Funny Girl Hot Biography
Source(google.com.pk)
Just like a crowded bar, Twitter is full of attractive women who are trying to mingle with the rest of us regular-looking folk. Unlike in a crowded bar, however, on Twitter the hot girl has the ability to show just how normal and down to earth she is before you even speak to her. That process usually involves writing a self-deprecating bio that harps on her love of food (just like you!), sports (just like you!) and a hilarious sense of humor (hey, you like to laugh, too! This might be a perfect match!). (It's not.)
In order to help any hot girls who are new to Twitter, we put together this handy guide to writing the typical hot girl Twitter bio. Just circle each bold word that applies to your hot-girl life in the form below and you will have the perfect bio that conveys your totally normal lifestyle. Then you can get back to posting bikini pictures from your boyfriend's yacht.
I was rocking out in the kitchen to “One Way or Another,” a Blondie song seared into my neuropathways since adolescence. I was horrified when I realized it was the sound track to a Swiffer commercial, blaring from the TV in the other room. I found it especially humiliating that there was a Swiffer, at that very moment, sitting in my broom closet. What’s more, I had recommended it to friends (!!!). I thought about that: I feel strongly enough about a cleaning implement to have recommended it to friends. It didn’t seem like that long ago I wasn’t spending enough time at my apartment to need to clean.
I began to feel vaguely uneasy, but the reason hadn’t yet gelled. Things were going quite well, and my life was more or less exactly as I’d set it up to be: I had lived my lunatic 20s, throwing myself into my career, scaled many magazines’ mastheads and then calmed the eff down and gotten married in my mid-30s. My husband and I had wonderful twin little girls, I had a great job, good friends, and we all were healthy and solvent. There was no crisis. And yet ... something was off.
I just didn’t feel like me.
And then, finally, one day just after my 40th birthday, all became blindingly clear.
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It was early in the morning and I was on the subway, on my way to work. A sexy stubbly man next to me leaned in and asked me for the time. I braced myself for the pickup attempt I felt sure was to follow. “Eight-forty,” I replied tersely, careful not to offer even a hint of encouragement in my tone.
And then ... nothing. Nada. Bubkes. He may have said, “Thanks.” I don’t remember. I do remember that he went back to his book. Apparently, the sexy stubbly guy who asked me for the time simply needed to know the time. He wanted information, not to have sex with me. Imagine! I was shocked. Shocked! And internally embarrassed. Just who the hell did I think I was? Well, I’ll tell you who I thought I was! I thought I was who I had always been: a hot chick, damn it! Big hair, big boobs, big personality, a young woman who (not so terribly long ago) had reason to adopt a slightly defensive posture when men asked her superficially innocent questions on public transportation. (In fact, I met the man who is now my husband on the subway.) I was hardly a supermodel, but hey, even if I wasn’t a particular person’s type, my general appeal was irrefutable. After a few decades of believing this about myself — and usually being reacted to as if it was so — being an attractive young woman simply became part of what I was and how I navigated the world.
But in that instant, an energy-saver bulb reluctantly flickered on over my head, and I got it. Boy, did I ever get it. I was no longer “all that,” perhaps no longer even a little of “that,” whatever “that” is. No wonder things didn’t feel right! I didn’t feel like me anymore because I wasn’t me, at least not the me I had always been.
I’m not talking about one guy’s opinion, of course. In retrospect, all the indications that my head-turner days were receding in the rear view were there (in addition to the aforementioned, fewer men who drink 40s on apartment stoops made vile sucking noises as I walked by; and I was ma’amed on several occasions when I was not in the Deep South). Together, along with all the other signs that had nothing to do with my looks, it made sense. Over the last few years, while I’d been busy working and having twins and not sleeping and getting peed on and eating and yelling at my husband and maybe not taking such good care of myself — and oh, yes, that pesky passage of time thing — I’d become a perfectly nice-looking 40-year-old working mom doing the best she can. Which is totally not the same as a hot chick. That in itself is not a problem. The problem was that my self-definition had yet to catch up with the reality of what the world saw when it looked at me.
Lucky for me, I had my then-4-year-old daughter, Vivian, at home to give my self-definition a good frog-march forward. That very same evening, she snuggled close to me on the chair-and-a-half in her bedroom while I brushed her hair after her bath. Abruptly, she turned to me.
