A few days ago, resident dumbshit writer Wendy Atterberry at The Frisky, which is a website I’ve never heard of in my life but is apparently a thing so fine, wrote this...thing called “What Does A Girl Have To Do To Get A Gay BFF Around Here?” that made me wince, gnash, scowl, eyeroll and finally spit, “Oh, fuck you, Wendy” in the direction of my laptop screen. (And that’s beside the incorrect title caps that make this former copyeditor want to slap the entire staff of this “The Frisky” thing, just for good measure.)
Seems that this Wendy has recently left her Chicago bubble to marry a man in New York, and perplexingly, in her three years of living her new Manhattan married life no doubt intended to duplicate that of Carrie Bradshaw and Mr. Big (care to place bets on whether the invitations were embossed with, “If you find someone who loves the you you love? Well that’s just fabulous”?), has not been able to find a single gay man with whom to be BFFs! OMG! WTF? IMSWDOIHTDTFASTMCYG?!? (That’s, “I mean seriously what do I have to do to find a Stanford to my Carrie you guys?!?”)
Here’s what Wendy is missing:
- “When it comes to the really important things, like karaoke, watching awards shows, and getting an honest opinion on my hair, I find myself in dire need of a few good gays.”
- “…[W]hen I started dating a new guy, there was no guilt-trip like I might have gotten with a group of girlfriends. No one complained that I was suddenly less available for impromptu late-night fashion shows. They cheered me on and reminded me again and again that the best way to get over a guy is to get under another one.”
- “I don’t have a gay guy to help me pick out fake fur coats at flea markets!”
Oh fuck you, Wendy.