Chelsea Fagan

I think we’ve all been in a Japanese restaurant at some point and ordered a big-ass basket of fried food and somehow thought to ourselves, “Ehh, it’s Japanese, how unhealthy could it possibly be?” as we sucked it down with a giant bowl of white rice drowned in molten sodium, known in some circles as “soy sauce.”

A guy who looks like he would show up to a Papa Roach concert wearing studded JNCO jeans and is named “Spinner” can manage to snag just an endless line of beautiful/smart girls, even after getting his best friend and school superstar shot.

We constantly see your photos and ask ourselves, “Why does God dole out physical beauty so sparingly that some of us get far more than any one human needs, and some of us look like a limp bowl of mashed vegetables in photos?”

You walk into their place and there’s candles, and an espresso machine, and throw pillows, and they’re just like “Let me grab some of these beautiful stemless wine glasses so we can open up a bottle of red and talk about our office jobs on my couch,” and you’re like, holy God, I am an adult now.

Toe hair, yellow nails, ripped-up cuticles, callouses everywhere — these things are not acceptable for anyone. No one is saying that you should go to your nearest salon and get four coats of fluorescent magenta paint lacquered on, but basic foot maintenance is something everyone can enjoy.

Even a compliment is often met with some qualifying statement meant to discredit it. “You look beautiful,” someone will say. “Oh, I’m disgusting, my hair is so gross today,” we’ll quickly reply.

I mean, let’s be honest, no one’s going to look at a brown haired white guy walking down the street in a floor-length mink coat, double-breasted lavender suit, velvet mocassins, and cane, and be like, “Who is that guy?”

And beyond just liking the Facebook page, now you are pressured into heading over to the Kickstarter and tossing a couple bucks over for that awesome new project that is totally going to go sky high and make all of us Mark Zuckerberg, except capable of human emotion.

The most heartbreaking moments for me in life have always been moments like this, like that couple on the street — things so beautiful I felt I almost had to look away — when there was no one there to share it with. I found myself turning around, instinctively looking for someone, anyone, to share and confirm this for me.

Eventually, though, you realize that all of his talk of being a “community builder at a web-based start up” means absolutely zero in terms of actual gainful employment, and become pretty convinced that he must be stealing TVs or something to pay rent.

There is only so much a city can provide, and we can either keep moving from location to location, or we can find something new in ourselves to enjoy.

So what makes them so special? Well, if you ask Tumblr, it’s the fact that two of their members — namely, Harry and Louis — are latently homosexual and in love with each other.

And the gossip, God, the gossip. This coworker — the one you don’t care about — she slept with that one guy you might have met that time but don’t remember.

The truth is, when I look back on the article today, I cringe. And I don’t cringe because of all the negative comments — though, let’s be honest, that’s never pleasant. I cringe because it was something that I thought and, in my ignorance, said loud enough for the world to hear.

Everyone is a dirty, dirty liar. Yes, even you. Whether or not we’d like to admit it, there are just certain things that we’re incapable of telling the truth about. Blame it on society, remember that we all do it, and call it a day. No need to feel too guilty, I promise.

I mean, it’s surprising that in 2012 anyone would have some kind of line in the sand about how many pasta dinners a guy has to take you out for before you can take your vagina out of its silk-lined jewelry box and let it participate in the relationship.

I have never gotten chills in such a short amount of time, nor felt so moved by that one passage of the song. You go, baldy, you do your thing.

We either have a near-allergic aversion to cracking an actual book once in a while, or we’re one of those insufferable people on Tumblr who can’t stop reblogging comics and quotes that pat themselves on the back for being an ~intellectual~.