get in, but right when it hits, it folds.

• How was the sex last night?
• We didn’t end up having the sex. He had a noodle stabber.

BEEF STROGANOFF:

/bēf/ /ˈstrôgəˌnôf,ˈstrō-/

An ugly girl.

• Do you think he went home with that girl last night?
• I bet he didn’t. She looked like beef stroganoff.

SAM

The boy: Reed

Disclaimer: This is a pretty disgusting story, which involves a girl getting her period. Read at your own discretion. 

LAST SUMMER:

Sam was hooking up with Reed. Sam was 2 years out of college… while Reed was still in college. He was a summer intern working in the city, there for 8 weeks. The two met about halfway through Reed’s internship and he went to school on the West Coast so, at best, their relationship could last 4 weeks. It didn’t, though. Almost.

This is the story of what happened to cut Sam and Reed’s relationship short, so that it ended just shy of a month…

Sam was hesitant to hook up with someone younger than her, but Reed was genuinely really interesting and mature. So she was all like, “Ya know what? Fuckett. YOLO.”

For their first date, Reed suggests that they go to a cupcake store, which also serves wine and beer (goodie!!). It’s super adorable that Reed suggests this, but it’s also super lame. So Sam, feeling empowered because she’s older, suggests that they don’t. Also, she prefers to eat caloric treats when calories don’t matter, like when she’s drunk and alone and hardly remembers eating them.

Sam tells Reed to meet her at normal establishment that serves alcohol, a bar. She’s a few minutes away from said bar when she gets a text message from Reed.

Reed’s Text Message: “So this is kind of funny and embarrassing but I’m only 20 and I look just like my brother and his ID has worked everywhere in the city except this place apparently. First time I didn’t get in somewhere is of course when I’m going to meet a girl.”

Awwwwww!

Also, hahahahahaha.

So they try a different bar where Sam strategically approaches the bouncer first. Second-in-line, Reed doesn’t have a problem getting in with his brother’s ID. Sam remembers this strategy from college.

Strategy-from-college: The 21-year-olds always go into the bar first because if the rest of the group isn’t allowed into the bar after them, the bouncer is effectively kicking out patrons who have committed to spending money there. Also, helps if they’re hot.  

Sam and Reed have a great time that night, and continue to see each other afterwards.

3 ½ WEEKS AFTERWARDS:

Reed is subletting an apartment in the West Village. It’s in an old, quaint walk-up with a flat, unfinished rooftop, which you can climb up to with a little creativity, and a lot of hoisting. Back from going out one night, Reed and Sam are sitting on his rooftop with a 6-pack of Sam Summer.

Sam was already sufficiently drunk, and could have gone without those few extra beers. But she’s a champ and drank ‘em anyways. At the time, Sam was going through a “reckless-when-drunk phase,” so she decides that she wants to explore the rooftops of the neighboring (and thankfully adjoining) buildings. Her depth perception is quite impaired, however, so what she thinks is going to be a one-or-two-foot drop to the next building’s rooftop is really a six-or-seven-foot drop.

A dainty leap lands Sam laid-out on the rough concrete of the unexplored rooftop next-door, which she so badly wanted to get know. She’s fine, but earns a nasty, deep gash below her right knee, which is also profusely bleeding.

Drunk First Aid: Wrap knee with toilet paper and secure with duck tape. Hook up a little bit. Go to sleep naked

That night, Sam also unexpectedly and unknowingly got her period.

Yea…

THE NEXT MORNING:

While Reed is still in bed, Sam gets up to go the bathroom where she finally realizes that she got her period. She doesn’t know this, but Reed is now awake and on the other side of the bathroom door, on his hands and knees, cleaning up spots of blood left on the floor. Like, really getting in there, scraping up the dried blood with his fingernails and whatnot. He thinks it’s from her knee. It’s not.

(It’s from her vagina.)

Yea, I went there. I said it.

Sam comes out of the bathroom and is mortified when she sees Sam. Looking up from the ground, Reed earnestly asks Sam how she is feeling. He tells her that he’s very concerned because he didn’t realize just how badly she had cut open her knee the night before. “I mean, there’s also blood all over the sheets,” he says.

