Becoming President Is Like Really Easy

Since Donald Trump was all “I’m running for President,” and it didn’t turn out to be a joke like I had originally thought, I decided I needed to see what the application process is like when you run for President of the United States.

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Photo by Daily News

Since I happen to be a champion googler (is that really not considered a word yet?) in two states, I found what I was looking for with ease. I googled phrases like:

How to become president of the United States

Can you run for President if you have a record

If you win the whole president thing, can you paint the white house a different color?

If you become president, do they give you a chef?

Does someone bring you breakfast in bed?

Do you get to do the grocery shopping or does someone do that for you? I prefer to grocery shop on my own.

How many bathrooms do you get?”

As you can see, I got a little off topic from what I was originally researching, but I consider all of these top notch, significant questions. On my google magic carpet ride through the inter-web, I discovered a wikihow (complete with photos) regarding how to become President. I also read the SparkNotes version and briefly reminisced about how the site got me through AP English in high school. So here’s the gist of it:

1) Be a natural born citizen.

As long as your mother birthed you in America, you’re good to go. Say thank you to your mom for birthing you. That shit’s painful and messy.

2) Be at least 35 years old.

Realistically, I’ll never be an actual adult, but if I ever were to morph into one, it would probably be at around age 35, so this rule makes sense. I feel like 35 years old is the age when you remember to buy toilet paper BEFORE you run out.

3) Live in the US for at least 14 consecutive years before running.

14 is an odd number and I’m not sure why that’s the rule. I picture a bunch of congress people picking different numbers out of Uncle Sam’s large hat at random.

Photo by funnyordie.com

Photo by Funny or Die

There you have it folks. The criteria is pretty straightforward, granted I’m sure you have to do a lot of other political shit before you run. I was expecting a lengthier list with requirements like: must have wrinkles, must be able to buy toilet paper on time or must be able to distinguish your and you’re. I assume the position can only be filled by humans although it’s not clearly stated in the wikihow. I chose not to run for President because I like keeping my weekends free and I don’t want my hair color to change so dramatically.

 

I Hate Going to the Dentist

…and it’s not just because they get entirely too close to my face. Did I invite you to my barbecue? (no) Then why are you all up in my grill?

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I’ve been having temperature sensitivity pain with one of my teeth and my go-to strategy of hoping it would go away wasn’t working. So, I made the executive decision to make an appointment with a random dentist I found online. Also, chewing on the left side of your mouth makes eating so much less enjoyable. (On the bright side, I totally lost a pound). My first mistake was not checking this man’s yelp review:

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If you got a one star review from doing YOUR JOB, that’s probably a bad sign.

I arrived five minutes early for my appointment and immediately felt uncomfortable because the office appeared to be someone’s home from the outside. I walked in apprehensively and presented myself to the receptionist. She handed me some papers to fill out while I waited. I sat down and noticed a few magazines and toys for children. I promptly filled out the paperwork and handed them to the receptionist. She was older and married; and was probably oblivious to the yelp review I just found.

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A small man with gray hair and creepy eyes walked out to greet me and asked me to follow him into a room. He was nothing short of  an oompa-loompa minus the green hair. I wish he had had green hair; it would have been a more enjoyable visit. I greeted his dental assistant and sat down in an ugly green dental chair. The equipment seemed old and outdated. I peered around the room and couldn’t help but notice the uncanny resemblance to a serial killer’s torture basement. While I waited for Patrick Bateman to pop out with an ax or chain saw, the dentist (let’s call him Eugene) made small talk with me. I told Eugene that I major in Journalism and that I currently have an internship working for a small tech-start up in NYC. I briefly explained that I was the Content and Marketing intern for the founder of an iPhone app.

Everyone’s trying to make the next app…or whatever.”

Eugene was clearly jealous that my job is more fun than his, so I ignored his condescending tone and generally arrogant demeanor.

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So anyway, I got a cavity filled like three weeks ago and ever since then, my tooth has been really sensitive to cold and hot food and drinks.”

…I said, changing the subject back to why I was there in the first place. He poked around in my mouth and would continue to do this several times during the 25 minutes I was there. He asked me a few more general questions before deciding to take an x-ray. He came back while we waited for the x-ray and I asked him what he thought could be the problem.