“Mommy, what are those?” she asked, her face just millimeters from mine, so close that her eyes were crossing. She wa
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
In order to help any hot girls who are new to Twitter, we put together this handy guide to writing the typical hot girl Twitter bio. Just circle each bold word that applies to your hot-girl life in the form below and you will have the perfect bio that conveys your totally normal lifestyle. Then you can get back to posting bikini pictures from your boyfriend's yacht.
I was rocking out in the kitchen to “One Way or Another,” a Blondie song seared into my neuropathways since adolescence. I was horrified when I realized it was the sound track to a Swiffer commercial, blaring from the TV in the other room. I found it especially humiliating that there was a Swiffer, at that very moment, sitting in my broom closet. What’s more, I had recommended it to friends (!!!). I thought about that: I feel strongly enough about a cleaning implement to have recommended it to friends. It didn’t seem like that long ago I wasn’t spending enough time at my apartment to need to clean.
I began to feel vaguely uneasy, but the reason hadn’t yet gelled. Things were going quite well, and my life was more or less exactly as I’d set it up to be: I had lived my lunatic 20s, throwing myself into my career, scaled many magazines’ mastheads and then calmed the eff down and gotten married in my mid-30s. My husband and I had wonderful twin little girls, I had a great job, good friends, and we all were healthy and solvent. There was no crisis. And yet ... something was off.
I just didn’t feel like me.
And then, finally, one day just after my 40th birthday, all became blindingly clear.
Stories from
Lindsay Lohan Is Painful to Watch in The Canyons, Says PEOPLE's Critic
Cory Monteith's Mom Speaks Out About 'This Emotional Time'
The Most Important, Random Things on the Internet
Raven-Symoné Comes Out: Buzz
Robin Thicke and Jimmy Fallon Play 'Blurred Lines' Using Classroom Instruments
It was early in the morning and I was on the subway, on my way to work. A sexy stubbly man next to me leaned in and asked me for the time. I braced myself for the pickup attempt I felt sure was to follow. “Eight-forty,” I replied tersely, careful not to offer even a hint of encouragement in my tone.
And then ... nothing. Nada. Bubkes. He may have said, “Thanks.” I don’t remember. I do remember that he went back to his book. Apparently, the sexy stubbly guy who asked me for the time simply needed to know the time. He wanted information, not to have sex with me. Imagine! I was shocked. Shocked! And internally embarrassed. Just who the hell did I think I was? Well, I’ll tell you who I thought I was! I thought I was who I had always been: a hot chick, damn it! Big hair, big boobs, big personality, a young woman who (not so terribly long ago) had reason to adopt a slightly defensive posture when men asked her superficially innocent questions on public transportation. (In fact, I met the man who is now my husband on the subway.) I was hardly a supermodel, but hey, even if I wasn’t a particular person’s type, my general appeal was irrefutable. After a few decades of believing this about myself — and usually being reacted to as if it was so — being an attractive young woman simply became part of what I was and how I navigated the world.
But in that instant, an energy-saver bulb reluctantly flickered on over my head, and I got it. Boy, did I ever get it. I was no longer “all that,” perhaps no longer even a little of “that,” whatever “that” is. No wonder things didn’t feel right! I didn’t feel like me anymore because I wasn’t me, at least not the me I had always been.
I’m not talking about one guy’s opinion, of course. In retrospect, all the indications that my head-turner days were receding in the rear view were there (in addition to the aforementioned, fewer men who drink 40s on apartment stoops made vile sucking noises as I walked by; and I was ma’amed on several occasions when I was not in the Deep South). Together, along with all the other signs that had nothing to do with my looks, it made sense. Over the last few years, while I’d been busy working and having twins and not sleeping and getting peed on and eating and yelling at my husband and maybe not taking such good care of myself — and oh, yes, that pesky passage of time thing — I’d become a perfectly nice-looking 40-year-old working mom doing the best she can. Which is totally not the same as a hot chick. That in itself is not a problem. The problem was that my self-definition had yet to catch up with the reality of what the world saw when it looked at me.
Lucky for me, I had my then-4-year-old daughter, Vivian, at home to give my self-definition a good frog-march forward. That very same evening, she snuggled close to me on the chair-and-a-half in her bedroom while I brushed her hair after her bath. Abruptly, she turned to me.
“Mommy, what are those?” she asked, her face just millimeters from mine, so close that her eyes were crossing. She wa
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
Funny Girl Hot Photos Wallpapers Images Pics Collections
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