A few months ago, I was having a rough time with my son. This is not unusual, as he is going through a particularly ornery stage and I am stubborn as a mule who is really good at yelling but not much else in the discipline realm. I ended up calling my parents for backup, and put them on the phone with my son as I stood in the bathroom listening to the conversation. Most of it was great. My dad was telling my son that he needs to listen to me because I’m the Mom and I have his best interests at heart and all that. But then! Then he told my son that he needed to change his behavior because he is “the man of the house,” and I “need” him to take care of me and our home. And that’s when I almost punched a hole through the wall. Keep reading »
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 »