Well worst case scenario, you’ll need a root canal.”

I nearly shit my pants. Who says ‘root canal’ that casually?

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He came back with the x-ray and spent 5 minutes looking at it before I asked if he saw anything odd. He didn’t see anything and came back to stick sharp objects in my mouth and tap the problem tooth. Eugene explained that I MIGHT need a root canal. Since he came to that conclusion so quickly, I asked why he thought this and if it could be something else. In so many words, he essentially said:

I don’t know, but you might need one.”

I felt like I knew less than I did before making this mistake of an appointment. He asked me if I wanted to see what the process of a root canal looked like with his superior-I’m-smarter-than-you-because-I-supposedly-have-a-dental-degree tone. He pulled out a picture book and explained the procedure to me, but I was too busy trying not to vomit and planning my escape.

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It could be from the filling that was put in to your tooth. So we can take that filling out, then put a different one in and see what happens. There’s no guarantee it’ll work though.”

I did not trust Eugene with a drill this early in our relationship that was quickly going downhill in my mind.

I don’t understand why the tooth in front of the one that got the filling hurts if the filling is the issue. Can you explain that to me?”

Eugene seemed puzzled when I threw this curve ball at him. I assumed he could tell the tooth that had the filling was different than the one I had pointed to. He poked around in my mouth some more and I finally decided he didn’t have a real D.D.S. Perhaps his career as a ventriloquist did not work out and he was left with dentistry. Either way, I needed to get out of this horrible office. I implied that I wanted a second opinion and got out of the chair quickly and narrowly avoiding ramming the top of my head into the light that was positioned above my face. Farewell, Eugene and may the Yelp reviews be ever in your favor (NOT).

Actual photo of me running away from Eugene.

Actual photo of me running away from Eugene.

 

7 Things No One Tells You About Adulting

At this point in my life, not that many people want to assassinate me. And yet whenever I’m in my huge 5 bedroom house alone, every little noise makes me think someone is about to come kill me. The most worrisome time this feeling occurs is when I’m in the shower; please, for the love of God, I don’t want to die naked. I haven’t even completed my diet yet! Realistically if I looked like Adriana Lima or Heidi Klum, I’d be like yes, please let everyone I went to high school with find my perfect body and be insanely jealous. But not now; my bod just isn’t ready.

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I just moved into my new place and will be living with five other girls. However, only one of them has moved in so far and she’s not home all the time. Whenever I’m home by myself, I’m constantly checking to see if the doors are locked and, like I mentioned previously, each little noise that the house makes immediately makes my brain go into “intruder alert” mode. If you think about it, it’s pretty narcissistic for me to think so many people want to kill me. I’m really not even important enough yet to get death threats or any other cool things celebrities get to go through. Like why would all these assassins be in my house? And if they’re so good at their job, why can I hear them? This is one of the things no one tells you when you kind of almost live by yourself temporarily. Here are some other things you will encounter so you can be prepared. You’re welcome.

7) You will have to kill all the bugs yourself.

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If you saw my previous post about my self-diagnosed arachnophobia, then you know exactly how hard it is for me emotionally whenever I encounter bugs. When you’re alone and you see a bug, you have to kill it; or in my case, give it your best shot and attempt to kill it. I have no sympathy for the ugly little critters trying to move in with me. Like, bitch no, you don’t pay rent. The other day, I saw a very small spider on one of the walls in my room. After a few minutes, I built up the courage to get a napkin and do the deed. I go to squish him and BAM, Little Lucifer the II jumps onto another part of the wall. OH GOOD. A JUMPING SPIDER. I try again to squish his puny little body in between my napkin and the wall, and of course, he basically flip jumps off the wall onto the floor with his tiny middle fingers in the air pointed at me. I’ve lost him. Now I’m late for work and have a new roommate.

6) You have to figure out how and when to take the trash out.

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…and if you take it out on the wrong day, you get fined and have to go to court. Basically the same as if you get caught for assassinating someone. Also, you still have to take it out even if it’s raining. Hopefully the love of your life doesn’t walk by when you’re in your pink robe covered in wet dirt trying to take out your trash.

5) You have to uncork your own wine bottles.

