According to Jenna Marbles, aka “internet Goddess of all that is so true that we don’t want to admit is so true” proclaims in her “Sluts on Halloween” video that if you’re still “22, 23, 24″ then it’s OK to go out and look trashy and get trashed. Reading between the lines here, I can’t help but notice that she didn’t continue with “25, 26, 27″ – leading me to believe that even Jenna Marbles thinks that in a short 10 months it will no longer be acceptable for me to be a slut on Halloween. Meaning (in the most round about way possible) that if I can’t dress up on the sluttiest night of the year as a skanky ho, I certainly can’t be one in real life. In ten months.
All of a sudden, I feel like panicking. A giant, flashing neon bar sign starts blinking like a spastic strobe light behind my eyes. The walls start closing in around me, I feel like I can’t breathe and the world starts to make less sense. What is the purpose of it all? Where is the connection? Short, shallow breaths start to irritate my co-workers, and I need to lock myself in the bathroom for ten minutes and stare in the mirror telling myself that I don’t have wrinkles and that I won’t have wrinkles for at least another 5 years and that, dammit, everything is going to be fine. The world is not going to end. Let’s just say it. Just say it out loud and it will make it better, there’s no point in denying it.
This is the last ten months I will ever be able to go to The Roxy.
Look, I’m not saying that if Jenna Marbles told me to eat a monkey I would do it, but if Jenna Marbles says it’s time to stop being a skanky ho, it’s time to face the music and stop being a skanky ho, because that little drummer boy is going to rumpapumpum his way straight into telling you you’re a 47 year old cougar with bags, sags and a 100$ bar tab that no one’s about to pick up for you.
And what’s all this got to do with my beloved Roxy? There’s only three types of women that go to the Roxy: ones under 24, skanky ho’s, and 47 year old cougars with bags, sags and $100 bar tabs no one wants to pick up for them. Don’t believe me? I’ll give you six good reasons why The Roxy is the path to you becoming a Nik Richie worthy “bottle rat”.
Rumpapumpum:
One. You never leave the Roxy alone. Sure, sure, sometimes you leave with your girlfriends. But you know just as well as I do that this is because something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. & if you never leave the Roxy alone, this means only one thing. You’re being a skanky ho.
Two. The bartender knows you well enough to keep your purse behind the bar. And he’ll pull out your business card and call you at work the next day when you don’t come back for it after last call. Do you really think that PR firm you work for is going to appreciate that clientele? No, they won’t. Because it means you’re being a skanky ho.
Three. Nine times out of ten you only go to The Roxy on game nights. Winning game nights. This is because hockey players will be there, they’ll buy you as many jager bombs as you can handle and mainly, because you’re being a skanky ho.
Four. You spend the majority of your time at The Roxy in The Roxy bathroom. Doing photoshoots, combing your extensions, touching up your pale pink lipstick and bitching through the bathroom stall door that you don’t feel “hot enough” or that you feel “way too hot for this place”. Tell tale sign that you’re being a fucking skanky ho.
Five. You always find at least one girl to either punch in the face, or mentally punch in the face. This isn’t because she stepped on your toe with her stiletto or bumped into you with a bright blue cocktail, it’s because she looks good and you don’t want competition while you’re being a skanky ho.
Six. You never remember leaving The Roxy. Which means, even though you have no clue what you were doing and assume you were being just a normal girl, you weren’t. You were being a skanky ass ho.
Now please, please don’t think this means you have to stop adding names to that “list” of yours. Please, no. Go forth and fornicate. Do it often. With strangers. Two at a time. Just don’t do it with fake eyelashes on and hair extensions in. Don’t do it in pale pink lipstick and a see through shirt. Don’t do it on the same night you choose to go commando and for God sakes, don’t do it on camera. Because then you’re just being a skanky ho.
With all that says, I have ten months left, so you bet your classy rear I’m going to pull out all the stops. Lashes and extensions? You bet, baby, I’m 24! See through shirt and commando? Hey, 24, lay off! But come October, I’ve realized there’s only one way to break the habit and that’s to quit, cold turkey and stay away.
Just remember, you’ll always have the skanky ho memories… photographic proof is all over Facebook. Because even though you’re no longer a skanky ho… you’re still only 25 and social media is, like, still the most important thing, ever.
xo & yw & let's go hard!
There’s nothing in the world that compares to a “cougar” so much as a 60 year old Sugar Daddy! What seems “way out there” when you’re 24 years old is just plain creepy when you’re over 50. The message is apt… enjoy yourself.. It’s Later Than You Think!
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