Um, excuse me? All over the sheets?*

Sam, discreetly of course, cranes her neck so she can see into the bedroom, and there is, in fact, a whole ‘lotta blood spots on the sheets. Sam is obviously not going to correct poor, young, naïve Reed, especially after his very intimate clean-up, so she goes along with the blood-originating-from-her-knee story.

However, having no experience with this sort of perverted lie, Sam does a bad job with the cover-up and leaves a very telling piece of evidence at Reed’s apartment- her bloody underwear.

Sam doesn’t even realize that she left her underwear at Reed’s apartment* and they continue to talk like they did before the ‘incident,’ so Sam thinks she’s gotten away with it.

*Sam was very hungover in the morning. It’s easy not to notice that you’re not wearing underwear when your head, and this case your knee as well, is pounding.

A FEW DAYS LATER:

Sam gets a text message from Reed.

• Reed: 

• Reed: “Those Chinese dry cleaners didn’t do anything. Do I need bleach?”
  • Err, or a garbage. 
• Reed: “Also, are these yours?”

• Sam: “No..”
  • Or, yes..
• Reed: “[My roommate] must have hooked up with a girl in my bed…?”
  • Sam is examining the picture, zooming in as far as possible, trying to see if there are blood stains on the pair of underwear. She can’t tell, though and she’s thinking about confessing.
  • Then Reed texts her again…
• Reed: “They are kind of big though.”
  • Yea, so now Sam’s definitely not going to confess. 
• Reed: “I literally have no idea how they got there/whose they are.”
  • Sam doesn’t either?

THE DAY AFTER “A FEW DAYS LATER”:

Reed learns 2 facts:

1. His roommate did not hook up with a girl in his room.
2. The pair of underwear does have bloodstains on it.

These 2 facts then cause Reed to come to 5 realizations:

1. The pair of underwear is Sam’s.
2. Sam lied about the pair of underwear not being Sam’s.
3. The blood on his sheets and that he was cleaning up from the floor was not from Sam’s knee.
4. Sam knew that he blood on his sheets and that he was cleaning up from the floor was not from Sam’s knee.
5. Sam’s kind of a bitch.

And finally, these 5 realizations lead Reed to 1 conclusion:

1. Sam and his relationship is over.

I blame Reed for Sam’s lie. He said that the pair of underwear was “kind of big” when asking Sam if it was hers! Obviously, she’s going to say no.

Maybe Reed would have gotten a truthful answer from Sam if he asked her something like: “Hey sexy gurl, are these bootylicious yet slinky, bloody pair of lacy panties yours?”

I mean, probably not. But maybe.

SARA

The boy: Her boyfriend

My friend Sara, the one with the 31-year-old boyfriend, recently moved in with him, into his apartment. Into his really big and new apartment in a doorman building that he owns. He owns.

This blows my mind. I’m impressed when someone tells me they don’t use their parent’s HBO Go account or have wine glasses in their apartment for more than 3 people.

Sara and her boyfriend are decorating their now-shared apartment so that it no longer looks like a barren bachelor pad. I ask her how the decorating is going. She tells me that it’s going well because the furniture they bought is really nice, and now they have more things to have sex on/against/while bent-over.

Cool. I’ll just go fuck myself, then. In my full-sized bed. Because if I sat on my kitchen table, it would break.

LUCY

The boy: Ben

Lucy went on a date with someone she met at a bar. His name was Ben. This was back in November. Since Lucy and Ben hadn’t met before, conversation started with pretty boring answers to those pretty-boring-but-you-gotta-ask-‘em-anyways, first date questions (Where are you from? What do you do? Do you have siblings? “Ohh, that’s nice!”).

Then Lucy asked Ben a question that finally ignited conversation.

Eh, not really conversation. More like a too-long and painfully-boring lecture given by Ben on the topic of Halloween.

Lucy’s question- “What project were you working on last Sunday?”

Last Sunday: Lucy was bored and didn’t have a real interest in dating Ben, so she had the balls to text him and ask if he wanted to meet her for a drink. Ben said he couldn’t because he was working on a project.

