I decide it’s ok to give a shit.

Do you get a weird source of inspiration from public transport? Like, I always feel like I’m at my peak of inspo wen I’m on a train, plane or bus. I’m not sure if this is a normal thing, but I always get my best thoughts out at the expense of a $3.65 metro ride…or $178 round trip flight.

I say this slightly intoxicated on my flight back to Boston. By slightly I mean 3 whiskey shots, 1 Sam Adams Summer and 2 vodka sodas deep. Sorry, mom.

I’ve had an interesting love life the past few months. Active, yet unactive. It’s strangely familiar. Guys have sorta sucked, but that’s nothing new. Again, it’s familiar.

I expressed my sentiments to my best friend, sober, “Why don’t guys wanna date me?” I felt desperate asking this question, yet I find myself genuinely curious. It sounds like plea from sad, single girl who is searching for love in all the wrong, yet seemingly right places. Yet, I don’t really give a shit. I’m just curious.

I see couples all of the time. Holding hands down 14th street or intensely making out at my bar, I replay my girlfriend qualifications.





-gets along with moms

-gets along with friends





I engage in an internal debate about casual sex. While I once was so confident in the fact that I, Beth Cormack, am SO ok with casually sleeping with men, recently I have began to question that notion. I feel like from a societal standpoint, my reaction towards casual sex should be, “This man’s penis entered me. We were safe and consensual. Welp, onto the next one! It’s cool!”

Am I allowed to feel there is something more to sex than just sex? Can I believe that I am able and willing to engage in “casual sex” yet still expect to feel some sort of way about it? Is there an in between on the sliding scale of a giving a fuck?

Names have been changed


Are you going to talk to me after we have sex? Drunk words slur from my dry mouth. He’s laying on top of me in my twin size bed. My phone lights up. “Want me to sleep at Kate’s and leave you two alone in there?” My roommate was good at casual sex. I told myself I didn’t like one night stands.

Because I didn’t.

Of course I’m going to talk to you. I just can’t really do girlfriends right now. Those words weren’t enough. In the moment, I pretended like they were. The next morning he was gone. I picked the red condom wrapper up from the floor and felt my eyes fill. I was ok with this. I can be cool. Days went by. A blank response to my “Hey how’s your week going text?” Crickets.

I saw him at the library the next week on campus. I smiled and looked his way. He burrowed his face in his book.


Hand jobs and blow jobs were fine. I let him touch my breasts and basically do everything but “go all of the way.” For a while anyway. When you have sex with a man right away, he’s going to view you as a slut and will therefore never date you.

I didn’t want to be a “slut.” Well, I didn’t want other men to label me as such.

It took a few weeks of drunken sleepovers before I let him enter me. I felt safe and comfortable. I didn’t feel like a slut. Nor did he make me feel like one.

We didn’t have “casual” sex for too long before I started to question where this was going. Late nights turned to longer mornings. Drunk sex turned into sober sex. Less casual sober sex.

I love you, he muttered. I love you too. Maybe casual sex wasn’t so bad. Maybe men would still acknowledge me and want to date me after all.


I was excited to start swiping left and right in my new city. I sat on my bed in night one and scouted out my prospects. Different from Boston. More attractive, yet more douchey, it seemed like.

Hey, how are you? David messaged. Jack Rose was our first date spot. I, in a black mini dress paired with gold sandals and a long necklace. He, a suit with a pink tie. A consultant at Deloitte. Attentive via text before and after our date. Did I hit the jackpot within my first few weeks in DC?

I felt an instant disconnect after the first night we spent together. A not-serious relationship hanging on by threads. We sleep together a few more times. Texts less frequent. Sorry super busy at work. Can’t hang this weekend. Eventually leading to nothingness.

A few months went by. I hardly remember his existence. My phone lights up. It’s David. “Hey, I hear you work at Hawthorne. Any chance my friends and I can cut the line?”


A year goes by. I’m his bartender. Can I have a Tanqueray and tonic? Oh, wait, your name’s Beth right? I pour him Bowman’s. Your Tanqueray is going to be $11.00. 

I wanted to say, yeah, it’s Beth. Your penis was inside me, remember? Same.


Harry. How do I explain Harry?  He’s a guy that I had been on and off hooking up with for the past 2 years. Very very on and off. I consider him more than a late-night text even though 95% of our texts took place after 2am. Definitely didn’t “date” although when we were together, I considered what that would look like.There was a connection we acknowledged, sober and drunk.

A connection defined on our first “real” date after 2 years of nothing but late-night texts. Coffee followed by laying in bed fully clothed, reading the depths of each other’s personal essays. Silent yet intense. “I don’t meet many women like you.” “I keep you at an arms-length because I don’t want to hurt you.” Divorced with two kids, I guess I kept him at arms length, too. “Casual” sex that I’d label as something a little more than casual. Emotions were felt on both ends. At least I think so.

Things came to an unexplainable halt the week after he drunk called me spilling his feelings. I don’t know what could be. I’d be lying if I still don’t think about it.

I wonder if he does too.


I was intrigued by Luke within the first few moments of catching his glance. The bar was crowded, full of intoxicated fools on Sunday evening. The music was loud, the shots were cheap. Who’s that? I asked my friend. That’s Luke, she introduced me. We hit it off instantaneously, chatting at the bar for quite some time. Tall and handsome, we continued to show interest in the coming weeks. I noticed hints of jealousy on his end when he saw me with other men. Interest from both ends intensifies.

I call him out for being a minor fuckboy. In a joking way. I recommend him to a friend for a job. Thank you so much, this is really going to help me out. I’m happy to do it.

Sleeping together was inevitable, although the sex was less than decent. The flame was short lived. He has a way with words to get women into bed with him, perhaps that’s all he wanted from me. I can’t be sure. I still run into Luke on occasion — we pretend like the other doesn’t exist.

He doesn’t even pet my dog. I can’t explain this. Have you seen my dog?

My half-joking preconceptions of his fuckboy tendencies were accurate. Maybe he expected me to get attached — to give him attention or fit into the “clingy” mold.

It’s a strange juxtaposition. I care but I don’t really care.

