I don’t know about y’all, but it’s SUMMER over here in Friskyland. It’s passed from balmy and pleasant to hot like fire and sweaty outside — my favorite time of year! Summer means barbecues, it means the beach, it means cold drinks and laughter and fireflies and watching the stars — or the lights of whatever metropolis you live in — twinkle, either from a big ol’ field in the middle of nowhere, or shoulder to shoulder on a rooftop in the dark. Lucky for you, Amelia and I put together the perfect soundtrack for all your summer nights and days. Check it out after the jump!
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Welcome to a new semi-regular feature on The Frisky in which we comb through all the new releases in books and music, and present you with our top picks. We’re calling it “Like This, Love That” — think of it as a human “Amazon Recommends,” or that friend of yours who’s always on top of the newest and the latest. Check out our picks for this week — including Mavis Staples’ new album and Curtis Sittenfeld’s latest novel — after the jump! Keep reading »
Casual racism is really having a moment these days. The next pseudo-celeb to stick their foot in their mouth is Kate Gosselin, of “Jon and Kate Plus 8″ fame. Take a gander at this picture. It’s confusing, I know, so let me break it down for you. Kate Gosselin, white woman, mother of eight lovely multi-racial children, is wearing a plastic geisha wig and pulling her eyes back in the manner of playground idiots since time immemorial. What gives, Kate? Maybe she felt her star slipping, and, seeing the “success” Paula Deen is having a of late, was inspired to attempt a curated controversy. Maybe she’s just not the brightest star in the sky. Naturally, the brouhaha she created necessitated a response, so Gosselin took to her personal blog with a response, writing:
Evidently, a fan sent [the wig] for me to wear so that I too could “be Asian” like the rest of my family. At that time, a common topic of our show was “everybody’s Asian” — except for mommy, so a thoughtful fan figured she’d help me look Asian too! It’s normal to talk about and even “exaggerate” the feature differences between family members of a biracial family as they are noticed by curious growing children within the family. These types of discoveries and at home discussions are a normal part of being a loving accepting biracial family and it does not make any of us prejudice!
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I love a bargain as much as the next thrifty gal, but sample sales are one of my personal nightmares, somewhere between being trapped in a room full of writhing snakes and living in a world where “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” is the only song I hear for the rest of my life. I’ve been to a few in my day, but I feel they bring out the worst in women, and I lack the steely determination to shop til I drop like the hordes of lunch-break Lindas, clutching armfuls of floaty tops and discount sandals. Conceptually, it makes sense. Clothes are expensive, nice clothes more so. I’m just not one for willfully putting myself into situations where I have to degrade myself fighting over a bathing suit bottom or the last dress in my size.
Perhaps I’ve only had bad experiences, and that’s why I’m so down on the sample sale. Along with the office trip to Pinkberry and the collective mani on the lunch break, sample sales are representative of the icky part of being a woman. I have nothing against shared experiences, and I love frozen yogurt, manicures and discount clothing. It’s just something about the atmosphere inside these things that gives me hives. They are overwhelming, they are crowded, and women who are normally lovely and pleasant people turn into crazed bargain hunters, pushing each other aside and getting grabby over things that don’t really matter. The entire time I’m in there, I’m thinking about this bit from “The Nutty Professor, and it’s not a good look. The experience got much better once I figured out the right way to do it. The opportunity to snap up nice things at a fair price is alluring, so when a sample sale comes to town, be ready with these tips to get the most out of your sample sale experience.
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Activities are wonderful, but sometimes, it’s fine to want to shut the world out for a couple of days, and make some serious time for you. Don’t be afraid of FOMO, either. There will always be another party, another pub crawl, another picnic. The time you’ll spend indulging in the things you want to do, alone, are well worth it. Here’s a handy list of awesome things to do this weekend!
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Wedding dress shopping would be that much more fun if it was like this new clip from Gillian Jacobs and Smirnoff Ice. This is absurdity taken to new heights. I’ll say this: there are pants. Also, a curiously out of place raccoon tail, and a human masquerading as a carrot. Take it from me — you gotta see it to believe it. Check it out!
I saw Rihanna on her Diamonds World Tour a month ago, and it was just the spectacle I had hoped for, from the weird Grecian columns strewn about the stage to the time she came out wearing thigh-high boots and an oversized basketball jersey. She’s kinda the best, even though at times she’s also the worst. She’s messy, she favors oversharing, and she always has really good nails — all things I support. With that said, please accept this video of Rihanna hitting a handsy fan in the head with her mic as her nomination for Patron Saint of Women Who Don’t Give A Fuck. It is perfection.
Welcome to a new semi-regular feature on The Frisky in which we comb through all the new releases in books and music, and present you with our top picks. We’re calling it “Like this, Love That” — think of it as a human “Amazon Recommends,” or that friend of yours who’s always on top of the newest and the latest. Check out our picks for this week — including J. Cole’s new album and Neil Gaiman’s latest — after the jump!
Keep reading »
Alert! Is this the name of Kimye’s baby? Word from reputable news source Media Takeout (home of Kanye’s dick pics) is that the Kvelling Kouple named their baby girl Kaidence Donda West. I am currently processing this information and need alone time to figure out my feelings, and I imagine all of you are feeling the same. Let us know in the comments. [Media Takeout]
Here is a collection of memories from my childhood.
I am in kindergarten, it is story time, I am wearing a turtleneck that itches at my neck and I am not feeling well. I throw up on the rug, in front of everyone, sobbing hysterically, and my father leaves the campus where he’s teaching to come pick me up, taking me straight to class with him because it was easier than taking me to the babysitter. I fall asleep in the corner of his classroom to the sound of his voice lecturing disenchanted freshmen about the Yangtze river.
My sister and I spend a hazy, humid summer in Taiwan with our mother, running amok in the streets, eating food at the night market and listening to my mother’s sisters babble over our heads in Chinese. My uncle takes me for a ride on his scooter and I wear no helmet as we careen around the corners and dart in and out of traffic near my ah-ma’s apartment. My mother brings me to the salon to get a perm, and I return to the United States nut-brown and curly haired. When I run to my father at the airport, he holds me at arm’s length. “Who is this?!” he jokes. “You’re not my daughter!”
Countless nights, my father falls asleep in the living room with the television on, our dog Maggie curled up on the floor near the couch. I remove his glasses and wake him up, telling him to go to bed.
My parents divorced when I was very young. The courts granted my father primary custody of my sister and myself because they ruled that my mother’s new relationship with my stepfather was her priority. I have no memory of a family other than the tiny unit that existed — myself, my sister and my father.
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