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This was actually the one thing that I enjoyed doing. I usually get wine bottles with caps so that there’s no way I can interfere with my drinking habits unless I drop the bottle on the floor. Every time I’ve tried to uncork a bottle of wine, I end up either breaking it up into little pieces and having to drink half cork-half wine, or I push the cork into the bottle. If you ask me, pushing a cork back into a bottle of wine takes more skill than uncorking the thing. Anyway, now I know how to do it without ruining my wine.

4) There’s so much shit you have to clean.

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I was always vaguely aware that my parents cleaned the house, but I rarely ever cleaned anything myself. I know how to fold clothes and that’s about it. No one told me that parts of my house will be dirty in ways that I couldn’t have possibly imagined. I decided to try to clean my bathroom after a few days of living in the new house. One of the nastiest things I encountered were the blinds covering one of the windows. They looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since World War II; I couldn’t even figure out what color they were supposed to be. At first I tried dusting it off, but this dirt was pretty insistent on never moving. My boyfriend was with me at the time and he thought it would help to SPRAY FEBREZE on the dirt. When I tried to go over it with the duster, the dirt started sticking together and began falling onto me. Cute. Eventually we figured out that wet wipes would evict the little specs from their residence on my blinds. They’re a shade of white by the way.

3) Sometimes your landlord won’t return your text messages.

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I’m not sure how to solve this one yet.

2) Fire alarms do indeed come out of the ceiling if you pull hard enough.

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The night before my first day at my new internship, my fire alarm started chirping every two minutes even though I had just changed the batteries. Luckily my superhero boyfriend was there to Google how to fix it while I laid there and complained. After about 45 minutes of him running around the house trying to steal the batteries from the other alarms and watching strange YouTube videos about how to fix the problem, he ripped the fire alarm out of the ceiling and saved the day. I texted my landlord to tell him about the problem (this time he replied) and he said he would come replace the batteries. I briefly informed him that “mine is on the couch.” He did not think that was as funny as I did.

1) You can and you will drink alone.

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And it’s awesome. Sip on some Pinot at the end of a long day and you’ll sleep through the sound of assassins trying to break into your house.

Little Lucifer

Arachnophobia is defined as:

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I believe I have this. I am not a doctor, nor have I gone to a doctor to confirm, but I fucking hate spiders. And I’m sure they hate me too. They find me everywhere: the shower, my room, outside. I know that technically, I’m infiltrating their environment if I’m outside, but I’m narcissistic enough to believe they shouldn’t be there. Spiders are like serial killers to me. They look creepy, they move fast, and I’m almost positive they have axes in their back pockets.

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My friend Carolina sleeps in my room on Mondays and Tuesdays because she has work across the street from my dorm. We were studying together on Tuesday and I decided to take a break. My breaks last about an hour, while my study periods drone on for about 10 minutes. Journalism is a truly torturous major. I was laying on my bed during my short study break and there it was: a killer black spider crawling around on my ceiling. Once I see a spider, I can’t ignore it- similar to when a sex scene comes on while you’re watching a movie with your parents.jennifer-lawrence-scared-funny-face

When I pointed it out to Carolina, it was clear that she was not willing to kill miniature Satan with 8 legs. I continued to ask her to kill it despite her hesitance. I insisted that my arachnophobia would get in the way of killing it properly. As she continued to refuse to put her big girl pants on and step up to the plate, I tried to make her feel guilty while I built up the courage to approach little Lucifer.

Let me make one thing clear: I want all spiders to die. I’m not against murdering them all. I just have a hard time getting near them. It’s not a moral issue. I don’t want you to mistake me for a decent human being.

I had goosebumps all over my body (SINCE I HAVE CLINICAL ARACHNOPHOBIA) and I walked over to a chair in my room.  For whatever reason, my school puts rocking chairs into the residence halls, as opposed to regular chairs – It’s weird that the administration assumes we’re all 90 years old. I began to position my rocking chair underneath the spider; I did this while keeping one eye on the spider.

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All of a sudden, the spider decided to do the little Spiderman thing and hang its web from the ceiling (like the asshole that he was). I began to scream as if someone had told me vodka would stop being sold in the world. This inevitably made Carolina start screaming as well. Part of me thought that the spider had jumped on me in an effort to either be friendly or kill me and I danced around trying to get if off, breaking my necklace in the process. Cool.