My interest in him was short-lived even though I continued to sleep with him. I never cared to date him. Our feelings were clearly defined the last time we slept with each other. Afterwards, we laid in bed and talked about how much we missed our White Buffalos. Yet, I still sort of give a shit.

white buffalo: a term for “the one that got away” or “first love” 

It was the initial spark that drew me in and the sudden disregard that keeps me engaged to some extent. This draws up a debate in my head. We had sex…a few times. Yet to him, I am no longer worth a hello. I am nothing. Is this worth mulling over? I don’t know.


I met up with John for coffee about 6 months ago. We both swiped right! He was in the midst of a 30-day alcohol detox, so he suggested Colada Shop. Coffee? Obviously I’m down. I had just re-downloaded Tinder and I was lucky to match with this attractive, down-to-earth, successful & super sweet guy.

The date was wonderful, so much so we made out a red light in his car. I felt like I was in high school again. Months went by and with our busy schedules it was hard to make something out of it although we occasionally kept in touch via text and Snapchat.

Our second date took place at the Kygo concert with his friends — an evening that I never wanted to end. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen with this guy, although I wasn’t really thinking about it. It was a fun, spontaneous date. What happens would happen.

A week goes by and neither of us reach out.

In a sweet and genuine (and very long) text about a week later he informed me has been hooking up with another girl and apologizes for not reaching out sooner.

Is now the right time to tell him that I hooked up with someone else the night before the concert? I didn’t feel the need to share my sex life with him. Is that wrong?

I showed the text to my guy friends. They read it as “he totally wants to see you again but he’s just informing you of the situation.” I don’t really know how to read it, but it was a sure sign that I have grown numb to disappointment in the dating world as my initial reaction to his text was, “wait, lol, is it bad that I don’t care?” It wasn’t an I don’t care that actually meant I do care but I’m trying to pretend like I don’t care because I’m ~chill~. It was truly and I don’t care.

Wait, so am I ok with casual sex? Again, this confuses me.


I decide it is ok to give a shit when a man’s penis enters you.

I decide it is ok to expect some sort of respect from the other party.

I decide you can still engage in casual sex while also giving a shit.

I decide to expect respect. I decide that this is OK to expect.

I decide I give a shit when there is a lack of respect.

I don’t think I’ll ever be the woman to not feel some sort of pit in my stomach when I don’t hear from someone after spending the night together. Even if the sex is shitty.

I believe sex is a natural, liberating experience that should be enjoyed in a safe and consensual setting. I used to fear the word “slut.” Years later, I realize the ignorance behind labeling others as such.

I look back on my sexual encounters and the men involved. The debate over casual sex continues. I don’t quite know how to define “casual sex” but I also believe there’s no, single universal definition to it.

Most of the time, the pit in my stomach feels unwarranted for. I don’t expect nor want a relationship from most of these men, but I still expect something from them after the fact.

I fear falling into the “clingy, psycho girl” mold. A mold constructed by (mostly) men — I decide to be ~cool~ and not care.

Maybe I shouldn’t expect anything. Maybe that’s where my disappointment lies.

Maybe respect is too much to ask.

An Open Letter To All of My Future “Whatevers”

Dear My Future “Whatevers,”

Hey there, it’s me, Beth. I don’t know if our relationship will ever extend beyond texting or if you talk to me just to hold onto the hope of having sex with me. We may get married, or our first date might make us want to run for the hills. You might meet my parents, or maybe we’ll make out once at the bar and then awkwardly smile at each other on campus. You might ask for my number but never text me, despite my desperate attempts to talk to you. Maybe we’ll fall in love or maybe we’ll fall back into the title of complete strangers. I’m not sure what you’ll be to me, but I want you to read this anyways.

I bet we aren’t each other’s firsts, and we probably won’t be each other’s lasts.  We’ve probably already experienced our first kiss, first love, first heart break, first everything. You’ve probably slept with a handful of women, and I myself have done the same with men. I’ve developed feelings for guys who haven’t felt the same, and maybe you’ve experienced something similar. You won’t be the first guy I’ve cried over, and you certainly won’t be the last. You aren’t my first love, and there has been other guys before you that have altered the way I view a relationship. My emotions aren’t as innocent and raw as they once were. Life has changed me. Life has changed how I am going to look at you.

If you are reading this at the very beginning of our “whatever” relationship, you are just another guy to me. I have no predispositions about you other than what I’ve seen on your Facebook, or the way you treated me the first night we met. If you treated me like a piece of meat, I’m not interested, no matter how many late night texts you send me. If we have been talking for a few weeks and then you ignore me at the bar to talk to some other girl, I’m not wasting my time on you. Maybe I’m jealous, but I’m not heartbroken. You’re just another guy. And like I said before, you probably won’t be my last guy.

You aren’t the first guy to play with my emotions, you aren’t the first guy who I’ve developed feelings for. You may think you are the Seneca Crane or Plutarch Heavensbee in this “whatever” relationship (if you didn’t get that Hunger Games reference right away then GTFO), but I’ve seen it all before. I’m not naive and I’m not going to expect that anything will come of this until something does actually come of it.

Don’t call me crazy because I question what this “whatever” relationship is after months of talking, I’m not expecting a ring on my finger. I don’t care what you label this as. But, I do care how you label me. I can be the girl you are “talking to,” or “hooking up with,” or maybe I’m just another girl on your long list of potential suitors. I’m not some “dumb broad,” or some “random bitch,” and if I am, have the decency to tell me. If that’s what I am to you, then why are you even wasting your time?

Don’t text me every single day of the week and ask me about my family if I’m just some random bitch to you. Don’t take me out to dinner, don’t tell me you like me, don’t hold my hand. Don’t pull me in the trap of falling for you and then freak out when I actually do.

The dating culture of the 21st century has evolved into one giant twisted and f*cked up game, and we all willingly play along. If I like you, I’m going to tell you. But, don’t flatter yourself just yet, I’m not looking to be your girlfriend. I’m not expecting a ring on my finger or flowers at my doorstep. “Like” doesn’t translate to a marriage contract. If so, I’d be screwed. It doesn’t mean I’m head over heels for you or you’re the person I want to have my babies with. So, relax. I didn’t know being honest about my feelings was frowned upon.

You can call me “crazy” for developing feelings, but I could say the same to you for being petrified of a relationship that was never even established in the first place. You aren’t looking for a commitment, but when did I say I was?

You aren’t my first guy. And you might not be last. Don’t waste my time. Don’t string me along for your own entertainment. Don’t assume I’m looking for a committed relationship.

Our “whatever” break up might sting for a little bit, but you won’t break me. Life moves on, and so will I. You are just another guy.

