how to still be a slut when you’re on your period

carrie

Great news! There’s no need to spend your moon cycle confined on the couch with chocolate and Gilmore Girls reruns when you’d rather be out on the prowl with the squad. Here are some ways you frisky little horndogs can play during the Red Scare.

shove a tampon way up there: Like way, way up there. I’m talking like no visible string. After the frivolities it may take a few days to make its way back down, but that’s a small price to pay for a good bang.

take to the shower: Rub a dub dub, blood in the tub. He won’t even notice the carnage if you lather yourselves up in enough cucumber-scented body wash. Stay tuned for “Shower Sex Tips”, coming soon.

turn off the lights: It’s all the same in the dark. He’ll just think you’re a very naturally lubricated gal. If the lights go on at some point later in the night, act confused and tell him he must have cut himself at some point. Try an “Oh my god, are you okay?” for optimum authenticity.

role-play a scene from Saw III or Grey’s Anatomy: Whether ruthless violence or kinky surgeons float your boat, putting the gore of womanhood in a different context can make all the difference.

find a vampire: They’re easy to detect. Look for a pallid complexion, bloodshot eyes, and brooding demeanor. Most commonly found trying to blend in to high school settings. But be careful not to mistakenly take home your friendly neighborhood heroin junkie. To really make this a win-win, charge that succubus for this fine-dining experience.

life in your 20’s as told by Leonardo DiCaprio

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Shut up. You’re still a kid.

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gatsby
Congrats, you can buy a plastic fifth of New Amsterdam with your real I.D. now.

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The real world isn’t like college, you idiot. Should’ve prepared better.

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THE WOLF OF WALL STREET
Yeah, yeah, you’re doing okay at your first job. Good for you.

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No one cares.

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aviator
Happy Quarter-Life Crisis!

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Shit. Your family insurance plan expired.

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Sorry but…no one cares.

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Another year older but–surprise! No one cares.

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Time to hide from old age in some warm, cozy delusions!

the old shirt moment

[non-sarcastic post alert]

Think you’ll never get over him? Think again. I recently learned that some boys are very much like boldly-patterned shirts.

Ever visit your childhood home and dig through bins of your old junk hoping maybe you’ll come across a fully-stocked wallet or an ounce of weed you’d forgotten about? Heaps of abandoned possessions deemed unworthy of your grown-up life, yet too important to throw out or donate. Doomed to Sterilite purgatory until your parents decide to move and you’re forced to face your hoarding habit.

Anyway, amidst the rummaging you see something that takes you back. Nostalgia hits you like a syrupy slap in the face as you tug on the flamboyant fabric, pulling out the old shirt.

You know the one. It has that bright paisley pattern interwoven with zebra stripes and colorful embroidered sunflowers, and back in the day you’d wear it at least once a week.It was so “you”. You cried when you spilled orange juice on it because you thought it’d stain forever. Your sister was never allowed to borrow it–she could borrow any of your skank-in-training Limited Too tops, but not your special shirt. This thing was irreplaceable.

You loved it and you remember that love with such clarity that for a second you almost consider trying on the old shirt, then remember what a hideous disgrace to fashion it actually is. It looks like Lisa Frank wiped her ass with it. Twice. How did you manage to wear that shirt and keep your friends? Into the attic with you, shirt.

You start to pack it away again because you can’t bear the idea of donating it to Goodwill to be hung in an abyss of other outdated apparel until some wanna-be hipster turns it into her DIY project.

Will you ever wear it again? God no. The idea actually makes you feel a little sick. But in this moment, holding it up in all its ostentatious paisley glory, you realize that this shirt isn’t you–it’s just the “you” you used to be. Almost as if time froze during an acid trip in an embroidered sunflower garden and everything stood still but you walked on through.

It doesn’t match anything you own now. The old you may have adored that shirt, but that same little girl also wore purple eyeshadow and crimped her hair. This shirt truly is irreplaceable, but there’s no reason to keep it around anymore. It’s finally time for Goodwill.

But damn, whoever wears this old piece of shit next has to really deserve it.

Helen

how to slip the fact that you do yoga into any conversation

Why do yoga yogaif you can’t wield it over others to make them feel like shit about their purposeless lives?

 

At a bar
“Nothing takes the edge off like tequila, am I right? Except maybe yoga. I don’t know what I’d do without Power Vinyasa.”

At the office
“The retention rate last quarter was as stable as my Drishti gaze while holding Warrior III this morning in Bikram.”

At Trader Joe’s
“Do you have any vegetarian mini hot dogs? Yoga has inspired me to practice ahimsa in all aspects of life. I try to avoid harming any living being.”

At Thanksgiving
“I wonder how many chaturangas it will take to burn off these mashed potatoes! Easy on the scotch, Grandma.”

At the dentist
“I understand you think I should floss for my future health, but yoga has taught me to stay grounded in the present. I don’t worry about what’s to come, for all we have is now.”

Ordering at Peet’s Coffee
“Your coffee isn’t too strong, right? I hate being jittery during yoga and I’m on my way to a class now.”

In the Taco Bell drive-thru
“Namaste for the quesalupa, my friend.”

On trial for murder
“I do yoga.”

Helen