4:27PM: She scrolls snapchat and between articles about Ariel Winter’s body transformation and a one legged non-binary astronaut that believes the cure for ovarian cancer is mangos, she finds a story about a young woman in the UK that makes $50,000 a week selling pictures of her armpit. Objectively she thinks she’s better looking than this girl (she probably is), and she furiously debates whether or not she’s going to sell pictures of her feet to craved Saudi Arabian men so she can buy a Dyson Airwrap. As her mind is battling out the pros and cons of this idea, like the two closeted kids from her high school that excelled in Model UN, she looks up to realize that her Nursing Major roommate is still fucking talking, so she nods her head.
4:57 PM: She attempts poop; no dice.
5:01 PM: She begins her eleven-minute shower, as Doja Cat naturally serenades her eardrums. She uses the purple shit. My male audience with girlfriends knows what that is, but the best comparison I can put for the rest of you is that it’s steroids that make blonde girls really hot. Her ex-boyfriend from high school hates that she’s blonde now, and she relishes this.
6:12 PM: She gets ready to go out to eat with her roommates. For whatever reason, college girls know how to budget better than Jerome Powell, so they can afford one nice dinner where they take seven boomerangs and sip margaritas once a week. Her roommates argue over whether or not they think the Fibula guy from Tik Tok is hot. She doesn’t contribute, not because she doesn’t have an opinion, but because she doesn’t want to face scrutiny after saying she’s been having sensual dreams about Devon Palmer.
6:49 PM: Fire off boomie clinking glasses. Rio de Janero Instagram filter. Easy money.
7:11 PM: Rachel needs to stop complaining about this UTI because it’s gross and it’s ruining these fish tacos. We understand that you forgot to pee after you let a kid who spells the name Brendan like his doctor suffered from lifelong dyslexia wrote it on his birth certificate, but can we shut up about it, Rachel? Eye roll emoji
7:31 PM: pee in the vape room
9:01 PM: Back at her apartment, Claire wants to borrow her belt. She has to say yes because she doesn’t want to be rude, but where the fuck is the tennis skirt you borrowed in November, Claire? She bites the bullet knowing that this belt has less chance of returning to her than a missing child after forty-eight hours AWAL, but she’s not happy.
9:10-10:15: Rip shots, leave group every twelve minutes to look in the mirror, request to her friend that’s Mussolining the aux cord to play the The Thrill
10:47: She’s talking to the guy she likes who is really fucked up. He’s usually a good guy when he’s not talking about his metaverse property where he’s neighbors with Ja Rule, so she pretends to be interested while he foams from the mouth screaming about decentralization.
11:34: Do that thing that all girls love doing when they see a bouncer they know. Oh my god, Terrance, did you miss us?
12:07 AM: Her friend is crying in the bathroom. Over what? She doesn’t know because she’s speaking English worse than Sylvester Stalone off of a bean. All she can retain is Alex, asshole, and Rachel. Rachel’s out of control tonight.
12:42 AM: Give a passive-aggressive compliment to a younger girl also wearing cheetah print. Who does she think she is? She doesn’t see Kevin James anywhere around this bar? This isn’t a fucking zoo. Only one girl can wear Cheetah Print, and if it’s going to be anyone, it’s going to be her.
2:09 AM: In the Uber home with the guy she likes, Rachel says something very passive-aggressive about how stupid she is for not knowing Devin Booker to impress the guys. Rachel is one of those. She’s plotting ways to send Rachel and stinky ass pussy to Guantanomo Bay, where her Hedge Fund father and her Uncle, that works for Merk can’t save her from an ungodly rath.
2:48 AM: Get disappointed by a guy that owns a ton of XRP.
