Dear Annie Leibovitz, I don’t want to tell you how to do your job.
Am I a world-renowned photographer with major gallery retrospectives, books, and a Clio award, who has taken pictures of every major celebrity in the past 30 years? No. You are.
Did I shoot the iconic last photograph of John Lennon curled up naked around Yoko Ono just five hours before he was shot? No. You did.
So these are JUST suggestions.
Option 1: Girl, Interrupted
“Oh, hey. Haha. I didn’t hear you come in… ”
Sure, it’s been done before, but it’s a classic. All we will need is a blow-out and some kind of very expensive evening wear that looks like one of Donald Trump’s bedsheets. I’m thinking maybe Vera Wang? I suppose we could also use an actual sheet, but I don’t want to look whorey. I want to look like I am just getting up off the floor after having hot animal sex with my baby-daddy. And my hair is still perfect.
Option 2: Pocahotness
I recently started working out. Nothing crazy, but you know, free weights, cycling, hitting the Precor. I’m thinking maybe a full-body action shot (tastefully done, of course) to nonchalantely emphasize my muscle tone under the guise of an historical or literary theme? Laura Ingalls Wilder running down the hill like in the opening of Little House on the Prairie, but in some kind of super-thin cotton dress? A slutty Sacagewea standing on a canoe, pointing toward the horizon? I don’t know, I’m just spit-balling here. Cleopatra didn’t wear a lot of clothes, right?
Option 3: Ice me up
I’m assuming you can probably borrow whatever you want from Harry Winston and shit.
I’m not really a jewelry person, but you know, this isn’t about me. This is about giving the people what they want. And people love the bling, yo. I’m just saying. I know I’m not super famous or anything, but shit, they lend jewels to like tertiary characters on Glee for the People’s Choice Awards. And this will just be one little studio photo shoot, and far less chance that one of the earrings will end up at the bottom of Wilmer Valderrama’s pool.
Option 4: Two words: Sexy. Clown.
So, I guess I’ll just wait to hear back from you, then. Take care.
Yesterday I was sitting on the patio at a coffee shop, when I felt like someone was watching me. Then, I saw this dude who was kind of hanging off to the side, in the shadows, like he was obviously trying not to be seen.
At first, I thought I was just being paranoid, but every time I looked up, he was staring RIGHT at me. I got so creeped out that I asked for my check. As I was waiting to get a box for the rest of my sandwich, the dude started looking at me REALLY weird. I tried to just play it off, but there was something just not right him. He was bald, and had these super intense eyes like Rasputin or something. I couldn’t quite place his ethnicity, but I suspect he wasn’t from around here, because he had this shiny black coat with iridescent blue around the collar like he was getting ready to go clubbing in Prague or something.
The good news is that I managed to get a picture of him. So be warned!
You know that moment when a guy has his hands all up in your grill and you suddenly get like a Sixth Sense feeling that he has definitely yelled WOOOOOO! with his shirt off somewhere in Mexico and/or Miami Beach? And then you just know that he has, within the last three days, told someone that they are “money and don’t even know it”? And you are suddenly struck by an eerie vision that if you flipped down the visor on the driver’s side of his Dodge Viper, you would find one of those pocket CD sleeve things full of Jock Jams?
Yup, your dentist is a douche.
Once you have the revelation, it seems so OBVIOUS. How could you have missed the tuft of chest hair peeking out from the deep-V of his scrubs?
And what about the tune he was whistling when he walked in? Yes. You hear it now. It was not a real song at all, but the “doot-doot-doot-dee-doot” jingle at the end of a T-Mobile commercial.
And, then there is the way he tells you every little thing he is going to do and asks your consent like you are starring in a sex ed skit for your dorm:
I’m going to lower the chair now. Is that okay?
Is it okay if I raise you back up?
How are you doing?
Does that feel okay?
But, I have news for you. It turns out that d-bags make pretty good dentists. They make sure to get you nice and numb, and then they’re in and out before you even know it. Just like spring break in South Padre.
