Holding Babies: Where do I grab it? Will its head fall off? It’s looking right at me. Stop.
Kale: This is just a cooler seeming version of lettuce. And lettuce was never cool, despite all the iceberg jokes (hold your laughter, please).
Spin Class: Being in a tiny, hot, smelly room with overly enthusiastic strangers riding bikes to nowhere is my nightmare.
Being Single: Some girls love being able to do what they want with whomever they want. I love being able to ask my boyfriend if he thinks I’m pretty while we’re at dinner, which he purchases.
Dogs Dressed In Outfits: Not only did you make your dog ugly, but now it hates you.
“Frozen”: It’s Disney. It’s animation. From what I have gathered, it doesn’t even have a shirtless Zac Efron in it. Come on.
Bows: We’re adults who can operate a motor vehicle and consume alcohol (hopefully not at the same time, but who am I to judge your horrible decisions). Grow up.
Pool Parties: You’re inviting me to a party where I’m supposed to eat barbecue and drink calories while walking around basically naked like it’s NBD. Yeah, no thanks. And hiding in the water doesn’t hide the fat, I don’t care what you say.
Tequila Shots: Nothing good ever came from licking salt, drinking straight rubbing alcohol, then sucking on a sour piece of gross fruit.
Playing “Never Have I Ever”: You either win because you’re a drugged-up slut or you lose because you’re a prude with morals. Either way, you feel like shit and find out things you didn’t want to know about your boyfriend.
Going Out To A Bar: If I want to drink until I cry, I’d rather do it in my own home, in sweats, with Netflix.
Going Out To A Club: As previously stated, if I want to drink until I cry, I’d rather do it in my own home, in sweats, with Netflix.
Leaving Your Room At All: Why do it? Everything you need is in there–Netflix, your bed, no pants. If someone could deliver queso, I really wouldn’t ever leave.
Mickey Ears: We pay at least $20 to wear animal ears that squeeze our heads and cause migraines at a hot, sticky park, only to be told that they need to be removed before riding a ride.
Parties: I go from awkward circle to awkward circle telling the same joke again and again until the only reason I came (AKA the boy I’m stalking) starts making out with some bitch. Then I hide in the bathroom with a bottle of whiskey. And I don’t even like whiskey.
People Saying “Pretty Little Liars” Is Scary: No. “The Exorcist” is scary. Forgetting a birth control pill is scary. “PLL” is not scary.
“Pretty Little Liars” Viewing Parties: Can’t we watch something a little better or at least stare at the wall instead?
“Pretty Little Liars” Existing At All: It needs to stop. You all just need to stop.
Starbucks: They charge $7 for a cup of coffee and your soul.
Shopping: It starts with such promise and ends with me being sweaty, angry, and having to be cut out of a pair of way-too-optimistic skinny jeans.
Tinder: As if random guys trying to pick you up at a bar isn’t creepy enough, let’s just skip that step and find the pervs on a cell phone app. Special Bonus: Most of them have pictures with their ex-girlfriend in one of their “have sex with me, girls like me” pictures.
Pinterest: So you just look at pictures? That you didn’t take? And organize a fake wedding? For the fiancé you don’t have?
Lilly: You’re dressing like a toddler. A grown, adult woman-toddler.
Vera: I paid $75 for a diaper bag that I was told was “cool.” I don’t even have a baby. It looks like a baby vomited on it, but that was either me or the atrocious print I paid for. Can’t really tell the difference.
“The Bachelor”: It’s not real, ladies. I know, I know. Sometimes they end up together, but, like, it’s not real.
Watching Rom-Coms With My Boyfriend: I cry. He hates me. I hate me. He thinks it’s how he should be. I think it’s how he should be. No one wins. Ever.
Heels: I don’t care what you say. They hurt. They hurt a lot and they cause us to slip and fall, and then we remove them from our body in a rage and walk home drunk and barefoot.
Meeting New People: “Hi, I have trust issues and I like peeling off other people’s sunburns and eating my body weight in queso. Nice to meet you.”
Thongs: What’s up my ass? Lace. Lace is rubbing and chafing and soaking up all the juices in my ass. Yeah.
Putt-Putt: You’re doing really well until you get to that one bad hole where it takes you seven tries before you throw your putter. Someone says, “It’s just a game,” and you respond with your version of, “You mind your fuck-hole.” Then you get demoted to scorekeeper.
Chubbies: No one was meant to see the hairy, white, upper leg of a male in public.
Bow Ties: You look like PeeWee Herman.
Working Out Together: “No (gasp) it’s okay (gasp). You go on (gasp) without (gasp) me.” Sorry I can’t run 15 miles like you. Or one.
Being Friends With Your Boyfriend’s Best Friends’ Girlfriends: Just because we’re both female, it doesn’t mean we’re going to get along. “Friends” created really high expectations for groups of friends who are all dating. Most likely, I’ll hate his best friend’s girlfriend because she’s prettier than I am.
Southern Boys: Because tobacco-spitting, front porch-sitting, pick up-driving, cow-tipping, raging Republicans don’t dress in suits and buy me the diamonds that I so crave.
Country Music: We get it. You have a truck. She has jean shorts. You’re drinking and driving and looking at a lake while complaining about life. We. Get. It.
Coozies: You don’t need to bring them to the bar, no matter how frat you want to look. Seriously. Plus, if you aren’t drinking your beer fast enough for it to remain cold, you’re doing it wrong.
Social Media PDA: I don’t want to see how you spent your three-week anniversary and your “I love you aren’t we cute in this staged selfie and BTW we’re best friends despite the fact that we’ve known each other for a month and I hate mostly everything he likes” picture. Your friends don’t want to see it. And the poor guy you tagged in it doesn’t want to see it.
Manicures: You’re making me pay $25 to do something I could do at home, while talking about how much my nail beds suck in a language I don’t understand.
Girls: 99.99 percent of them are horrible, heartless, whorish people. Myself excluded.
Aspiring to be the next Tina Fey, Rachel spends her free time doing nothing to reach that goal. While judging people based on how they use "they're" vs. "there" on social media, she likes eating buffalo chicken dip, watching other people's Netflix, and wearing sweatpants way more than is socially acceptable.