Tag Archives: #sunday morning regrets

16. The Post-Breakup Betch

1 Mar

On the rare occasion that the #14 date over winter break or the summer turned into an actual relationship, a betch will sometimes temporarily become a less cool and pretty version of herself and be completely consumed by her boyfriend. Suddenly, she’d rather stay in and watch Casablanca than roll face at Tiesto. Weird, we know. No one wants to hear about how sexy her boyfriend’s bangs look pushed back, especially when they could be raging at the bars, drinking shooters and soaking up each other’s awesomeness.

The only thing better than a betch with a boyfriend is a betch without one. The post-breakup betch is very similar to the #7 token crazy friend who is fond of #5 diets, #10 Candyland, and bros. After all, the post-breakup period is a betch’s time to shine. The newly single betch needs to show all those bros, especially that asshole who let her go, that she’s single and ready to mingle.

While nice girls may be heartbroken over a recent relationship and do horrible things like binge eat and cry in fucking public, the betch is over it. Whatever, his nose was crooked, he had a small penis, wasn’t that rich, his hairline was receding, and he was too close with his mom. She has no need to drown her sorrows in Taco Bell or waste her time making up revenge fantasies, because she knows that she was better than him in every way and there’s always another bro around the corner.

The post break up period consists of a series of events designed to re-release the betch into the wild.

Step 1: The Breakup Diet. Some girls think a breakup gives them a free pass to stuff their face with chocolate and ignore their workout routine. A betch knows otherwise. There’s never an excuse to be a fat loser. She knows that she was too good for that dumb bastard who lured her in with lavish dinners at STK and bottle service at Tenjune. She will use this opportunity to become even hotter, if that’s possible. The Breakup Diet is your basic, run of the mill anorexia/exercise bulimia assisted by a liberal intake of Adderall.

Step 2: Deleting Your Ex-Bro from BBM. This is critical because you will avoid #14 Sunday Morning Regrets by drunk BBMing him whilst blackout which could possibly embarrass you. Extra betch points for embarrassing him in public. Making him cry at the bars is a classic.

Step 3: Being (or Appearing to Be) a Ho Fosho. Wear your sluttiest freshman year outfits that border between nudity and prostitution immediately following the breakup. A betch knows she looks good naked, now it’s time for someone else to. This will also come in handy when posing with every bro in a ten-foot radius of her at the bars who she #8 hasn’t (or maybe has) already fucked, while her betches (perhaps secretly) snap pics. It goes without saying that her ex is creepily lingering in a peripheral area attempting to make eye contact while she shoots him a look that says, “you can go shave your back now.”

Step 4: Defriending Your Ex-Bro on Facebook. Of course, a true betch only does this after Sunday. Sunday, glorious, Sunday. The unofficial day for betches everywhere to upload their pictures from the weekend of debauchery into Facebook albums aptly named something along the lines of “Grundle Sweat is for Winners” or some other nonsensical and clearly inappropriate title. The point of waiting until after Sunday is to show her ex how crazy her weekend was, with 50+ photos of her practically nude, surrounded by hotter, cooler bros.

When all is said and done, the post-breakup period is a wonderful time for a betch and her besties. She returns to her former glory while her ex-bro unsuccessfully patrols the freshman bars for a less hot version of her to take to his formal.

For the unfortunate bro who let a true betch slip away, beware, you’re not dealing with a nice girl. She will make you more hated than Mel Gibson performing a Chris Brown song while wearing Ed Hardy at a Hitler Youth Convention.

13. Sunday Morning Regrets

27 Feb

Though betches have few feelings, we sometimes have regrets. These are usually reserved for one day. Sunday. In the spirit of the second worst day of the week, here a list of a betch’s typical Sunday regrets.

Walk of Shame: During those occasions when a betch blacks out and #8 sometimes fucks a bro, and it’s not in the comfort of her own bed (side note: this often happens because betches are forced to wind up at his place where the prepaid drugs are), she has to endure the walk of shame. After realizing she’s not at home, a betch will first contemplate if this is a rare occasion when last night’s outfit was casual enough to pick up some iced coffee on the way home without having some businessman think she’s a hooker and solicit her for sex. Since your apartment is about a 90 second walk from this bro’s, you decide to take the hike.

When Lionel Ritchie wrote Easy Like Sunday Morning, it’s hard to imagine that he was thinking of anything other than watching a betch take her morning walk of shame.

While making a mental list of everyone this bro knows and is likely to tell that you fucked him, you head out the door. That’s when you see the nice girl from your biology class with her backpack, clearly headed to the library. You could duck and hide behind a street sign but you’re a betch so you have no shame. You’d rather walk through your college town with enough eyeliner down your face that you look like a member of fucking KISS than let this betch-hater think you have something to hide. She is clearly a fucking loser since she’s on the way to the library, and hey, you got laid last night while she was reading Jodi Picoult! Walk tall betch… after all, your pumps make you look almost 6 feet.

Sex without a Condom: Shit, have to get Plan B.

Sex with the guy in your Monday morning class: Shit, have to ask him for money for Plan B… along with his class notes from last week.

Drunk eating: It’s funny that I can spend all week eating lettuce without dressing, but after three shots of tequila I find myself ordering 28 boneless wings with extra bleu cheese and an order of fried cheesecake.

Blackout BBMs: Similar to drunk eating, blackout BBMs matter, even though you don’t remember sending them. But unlike drunk eating, BBMs are permanently out there to be read aloud to any audience, even if you deleted them from your own phone. No amount of working out on the elliptical will eliminate them from cyber space. They definitely provide excellent Sunday morning stories, but usually at a serious cost.

Sometimes it’s just sending one really embarrassing BBM:

Me: I’m DTF.

Sometimes it’s BBMing the wrong person the wrong thing: To the guy you fucked with the small penis…

Me: I couldn’t even feel John’s penis when he fucked me
John: What?
Me: Shit sorry, wrong BBM, different John

(Side note: Is that any better?)

Consistently BBMing the same person who’s not responding:

Me: Hey, what’s up?
Me: Come over
Me: Where are you? I’m at my apartment
Me: Are you not coming?
Me: Fine, don’t come over
Me: I’m naked
Me: You’re either coming over or you’re not.
Me: Fine, I’m over it
Me: Over it dot com
Me: Seriously, where are you?

And of course, there’s always the general drunk fuck up, such as when your best betch from high school visits and vomits in your shoes, and you wake up the next morning to find them in the dishwasher.

Sunday morning regrets, although traumatizing, leave a far funnier legacy than the sting of the embarrassment. Better to have drank and fucked up than not to have drank at all!

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