I was talking to my guy friend about Caitlin Moran’s book How To Be A Woman, which led us to the topic of money. I said that I am a feminist, but I am not completely resistant to guys paying for my meals on dates because most guys I know make more money than women. (That is my personal experience.)
“Do you really think you make less money because you’re a woman?” he asked. “In 2012, in New York City, where everyone is equal? You really think that’s what the problem is?”
At his work, he said, women and gays made up a majority of the employees, and he hinted at the implication that he was the one being slighted, being in the white, male, heterosexual minority. Keep reading »
At first I thought there were pimples on my vagina. That was when they were only hard, tiny lumps. I noticed them when I was in the ladies room at work. The next time I went in the bathroom, they were much, much bigger, and I started to get worried. And was it just me, or were they really starting to hurt? By the time I went home they were so painful I couldn’t sit down. I started to think that somehow, this meant I was going to die. This had never happened before but I, ever the optimist, went to bed sure my vagina would be back to its old, sexy self when I awoke the next morn.
It wasn’t. The bumps were larger and even more painful, and examining my naked body that morning, I was sure that, for the first time, I was seeing what a really pissed-off vagina looked like. She was screaming at me, she was aching and tired and red and troubled. When I discovered I couldn’t even wear pants, I called the doctor and they told me they could squeeze me in two days later. (Here is the part of the story when you learn an unfortunate character trait of mine that will come up several times in this story — I am a truth avoider/denier.) I didn’t want to be pushy or impose, either (I am from Ohio, if that explains anything). So, I accepted my appointment and lived the next two days enduring an increasingly excruciating pain in my crotch. Keep reading »
Theoretically, winning the lottery should be a wonderful thing. Who wouldn’t want $100 million in their pocket right now? But time and time again it’s been proven that all those millies can ruin even the best-intentioned, most giving, God-loving folk. And also the ones who blow their jackpot on cocaine and prostitutes. And everyone else between. Here are ten incredibly sad, more-tragic-than-Shakespeare stories where people went from gutter to glory to gutter again. Many of them went on to say (if they even survived to tell the tale), “I wish I never would have won.” Which means you there, dear reader, are one lucky sonofabitch for losing the Lottery.
On April 23, 1977, Kalpen Suresh Modi was born, and on March 21, 1984, I was born. We went on to do different things; he got to work for Obama, I almost made the cut to be a Disney Princess in Orlando. Though it seemed unlikely our life paths would ever cross, I have been dead set on making that happen. And I have failed, failed, failed.
I am not one of those people who is shy about her crushes. I HAVE A CRUSH ON KAL PENN. It began the first time I saw “The Namesake” in 2007. I had just moved to New York City and was feeling lonely, and I went to the Paris Theater by myself with a box of Dots and some whiskey and cried my little blue eyes out. I wanted to be that blonde bitch who got to date Kal so bad I had visions of pulling off some weird-ass “Silence Of The Lambs” shit on her. No matter that she didn’t get to date him in real life. Because here’s something you are about to learn about me: I don’t care about real life. I am all about fantasy all the time. Like getting to make out with Kal Penn. I want to lick those lips in circles until the Hindi cows come home. I want to run my hand through his locks and cup his butt cheeks. Keep reading »
You probably know by now — after having been through a few dozen (give or take) Halloweens — how frustrating it is to be searching for a last minute costume, thinking “If only I had thought about this earlier!” And then you end up going as an astronaut — again — which is basically just your day clothes wrapped in aluminum foil. Things get especially tricky when you want to plan your costume with your partner — that can take some serious coordination! So let’s get brainstorming now with these awesome couples costumes.
When I was a little girl and my non-Quaker grandmother wanted me to pipe down, she would say, “Quaker’s Meeting has begun. No more laughing, no more fun.” I obviously never listened, but enjoyed the quaintness of Grandma’s axiom. The Quakers must be kind of quiet and shy, I thought.
I’ve been a non-quiet, non-shy practicing Catholic for 28 years, and for the most part I’ve loved my religion. But as a pretty liberal human being who enjoys condoms and thinks her gay friends should be able to visit their partners in hospitals, I have issues. Keep reading »