1. Ride a bike. More specifically, in the city. Specifically more, in Philadelphia. Yeah, okay, good job and a solid props to the “Bike to Work”ers and the Fishtown kids that live with a seat in between their thighs, slumped in a perma-curve position. Thanks for wearing helmets, and how do you possibly enjoy riding in rain and across the frozen tundra of Broad in the winter? I wouldn’t do it. Hell, I’m not getting doored. No thanks. I’ll use that extra 42 minute travel time to brush up on Vine feeds or maybe I’ll Instagram you running red lights. I’m not dying on a bike. Uh uh.
2. Eat a piece of bacon. That stuff tastes like crap. Or possibly tastes like all the muck conglomerated at the bottom of my oven that’s amassed over four months. For shame. Though I left my vegetarian meal plan behind months ago, if bacon touches what I’m eating, I’m tossing it. Offer me up your year-end fantasy league winnings to ditch my distaste, I don’t care. Not worth it. Not going to say I was forced to eat the most disgusting grease-bubbled stick of burnt pig in order to make a few hundred. The thought of the crunch-and-swallow makes me woozy. Oddly enough though, the wafty smell is a natural adrenaline rush for me, it’s just delicious, and I’ll gladly cook it for you. Anomaly, I’m sure.
3. Play Street Fighter. I really suck at those one-on-one fighting games. How do you guys have the capable memory to fly through combination after combination of moves?! I’m serious, this is a near impossibility to believe that my ex-boyfriend can remember 40 frigging different characters and all their seventeen separate basic moves plus their “super strengths” but can’t recall that he needs to call his doctor. How do you people move that fast with your fingers?!?! It’s insane, I tell you! So I’m never playing it again. I can remember some character names and how to kick and move forward. ‘Bout it.
4. Girls’ Night Out. With everything I’ve written above, nothing brings me the shudders more than typing that GNO. It’s a personal gross. I’m 28, I’m a girl, I have a thing for the romance culture, and I relish in a new pair of shoes or haircut or flouncy dress. But get a handful of chicks together and have “the girls” meet over brunch or “drinks, obvi” just sends me into a fit of the “shudder gag”. Can I recommend a place for their Sunday noon gatherings? Of course! Gladly. But I’d only join to observe. There are so many other things I’d rather do that it’s best to just not even compare. The giggling, the trash talking, the flirting with biceps, the gossipy insults and fake compliments and genuine air of over-estrogenated, syrupy-sweet high pitched voices is disgusting and a horrid nightmare. Just…Lord, no.
5. Drink water. Okay…this one…well, if all the above made me shudder in abhorrence, this fess-up is indeed a bit embarrassing. Who doesn’t like drinking water? Much less willing to decline money to do it? If you paid me enough, maybe I would…but altogether water sucks, which might be why I’m on a fast-track to early death. Firstly, if I even DRINK it, it has to be warm, or room-temperature. No ice. And when I do, it hurts my throat and feels harsh. I get nauseous, honestly. There’s no taste! And abandon that idea of adding a lemon, because it doesn’t do pittance. Convince yourself whatever, but that lemon just gets germs in your glass from all the manhandling and leaves it with a funky Pledge flavor. I’ll swim in it, bathe in it, sit in the rain and love it, but I’m not drinking it.