It always starts the same way: “Come out for drinks!”
Maybe, I think to myself. I need to do more research.
“What’s the name of the place?” I ask. ”O’Dooley’s Irish McIrishman Pub,” someone says.
I get a pit in my stomach. I fire up Google. I find the page on MenuPages. My fears are confirmed: yup, this place only serves beers and offers a dinky wine list.
“I’m going to pass,” I say.
“But come onnnnnnnnn. You never come ouuttttttt,” someone whines. That’s because I want to go somewhere where I can get a fucking fancy cocktail. Keep reading »
Latching onto the earth-shattering news that women love a good party, an Orlando radiology clinic is hosting mammogram parties to encourage women to get the breast cancer check-up. So, yeah, we appreciate the sentiment — i.e., let’s try and make women feel like coming to get their boobs flattened between two metal plates is, like, super fun if you’ve got a Cosmopolitan in your hand — but it seems vaguely trivializing. Like women won’t get life saving check-ups unless there are little bite sized finger foods, pink streamers, and Fergie on the stereo. There are some things we want to be sterile, quiet, and devoid of female stereotypes — this would be one of them. What’s next? Manis and pedis while you’re in the stirrups at the gyno? Facials at the dentist? Brazilian waxes during a colonoscopy? [CBS News]Follow my blog with bloglovin Keep reading »