When I finally settled down next to Carolina, we looked at the ceiling and tried to find the spider, hoping it hadn’t left the ceiling. I thought it had committed spider suicide and jumped to its death. In most instances, I would have felt relieved by spider suicide, but my carpet is navy blue and I wouldn’t have been able to confirm little Lucifer’s death.

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Then, there it was, back in its cozy spot on my ceiling. One of my floor mates had heard our screams and texted me to ask if everything was ok. I wrote back “no. spider. please kill it.” It turned out that the only person willing to kill El Diablo was a little under 5 feet tall, a feisty female munchkin at best. She walked in casually and asked me where it was. I pointed in its direction trembling with fear. She stood up on my rocking chair and reached for tiny Satan, and just when I thought my life would be back on track, she could not reach El Diablo r; she was too short. In my time of crisis, I was overwhelmed with the idea that a spider would be living with me permanently (he hadn’t even bought me dinner; it was too early in the relationship). However, the munchkin was able to think quickly and left the room momentarily to go put high heels on. As far as I was concerned, it was the most innovative idea I had ever heard of. “She will be the next Steve Jobs,” I thought. “Or Samantha Jobs, I guess (since she’s a girl).”

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She stood up on the rocking chair with her bravery and high heels and killed little Lucifer with one smoosh of a napkin. “MY HERO!” I screamed. The munchkin smiled and walked out of the room just as casually as she had walked in. Carolina and I sat there basking in relief and continued to avoid homework at all costs.

 

Transformation Tuesday: It’s Britney Bitch

Britney Spears has taught us a lot since the 90s. I thought it would be fun to examine her Transformation for Transformation Tuesday and lifelong lessons that we can all cherish. Here’s what Britney has taught us over the years:

1) It’s good to start your career off being adorable and with a considerable amount of clothing.

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2) Wearing pigtails while insisting on your lack of innocence will in fact benefit your career.

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3) A camel toe will rarely detract from a woman’s overall hotness. She also confirms our fear that we would have to go on a serious diet in order to live in outer space during the 90s.

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4) Snakes are a great sub-accessory to your belly button piercing.

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5) Wow. Really Justin? Those sunglasses? Come on now. (Not sure about the life lesson to be learned here).

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6) You do not need Tarzan to be Jane.

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7) Debunking the myth that all flight attendants are unattractive.

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8) Debunking the other myth that you need to put clothes on before going to work, taking casual Fridays to a whole new level.

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9) The guy who prides himself on his Ed Hardy T-Shirt collection will make a good life partner.

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10) You can still look cute during mental breakdowns. Hubba Hubba Brit, I’d swipe right.

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11) Future Britney would not swipe right on past Britney.

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12) Umbrellas double as baseball bats.

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13) It’s cool to mix Xanax and vodka before your VMA performance. It will help keep your lip-syncing on track.

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14) Teaching elephants to sit, stay and roll over is sexy.

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15) Being sexy is sexy. You can wear whatever you want in your teens and 20s as long as you make up for it by looking like this in your 30s. I am willing to forgive the denim on denim thing featured earlier in this post.

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A special thanks to Britney. Her song “You Drive Me Crazy” led to a lot of embarrassing choreographed videos starring my sister and I during 2003. And her other song “Work Bitch,” gets me through most of my workouts. Brit approves.

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The Vagina Monologues

I am not an actress. I prefer writing over most things (aside from sleeping, eating and dressing my dog up in cute outfits). The last time I remember auditioning for any sort of play was in the 8th grade. I auditioned for Beauty and the Beast and got the role of the semi-slutty feather duster with a french accent. It was a fun experience, but not one that I think about often. Recently, I saw that my school was having auditions for a play called the Vagina Monologues. Keep in mind that I have not actually ever seen the play in its entirety. I took a wild guess that it was about vaginas and I think vaginas are super cool. After all, that’s most likely how you came into existence, unless the stork played a large role in your birth and Santa still brings you presents. I was feeling particularly spontaneous one night and needed some good material for my blog since I’ve been MIA for most of the semester. (Once again, if anyone wants to pay me to write these posts, I will gladly drop out of college. The offer will stand until I graduate. And maybe after that.) I walked into the auditions similar to the way I imagine a man in a business suit walks into a strip club: excited, confused and ready to see vaginas.

