Big tits and August don’t mix. In this hot hot heat, sweating bullets could kill your good looks, no thanks to gross breast sweat. I once had a dude dip a finger in my cleavage on a 100-degree day only to retract his hand in horror. Oh strapless bra, you sold me down a river, literally! But since then, I’ve learned to beat the heat and you can too. So, don’t let your melons become watermelons this summer. Save yourself with these tips… Keep reading »
The death of Irish novelist Maeve Binchy earlier this week has inspired a lot of articles, most of them warm tributes to her kind heart, quick wit, and writing ability.
British novelist Amanda Craig took a different tack.
In a piece published today by The Telegraph, she wonders whether Binchy might have been a better writer if she had been a mother. The subtitle is even more blunt, asking: “Does a female novelist need to have experienced motherhood to truly understand human emotions?” Keep reading »
Some very important news in the world of tan-ness: Patricia Krentcil, better known as Tanning Mom, has announced that she will STOP tanning. In an exclusive interview with In Touch, Tanning Mom said that she wants the chance to “rehabilitate her image by staying out of the sun (real and artificial) for an entire month.” While Tanning Mom acknowledges that “nothing is forever,” she knows that she is “sick of talking about tanning.” NOOO! I mean, I’m happy for her potentially pre-cancerous skin, but I want her to keep talking about tanning. I was just starting to understand her and now she’s gone. Sadz. I think she’ll need a hobby while she’s on her tanning hiatus. Something to keep her busy (and me occupied). Some ideas for Tanning Mom after the jump. Keep reading »
One of the weird byproducts of my ADD is that sometimes I cook just because I need to do something and making something — in this case, edible — gives me a beginning, middle, and end to focus on. So this weekend, out of the blue, I felt a deep, burning desire to focus my energy on making a cherry compote. I have never made one before. This one is a hodgepodge of, like, four different recipes I read online. Then, as a reward and because I didn’t know what else to do with it, I mixed my compote with cheap champagne, which I always have stocked. And lemme tell ya — sometimes my ADD is good for something because this cherry compote cocktail was yummy. And I still have plenty left over for cocktails the rest of the week. Enjoy!
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“He smokes, which I find gross, but he’s planning to quit soon,” I complained to my roommate about Jason, the guy I’d been dating for about a month. “And did I tell you he doesn’t eat dinner? As in, he has no desire to eat past lunchtime. Weird, right? And he owns seersucker shorts – baby blue seersucker.”
“So do you actually like him?” she responded, sounding doubtful.
“Yeah, I mean, he’s cool and I like hanging out with him, so it’s whatever,” I replied.
She looked at me for a moment, forehead scrunched, then shrugged. “Well you’ve only told me stuff about him that you don’t like, so I really can’t tell.” Keep reading »
Before I get into parsing the insanity of “Miss Advised”‘s penultimate episode, a note about Emily Morse. Last night, as I was livetweeting all the action — I am so dedicated, y’all — I noted that I use Emily’s scenes as time to refill my drink (multiple are necessary to get through this shitshow) or pee. Emily herself replied to me, not understanding why. I explained that she is awesome and rad and normal and unless she shares scenes with someone not awesome and rad and normal (like Alan Busey), I simply do not find her entertaining enough to watch (or blog about, save this wee paragraph), and that is the biggest compliment I can give. Really, “Miss Advised” is a dating show about two mental cases and an adorable pocket person. Love the adorable pocket person, just not enough to waste much valuable blog space on. Anyway … shall we begin? Keep reading »
We were a little distracted while watching the men’s swimming this weekend — after we caught sight of total hottie Camille Lacourt. Twenty-seven-year-old Lacourt says on Twitter that he is “Cool, simple and always ready to party: this is what I am.” Sounds pretty great, right? He also happens to be a total whiz at swimming; he was the 2010 European Swimmer of the Year and last night he finished first in the semi-finals of the 100m backstroke. The 100m backstroke final is tonight, so tune in to get a look of this babe in motion. And in the meantime, enjoy our gallery of totally unnecessary Camille shots.
Wouldn’t it be funny if the boys that photographed themselves assaulting Savannah Dietrich got raped right now? Also, that priest, Monsignor Lynn, who is going to serve three to six years for failing to investigate sex abuse claims against priests — wouldn’t it be hilarious if he were raped in prison? And Jerry Sandusky? Just picture him in the showers with a bunch of bigger guys! Are you laughing? No? Well, that’s because imagining someone getting raped is about as humorous as imagining someone stepping on a landmine or getting car-jacked. It’s terrifying and no one deserves it.
But using rape in a joke is another story. A couple of years ago, I taught a writing course at The New School called Humor and Controversy. The premise was that humor artists like Margaret Cho, Chris Rock, and Sarah Silverman speak with more insight and honesty about race, sexuality, reproductive rights, gender, religion, and class than most politicians, which is why comedy is important. Students were encouraged to use wit and self-deprecation to shed light on thorny issues. One prompt was to write an essay entitled “My Rape Fantasy.” Keep reading »
I’ve never been good at confrontation. Who knows why this is – fear of anger, abandonment, a literal pie to the face – but the interesting (read: TOTALLY PREDICTABLE) thing about it is: The Grudge. Not the movie starring Sarah Michelle Gellar as a hot, tormented blonde, of course. No. What I mean is holding a grudge. If you’re bad at confrontation, if you live in constant fear of telling the world at large what you actually think, you wind up with, approximately, 8,000,510 things to still be mad about. If I had my way, I would happily list each and every one of those eight million plus to you, right now, in these interwebular pages. But as certain dreams do not come true, I won’t. What I’ll do instead is tell you of the worst offensives, of the three crazy enemies who dared to commit them, and why I will never forgive them. EVER. Keep reading »
Sure, dogs are adorable and everything. But just because you think they’re cute doesn’t mean you want to date them. And unless you’re an avid dog lover to begin with, those sweet, floppy ears won’t seem so sweet when you have to bring a pooper scooper on your romantic outings and you find yourself covered in fur at Monday morning meetings. Here’s why you should put your dog park daydreaming to rest… Keep reading »