Stephanie Harris

Unless you are Jared Leto and have been meditating in the desert for the past month, you are fully aware of the coronavirus pandemic sweeping the globe right now.

If you are single and in your 30s, you’ve inevitably gone on a decent amount of dates. So many dates. Copious amounts of dates. No, seriously, how did you find the time to do anything else?

Talks about his love of hunting. Casually mentions how it would be fun if he could hunt people.

Drastically change your appearance.

Despite your better judgement, you begrudgingly made a Tinder profile.

I decided to scale it back, but first, I was going to begin with a 30-day alcohol detox. Part of me wanted to befriend my liver, and part of me wanted to see if I could actually do it.

Can we all just get over ourselves for a few minutes? It shouldn’t be this serious. If you like someone, tell them. If you are thinking about them, text/call them. If you aren’t, quit being a dick.

Point out our accents. While most of us don’t say Chicaaaaaago like the old Saturday Night Live skits, after a few drinks, that long “a” may sneak into a word or two.

It seems Amy is not fat enough to be accepted by the fat girls, but too fat to be accepted by the skinny ones. She is smack dab in this wonderful range I like to call to home, which others may refer to as “average.”

Recently my Facebook feed has been blowing up with an article titled, “6 Reasons My Husband and I Probably Won’t Make It To Your Event, and Why We Don’t Want You To Take It Personal.”

No man has willingly taken a trip with you to IKEA without hoping to try out the new bed he helped you put together.

When a group of girl friends get together there is bound to be a conversation or two about sex. Last weekend in particular there were many, and the topic of the elusive threesome came up for the first time since college.