Wipe that face off your head
Some sensible advice for young women from your battle-scarred future
Kate Carraway, February 17, 2010
Dear girls,
Last night I watched you and your idiot friend lose your fucking minds outside of a bar. You’re, what, 23? 24? I guess you got kicked out and your buds were inside? Whatever, I don’t care. But watching both of you drunk-cry, scream and throw punches at a standard-issue-beefy bouncer (who was laughing at you, by the way), I had a sense of deja-ewwww of the more embarrassing and avoidable moments of my own fleeing youth. And, as I have been actively seeking wisdom from ladies slightly and much older than me ever since my recent turning-of-29, it seems an auspicious time to offer some hard-won, well-considered tids of my own. Listen up, bitches.
OK, first of all:
shopping isn’t a hobby. Find something else to do. Remember when you are flicking through clothes at mall stores and looking at advertisements in magazines and furnishing your disgusting apartment that you are being seduced by commerce, and not in a way that leaves you dripping in anything other than child labour and debt. I mean, I wear (vintage) fur and believe in fashion, but you have to know what it is that you’re doing and for whom you’re doing it.
On the topic of money:
learn it. More crucial than most things in your dumb life is getting your credit and savings in order. Being afraid of money and bills is for babies. Know what is for grown-ups? A budget, a retirement account, a clean credit report. Related:
clean up your heaps of filth a little bit every day and then a lot once a week. (Unless you’re a committed crusty, in which case, I salute you.) Respecting your stuff is almost the same as respecting yourself. Dig?
STFU. Stop yelling into your phone on the bus. You’re not impressing anybody. Moreover, when you and your girl squad are screaming, four-deep on the sidewalk, or texting instead of talking to each other, I’m judging you. We all are.
Get it together.
Onward:
get sex. If you hang with sluts, just go to the alley and put your tongue inside their mouth. Proceed, and
use protection. Or, in a more likely scenario, make someone know that they want you by finding a balance between genuinely not giving a shit because you’re better than them, and being the foxiest, funnest, most into-them girl on the planet, because you are. The important thing is to maintain control of the situation (until they’ve checked out OK and you can get onto the business of being vulnerable). Oh yeah, straights:
get yours. For every orgasm he has, you should have two or three. This is just biology.
Give good head. It is a tremendous human power to deliver A+ oral. And always, always,
calm down. The best advice I’ve ever heard about boys is, “When in doubt, don’t call,” courtesy of my oldest sister, who is God’s boss. If you’re wondering whether or not to text, IM, email or call a guy, don’t. He can call you if he wants to. This isn’t an anti-feminist head game — the objective is to free your mind. Just, seriously. Relax.
Do something. Doesn’t matter what. Probably your mom or your shitty high school friends or a man has tacitly suggested that women should fear and avoid failure, disapproval and criticism, and should instead invest their energies in other people’s art and ideas. You know, my love, that this is a lie. If I see you sitting on a curb, smoking, and you don’t have a blog or a band or a small business or something other than a boyfriend, I swear on a stack of Sassys I’ll spit my gum on you. If you don’t end up liking what you’re doing, try something else. No BFD, right?
Say yes. Being a scaredy-mouse is weak and boring. Be afraid of something and then do it anyway, again and again.
Say no. To your boss, your parents, your friends. Learn how “no” feels in your mouth and in what instances saying it will make you and your life better. Being a salty bitch should be countered with kindness, but remember, you’ve got to get yours.
Decide what kind of person you want to be with, and then become that person. The only way your life will be cinematic, or even vaguely interesting, is if you run it the fuck down and make it happen. Yeah, all by yourself. And shit can get lonely. So,
find your best friends. You have an obligation to be honest and rad to these people and expect the same. Figure out who and what makes you choke on laughs and makes your skin burn with joy, then take it (and them), and don’t apologize for it ever. And once in a while, cradle your beautiful teacup face in your hands, and remember that
you’re perfect.
Love, Kate. xoxo
