Girls Near A Cheese Plate

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Pass the rosé, Lauren.

What The What

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luke lorelai season one gilmore girls

Silliest. In all seven seasons.

What Really Happens When Girls Go To The Bathroom In Groups: A Piece of Investigative Journalism

February 24, 2016February 10, 20172 Comments

By Sam Jarvis

It was a night like any other, all of us sitting around a big table in the middle of PF Changs. We laughed and ate beef and broccoli, flirting with the boys across from us. It had taken me months to infiltrate this group, hundreds of dollars worth of gel manicures to gain these girls’ trust and prove that I wasn’t a rat, I was their friend. I had fooled them.

Roxy chewed on a bite of orange chicken, reaching into her mouth to pull out a piece that was definitely too- something. She set it on her plate and I gagged in my mouth. It was then, under the dim lights of this critically acclaimed restaurant, that Lena made eye contact with us.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

As soon as she said it, the girls looked to each other in understanding, rising from their chairs in unison.

“I’ll come.”

“Me too.”

I felt the temperature on my face rise. This was the moment I had waited patiently for, and I wasn’t going to screw it up. Lena looked at me.

“Are you coming?”

I nodded, stood. I took my purse with me but I’m not even sure why. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears, trying my best to ignore it so I could hear the end of Jacqueline’s story about switching eyebrow threading places.

Lena led the girls into the women’s bathroom and I immediately took mental notes of my surroundings. Three stalls, two sinks, automatic paper towel dispenser. This was information they’d need when I reported back to the agency. I’ll be honest, I was in a bit of a daze. Having always been a loner, I had never been asked to go to the bathroom with a group of girls before. I was scared, but elated.

Roxy went into a stall and without shutting it, started peeing. I adjusted my bra to make sure the wire I was wearing was still intact. Deep breaths, I thought to myself. I knew they were picking up my heartbeat in the audio.

Nothing happened for several minutes, as I pondered the possibility that I had gotten a bad lead. But suddenly, Lena and Jacqueline were talking in whispered code. As I leaned in, struggling to make out the words Cote d’Ivoire, and Tuesday is the drop off, I put it together. Holy shit, they’re arms dealers.

Roxy put on her reading glasses and scanned a detailed map she procured out of her bra. Lena asked if anybody had a tampon. I truly couldn’t believe what I was seeing: these women were selling machine guns to African soldiers.

Sudanese militants, secret weapon bases, they were discussing it all in great detail.
And as I watched tens of thousands of dollars pass from one girl’s moisturized hand to the other, I breathed for the first time in several minutes. My palms were sweating so profusely that I needed a paper towel to wipe them. I casually walked over to get one, but of course the machine couldn’t sense my hand motion beneath it.

All of the girls were looking at me. I glanced up nervously, wondering if this paper towel dispenser faux pas had demolished the cover I’d worked so hard to create. Lena saw the terror on my face.

“Something wrong?” She asked, putting a hand on her slender hip.

“Nope.” I said, as convincing as I could. I took Improv 101 a couple years ago and hoped to God it was shining through now.

It had been hours. They’d sketched out twelve drop routes, paid, in cash, for seventy five semiautomatic weapons, and made me try on four different shades of lipstick.

My focus waning, it was thankfully time to go. They rolled up the plans, stuffed them back in their undergarments, and took a last and final look at themselves in the mirror.

“I’m thinking about getting low lights,” Roxy said to both herself and no one. And although I couldn’t believe that millions of innocent people’s blood was on her hands, I did think she would look excellent with some darker pieces near her temple.

We walked back to the table, now completely cleared. All that remained was a small pile of fortune cookies. One of the guys looked up from his phone.

“What took you so long?”

Lena smirked, glancing at the girlfriends who flanked her sides. I was oddly proud to be one of them.

“Oh, you know. Girl stuff.”

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Miss America 2016: “Should’ve Been Us”

September 14, 2015October 5, 20151 Comment

Look I wasn’t planning on watching this shit, but once my boyfriend fell asleep on the couch my eyes got dark and I rubbed my hands together and suddenly I was cackling, “Yes… SLEEP!!!” and nestling in for the ride of a lifetime.

As soon as these girls start filing out all I can think about is how amazing all of their arms are. I mean, Jesus. Someone’s been juice cleansing. These girls introduce themselves one by one and with names like Savannah Morgan Lane, they were born for this shit. I bet she was one of those pageant children with the VERY WHITE fake teeth.

They go through everybody but keep cutting back to Chris Harrison for 10 seconds at a time so you don’t sit there in complete shock by how many fucking states there are in this great nation. There are SO MANY STATES. It’s honestly incredible.