Sidenote: Lucy isn’t a terrible person for agreeing to go on a date with someone who she is pretty confident that she will not want to actually date. Sometimes you think that person will surprise you in a great way when you do go on a date with them, like look completely different.

Ben’s response- “My Halloween costume.”

During their date, Ben showed Lucy every one of the many pictures he has stored in a separate Halloween-dedicated album in his phone. She saw Ben’s Halloween costumes from the past 7 years, as well as his favorite costumes worn by friends, family members, and some celebrities.

Lucy learned, among many other things, how much money Ben has spent on each costume, how many things he has ordered from Ebay to authenticate said costumes, how to deconstructed regular cowboy boots to then reconstruct them into superhero boots, how far in advance Ben needs to start planning his costume (Nov 2nd), and how to mix different color spray paints to get the exact hue you’re looking for.

To make things even less interesting for Lucy, she didn’t know a single one of the characters any of his costumes were supposed to be. Uh, pirate? JACK SPARROW, YOU IDIOT. GOSH. 

That year for Halloween, Ben was Wolverine (Ben- “Hugh Jackman from X-Men.” Lucy- “Oh.”). He was still sporting the mutton chops that he grew for his costume on their date. Let it go, buddy. Just let it go.

IT’S ABOUT ME- FUCK IT.

The boy- Wess 

Preface: I feel like, so far, my blog sounds like I’m hating on men. The last three posts have been stories in which the guy is the loser, and the girl shines.

So I’m going to turn the tables and tell you a very embarrassing story about myself, where the guy shines and I am the loser. The (I promise!) uncharteristically, crazy loser. 

I’m 23 and single, and I’m good with it. Seriously. Like if I were sending you a text about it, I wouldn’t include a period at the end of my message, because we all know how that changes the tone…

 “I’m good” (Friendly- Seriously)

vs

“I’m good.” (Aggressive- Not Seriously) 

One of my best friends, Sara, is dating a guy who’s 31. I hang out with Sara and her boyfriend a lot, which means that I hang out with her boyfriend’s group of friends a lot… which means that I often times find myself in social situations with “mostly couples.”

New Years Eve is coming up, which is my absolute least favorite ‘holiday.’ I begged my parents to spend a stupid amount of money for all of us to go see the Billy Joel premier concert that night, just so I would have an ‘out’. My parent’s didn’t give in though, because its very obvious that I care/know very little about Billy Joel.

A list of literally every single thing I can think of that I know about Billy Joel:

• He’s gay
• He wears sequins
• He plays the piano well
• Robert Downy Jr. was in one of his music videos
• The melody to “Tiny Dancer” (Not so much the lyrics- Until very recently I thought the lyrics were “hold me close, I’m tired of dancing.” Which makes way more sense.)

*I know that is Elton John*

Because my parents don’t love me, I actually have to make New Years Eve plans…

I make plans with Sara to go to a New Years party hosted by one her boyfriend’s friend, which means that my plan is to spend the night with mostly couples. Spending a typical night with mostly couples is fine. Spending New Years Eve with mostly couples sucks. 12AM on Jan 1^st is the most polarizing time of the year. It’s either:

 “You’re kissing the person you’re going to spend the rest of the year with! Maybe even the rest of your life!!!”

or

“You’re not kissing anyone but everyone else is! You’re going to die alone!!!”

This is what’s going through my mind during the countdown, when everyone around me is preparing to kiss their significant other:

10- Fuck.
9- Oh, fuck.
8- There has to be someone.
7- Anyone?
6- COME ON.
5- Seriously?
4- Yea. Seriously.
3- Look at the floor.
2- Don’t look at the floor, that’s weird.
1- I’m single… and I suddenly care?

This party is catered (I’ve now learned from hanging out with 30+-year-olds that some of them actually make money and can afford to treat their guests to food and drink more extravagant than pretzels and generic soda). Post-12AM, after coming to the overly-dramatic (and thankfully fleeting) realization that I’m going to be single forever, I give up and I’m posted up alone by the table of food, aggressively stuffing my face with spinach and artichoke dip and pieces of California roll, when a handsome stranger comes over to me.

“FINALLY,” I think.