I look forward to whatever we may or may not be. And if this letter freaks you out, then we were never meant to be in the first place.


The Art of Texting

I say this all the time, but I seriously hate texting. I hate it. The only thing I actually enjoy about it are the emojis, but even those annoy me because I’ve definitely taken years off of my life searching through all the stupid categories to find the one I want to send.

That being said, I am always texting. I am always glued to my phone texting away, losing brain cells in the process. I would probably throw up knowing how many texts I send a day. And, I would probably, like, hide away under my covers for the rest of my life knowing the content of the texts I send while I’m drunk.

Why do I loathe texting? I don’t know. Maybe because it makes us all go bat sh*t crazy for no apparent reason. When you text, you’re hiding behind your silly little iPhone, as if it’s a shield protecting you from everything that’s bad in the world. Words flow from your fingers like word vomit. You simply can’t stop. Type as fast as you want, autocorrect has got your back-well, sometimes.

I touched on this texting subject in my blog about how girl’s overthink everything and that it will eventually lead to the complete wipeout of the female race all together. OK, maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but texting has definitely given us more headaches and heartaches than personal satisfaction.

Let’s start out with talking about our hook up culture. I, myself, have invested in what I like to call a “texting relationship.” This particular guy was enjoyable to talk to, we hung out a few times, but whatever relationship we had evolved through text. Our culture would call this, “talking.” “Talking,” in my opinion is a step above strictly, “hooking up.” When you “talk” you text soberly throughout the week and genuinely enjoy what each other has to say. It’s pure entertainment. You enjoy the idea that the guy looks at you then more than a booty call on the weekends. He likes talking–I mean texting you. Some people even “talk,” and “hook up,” simultaneously which should classify as some level of dating, right? Wrong. Nobody’s trying to get labeled as a stage 5 clinger here. Consistently sleeping with the same guy while enjoying his company and talking to him all of the time certainly does NOT mean you are dating. You’re just “talking,” and “hooking up,” duh.

Every girl is some level of crazy, and I think I’m going to attribute ALL of that to the texting culture. Texting has evolved from what used to be a short and simple 160 message via mobile phone, to a complicated science worthy of hours and hours of thinking about. You know that saying, “Its not rocket science”? Like, no, texting is rocket science and so much more. It’s rocket science mixed with the most abstract painting imaginable and the most difficult mathematical equation known to man. Einstein couldn’t even figure out this sh*t. It’s a science, an art, and an equation all mixed into one textual message. You could basically call it the bane of our existence.

Where shall we start? Let’s go with timing. 
Timing is everything. So, I’ll use my example as one to work with. This guy that I was “talking,” to took forever to text back. I just couldn’t grasp the idea that he wasn’t always looking at his phone. I mean, who isn’t constantly glued to their phone anxiously waiting for some new and exciting notification to pop up on their home screen?? It’s like Christmas morning every time. (Joking, or am I?) Anyways, he would take a while to text me back, but I would always respond immediately, just because I’m always on my phone, naturally. This was totally unlike me and I totally broke so many rules by doing this. We get some weird satisfaction out of waiting to text back simply because the other person took a while. We stare at our phones, checking the time every 5 minutes, constantly debating when is an appropriate to respond.

“So, what is a good time to respond that doesn’t label me as crazy, clingy, obsessive, annoying, and not super interested yet still shows that I’m super interested?”

Basically what you’re asking is, “What is an appropriate time period to text back to show that I have a life outside of texting you yet all I am thinking about is texting you.” Timing is everything. It’s all about practicing self control and resisting the temptation, but there is a strong magnetic connection between your fingers and your iPhone, so sometimes, the universe just won’t let you wait. But, please, lets just try to pretend you have a life outside of your iPhone, even if you don’t.

The content of your message.
When constructing a text message, like I said before, it’s often like word vomit. He might have just said, “How’s your day?” That just opens the flood gates. You just want to tell him EVERYTHING. Your fingers vigorously type against the screen and then you realize how long your message actually is. “Ugh, no, he asked how my day was. He doesn’t actually want to know how my day is going. We’re not dating. So I’ll just respond with, ‘Good, how about you?'” There’s no way he can label you as crazy, clingy, or annoying with a response like that. You’re cool, calm, and collected. Although, ALL YOU WANT TO DO  is tell him that your day is fantastic and you got the scholarship you applied for and you finally lost 5 pounds and you saw your ex and his new downgrade. Life is just going so well for you right now, but “good,” will suffice. Again, I sucked at that. I would go into detail about my day, and did he actually care about how I got accepted to write for Her Campus? I have no idea. Keep it simple, because you are ~*kEwL and ChiLl*~ and totally not clingy.

This is actually the worst intro to a conversation ever. And, for the first time, I’m going to call out the guys. I’ve gotten so many “hey” text messages from guys over the years. Are we in middle school? Are we using AIM? “Hey” “Hey nmh jc” “Same” “Cool, ttyl.” Would you approach a girl at the bar and just say, “hey”? If you did, you can bet I am going to run away from you. No where in the book of texting rules is “Hey” ever a good text to send. No where. It’s right next to the rule that says “Lol” and “lmao” aren’t acceptable either, unless your ass actually fell off in the process of laughing.

Double, triple, quadruple (do I need to go further?) texting.
Woof. Such a tricky area. None are socially acceptable if you’re just “talking,” to a guy. If you’re the last text in your message thread, he should be the next one. It should be a consistent pattern of blue/white/blue/white and maybe green/white/green/white, if you have made the conscious decision to trust a guy with an Android. Double texting is sometimes OK, if the last conversation died out and the next day you want to start a new one, if you must. Rumor has it, he’ll text you if he wants to talk to you, and if you commit the double texting crime too much, then you’re getting too attached. However, triple and quadruple texting, I can’t vouch for you. The texting relationship is over, sorry.

This actually happened to me. Sorry, I’m not interested, “Alex Jery Remy’s”

Drunk texting.
Wooooffffffff. I’d like to think this was the demise of every texting relationship I’ve ever had. Word vomit via text is controllable when you are sober, most of the time. You allow yourself to take a deep breath and delete what you spent countless minutes typing because, you know, you’re trying to avoid the whole “clingy and crazy” label. However, drunk? Eh, not so much. Drunk texts are uncensored and usually emotional. No guys like emotions. Even if you have been texting and hooking up nonstop for the past 6 months and want to know how he feels. Nope. No emotions allowed, remember? The drunk texts I’ve sent have been pretty emotional, the thoughts that I crossed my mind one too many times flood the text screen and I press send. ~*nO rAgretZz*~ The line between the words we want to say but shouldn’t say gets totally disregarded as soon as we have a few drinks in us. Being honest, what a brutal crime to commit. However, the method I’ve been going with in coping with the regrets of sending a drunk text is simply deleting it. If you delete a drunk text, it never happened. Right?