Now they all walk out together and it’s the Victoria’s Secret fashion show for basic bitches. Sorry ladies, that’s just how the low-carb cookie crumbles. Also everyone looks 30 to me.

Time to meet the judges. Country singer Bret Eldredge, the widow of Chris fucking Kyle, Winnie from Wonder Years, Mr. Wonderful, Amy Perdy, and Zendaya. Really? THESE are the random assortment of “celebrity” that decide the fate of these girls? They’ve worked their actual entire lives for this and you’re letting Chris Kyle’s WIFE decide?

But wait, there is another judge (say this in your Oprah voice): Vanessa WILLIAMS!! She immediately walks out and starts singing. I didn’t actually know about the 1984 Miss America scandal until this week and just always thought she was the first African-American Miss America, the end. Turns out some NSFW pics had leaked of someone licking her butthole and she had to give up her title. Juicy! (Literally? Bleh.)

So after her song this guy from the Miss America corporation comes out and APOLOGIZES TO HER but really I don’t think they need to apologize at all. Had she not gone on to be literally the only Miss America anybody knows, I think they would’ve been like Vanessa Williams who? Oh, the girl who had butthole licking pics? Yeah we stand by our decision.

Anyway they announce the top 15 and then immediately play Tori Kelly’s Should’ve Been Us as the losers walk off stage. I am now laughing out loud. We’re on to SWIMSUITS!! I almost wake my boyfriend up but then I’m like eh, better not.

Swimsuit is 10% of the final score, and they’re all in full coverage bottoms like it’s 1992. They’re also model-walking to the music and it looks like they’re trying to hold a piece of paper between their legs. The judges faces as they watch these hotties are PRICELESS:

We’re going next to evening wear, but not before checking out some classic spray tan armpits as the girl’s names are called. You may want to sleep with these women but my God make sure it isn’t in your bed or those sheets will be Cheeto-orange in no time.

They walk out in evening gowns and I’m going to be honest with you, they’re bad. But they aren’t judging the gowns, they’re judging their poise and grace. Miss South Carolina Daja Dial fucking nails it and has the best dress and the crowd goes wild.

TALENT TIME!! Yes. Yes. We start with some very “eh” talents. No getting around that. A dancer, a singer who is slightly flat the entire song. But THEN, THEN, this bitch comes out in Belle’s yellow gown and sits down at the piano and fucking slays it. And yes, they have someone in a ball gown, playing piano, while a blurb pops up about her wanting to be an organic chemistry professor. It is at this point that I realize none of these girls smoke weed, ever.

Another girl stands up there in scrubs and the second I hear the words “original monologue” I know we’re in trouble. She talks about a dude with Alzheimer’s, it’s sweet, but now I’m just getting mad. Um, I didn’t know your talent could be story telling? If I had, I would’ve started doing these things a LONG time ago so I could go on and on about the time I was playing with Barbies and my mom walked by and saw me throwing all of Ken’s shit out of the third story of my Barbie townhouse while I screamed, “Get the hell out, Ken!!” Now THAT, is what I call an original monologue.

Finally it’s QUESTION TIME, 20% of your score. All I’m thinking about is Miss Congeniality and the girl describing her perfect date as April 25th. “All you need is a light jacket!”

Someone says they want Ellen Degeneres on the ten dollar bill, which is a “cute” answer but she is god damn lucky because everyone else’s questions are really fucking intense. Planned Parenthood, Black Lives Matter, it’s all very TOPICAL.

Miss Georgia is asked about Tom Brady’s cheating scandal and ironically enough she, in my opinion, CHEATS while she answers. She goes, “I’m sorry I didn’t hear the question, can you repeat it?” Um, you didn’t hear the question? More like you want him to repeat it so you have double the amount of time to think about your answer. I’m sorry, I’m standing firm on this. As soon as you hear the word “deflategate” you know what the fucking question is.

Now I’m starting to think Brooke Burke should win this thing. Girl looks AMAZING and literally better than all of these other women.

Last year’s winner has to do one final walk before she gives up her crown and she looks pretty bummed about it. Once you’re no longer Miss America do you just sit in your house wearing your sash and eating popcorn? Who can answer this for me?

It’s crown time and there are FOUR runners up which seems a little absurd. But the winner is… MISS GEORGIA, BETTY CANTRELL! I can’t believe someone who was born IN THE NINETIES is named Betty, but okay.

Here is how this winning shiz goes down (pretend it’s a glorious flip book):