Do you know how many times I’ve heard the phrase “dick cheese”? So many times. Countless times. “Period goobers”? Not so much. It’s time to change this, y’all.
Dudes get to talk about their balls and penises in public all the friggin’ time. They’re so used to being able to talk openly about their dicks that many of them have come to believe that talking about their dicks is an acceptable way to flirt. And balls — blue balls, ball-busting, having things by the balls, having the balls to do stuff — fucking testicles are pervasive in our lives.
I propose changing this by going all-in and talking about our periods openly and graphically. We talk about penises so much that pretty much everyone has a working knowledge about penises and the things they do and go through. Let’s get real real about our vaginas and our lady times. We’ve made penises into sort of lovably comical objects, and it’s time we did the same for poon. I’ll get the ball rolling (SO TO SPEAK): Keep reading »
Pretty much everything about Kale and I getting married was untraditional. But we were actually quite traditional by not moving in together until a few days before our wedding.
Kale and I certainly weren’t opposed to premarital cohabitation on principle: both of us had lived with exes in long-term relationships before. We simply hadn’t been together long enough to move in together: we had only been dating for four months when we got engaged and got married just five weeks after that (yeah, we moved quick). Kale ending his lease in Brooklyn to move into my apartment in Queens a few days before our wedding was pure circumstance.
By cultural standards, the “getting married” part is supposed to be the huge change that occurred in my life. One minute I was filing my taxes solo and then — ba-bam! — I’m legally joined to another person by law. And to be sure, sponsoring Kale for immigration was also a significant event. But the honest truth is that the biggest change during that time, in terms of how it affected my life and how I had to adjust and grow as a person, was acquiring not just a new husband but a new roommate. Keep reading »
Selfish (adj.): Lacking concern for others; concerned chiefly with one’s own personal profit or pleasure.
Death is not profitable or pleasurable. It’s just nothing. It’s just not suffering. It has nothing to do with benefiting or not benefiting oneself or others. Saying that someone was selfish for having committed suicide is like saying that it was selfish of a person caught on fire to scream in agony.
When the topic of suicide is brought to the table, my primary concern isn’t to address people who have suicidal ideation. Everyone else is already doing that: They say, if you’re depressed or thinking about suicide, please seek help. Keep reading »
I woke up last Wednesday, August 13th, and took to my twitter, preparing myself to ingest yet another round of bad news. It had been a trying week, with more hateful, scary events taking place every day. While I knew I’d find evidence of this in my twitter feed, I expected to find solace in the kind sentiments of the liberal people and publications that I follow.
Instead, I was confronted by a Thought Catalog article entitled “Ferguson, Missouri, Looks Like a Rap Video,” by TC writer Anthony Rogers. The article is deeply racist, and, regarding the looting in Ferguson, includes the sentence “You cannot find Jordans, rims, or weaves … in Ferguson, MO.”
The article came on the heels of another offensive and disturbing piece of writing that was published on August 12th. Written by former Vice co-founder Gavin McInnes, “Transphobia is Perfectly Natural“ is so full of visceral hate that it’s almost unbearable to read. “What’s the matter with simply being a fag who wears makeup?” the author recalls thinking when he sees a trans person on the streets of New York. “To justify trannies is to allow mentally ill people to mutilate themselves,” he continues. (Both McInnes’ and Rogers’ articles now feature the above offensive content warning.) Keep reading »
We’ve all been there. Someone you were hot and heavy with will suddenly disappear, as if wiped from this earth, only to reappear in the form of a typo-laden text message one night while you’re doing a face mask in your sweatpants. Like that mosquito that you try endlessly to kill before going to sleep, this text irks you. Maybe you were bummed about the way things ended, and you’re considering entertaining this missive. Maybe you hate this person forever, but didn’t mind having sex with them and could be persuaded to do it again. Communication these days is so very tricky, but never fear, I am here for you. In this day and age, it can be difficult to figure out what precisely constitutes a booty call, and how exactly you should respond to it. Whatever your situation may be, you’re facing the age old question — is it a booty call or nah? Here are some situations you might find yourself in, along my expert assessment so that you might tackle these situations head on. Keep reading »