I have too much food in my mouth to chew and swallow in time to introduce myself, so I just shove the mayonnaisey mush into my right cheek and get out a muffled hello. I convince myself that it’s ‘cute’, what I just did. But it’s not. It’s actually pretty disgusting. Anyways, the stranger tells me that his name is Wess.

Wess and I talk for a few minutes until he politely excuses himself and walks away.

Then fucking Wess, goes over to another fucking girl, and he kisses her. HE FUCKING KISSES HER.

“HE’S PLAYING ME,” I think.  

Wess walks by me, because I’m standing by the food table located at the center of the party, and I grab his arm.

“I’M GOING TO TELL HIM OFF,” I think.

This is how my “telling him off” goes:

Meredith– HEY. I saw you kissing that girl over there.
Wess– Uh, yea…
Meredith– What? Is she your, your girlfriend?
Wess– Yes.
Meredith– But, you were talking to me before that?
Wess– Because you were standing alone for 25 minutes eating dip.
Meredith– YOU LED ME ON.
Wess– I was just trying to be nice.
Meredith– Yea. Well. WHATEVER.

“I WIN,” I think.

I’m kidding. I lost so hard. I mean, I was acting crazy. SO crazy. And I knew it, but I just didn’t care. I wanted to get mad at someone and Wess was that person. Sorry, Wess.

Moral of the (embarrassing) story- Don’t be the only single person at a party on New Year’s Eve.

Moral of my (embarrassing) post- My blog isn’t anti-male.

WHITNEY

The boy: Timothy Sykes (Note: this is not a code name, he’s a ‘public figure’)

Whitney is that kind of person who believes only in extremes, and often oscillates from one extreme to the other. She’s never somewhere in the middle.

5 (very true) Examples of Whitney’s One-Extreme-Or-The-Other Mentality:

1. Whitney’s Hunger:

“STAR.VING.”

or

Asks you to get her phone from her bedroom because she needs to ‘digest’ on the couch

2. Whitney’s Diet

She once ate bacon from the trashcan

or

On-again vegetarian

3. Whitney’s Spending Habits

Membership to Equinox

or

I wasn’t allowed to throw away a cardboard box because she used it as her iPad keyboard case

5. Whitney’s Take on Sex

Celibacy (Wearing a overly-oversized knit sweater and undies, she says, “Not worth it. My insurance doesn’t even cover my birth control.”)

or

Promiscuity (Wearing just undies and her chest covered in bruises, she says, “I made him choke me just ‘cuz I wanted to try it out.”)

Whitney goes out on a Saturday night to one of the douchiest bars in the city and meets some of the douchiest boys in the city. Not surprisingly, after leaving the bar that night, Whitney- being Whitney- believes that she will never, EVER meet a decent boy at a bar because all bars suck. And all boys that go to them do too.

Whitney gets back to her (at the time, our) apartment and she’s drunk and discouraged. She changes into her overly-oversized knit “I-give-up” sweater, then gets her laptop and a fuckin’ fork for her fuckin’ cheeseburger S’mac, and slumps into the couch.

Like most 22-year-old girls, Whitney is a big fan of Bravo (if you do not heart Andy Cohen, you are a soulless monster. See below.) And like most Bravo fans, Whitney watches, like, every show on that sometimes-asinine, yet highly addictive channel.

If you do not heart Andy Cohen, you are a soulless monster who probably hates these people/things too:

• Ellen DeGeneres
• Golden Retriever Puppies
• http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMS0O3kknvk
• Jim + Pam’s relationship on The Office
• Buzzfeed
• Free samples
• Netflix Original Series

Whitney was especially into the Bravo show “Miss Advised” at the time, which, if you don’t remember, follows 3 single relationship experts as they give advice to other single people while trying to find love for themselves.

One of the women on the show was Amy Laurent, who is a matchmaker in NYC. Men come to her to ‘find love’ and Amy sets them up on a date with one of the women she has stored in her ‘database.’

What happens next:

1. Drunk Whitney sends in a picture and fills out an application to be entered into Amy Laurent’s ‘database.’

2. Sober Whitney reads a very-confusing-until-she-remembers-what-she-did-drunk-on-Saturday-night email at work on Monday from Amy Laurent, which says she’s been accepted into the‘database.’

