The first few months that I had my dog Lucca were rough. I adored her, make no mistake, but training a two-month-old puppy is no joke. I would set my alarm for the middle of the night so I could walk her, as her tiny bladder wasn’t yet prepared to hold it all night. And while I was crate-training her (a fantastic method, by the way), she had more than a few bathroom accidents indoors. One time she peed on my bed three times in one day, always after I had washed the sheets from the previous accident. The impact on my social life took some getting used to as well; she needed to be walked right after work, which meant I had to skip happy hour regularly, and I couldn’t stay out late much those first few months either. But you know what? She grew up and became better trained and, most of all, I adapted. It really wasn’t a big deal. Very quickly I realized I couldn’t imagine my life before her or without her. She’s my baby.
Of course, she’s not a real baby. I want one of those very, very badly and am hoping to have a child of my own in the next few years, either with a partner or “Murphy Brown”-style. Regardless of how it happens, the child I have will be joining a family unit that includes Lucca. I’ve written about how it’s hard to imagine loving any creature as much as I love Lucca, but I also inherently understand the love for my child will be “bigger” or at the very least different. But I do not expect my love for Lucca to lessen. And I know I won’t ever reach the point of not loving her, despite what Allison Benedikt, a dog owner and mom of three, writes in her Slate essay advising future parents to never get a dog. Keep reading »
I hear a lot of weird shit on the street. Many people, apparently, feel that they have license to say whatever they so please to me. Generally, it doesn’t bother me, but “sweetie”’ is where I draw the line.
The other day I walked to grab a coffee and held the door for a respectable-looking gentleman who was also leaving the building. “Thank you, sweetie!” He replied. I know he was just trying to be nice, but I am an adult leaving my place of work for a coffee break. In what way did it strike this man as appropriate to call me his “sweetie”? Keep reading »
I need to get something off my chest.
I am really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really not happy that J.J. Abrams will be directing “Star Wars: Episode VII.” Keep reading »
The royal wedding was a lot of fun. But today, I cringed for the newlyweds when I stumbled across the headline “Royal Couple May Not Be Able To Conceive.” This is taking things way too far. First of all, William and Kate are still on their honeymoon. Can we give them five minutes to enjoy married life together without pressuring them to make a royal baby? Keep reading »
Last week, Babyshambles and Libertines’ frontman Pete Doherty showed off some serious hotness at the launch of his men’s accessory line. While his designs are gorgeous, people seemed more interested in calling the recently rehabbed rock star a heffer. From British papers to bitchy blogs, the poor dude was dubbed “fat” and “bloated.” And those are just superlatives in the headlines! Keep reading »
Yes, you read that right. Seventeen-year-old Taylor Momsen purposefully bared her chest in the middle of a New York City concert this week. I can only guess it was part of Momsen’s continuing desperate attempts to prove how unconcerned she is with the morals of society. Or a peek at just how badly she wants to get her whole audience arrested for pedophilia? Your pick. Sources at the concert say that T-Mom had pasties on under the top she pulled down, but for me that still doesn’t change the fact that she crossed the line. And for the record, we’ve chosen NOT to run the photo evidence. Keep reading »
OK, moviemakers, I get it! 3D can add a little extra voodoo magic to a film. I’ve had THIS figured out since I visited the “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids” attraction at Disney World when I was two. Unfortunately, the novelty of the third dimension is rapidly wearing off. And it is only going to wear off faster if you keep using it as an excuse to remake really bad movies. Keep reading »
Maybe it was because last night’s episode of “Mad Men” was a little slow—my brain couldn’t process that it was Christmas time—but I found myself actually paying attention to the commercials. Yes, commercials are always annoying, but last night’s were particularly so. I couldn’t help but be especially irked by the blatant sexism in the Clorox and Dove ads. Before you roll your eyes, let me explain what I mean. Keep reading »
As I’m sure you’ve noticed in my writing on The Frisky, I’m guilty of speaking in what I call “Gossip Girl”-ese. Example: It’s totes obvs that I like to shorten words for no real amazeballs reason. But whatevs. I have no doubt that this is seriously grating to some people, but on the blog — which I consider my online home — and amongst friends, this is the way I speak and how I write in emails and text messages sometimes. Amongst friends, I specified. When I’m getting to know someone new or conversing with someone professionally, I, of course, leave the “whatevs” and the “WTFs” and the “totes” out of it. I wish others would do the same, but unfortunately, I’ve started to notice modern web, text, and pop-culture lingo infiltrating the online dating process. Keep reading »
When I was kid, I was a big trend follower. I got a Furby and carried it in a basket around school and tried to teach it bad words. I threw a fit when I left my Tamagotchi at home during a family trip, and came back to find it sick from being surrounded by its own digital poops for over 48 hours. Basically I was a little bit of a fad whore, riding whatever wave was popular. But once I hit a certain age—I’ll say 13—it stopped and I realized that I spent most of my childhood buying ridiculous plastic contraptions to seem cool, only to have them replaced by something even more hip. But these days, there is an outlier that has managed to be the “it” thing with both kids and adults. Silly Bandz. Keep reading »