Chelsea Fagan

In my mind, I ooze charm and coolness — there is never an occasion in which I’m not a wink and a subtle nod away from going home with seven European male models. In my mind.

And no, not Beyonce or Lady Gaga or whatever other pitiful facsimile of a Diva our generation has managed to scrounge up, I’m talking about real ones. Tina, Whitney, Barbra, Cher, and — in my opinion, most importantly, Celine.

It is as though they are less a person and more an amalgam of everything they have done, everything they mean to you. And when you look at them, across a table or while they’re still asleep, there is so very much there to see.

They are already clicking “maybe” on the Facebook event of life, actually inviting them to something on social media seems a bit redundant.

We all know that no one is more of a model for your own future knight-in-shining-armor than a good, old-fashioned Disney Prince.

It’s disgusting to have entire generations of people growing up thinking they are ugly simply because they are an average human size. And the FAM is right on in its assertions that being overweight doesn’t necessarily imply poor health — for the most part.

So while you break out your shiniest 70s leisure suit, make sure to order only a vintage bottle of Andre, and seal this second-date deal right here and now, here are a few tips to make sure that all will go its best.

Usually kicking off right after school and continuing into the dusky hours when your parents would line up to take you home, they were those tender moments in which you could fall in love, break a heart, or just be the kid painfully attempting to break dance in the middle of the circle.

You check the size, and it’s… more or less your size. You slip it on and, uhh, it pretty much fits. If you don’t move your arms too far forward and you don’t button the second button, yeah, you can get this thing on.

While, no, technically you will not be marrying Don Draper, you can rest assured that you are marrying a man both sexy and intuitive enough to bring to life such an incredible character (and make us lust for him, despite his apparent lack of a soul).

I just, no matter how much wrinkle cream I preemptively put around my eyes in hopes of staving off those unfortunate early-thirties crow’s feet, I’ll never feel like I’m truly staying young enough. I see 20-year-olds running around my neighborhood and, Christ, they have so much time ahead of them.

I have friends who refuse to talk to each other for this very reason, and that magical spell will only be broken once one of them misguidedly hooks up with another friend and can transfer that awkward tension to yet another in a series of human mistakes.

Anything we do is immediately rendered charming and “festive” (the universal code word for the perpetual drunkenness and gluttony of the holidays) because we look like something off a CMT Christmas Variety Show. Our grandmothers would find us adorable, even as we are vigorously heaving hot toddies into the bathroom sink.

It’s strange to see how people just make U-turns or go off in incredibly strange directions at the drop of a hat at this age, when we’re largely free — and most of us can’t find good employment. And though there are of course exceptions to every rule, the people I once danced to Boyz II Men at prom with are now mostly doing 1 of 5 things.

And that’s the thing that I have now grown to resent about my friends and acquaintances who’ve never had to work these jobs, they are almost without fail the people who have no qualms about being absolute toads towards the people serving them.

There are bridges I have burned out of necessity. Yours was simply abandoned, left untended for years until weeds grew through it and the railing fell apart and it became something you might take a black-and-white picture of, but you could never cross again.

Here, a primer for when your future children want to know what the hell you were doing with your boxy, multicolored electronics.

Michael Cera + 50 years + an overly eager support of the adoption process = Woody Allen