Profile for Maude Standish

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Anna Faris Advocates Recycling — Boyfriends, That Is


I’ve had a huge girl crush on Anna Faris ever since I first discovered “The House Bunny” playing on cable one morning during the kind of hangover that just feels better to sit out in bed with a whole pizza. I was immediately taken by both her perfect butt and slapstick humor. Thus the utter excitement on getting to be even slightly involved with her new movie “What’s Your Number?” (I did some consulting work for them.) Check out this cute PSA Anna created on going green by recycling your exes. Though, most of my exes belong in the trash rather than getting reused, I still think it’s a funny idea! Keep reading »

Girl Talk: Everyone Saw Me Cry

“The important thing is that nobody saw you cry,” my mom kindly consoled me over the phone, after I told her how I had behaved like a drunk toddler at my friend’s wedding the night before.

“But mom, that’s just it, everyone saw me cry,” I tried to explain to her quietly, not wanting the couple having brunch next to me to hear.

“What?” my mom hollered back, slowly enunciating in the way older people distrusting technology tend to do at the slightest sign of interference.

“Everyone saw me cry,” I said a little louder this time.

“Where are you? I can’t hear you. I think we’re breaking up,” I clearly heard her say without the slightest hint of static or pending drop call.

“EVERYONE SAW ME CRY,” I shouted back, causing the chattering brunchers to stop and look at me, hints of tipsy pity filtering out from behind their sunglasses. Keep reading »

Girl Talk: My Bully Was My Best Friend

I met Rebecca when I was eight and forced by my parents to join an AYSO soccer team called the “Killer Bees” because my mom thought it imperative that even scrawny girls who much preferred watching late night re-reruns of “Star Trek: The Next Generation” should get out and enjoy bitter winds of Chicago fall on the lakefront.  Early on, my feminist mother had adopted a policy that my brother and I had to do the same extracurricular activities, a policy that sometimes made me the only girl at a football camp or meant that both my brother and I had to take carpentry lessons.  In this case, my six-year-old brother had become a soccer fanatic overnight and I had landed in a pair of golden knee guards. (To this day I consistently get panic attacks when someone  peppily utters the phrase “Shake it Off!” ) Keep reading »

Girl Talk: How I Got Over My Ex (Once And For All!)

“Do you love her?” I finally asked my ex in the midst of our screaming match last late night. He paused for a minute. I could hear him breathing deeply over the phone line, slow and steady—he could have been at a yoga studio, contorted and wearing orange spandex, or practicing Lamaze breathing for the birth of his first child. Instead, he was verbally (and angrily) tracing the end of our relationship. The truth of his new relationship had been so obscured in various manipulations, that despite approaching a year of us not dating I really had no idea where “they” were.

“Yes,” he said, and my heart grew very still. Somewhere after he listed the third or fourth reason why she was better than me, I interrupted, “Stop. Just. Stop. I can’t do this with you anymore.” I hung up the phone, curled up in bed, and went to sleep. Keep reading »

Girl Talk: How I Deal With Having A Case Of The Babies

A few days ago, I learned that a childhood friend of mine was pregnant and found myself unexpectedly exuberant over the idea of buying mini-things for a mini (and quite possibly bald) person who is to arrive in Arizona sometime around the ides of March. I thought this tiny soul should own my mini “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” shirt that I once dressed my cat Moskow in and an outfit that made him look like a panda, and my heart started racing in a new unfamiliar way. Lately, I feel like that female caricature that walks around with a cartoon clock ticking over her head and thinks her ovaries are a worthy dinner topic. I see a baby and I involuntarily gurgle, or at the very least talk in the same intonation I use for my cats (pitched perfectly high for their tiny little ears). In order to combat what can only be described as a genealogical disorder (i.e., the desire to have a baby before you have a mortgage), I have taken to interviewing women I know who have children. Keep reading »

30-Day Breakup Guide Challenge: Calmly Move On (Or At Least Try To) On Day 30

When I first started road-testing The Frisky 30 Breakup Guide, I didn’t even know what calm looked like. Seeing photos of my ex was enough to make my hands tremble, running into him at a party inevitably meant that venom would threaten to roll off my tongue and I would take on a Cheshire cat grin, trying madly to disguise and displace the feeling of a miniature ice-pick being twisted repeatedly into my heart. “Calm” meant drinking a half of a bottle of wine in bed and being able to wash the tears off in the ladies room at work without anyone noticing. Looking calm was physically impossible. Keep reading »

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