It’s after 5pm on a Friday, which means it’s the M’F’N weekend, folks/friends/fans (dad.) This basically means sitting on the couch, braless #naturally, while one-more-episoding a night that goes into the mornings worth of a Netflix show of choice. Self control clearly not a strong suit. Not having to be a human come morning necessary.
It’s sitting on the same couch as our loving boyfriend/fiance/hubby/bestie, with our iPads, smart phones, gadgets, et al. either on our laps or right-next-to said laps, with a plethora of tabs open (no doubt on pages of the usual suspects of Insta/YouTube/Pinterest/Twitter/Pilates studio sched/fave blog/TMZ), and apps (all the aforementioned and our period tracker, water tracker, step counter and calorie counter) open on our phone.
It’s making plans with a friend via Facebook messenger and not hearing back from her after we saw she read the message (what the f?!) so we text her to see why she hasn’t written back and are we still on? And then emailing after that if still no response (that flighty fuck!)
It’s checking our girl crush’s Insta feed to see what she’s wearing on her GNO so we can go out and buy the exact same look – without concern of a who wore it better sitch since we aren’t following her on social for fear of the former – to wear on our GNO on Saturday night. Who needs a stylist/personal shopper anymore when fangirling on Insta does it for you?
It’s going to the clubs (ew, but i know some of you still hit that shit) to try to get out and meet a man, only to spend the whole night taking selfies in the bathroom mirror then spending the rest of it editing the shit out of the not-so-candid-but-we’ll-say-it-is selfie on Insta, debating between filters that make us more tanned, more thin, and way prettier than we really are. But shhh, hashtag #nofilter. Ha! And yes, stud that’s creeping up on my Insta in hopes to some day have my babies, i’m naturally glowing with a st. barthsesque golden hue but shiitttt when we meet on our date (insta is the new meat market) my insta filter doesn’t come with me so BEWARE.
It’s hitting that hot, new ice cream place that we just read is the “hot, new” spot and buying a sexy looking cone we likely won’t eat but fuck it, we did it for the check in and we were there before everyone else was. How hip am I? I know. I started that trend. I went there before everyone else did. That place is, like, passe already.
It’s cruising for a lay on Bumble and happn, as we copy and paste tried tested and true pick up lines one babely bachelor at a time.
It’s I-hate-this-show but i’m not changing the station because the remote is at the opposite end of the couch. THE OPPOSITE END!
It’s you doing you. It’s you doing other peoples husbands. It’s you figuring out what you want to do, which plans sound the best, then not having anything to wear out that you haven’t already posted on social so you decide to stay in (cue Netflix) and then WTF? how is it Sunday eve and I haven’t left the house/worn a bra/showered in 2.5 days?!
It’s the m’f’n weekend. And I’m blogging instead of sitting at a bar guzzling down empty feelings and calories because everyday I’m hustling. How are you celebrating?