Read this whole thing and you’ll realize this is why I hate texting. We try to get to know each other through an iPhone screen and develop superficial relationships that we end up reading way too much into. Every text that gets sent always has to have some sort of deeper meaning to it. Maybe he actually wants to know how your day is. Maybe he enjoys what you have to say. Or, maybe, you can just say what you want to say regardless of what he thinks. If he’s going to label you as annoying, crazy, or clingy judging on a text you send, then in my opinion, he’s not worth your time. He waited an hour to text you? OMG he hates you!!!!! Actually, maybe, he has a life outside of his iPhone. You respond immediately? You’re a pyscho. No, actually maybe you just had your phone on you and have the ability to text back sooner than he does.

In my personal experience, I still don’t know how this particular guy felt about me. We seemed to enjoy each other’s company when we hung out, and he always said he wanted to see me again, but I couldn’t read him. I was overthinking every aspect of whatever relationship we had simply because it was all through texting. Every text he sent, every minute that passed in between our conversations made me question if he was ever into it all. I drunk texted him a couple of times. I drunk texted him every sober thought that came to my mind. Does this make me crazy or clingy? I’m not sure. But I was being honest. I was getting tired of developing a superficial relationship through texting. Does this mean I wanted to date him? No. Does this mean I expected to date him? No. It meant that I was tired of avoiding the whole idea of us constantly “talking” all day every day and not addressing why we were doing so. Having a texting buddy is fun for some time, but feelings are always going to come into play at some point. You’re always going to wonder why you enjoy talking to this person so much and why they enjoy talking to you too. Trying to figure out a person via text is simply impossible, but we do it all the time.

Texting isn’t supposed to be a complicated equation, but we’ve turned it into one. If a guy wants to get to know you, then he’ll extend it beyond an iMessage, and if he’s too shy to do that, then move on.

That being said, don’t triple or quadruple text. C’mon, you’re better than that.

Dating your best friend > dating your boyfriend

Girls are girls. Guys are guys. There are things we just understand about each other that the opposite sex simply can’t comprehend. For example, Why are guys idiots? I have no idea. Why are girls crazy? That’s just false (we aren’t-OK maybe sometimes). That being said, there are certain things about yourself that only your girlfriends will ever understand which has led me to the assume the following hypothesis:

Being in a relationship with your best friend will be better than any relationship with any guy.

Why you ask? Well, it’s pretty simple to figure out.

She will always text you back.
We all want a reliable texting buddy. Someone to remind us that we’re amusing and awesome. This is where your girlfriends will come in. She’ll always text you back either immediately or within a 15 minute time frame. If not, she’s either asleep or dead. She gets that “I’m busy,” “I’m working,” “I’m in a meeting,” or “I’m throwing up blood,” simply are not acceptable excuses. Double text, triple text, drunk text, any-type-you-want text without getting slapped with the label “psycho,” “creepy,” or “clingy.” She’ll always text you back immediately because she understands the agony and anxiousness of anticipating a text that may never come. Text her stupid shit. Text her about your professor’s pit stains and the one leg you forgot to shave. Drunk texting? It’s encouraged rather than frowned upon. She’ll understand your misspelled words and broken sentences and is most likely just as fucked up as you are. Be in a relationship with your girlfriends and you’ll never have to regret any text you send ever again. You’ll never have to question whether or not you should double text, and you can bet that you’ll have a reliable text buddy 4 lyfe*~.

This is true love if I’ve ever seen it.

She understands “pizza.”
No, boys, pizza is not just a 5 letter noun. Pizza is a way of life. Pizza is the motive. Sometimes pizza is there when no one else can be. Pizza doesn’t leave your side. It listens to you when you feel shut out from the world. Pizza is love, life, and happiness all put together in one cheesy slice of heaven. Sometimes, not having pizza just isn’t an option. Your friends get that. Your friends comprehend “pizza” and everything it stands for so when you want to drown your emotions in it they’ll be right there next to you. Screw a dinner date on the waterfront. Nothing screams “romantic” than a large box of melted cheese.

She’s honest and will never cheat.
Trust. In order to have a functional and successful relationship, trust is key. Trust goes hand in hand with honesty. If you claim your man is honest, I beg to differ. “You look the most beautiful when you first wake up in the morning.” I’m calling bullsh*t and I’m rather insulted. Your girlfriends won’t do that to you. If she’s running late, and she tells you she’s taking a sh*t, that’s not code for anything else. It actually means she’s taking a sh*t. Date your friends and they’ll tell you when you need a bit more mascara, or when you just shouldn’t be seen in public all together. Texting other girls will never be an issue because odds are you’re all in the same group message sending useless emojis to each other simply because you can. If she goes home with someone else, it’s not considered cheating. You’ll know it’s just to get laid because you both have a mutual understanding of where your heart truly lies.

She’ll think everything you say is important.
I know with my past relationship with men, a majority of the fights of have centered around what we each view as important. I can totally tell when my exes would be “listening” to something I’m saying but in reality don’t care about it at all. It hurts and makes me feel unimportant. You don’t need that kind of negativity in your life because you ARE important. Date your BFF and she’ll take everything you say and make it the most important issue in the world. She’ll understand that the 7 panties you purchased for $26 is just the BEST THING EVER and she’ll appreciate every detail to every drama-filled story you’ll ever tell. She’ll listen to you vent about Meredith and Derek’s relationship and understand when you say it was the reason for your bad mood today. Sometimes you just need to debate about what filter to use. Sometimes you just need to sit down with someone and pick one BUT IT’S SO HARD, your stressed and you need help. Your friends get that. Guys don’t. They’ll shoo you off like you’re some annoying gnat in their ear.

