Guys. I’m annoyed. March and April are my least favorite of all the months because there’s nothing to look forward to and the weather is unpredictable and usually leans on the side of just plain shitty. Toss that in with the fact that I am ACTUALLY wedding season dieting – unlike Mr. Pizza and Wings over there – so I’m hungry and missing French fries.
I take my annoyance out on my friends. They see me angrily stabbing at my lentil soup and bitching about the bruise I got on my ankle so now it hurts to go running. They listen to me whine about my (read: lack of) relationship problems and probably are just counting down the days until it’s summer and I’m fun again. Sorry, pals. Please still love me.
I’m also annoyed because being a girl is hard and I didn’t totally sign up for this bullshit. For the most part I like being a lady…although lady might be a bit of an overstatement. I like that it’s socially acceptable for me to carry around my phone in a case with multi-colored fruits on it. I like makeup and dresses and painting my nails purple. I like not paying for drinks sometimes and I like that when I stay in to watch TV in my sweatpants with wine and face mask it’s “self-care.”
But, as I stated above, being a girl is hard. And annoying. And 40 to 50 percent of the time I would strongly consider saying yes to being a dude because dudes have it way easier and don’t have to deal with all of the ~*eMoTiOnS*~.
So without further ado, here’s some more whining. Full disclosure: I’m going to talk about some shit that makes my guy friends go “GOD KENDRA. YOU’RE RUINING GIRLS. STFU.” So if you aren’t sure that your sensitive little bro eyes can take it skip this one (who am I kidding? You probably skip all of my articles out of meninist principle or something) and come back next time I do a “Scaries After Dark” or whatever.
It’s not a compliment, it’s not polite, and it’s not just simply telling a woman she’s attractive. And if you think it’s any of those things you have mine and 99% of the rest of the female population’s permission to go play freeze tag in Seattle traffic.
You know what’s super fun? When you decide to wear that black, swingy dress because it makes you feel cute and you’ve been running your ass off (wedding season diet) so your legs look great and some Metro Traffic Officer decided a Tuesday morning is a good time to say “Yeah mama you strut that stuff like you mean it.” I’m not complimented. I’m not flattered. I’m creeped out. And way to ruin my Americano you douche-lord.
I’m a big advocate of #dudesgreetingdudes. If you haven’t seen it I highly suggest you look it up because it is #gold. If another dude just yelled from across the street, “Hey bro nice pecs! I bet you could lift me above your head and give me a shake no problem!” you’d be weirded out and I dare you to tell me differently.
You’re walking along, wearing your favorite comfy bra who has stuck by you for years when all of a sudden your side-boob is STABBED by a piece of fucking wire. You’ve been betrayed by the bra you once loved and now you have to do the only thing worse than shopping for jeans: shopping for bras.
There’s measuring and different levels of padding and “sister sizes” and it’s all honestly just very confusing and self-indulgent. And it’s never the experience you want it to be. You almost never put on a bra that fits, is comfortable, doesn’t feel like it’s going to turn into a straight jacket after eight hours, and makes your rack look *prime*. The sales girls are always a little eye-rolly and you’re totally wondering how many people have tried to get it on in that overly spacious Victoria’s Secret dressing room.
It’s another expense, another every day thing that dudes seem to just “appreciate” (I think mostly because they feel like Joey Tribbiani when they can undo it with one hand but all that makes me think is this.) but will never fully understand. And the front clasp is seriously not that difficult. Watch a YouTube tutorial if you’re too embarrassed to ask your friends for fuck's sake.
Here we go. If you made it this far but are too grossed out and need to leave, I’ll understand. Just leave some Thin Mints as you go.
Seriously fuck getting your period. It’s the god damn worst. It feels like being sick to your stomach and having back seizures and something too gross to describe on this website for 3 to 7 days. It takes me out of commission from all of my favorite activities like climbing shit while drunk, wearing crop tops, and just generally feeling like a baller and instead leaves me withered away on the couch crying to Tangled with tortilla chips and sour cream in hand.
And don’t get me started on tampons, and Midol, and extra loads of laundry. What a fun little monthly expense I didn’t sign up for! The only benefit to girls getting our periods is we’re far more likely to get away with murder because we’re so good at getting blood out of things. Dexter ain’t got shit on a girl who needs to get a blood stain out of something white. We don’t even bat an eye; we’ve been handling that since we were 12. Literally.