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I was number 56 – though I did envision myself being number 69 since I thought that would be fitting. I sat down to fill out a questionnaire and choose the monologue I would be auditioning with. The first few questions were basic: name, email, etc. Then it asked if I had any acting experience. I figured being a tour guide would help me a little more than putting ‘none whatsoever,’ so I talked about how I was comfortable in front of decently large audiences. The following two questions were ones that I had never asked myself: 1) If your vagina could talk, what would it say in three words? 2) If your vagina got dressed, what would it wear?

Why had I never thought about this before? Clearly she has feelings too. For the first question I answered:

I love tati.

For the second question I answered:

A crown, FOR SHE IS QUEEN

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For the following hour, I rehearsed my monologue (like a goddamn pro). There were three monologues to choose from. The first one was half serious/half funny, the second one was all funny and the third was all serious. Knowing myself, I knew I would royally fuck up anything that was meant to be serious. I decided to go with the funny one. It was about a female sex worker/dominatrix who only dominated other women. She was someone I could see myself going to Starbucks with occasionally and I liked that about her.

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I awkwardly walked into the classroom and was greeted by four directors. They were all super friendly and told me I could begin whenever I felt comfortable. Comfortable was a strong word to use in this particular situation. I knew if I didn’t mentally yell at myself to start the first line, it would never happen:

I love vaginas.

After I got the first line out, the rest was easy to recite. The whole audition itself is a blur, but I know for a fact that I looked into each of the directors’ eyes and made a noticeable hand job motion when I was forced to use the word ‘dildo.’ I felt like this was the best way to make a lasting impression.

And it worked. I have now been cast in the vagina monologues as woman #3. *Drops mic and walks out.*

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How to Trap a Guy in 10 Ways

Alllllll the single ladies: In honor of Valentine’s Day, I’ve compiled a ‘Cosmo-esque’ list of sure-fire ways to trap the guy you’re ‘kind of seeing’ and make him your official boyfriend and/or husband depending on how ambitious you are. You’re welcome.

10) “Of course I want to play Mario Cart with you!”

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In order to pull this off effectively, you should probably learn how to play the actual game or any video game really. He won’t be able to resist your shared love of video games. This will also ensure that he will spend more time with you since this is what he does when you leave.

9) “Rooting for your fantasy football team babe”

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You don’t have to know the names of anyone on the actual team. However if you want to go the extra mile, learn how fantasy football works and throw some terms around every once and a while: “show that wide receiver whose boss!” “Nice auction draft.” He will appreciate your support in this extremely important imaginary game.

8) “Three some? Count me in!”

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You’re probably in college and it’s time to experiment anyway. What could be a better Valentine’s Day surprise than adding another equally or less attractive female to the mix?

7) “I organized your snapback collection.”

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Boys don’t know how to arrange shit. That’s where you come in and organize your future man’s super cool snapback hat collection. Feel free to arrange by color, logo and/or according to D-bag level (scaled from 1-10).

6) “Beer is my favorite drink too”

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Beer is one of the keys to a man’s heart. There are only like two other keys, so take this one seriously. Sip it slowly and when he’s not looking, throw back the vodka shots you’ve been hiding in your purse.

5) “Please tell me about your gym routine”

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Nod and smile. Look impressed. Nod and smile.

4) “I picked up this playboy magazine by accident at the store. Did you want it?”

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He will be too excited to notice that you said you ‘accidentally’ picked up borderline porn. He will not care how you acquired the magazine. However, he will think of you as that really cool girl who got him porn. Also, another great Valentine’s Day gift.

3) “Yes, you should definitely get a motorcycle.”

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Motorcycles are actually very expensive and require a lot of effort to maintain, so he will most likely never get one. Agree to ride it and fantasize about it with him. He will appreciate the support.

2) “What a cool tribal tattoo!”

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Whatever you do, do not ask what tribe he is from. You will surely confuse him and ruin the plan! You must compliment the tattoos, even if they make no sense to you or anyone else for that matter.

1) “Your haircut looks really good.”

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There is a formally written rule somewhere in the boy code handbook that states: “you must cut your hair 3 inches too short each time you get your hair cut.” Go along with it. It’ll grow to a nice length in like two weeks and then history will repeat itself and they’ll do it again and again. This is something you will need to get used to.