She’ll never leave you.
Love is a two way street. In order for a relationship to work, both parties must feel the same way about each other, or then it just turns into a cat-chasing-mouse game or just a messy break up all together. You can always trust that your girlfriends will never leave your side, and well if they do, you have plenty to fall back on. Date your BFF and you can be sure she’ll be loyal to you and never walk out on you, because um, she doesn’t really have a choice, lol. You may not have a legal contract binding you together, but there’s a unspoken code in order that once you actually reach the level of BFF, that last “F” actually means forever. You’re stuck and there’s no way of getting out. But, it’s OK, because the dating world is scary. Guys cheat, lie, and break your heart. The world is scary outside of your everlasting bonds with your girlfriends. Without them, you feel lost and scared, like a lonely puppy trapped in one of those God-forsaken pet shops. Being in a caring and loving relationship with your BFF is much, much safer and secure, I can promise you that.

She gets you.
She knows you don’t mean to be a bitch when it’s that time of month, you just can’t help it. She understands those days when you just need to be left alone with your bed and Netflix and she certainly understands when sometimes you just want to shut out the world completely and throw a pity party for yourself. Not only will she let you throw a pity party, she’ll make sure she has a bottle of wine waiting for you to throw your pity party. She knows after a long shift at work on a Friday night, all you want upon arriving home is a drink ready for her. She’ll understand that when you cry, you aren’t being needy and dramatic, even if it’s because your NYE dress is backordered. She understands you like nobody else does. She’s simply your one true love.

So, there you have it. Several strong points that back up my claim that Being in a relationship with your BFF will be better than any relationship with any guy. We’re young, stupid, and vulnerable. Life is short. There is simply no time for petty arguments about that girl he is Snapchatting and certainly no time for sitting around always wondering if he loves you or not. You should just know. And you certainly do just know that your girlfriends have an undying love for you that will never simmer out; no matter how many double texts, petty fights, or shameful decisions you make. A relationship with a guy is like a ticking time bomb, anxiously awaiting to spontaneously combust thus causing your heart to combust into a thousand pieces as well. Then, after that, it’s like a snowball effect. He breaks up with you, you drown yourself in ice cream and chocolate, you gain weight, you stress out about gaining weight, and then your life is over. Just like that.

Hearts are fragile. And so is life. Make the right choice. Date your BFF and live a happy, carefree, guy-free life.

The New Rules of Chivalry (Women’s Edition)

I read this GQ article today titled “The New Rules of Chivalry”. I found it to be particularly cunning and accurate, but then I thought to myself, why are men the only sex expected to follow these chivalrous codes? C’mon people, it’s the 21st century. Although we still get a mere 81 cents to your dollar, many things about women have changed. The way we dress, the way we act, the way we “don’t need no man.” Society is changing people, so don’t expect men to follow some set of guidelines when you can’t do the same.

So, I’ve created a women’s version of “The New Rules of Chivalry.” Read closely, ladies, as times have most certainly changed.

Old Rule: He should send the first text. New Rule: Text him.

I hate to love texting. I really do. Society today has created a simple text message into a freakin’ Picasso painting worthy of extensive analysis. Like, wtf? He shouldn’t have to text you first. If you’re interested, talk to him. If he doesn’t answer you after two, maybe three times, then I’m sorry to tell you, he’s not into it. Send the goddamn text message because maybe he needs the reassurance that you’re into him just as much as you do. Guys have feelings too… even if they might not show it 80%-ok maybe 95% of the time.

Old Rule: Wait to for him to define your relationship. New Rule: Define your relationship how you want to define it. 

This kind of goes along with the whole waiting for the first text idea. As women, most of us fall fast and fall hard. In this hook up culture that we currently live in, there are a million and one different ways to describe a relationship between two people. Either your “talking,” “texting,” “hooking up,” “dating,” or “Facebook official,” and everything else in between. We go through the motions and just wait for a guy to initiate taking it to the next level. Because, God forbid you tell a guy you want to be exclusive after 5 months of constantly talking and hooking up. That would just classify you as a stage-5 clinger. Right? No, wrong. If you like the guy, tell him. You don’t need to wait for the guy to define what you are. It’s OK to talk to him about it. We’re all mature enough to handle adult conversations. Who knows? The guy might be struggling to tell you his feelings for you too. It could be a conversation that could benefit the both of you. Remember- guys are emotional human beings just like the rest of us!

Old Rule: Order a salad or something easy to eat when you go on a first date. New Rule: Get the bacon cheeseburger with extra BBQ sauce and cheesy fries.

As the wise and beautiful Marilyn Monroe once said, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” You can’t deal with me wolfing down a double cheeseburger? Cool, then you definitely can’t handle me when I PMS. Most guys enjoy a girl that enjoys food, because ~~*food=love=life=happiness*~~. He knows that you’re ordering a salad because that’s the “proper” thing to do.  What guy doesn’t want a girl to share a large box of pizza and a 6 pack with? EXCEPTION: Don’t do this if you plan on going home with him afterwards. I don’t see all this fattening food working out in your favor when you’re in a food coma on his couch and he’s trying to be intimate.

Old Rule: Wait for the guy to ask you to hang out. New Rule: Don’t wait for sh*t.

This seems to be a common theme amongst this new code for women. If you want to see him, tell him!! Initiate plans, but don’t get too ahead of yourself. If you’re always the one putting the time and effort him to see him, he’s either too shy or not into it. Trying to figure out which category he falls under may be difficult, but bottom line is, don’t keep waiting for him. If he wants to see you, he’ll make time to see you. But, don’t just give up on him because he isn’t asking to hang out 24/7. Nobody wants that. Don’t always assume he thinks you’re annoying either. Guy’s are kind of, well, stupid sometimes. Sometimes they need the extra push to figure it out.

Old Rule: Love is ~~eternal~~ and MaGiCaL and will last ~*4eva*~ New Rule: Your first love probably won’t be your last love.

We all have heard stories about how our parents met. We’ve heard the most adorable stories about how they bumped into each other on the train and have been in love every since! Or, maybe they fell in love in the 7th grade in Mr. Smith’s science class when they were forced to be lab partners. Things were different back then. Life throws us curveballs every single day, and we just need to face the fact that sometimes love isn’t enough. Just because you have strong feelings for a guy doesn’t mean you’ll end up in a relationship. Things just get in the way. Life gets in the way. I feel like guys understand this more than girls. Most of us act on our emotions, not really thinking rationally. If you go on a couple dates with a guy and really like him, it might not turn into anything. That’s OK. Unfortunately, love sometimes isn’t enough anymore. You’ll fall in and out love a few times in your life, and that’s totally OK. Don’t expect the guy to be all couple-y with you right away. He has is own life and you have yours.

