Advice For The Over-Analyzer & Her Friend

We all have that one friend/acquaintance/girl we don’t even really like that over-analyzes every situation. She analyzes shit to the point of you wanting to smack her across the face while screaming you CANNOT be this dense. Instead, you just quietly sip your vodka soda while thinking, “this bitch is fucking bat shit.”

It’s like she processes things in a completely different manner and you just don’t follow or understand where she comes to the conclusions that she does. That or she’s just fucking brain dead.

The best is when she gets dumped but doesn’t want to accept it.

Dear Jesus, hold onto the designer fedora that you clearly only wear while traveling to warm climates or shopping at outdoor venues, because homegirl turns into a three gallon scoop of psycho in a two gallon bucket. That.Shit.Explodes.

Her Ex texts:  “Hey – what’s up?”

She immediately proceeds to screen shot the message, send it to you and her closest 45 friends to get everyone’s take on what it means and to ask how she should respond. Hey, here’s an idea: how about you fucking say hello back before he remembers that you’re 50 shades of cray..

The best is when she tries to convince you he likes her, but you know he’d rather have chlamydia then be seen with her in public. He clearly justifies this to her by explaining that he’s “not ready for a relationship” but “still wants to hook up”..

She gets dumped? You might as well go ahead and cancel any plans you had in the next six months and possibly even quit your job because you know damn well you’re getting called all day, every day, for nights filled with tears and bitch sessions.

I am HORRIBLE at that shit. I show little to no emotion outside of humor (is humor an emotion? Whatever this is my blog, I do what I want) or the occasional depression stints, but even that I turn into something chic that everyone wants to feel.

Me: “Seriously, though..I hate everything that isn’t wine or Zac Efron.”

Suddenly everyone’s buying Pinot Noir and Red Box is out of High School Musical 3.

Me too, Zac…me, too.

It’s not that I’m a heartless bitch, it’s just that I firmly believe if anything happens to make you that upset, it HAD to have happened for a reason, so why not learn from it and try to see the good? That and I don’t care about a whole lot outside of wine, Lifetime, Phillip Phillips and brussel sprouts. And corn.

I have two points of view I’d like to share, one for Pathetic Pam that’s probably crying in her room while watching Beaches right now (solid movie, no disrespect to Bette – GINGER REPRESENT – just meant it’s a tear jerker) and another for the girl who’s dealing with her.

Pathetic Pam: Cut the shit. Seriously, just..just, no. If he wanted to date you, HE WOULD. You’re not Ally and he sure as shit ain’t Noah, and this isn’t the fucking Notebook. Want to feel better? Then stop crying in your room or bothering your friends unless it’s to go shopping, get drunk or do anything OTHER than complain and be pathetic. You were fine before him; you’ll be fine after him – I PROMISE. And if not well then that sucks and I don’t know what else to tell you other than vodka never leaves and Kate Spade doesn’t lie.

Just be like me:

..and I couldn’t be happier.

Pathetic Pam’s Friend: Bless your heart. But quit feeding the monster that is two steps away from jumping off a cliff and/or making a hair doll out of her ex’s stray pubes. Take that bitch, get her shitfaced and make her hook up with a rando that she can then focus her time and effort stalking. If she refuses to get outta the house then mail her a dildo, change your number and get some new fucking friends.

**PS: We’ve all been one of these two girls, myself included. I don’t know how I would have gotten through a lot of things, especially the past 10 months, without my friends who were nothing but patient and understanding. The point I’m trying to make here is that there comes a point when you need to realize that nice girls finish last so don’t cry over anything that isn’t spilt wine or ruined designer clothing. Or if someone dies, because that’s like, really fucking sad.

The End.

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