I take a lot of selfies. You know why? Because I’m fucking adorable. If it bothers you, maybe you should’ve been around in middle school to tell me I was pretty. But you weren’t, and I felt gross, but now I feel hot, so boom! You get a whole lotta selfies.
Look, I could go into detail about how the selfie is an extension of the basic human need to be seen, to be known, and perhaps even to be loved. I could talk about Narcissus, and about the moment when babies perceive that their mirror image is at once them and yet not them. I could go on about self-portraits, and Great Selfies in Art History, and so on and so forth. I could pseudo-intellectualize this bitch for you, but instead I am simply telling you to shut up, because selfies are awesome. Keep reading »
Maybe you are a lady and you hate your body because you don’t deserve to have control over it, according to the highest authority on law in the land. Or maybe you are a man and you hate your body because it doesn’t look like what you see on TV or in pornzz or whatever.
Well, don’t worry! Because I have a few pieces of advice for you on How To Not Hate Your Body, whether you are a woman, a man, or a genderqueer person who does not conform to the binary system! Some of these ideas may seem silly and lame and non-snarky, because guess what? True things are often sincere things, and sincerity has never been “cool.” Right now, we’re going to dispense with ideas of what is and is not cool and we’re going to do our best to save your self-esteem and maybe your life in the process, so strap the fuck in for a loving ride (no, not THAT kind of loving ride, jeez, we are not a pornzz site, OR ARE WE). Keep reading »
When women brag on Facebook about having the “best hubby in the world,” I want to buy advance tickets and popcorn to their inevitable divorce. If you really and truly love your husband and you’re actually that happy, why do you need to show off? Is Facebook your own personal delusion billboard?
Like when did husbanding (as opposed to husbandry, something else entirely) become a competition in which your husband is suddenly The Greatest Of All Husbands simply because he exchanged paper money for shiny baubles or, I don’t know, fixed the shower head? And why do you need to send out a massive brag to your “friends”? If it’s such a big deal, can’t you just tell them over the phone or in person? Keep reading »
This piece was crossposted with permission from Happy Nice Time People.
Louis C.K. did terrible grabbing, pushing, forced kissing and more to a lady on his teevee program “Louie” and everyone was freaked out. He tried to drag her into a bedroom and it was disturbing and I can’t watch the whole clip all at once because it makes me feel weird inside in an uncomfortable fashion, and not just because fanfuckingtastic Pamela Adlon was the voice of my beloved Bobby on “King of the Hill.” Jezebel has a good thing about it that you can read and ponder.
I do not like seeing this Comedy Hero pretend-attempt to rape a lady, which is probably good, because if I were into that sort of thing, I should probably be in even more therapy. Anyway, I think “Louie” starts important conversations on important things, and it’s the closest thing we presently have to the socially conscious sitcoms of the ’70s and early ’80s (and also “Roseanne,” thank you very much) and that is why we’re talking about it right now. Keep reading »
Unlike my future captor Tom Cruise, I’m a big fan of psychiatry. Why? Well, it’s given me opportunities I never could have experienced without medical intervention for depression, agoraphobia and panic attacks. To put it more simply: Psychiatry has saved my life. But thanks to a couple of friendly letters from health insurance companies, I’ve recently learned I don’t deserve to go to the doctor.
And here I thought I was doing well. Keep reading »
Sara Benincasa’s struggle with panic disorder began with childhood anxiety attacks and intensified until, at the age of 21, she developed full-on agoraphobia. Her fears were so severe she was afraid to leave her own bedroom. She sank into suicidal depression. Garbage piled up against the wall as her appetite for food—and life—slipped away. Finally, one day two college friends contacted Sara’s family out of fear for her safety and state of mind. Here is an excerpt detailing when Sara’s parents have first been notified that their daughter was dealing with some very real problems.
“Hello?” I said hoarsely.
“Hi, Ra-Ra!” chirped one voice.
“Hey, Ra!” boomed another.
It was my parents. Keep reading »