I’m more than sure Kirstie Allsopp is going to take a beating from the Internet in the last few days over encouraging young women to forego higher education for a job, an apartment, a boyfriend, and a baby. She argues that career doesn’t have a time limit, while (for most people) child-bearing does.
I’m not going to call her anti-feminist, or a bad feminist, or whatever. She’s a person with opinions she’s entitled to — a few of which I agree with, notably that marriage is a big old WHATEVS. I just think there are some serious logical flaws to her argument. Keep reading »
“Hey.” “Hey you.” “What’s up?” “Yo.” “Heyyyy.”
These are the types of messages I’ve been getting from former flings and lovers about every six months or so. And I’m fucking sick and tired of it. Keep reading »
This ad for Weight Watchers “Smart Ones” frozen meals popped up before a YouTube video I was watching, and I actually had to watch it twice all the way through to realize it wasn’t some kind of satire or parody. Unfortunately, it’s real. And it’s terrible.
“We brought women like you together in Times Square,” reads the opening title, over a whimsical soundtrack. “It was time to ‘fess up.” This is followed by women (only women, no men) sheepishly admitting to the camera that they like buttered popcorn, or that they once ate cake frosting for breakfast, or that they have a weakness for mini cupcakes. Their confessions are shown on a huge screen in Times Square for all to see (while the women cover their faces in shame), before being digitally erased and replaced with a message: “Congratulations, you now have a clean slate!” Women are then shown cheering and triumphantly holding up empty plates, which they are presumably only to fill with microwavable, highly processed meals from now until eternity. Or maybe, in an ideal world, they just wouldn’t eat at all?
Weight Watchers, I have three words for you: Fuck. This. Noise. Here’s why: Keep reading »
I used to think people who got really worked up over TV series finales were a little insane. What could possibly prompt someone to spend days crying real tears over characters that don’t even exist? Why would viewers get so delusional as to believe a show’s writers and producers owed them something?
But then “How I Met Your Mother” broke my heart last night. Keep reading »
“I’m sooo busy!”
I’m soooo over this phrase. So over it I want to throw something when a person says it. Usually at them. I’m sooo busy is code for, “I don’t care enough about you to remember to text or call or see you.” Telling someone you’re sooo busy isn’t an excuse. It’s an insult.
You know who’s busy? Doctors. Doctors are busy. You know who else? New mothers. I would not trade places with them for a minute. Everyone else? Nope. You’re really not that busy.
We all want to think we’re that busy. But, we’re usually busy playing Candy Crush or perusing other people’s “busy” lives on Facebook or watching “Scandal.” We’ve become too lazy to pick up the phone and get back to someone. Keep reading »
On my way into work this morning, I had the displeasure of walking behind two women who, in each of their hands not clutching their coffee, held leashes that were harnessed to their respective children. Not dogs — children. The woman on the left had three kids, all on individual leashes, and the woman on the right had one child. All of the children appeared to around age five or younger. I am not a parent, and so I generally shy away from expressing my opinions about other peoples’ parenting choices, but if there is one thing that makes my blood boil, it’s parents who treat their children like they’re animals. And in my opinion, strapping a harness around a child’s belly and keeping them on a leash, even if it’s a leash meant for a human, is coming pretty damn close. Keep reading »
What to say, oh, what to say about an anonymous Thought Catalogue essay that starts, “From the beginning we knew our relationship looked like a cliché—perhaps plucked from a boring episode of ‘Mad Men.’ You, my 21-year-old millennial intern, me, your 30-something married boss with two kids”?
“To The Millennial I Left For My Wife (And 8 Parting Words Of Advice)” is a hate-read from the first line. Sadly, it only gets much, much more hate-able as it goes on. I don’t mean to spoil the surprise for you, but this wannabe modern day Don Draper leaves his wife and two kids for his millennial intern. They have a few great “magical” and “addictive” weeks together “dancing on the dock of a river” and stealing kisses in an elevator. But soon, everything goes to hell in a hand basket. Why? Oh, because “serious differences emerged from the shadows” and “common backgrounds also forged common problems.” God, I HATE when that happens. Keep reading »
First, let me say that I didn’t watch the Super Bowl for a couple of reasons: 1) I don’t like watching football, even though I’ve tried, and 2) I’ve discovered that it’s the absolute best time to run errands in New York City. No lines! I did, however, see the Go Daddy “I Quit” commercial featuring Gwen, a machine engineer who always dreamed of starting her own puppet business. One hundred million people, including Gwen’s boss Ted, saw her quit her job during the Super Bowl to start PuppetsByGwen.com. “Ciao, baby!” said Gwen, voicing one of her puppets. Keep reading »
Oh for fuck’s sake, fine, I’ll respond to the click-baiting article about yoga on xoJane. A writer going by the name of Jen Caron (her real name, Jen Polachek, was removed as the byline following the backlash to her article) has written the following essay: “It Happened To Me: There Are No Black People In My Yoga Classes And I’m Suddenly Uncomfortable With It.” Caron is a self-described “skinny white girl” and what “happened to” her is a “fairly heavy black woman” attended her yoga class and seemingly had a difficult time with some of the poses. Obviously, Caron writes, the fat Black woman who isn’t as “good” at yoga must resent her, in all her skinny white yogic glory, and this (utterly imagined) racially-charged tension made Caron uncomfortable. But the discomfort, the ruined yoga class, was worth it because isn’t her essay about it brave and compassionate? Jen Caron cares. Keep reading »