3. Drunk Whitney is apparently a 27-year-old.

4. Sober Whitney is like “whaaaaa?”

In the email, Amy asks to meet Whitney, the 27-year-old girl who, from the picture, looks really good for her age. Whitney wears a blazer and real jewelry to their meeting the next day at Amy’s office. Amy tells Whitney she has a ‘great’ potential guy for her to meet. His name is Tim, and Amy can vouch for him- she knows Tim personally and he’s a “great guy”

Amy was only half-lying. Tim’s a dick. But she does know him personally. Fast forward to a few episodes of “Miss Advised” later and you’ll see that Amy went on date with Tim herself, and fucking hated him.

Whitney goes on a date with Tim and finds out for herself that he is, in fact, a dick. And apparently, a very, very successful one.

Tim invites Whitney to meet him at one of the most-expensive and fancy restaurants in NYC. Despite his wealth, it’s just “for drinks.” Whitney remembers that Tim spent most of the time talking about his personal chef, which adds insult to injury. I mean, Whitney- being Whitney- is “STAR.VING.” She also remembers that Tim told her that he can’t ski, but that he is “very into sledding.” Which is amazing.

To give you a better idea of who this guy is, I’ve done some research for you:

Timothy Syke’s Wikipedia Bio: Timothy Syke’s is an American stock trader, entrepreneur, and penny stock expert. He is best known for turning his Bar Mitzvah money into over $1 million by day trading in-between classes at Tulane University.

3 words/phrases that equals someone who sucks: Stock Trader + Bar Mitzvah Money + Tulane= you suck

More ‘3 words/phrases that equal someone who sucks’

• Paleo + Clean Eating + Never Give Up
• Actually saying the word ‘Hashtag’ + #yesplease + National (insert anything) Day
• Speakeasy + too mainstream + Ramen burger

A Few Blog Post Titles from Timothy Skye’s Blog- I would include actual quotes from the blog entries because I’m sure they are riddled with gems, but I think I would throw up if I read them.

• How to Sit Courtside at an NBA Game & Get Rich
• 64 Penny Stock Trading Rules to Honor my $164,000 Profit Week, I’m Mad you Probly Don’t Know Them, Do You?
• How to Get Mansions, Ferraris, Lamborghinis & Rolexes
• How I made $74,000 Yesterday & Will Make $100,000 Tomorrow (Seriously)
• My $12 Million Yacht Trip Photos
• Celebrating The New Year with a $35,000 Rolex Watch
• The Jew of Wall Street Reviews the Wolf of Wall Street

Some of the ‘Baller’ Pictures from Timothy Syke’s Instagram- He calls himself an “Inspirer” in his description, among other self-proclaimed, unofficial titles. I’ve also bolded a few of the especially disgusting hashtags.

This is how millionaires get our cars washed in Miami Beach #lamborghini #gallardo #lambo #carwash #miami #miamibeach #millionairefun #sexy #clean #betternow #lasucks

Thumbs up, I approve of this message #miami #stocks #beautiful #girls #rich #luxury #mylife

Which watch do you like best? My new $35,000 Gold Rolex or my $36,000 Audemars Piguet? (Hint: your answer says a lot about you) #rolex #audemars #audemarspiguet #carbonfiber #18kgold #finewatches #insarolex #watchgram #watchporn #bahamas #yachting #thisisthelife #porscheonmywrist #obnoxious #imrichbitch #dailyinspiration #rolexdaytona #royaloak #literallyoffshore #stocks #stockmarket #pennystocks #investors #finance #jewtime

#jewtime for me is enjoying a bagel and lox. And everyone knows he stole #imrichbitch from NeNe Leakes.

Anyways, you get it. He is #TheWorstPersonInTheWorld. Worried that Tim might try and contact her again through the matchmaking service, Whitney confesses to Amy that she is 22 so Amy would “reprimand her” and remove her name from the database thus, preventing communication with any of of the men in Matchmaking club.

After the date, Whitney- being Whitney- now believes that she will never, EVER be able to find a boyfriend in NYC by any means. Not by going to bars. Not by going on dates. So, Whitney moved across the country. She did meet a boy, though. So maybe she’s right?