Old Rule: Put your phone away. New Rule: Put your phone away.

I stole this from the GQ article because it is just SO true. I know you want to Snapchat the sh*t out of how much fun you are having on your date and Instagram your mouth-watering food. But seriously, it can wait. I asked one of my guy friends what one of his top turn-offs is and he said, “a girl who is always on her phone.” I love my iPhone as much as the next girl, but there is always a time and place.

He’s still not that into you

Many things about girls piss me off. That being said, many things about myself piss me off. Like how we often settle for guys who make us feel like crap simply because we want to feel desired. Or, how we send our pictures through 4 different photo editing apps and 20 filters before actually posting it on Instagram. And, why the hell is asking a guy out so hard? The list could go on and on. But, since being in college, I’ve realized the one thing that girls do that pisses me off like no other.

You’re hooking up or dating a guy for a period of time. You text, maybe only on the weekends, but you still text. Even if the romantic aspect to the relationship isn’t necessarily there, some type of attraction bonds the two of you together. Whether it’s physical, sexual, or emotional- something keeps you coming back for more. Then, someday, for whatever reason, things just don’t work anymore. Maybe the sex sucked. Maybe you were too clingy for him. Or, maybe he was just a flat out douchebag. The text conversations slowly come to an end and whatever relationship you had is gone. We react in one of two ways: either we move on, or we desperately hold for something that simply isn’t there anymore.

You see this guy at a party or a bar and he’s talking to another girl. They’re all over each other and you’re over in the corner using every strength you have in you to avoid staring. But you can’t help it. You’re jealous. You think to yourself, “I had him first.” Instead of insulting the guy, you insult the new girl he’s with. You hate that “slut.” You whisper to your friends how hideous she is and point out every single flaw that she is. She’s a slut, she’s fat, she’s ugly, she’s fake, she’s obnoxious. Oh, and she looks horrible in a crop top. You’re just so much hotter than her.

Then, maybe this “bitch” and your ex-lover become more serious. You see them walking on campus together, or maybe you see them posing in pictures together and you wonder why you were never good enough for him. He may have only hit you up on the weekends, but you still wish he wanted you. Is it because you’re in love with him? Not necessarily. You want him to want you simply because someone replaced you. She has something that you don’t. But, she’s a slut anyways, so who cares? She’s a downgrade. Oh, and you heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that she’s a snob, so, basically she just sucks. You don’t even know her and you’ve already given her every label in the book, just because it gives you a false and temporary sense of satisfaction.

Then, after you see them walking on campus together, you use your resume-worthy FBI skills and find this bitch on Facebook. They’re tagged in pictures together. You say to your friends, “Oh my god, guys. They’re so awkward looking together.” “I hope she knows he’s only using her for sex.” “He’s a dick and she’ll soon realize it. She must be stupid.” “Guys, look at this dress she’s wearing in this pic, you can totally see her love handles. She looks like a fat cow.” You then pick the least attractive picture of her and broadcast it to your friends. They all say, “Yeah, you’re so much prettier than her, she’s gross.”

Does this scenario sound familiar to anyone? Ripping an innocent girl apart simply out of your own resentment and jealousy? The guy treated you like absolute shit, but we insult the new girl to no end. Simply because you lost. He doesn’t want you anymore. He doesn’t text you anymore. He doesn’t kiss you on the forehead anymore. He’s “just not that into you” anymore. And it absolutely sucks.

It’s not her fault. It’s not her fault that your relationship fell apart. You know that. You know that and it kills you. It’s not her fault that he moved on from you. And it’s certainly not her fault that you feel like shit. Why rip her apart? Odds are you’ve been that “slut” before. At one point, girls looked at you and ripped you apart because you were the new girl. You’ve been in the exact position that she is in now.

It takes so much energy to bully someone. You waste so much creeping on her Facebook pictures, comparing her to some ugly cow, while in the meantime, he’s still just not that into you. He still wants her. Not you.

I know this post sounds harsh. And I’m guilty of doing this too. However, as a girl who’s been on the other end of this scenario too, it sucks. We hear what you say about us. And it hurts. It’s not mine or any other girl’s fault that your relationship didn’t work out, so stop trying to ruin mine. We’ve all fell victim to guys who treat us like shit. We’ve all held onto something even if it only leads to drunk hookups on the weekends. We’ve all developed feelings for a guy that doesn’t necessarily want the same things. We’re on the same team, ladies. Ripping her apart won’t do anything for you besides cause you to hold onto a relationship that simply wasn’t meant to be. Don’t compare yourself to her. You’re wasting your energy.

I’m not trying to sound like a 4th grade teacher when I say, “Let’s all be nice to each other and not call each other names.” That’s not necessarily my point. It’s hard because when we behave this way, it’s often unconscious. We hate the new girl, but she’s all we want to talk about. Ripping her apart is so satisfying in some sick and twisted way. We don’t even realize what we are doing until we take a step back and look at it from a different perspective. Like I said before, we’re all in the same boat ladies. We all want to find the guy who is a perfect mixture of sweet, smart, sensitive, and sexy. While you’re wasting your time trying to ruin her fairytale, you may be missing out on writing your own.



The monster in the mirror

This post is for my own therapy. And I hope it helps others too.

Perfection. Society has engraved into our minds an image of a “perfect woman” being someone with a size 0 waistline and a flawless face. I have always struggled with my body image. I was never the “skinny” one. Always just about average. I was never blessed with the convenience of a fast metabolism so eating whatever I wanted was never an option if I didn’t want to pack on the pounds. I’ve spent my life comparing my body to others, wishing that one day I’ll wake up and be that “perfect woman.” My size 6 waist line and athletic build just doesn’t do it for me sometimes. It’s not desirable in society’s terms. It’s just “average.” I want to be happy with the way I look, and I want to be able to be naked in front of a mirror and think, “Damn, your hot.” But, I don’t.

I am the girl who weighs herself multiple times a week, hoping for a pound to shed off the scale. I’ve cried when I look in the mirror, unhappy with the way I look. I have that one pair of shorts that I always try on, hoping that they’ll feel looser one day. People tell us that beauty comes in all different shapes and sizes, but sometimes it’s hard to think in that mindset when you’re constantly striving for a goal that seems so out of reach.