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Are you looking to gain valuable real-world experience in a fast-paced environment? Are you a proactive, creative problem solver with out-of-the-box ideas? Do you have a car? Does your apartment have a pool? Do you have a reliable weed source? Then this might just be the internship for you.
As my personal marketing intern, you will:
Monitor and report on the success of my Facebook posts. How long did it take for someone to respond to my funny post about the toaster oven at work? How many ‘likes’ on that latest cat video?
Tweet anything funny I say. I could set myself up on Twitter and learn how to use it, but who has the time? You’re young and it’s easy for you. I am old enough to remember when we had to spell out @ in actual letters and when “hashtag” was what happened on the way to the airport in Malaysia.
Assist with networking and relationship building. Occasionally, I will need you to accompany me to events to raise visibility and awareness of me.
Required skills: High school degree, GED, or 2+ years experience as the relative or close personal friend of someone who can get me on the list for rock shows and/or give me free food. Excellent communication and time management skills required. FileMaker Pro a plus. Serious inquiries only.
Well, you got your period, which according to the latest data from the National Institutes of Health, suggests that you’re probably around 10 years old and have been wearing a bra for 5 years already. Welcome to womanhood!
The menstrual cycle is referred to by many names. In ancient Greece, it was called catamenia (as in, “Dude, what’s up with Medea? She must have the catamenia real bad.”)
It is also called “menses,” not to be confused with Mensa, which is a club for pasty white people with just the right cultural bias to excel at tests created by other pasty white people. Like Jeopardy. (Maybe you fit into both groups, because, hey, genius uteruses, e.g., geniuteruses, shed their linings one month at a time just like the rest of us.)
Older ladies in flowy skirts who do tarot card readings at the People’s Fair tell us that Native Americans called it your “moon.” As in, “One of you other bitches make me a bison pot pie, I’m on my fucking moon again.”
My friend Kate calls it Shark Week. Also see: Crimson Tide. Red Dawn. The coming of Gozer the Gozerian.
So, there are some things you should know. A few days before your period, you may start to feel a little weird. Like, maybe when someone eats the last of the peanut butter, you will want to rip their head off with your bare hands, put it on a pike, and dance around a fire while screaming like a banshee. This is totally normal.
Then you may have a slight disembowelment sensation like your intestines are locked in a vice and being squeezed and twisted around until what feels like your entire body weight comes out of your lower orifices all at once. Also totally normal.
From there, it’s easy-peasy. Just a short 5-10 days of steady blood flow from your vagina, which you can absorb with big wads of cotton on a string that may, possibly, give you a disease called Toxic Shock Syndrome. But don’t worry, they tell you this in a handy full page (front and back!) of tiny text that reads like stereo instructions.
Another word about tampons: You’re gonna have to get up in there. When I first tried to put a tampon in, I read on the box that it had an easy glide applicator that would guide itself to the right place. I thought this meant that a tampon was like a guided missile launched from a submarine and that if I held it in front of my vagina, it would be sucked up in there without me having to dig all around up in my business. This is not the case. Your body is your friend. Learn it. Love it. Use it. And if you haven’t made friends with your vajayjay yet, this is the perfect time because you’re going to get to know each other REAL well over the next 40 years of monthly visits.
One final piece of advice: Don’t wear white on your lower half for a while. Just until you get the hang of this, say, in about your mid-30s.
10. You are 9 years old and building up your tolerance.
9. A mogul has promised to give you a zillion dollars if you spend $6.50 and have absolutely nothing to show for it.
8. Your Barbie wants hilariously oversized magnums of wine for her bachelorette party.
7. You are 15 and don’t realize that there are cheaper, equally-shitty tasting alcohols that will get you way more fucked up.
6. You like small things and not everyone has a drinking problem, so fuck off.
5. You only buy travel-sized items.
4. That Bon Appetit from six years ago that you have in your bathroom says single-serve wine is in.
3. You are playing a drinking game with your grandma.
2. Someone dared you.
1. It’s your first time with your girlfriend and you want everything else to look bigger.