To determine the level of bacheloretting to pitch your bridey at her last hurrah in the City of the Single, obtain scores from Parts I and II below and then refer to our handy chart, borrowed from a pantyhose packet, to determine the bachelorette party you should throw. Keep reading »
If Z100 announces it’s “an emerging trend,” you know it’s time to run out and throw yourself a fake bachelorette party. At least that’s what single 20-something blogger Bonnie Gleicher and her group of girlfriends did. It’s unclear as to why fake bachelorette showers are suddenly a thing — why would anyone want to wear penis hats in public unless they absolutely HAD to? — but in Gleicher’s case, she and her friends chose to parade around NYC’s West Village in tiaras and garter belts, taking turns pretending to be the bide-to-be, to answer one question: How desirable is unavailable? The results of her social experiment were really interesting and also kind of sad. Keep reading »
On May 13, 2011, the cinematic landscape was forever changed by that cute little movie about friends, weddings and bowel incontinence. Other than a couple “Saturday Night Live” cast members and the lead guy from “Mad Men,” that cute little movie starred a bunch of relatively unknown—and, up until that time, unappreciated—actors and actresses. Yet, at the end of the day, that cute little movie went on to make over $288
billion million at the box office and finally prove to film studios executives it was okay for women to be depicted as smart, funny, beautiful and a little gross. Call it the “Bridesmaids” Effect.
No matter how you slice it, movie theaters haven’t been the same since Melissa McCarthy pooped in a sink. (And I mean that as the highest compliment.) So, without further adieu, allow me to introduce you to the next crop of illegally talented female screenwriters who are likely to leave you in stitches and (possibly) tears.
I made sure to get the thin crust pizza, because I knew that once it was just me and a couch and Liam Neeson rescuing some people from some horrible shit and/or wolves, I was going to eat all that pizza, and I did not want the bread bloat. I was treating myself. I was worth it. I was alone.
For the past two and a half years, in the process of dating, moving in with and then marrying my husband, I haven’t been alone much. I’d almost forgotten how to do it. I’d almost forgotten how to do something I love to do, and something that I’m very, very good at doing. I don’t mean being single. I mean being solitary. By myself.
For most of my 20s, I was in long-distance relationships, make-up break-up relationships or deep into singledom. I had a lot of opportunities to cultivate my own favorite kinds of solitude: taking long afternoon drives out into the Texas Hill Country, getting a six pack of High Life tallboys, watching British comedies all night, going bonkers on multi-hour sewing project marathons that ended in inevitable disaster. Doing whatever I wanted, when I wanted to, and never having to wonder whether eating all this ranch dip at 3 p.m. is that going to mess up dinner plans. Because I didn’t have dinner plans. And I fucking loved it. Keep reading »
September is International Womens’ Friendship month, so it’s fitting that the movie “Bachelorette” is out this month too. I went into the movie expecting a typical wedding rom-com about women who have perfect jobs and men, but instead I got a hilarious movie that finally depicted female friendships in a real way. Keep reading »