When I look the mirror, sometimes I see a monster. It’s like every insecurity that I have about my body is circled in red Sharpie. I suck in, flex my abs, and envision myself with a “perfect” body. I then wonder why I don’t have that body. Was it the margarita I had last week? Or maybe it was the piece of pizza I had two days ago. I promise myself tomorrow will be THE day that I train to get that “perfect body.” I promise myself that I will be skinny someday.

Since my freshman year of college, I have lost around 20 pounds. The first 10 came off pretty quick, but not in the healthiest way. I was stuck in an abusive relationship with a guy who was obsessed with making me in to this “perfect woman” that he wanted me to be. I was forced to go to the gym most of the time, and he always kept a close eye out for what I was eating. I ate one big meal a day most of the time, but when people commenting on my weight loss, it became an addiction. Since then I have picked up healthier eating habits, and have become rather obsessed with being in shape. But the question is, when is the obsession too much? Most of my posts come off as inspiring. Many of you have reached out to me saying how “strong” and “confident” I am. I don’t disagree with you, but at times I feel powerless too.

Body image has always been an issue for me. I wish I could somehow pack the insecurity in a box and never face it again. I wish I could just unfollow all of the fitness Instagram accounts. I wish I could just understand that most often those bodies are unattainable by those who don’t dedicate their entire life to fitness. I wish I could stop asking Google the calorie count in certain foods and compulsively reading MyFitness Pal forums for answers to questions I already know the answer to. It’s not everyday. There are good and bad days, definitely more good than bad. The bad days usually come after a night of drunk eating or just a day when I feel gross. I lift my shirt up in the mirror angling my body and stomach in a way to make me look thinner, in a way to make me relax and remind myself that I look just fine the way I am. It’s an insecurity that I don’t like admitting, but I don’t think anybody likes admitting it. Confidence is sexy and insecurities aren’t.

It’s these insecurities that lead people to go to extreme measures in order to feel satisfied. Counting calories, crash diets, or just not eating at all. We send our bodies into exhaustion mode. Spending countless hours at the gym and eating the bare minimum, wondering why we aren’t happy yet. We see the pounds fall, but we want more. We dropped 4 pant sizes, but we want to drop 6 instead. There are days we just want to eat a sleeve of Oreos, but when we do we hate ourselves for it. We promise we’ll eat vegetables the next day to compensate. We research the latest diets and depend on Google to provide step by step instructions to achieving the “perfect body.” It’s messed up.

I’m not writing this for pity. I’m not looking for people to comment and say “You look great!” That’s not the point. The point is to remind myself and hopefully others that I’m not alone. I am a 21 year old girl who attempts to live a life of happiness, but I still have my flaws. I don’t like being so obsessed with how I look, but it just happens. I know the scale can be your worst enemy, but I use it anyways. You can tell me that I have a great body, but I’m probably going to disagree with you. It’s something that most girls struggle with, and it pains me to read about girl’s who develop eating disorders as a result of these body image issues. It’s a sick world we live in. It’s a world where we hate ourselves through the entirety of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show, but we force ourselves to watch it anyways. It’s a world where skinny correlates with sexiness, and overweight correlates with laziness. We wish it were us walking down the VS runway. We wish we were the “perfect woman.”

I know I don’t speak for all girls. I know there are plenty of young women out there who are perfect in the skin their in, and those are the type of women I strive to be like someday. I wish I didn’t obsess over it, it’s probably my biggest flaw. I wish I didn’t hate myself for eating a cheeseburger every once in a while, and I wish I wasn’t constantly comparing myself to other girls. I know what beautiful looks like, and I know it’s not defined by your waist size. I know that beautiful does not necessarily mean being perfect. I guess I’m posting this to remind myself that I am not alone and to remind myself of the progress that has been made. I am way better off than I was when I was a size 10. I am stronger emotionally, physically, and mentally. The weight didn’t just come off because I was eating right and exercising, the weight came off because I was happy. The weight came off because I learned to love myself, no matter what size I was. I do still love myself, but learning to love my body is definitely a work in progress. So, where does one go from here? Unfortunately, the calories I burned from typing this didn’t shed 15 pounds, so now what?

For all the girls that can relate to this post in some type of way, I offer you this advice:

There is no such thing as perfection. Perfection is perceived differently depending on who you talk to, so using that word to define your life is just a waste of time. And as for beauty? You are beautiful. Beauty is happiness. Beauty is confidence. Beauty is your ability to make other people laugh. Beauty is what motivates you to get up every day and live your life. Beauty is from the inside out, not from the outside in. It sound so cliche and repetitive, but our perception of beautiful always seems to gets chewed up and spit out by societal standards. Find what makes you awesome and just run with it. Screw everyone else and their desire for a double zero waist line. Just be at peace with the way you look and rest will fall into place. (Listening to my own advice will be tough for this one.) In my experience, the key to weight loss has been simply happiness.

So here’s my two cents on weight loss:

My weight loss journey hasn’t been an easy one. I’ve worked hard and basically had a life transformation. I strive to live a healthy lifestyle, and I sometimes hate myself for being so obsessed. However,  living in a life where everything seems to be out of my control, being able to control how I look gives me a peace of mind. I don’t have an eating disorder, nor have I ever. I count calories, but so what? Although my insecurities do get the best of me sometimes, I would never want to go back to my 160 pound self. I was unhappy, I didn’t care what I was putting into my body, and it most definitely showed. Losing weight is like a drug. It gives you this unexplainable high for a considerable amount of time, but then when you reach a plateau, it’s the most frustrating thing in the world. I have been a plateau for quite some time, fluctuating plus or minus 2 pounds, and this has definitely affected the way I see myself. When I was constantly losing, I felt great, but now that I’m not seeing the results at the same rate, it makes me feel discouraged. It’s important to remember, that you have complete control over your body. If you sit on the couch and eat chips all day, it’s going to catch up to you. If you want to be happy with your body, treat it as so. However, don’t hate yourself for that giant slice of cake you had last week. And if you want a ooey-gooey bacon cheeseburger, just get it! Healthy living isn’t all about deprivation, it’s about treating your body with care. Treating your body with care includes not constantly hating on it all the time; learn to love it because it’s the only body you have. And that’s what I need to reteach myself: learning to love my body again.

