Ever since Rachel Rabbit White posited that pooping is a feminist issue, we’ve been talking a lot about the poop problem around The Frisky office. Amelia even suggested we implement a policy whereby we announce when we are going to the bathroom to take a dump. Ya know, just to open up the conversation. Mostly, our poop talk has centered around relationships. Is there a proper way to poop in a partner’s presence? To talk about it? The ladies here run the gamut from excited to share potty time with a new beau to completely mortified at the prospect. After the jump we’ve put together some proposed DO’s and DON’Ts of pooping etiquette for couples. We hope you’ll add your suggestions in the comments. Yay POOP! Keep reading »
Last night, I was complaining to John DeVore about the horrors of online dating, specifically sharing choice lines from particularly appalling profiles. He, in turn, sent me this video. Point taken, JDV. It could be much, much, much worse.
I believe you’ll remember Mike, the man who showed us how not to get a second date last week. While we’re still not sure if Mike is a douchebag or a man struggling with some very real issues, we present you with yet another one of his lengthy emails making its way around the interweb. This one comes via Danielle, a woman who claims to have been corresponding with Mike about a Craigslist rental back in 2006. This time, it’s the friendship end of the human interaction spectrum he’s after. Real? Copycat? Or maybe Mike never existed in the first place? Thoughts? Check out another one of “Mike”‘s alleged manifestos after the jump. [Observer] Keep reading »
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt anything quite like the relief I experienced after my last class before Thanksgiving break. It was noon on Wednesday – the day before Thanksgiving itself – and it seemed like everybody else had left except for me. I swear I saw Western-style dust balls blowing across my urban campus as I practically sprinted back from class, ready to pack my things and head out.
It’s not that I was dying to leave school; for all intents and purposes, I think of school as my home, my box of a dorm room as my very own. But I was so ready to eat copious, borderline disgustingly indulgent amounts of home-cooked food. I daydreamed of taking a shower without shower shoes. And then, there was the prospect of seeing my high school friends – people with whom I could move past basic conversational topics, people who already knew all my stories because they were in them. Keep reading »