getting “ready”

chicks21.jpgchicks getting ready to go out together can turn into crazy competitive bitches. it’s hilarious. i lived with five women in an off-campus house our senior year of college. we had one bathroom. we’d drink wine and take an hour or so getting ready before hitting the bars or parties. we’d model outfits, and inevitably one of us would be wearing a cleavage-heavy top, or sluttily tight jeans, thus sending the rest of us away to up the ante on our own getups. we needed more eye make up, or we, too, had to straighten our hair. it was like ─ i see your angora and i raise you a miracle bra! before you know it we’re all walking out in garters and platform heels. we’d change outfits 50 times only to end up with the first thing we put on. and then the most high maintenance gal in the bunch would still be doing her makeup when the rest of us were ready to leave. we’d roll our eyes, ask how much longer she was going to be, and then sneak off to switch tops again and apply another coat of lip gloss. chicks!

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4 responses to “getting “ready”

  1. John in IL

    too funny.

    I’ve seen this dynamic in action. As a gay man, the women in my life allow me to watch this little spectacle and they act like my opinion means something. They seem to think smoking the pole somehow gives me some incredible insight into women’s fashion. One “that’s just not right” from me and the bitches go running back to closet. I don’t get it but it’s fun.

    I always think to myself “Thank God I’m a man”. Shit, shower and shave and I’m out the door.

  2. smoking the pole!!! you learn something new every day.

    and yeah, that’s such a stereotype but what the hell — it DOES sound like fun.

    while grooming is a pain in the ass, it is fun too. the part i don’t like is when i am rushed or if i feel like others are competing with me (i may just be projecting).

  3. smoking the pole!!! you learn something new every day.

    I don’t know if NYC has gotten the phallic cigarette receptacles outside buildings since the smoking ban, but Indianapolis is full of them, and so help me god, there is one brand of these called the Smoker’s Pole. Says so right on it. I giggle like a 12-year-old every time I see one. And you know that name totally came from a 22-year-old who found it hilarious that his bosses didn’t catch on.

  4. John in IL

    More government poles here

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