We all struggle with our body image at some point in our lives. It’s inevitable. We’re our own worst critics and we let it get the best of us. Just don’t let it define you. Because when you let it define you, you let it take over your life. Stop judging yourself in the mirror, because odds are, everyone else in this world is judging you too. People are assholes. The last thing you need is to join in on the assholes, so just don’t do it. We all can’t have Carrie Underwood’s legs, and we probably won’t a rockin’ bod like Jennifer Aniston in our 40’s, but that’s just life. Be happy with what you DO have and maybe JUST maybe you’ll be able to look in the mirror tomorrow and say to yourself, “Damn, I’m hot.”

Because, you are “hot.” (Whatever “hot” even means.)


Feel free to reach out to me via Facebook or email, I’d be more than happy to listen to your stories and make sure you know that you’re definitely not alone. Love you guys!!

Basic-ness of Instagram

Instagram: the app that has turned the most basic of bitches into world-renown photographers. It’s the app that turned Thursdays into #tbt and can even make a hot dog look artsy. We live for the ‘gram. What better way to brag about the awesome things you are doing than putting it on Instagram? Nothing.

I’m guilty of saying, “Wait guys, need to insta this!” and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I rearrange objects to make the picture look more “artsy” and I’d say 10% of my posts are actually candid. Look through your average girl’s Instagram account and I guarantee you’ll find a Dunkin Donut’s iced coffee with the caption “Ugh much needed on this Monday [insert coffee emoji, heart, and happy face].” You’ll also find some fall foliage, dozens of sky pics, and maybe even some #TransformationTuesday pics!

We all would like to think we are gifted photographers, but let’s be real, it wasn’t your photography skills that got you into the double digits of “<3’s” Sorry gals. So, I have decided to go through my own Instagram and pick a handful of pictures and analyze them myself. I’m using myself as an example here, but you’d be lying if you weren’t guilty of everything I’m about to make fun of myself for.

1. Image

Classic latte and homework pic. Does it get anymore basic than that? I wouldn’t dare touch my coffee before Instagramming it because it’s a must that I get the coffee art in there, and I don’t even like coffee that much. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spend several minutes adjusting the placement of my coffee, homework, and wallet. It’s all about the placement people. This picture is insinuating that I’m at a coffee shop being a diligent student, but in reality I’m spending 20 minutes perfecting a picture and adding effects that don’t really need to be there.


2. Image

Food pictures. I’d say pictures of food take up at least 60% of my newsfeed. Do people really care what you are eating for dinner? No. But if it looks tasty, it’s totally Instagram worthy. Honestly, this sushi was a 5/10 at best. And even more honestly, I  I’m not the biggest fan of sushi but we’re all sushi lovers on the ‘gram.

3. Image

The subtweets of Instagram. Classic.

Quotes are also great Instagram-fillers. Don’t have a decent picture to Instagram but you’re dying to post something because you HAVEN’T POSTED ANYTHING IN 5 DAYS (the WORST.) Pinterest is your best friend. Screenshot a quote from Words to Live By and BAM-you’ve got yourself a decent Instagram post.


4. Image


Candid pictures make for great Instagram posts. Nothing better than a group of BFFs laughing as if they hadn’t planned it. It’ll get you to your double digit goal for sure. Do it for the likes, ladies, do it for the likes.

Plot twist: Before this picture was taking we literally said “Guys, let’s taking a laughing picture!” Can we be more annoying?

5. Image

I’m just going to stand here and gaze out into this beautiful landscape thinking intently about life and pretend that I have no idea that people are taking pictures behind me. I’m so deep- and I totally can’t wait to Instagram this. ~~Insert corny quote found on Pinterest~~



Super casual picture. Hey guyz look I’m in Africa and pose with lions!! I can’t tell you that I wasn’t super stoked about the amount of likes on this bad boy. This picture is special because it helped me reach the 100 like milestone. I’m still waiting for my trophy in the mail.  Big day in the social media life of Beth Cormack.


7. Image

Did I lie on the ground in a ridiculous position under my Christmas tree in order to take this? Did I rearrange ornaments? Did I take 20+ pictures before choosing this one? No. (I’m lying).

8. Image

Ahhh, the joys of obnoxiously bragging on Instagram. Putting the sunglasses in the pic wasn’t enough. Needed to get the case in there too so you know that they’re Tory Burch! Try to find a picture on Instagram of Hunter rain boots without the label in it. Impossible. Vineyard Vines shep shirt? If you don’t Instagram it than you don’t own it. This picture has basic written all over it. And I kind of hate myself for it.

9. Image

see #8. Disclaimer: I only own one Lilly dress that I’ve worn once. That constitutes me buying an overpriced agenda right? ~~*LiVe 4 LiLly*~~

10. Image

You’re a terrible friend if you don’t make a pic stitch on your best friend’s birthday.

11. Image

Back in my rookie days. Abusing Instagram one picture at a time.


12. Image

Selfies are only acceptable on days that begin with the letter “s” (#selfiesaturday #selfiesunday). See how many likes you get to boost your self confidence!!!!!! Make sure you don’t post too many, though, because then people will think you’re too self absorbed. Use the privilege sparingly and make sure you pick the right filter you make yourself look flawless. Work that half smile and tilted head, Beth! You go girl!


13. Image

If you didn’t Instagram it, did it even happen?


14. Image

I posted this picture on my mom’s birthday. My mom doesn’t have an Instagram and never saw this post. So who am I really wishing a happy birthday to in this post?? It’s a known rule that you HAVE to let your followers know when it’s your mom’s birthday accompanied by a long paragraph about how great she is. Sending box of chocolates to her office just isn’t good enough anymore. Luv u Judy ❤

15. Image

Nothing screams “originality” quite like posting the same exact picture as 70% of your followers.

16. Image

Your Cape vacation literally didn’t happen if you don’t post a picture of the Sagamore bridge.

17. Image

I’ll leave you guys with an adorable “candid” picture of my co-workers and I gazing out into the sunset. Because everyone stands on the beach like that right??? How cute! (and so totally not planned).

….I think I’m done embarrassing myself for now.

I abuse Instagram; I totally do and I’m not afraid to admit. If any of your pictures look like the ones I just posted than you do too. I don’t even want to think how many minutes in my life I have wasted on picking the perfect filter and pondering why “Kelvin” is even a filter at all. I get a weird, sick satisfaction when my posts get over 20 likes and I have no idea why. We are basic, and we love Instagram. No shame, ladies. Own it.