I was 14 and I was having slippery feelings. I was having them for Roelle, the sophomore with giant tits who told me she liked my shirt, before crawling under a wool blanket to make out with her boyfriend on the front lawn of the high school. I was having them for Eleanor, who told me it was her dad’s birthday the three times I asked her to hang out. I was even having them for Colleen, who was only 4’7”, and who ate her height in Taco Bell tacos, and who therefore smelled like she had been bathing in a vat of expired salsa. Keep reading »
If you are anything like me, you are probably very skeptical when someone utters the words “changed my life.” I mean, this is the phraseology of infomercials—of people trying desperately to convince you that you need a colander that hooks onto your sink or a $14.95 bib to prevent you from spilling coffee on your shirt. Taking yoga classes? Downward dog feels nice, but it certainly didn’t change my life. Getting an iPod? Allowed me to dump an entire bookshelf of CDs, but again my life stayed relatively the same. Buying a Mason Pearson brush? Well, I just felt silly for plunking down more than a hundo to get the tangles out of my hair. And who says that I want my life to change, anyway? Maybe I’m happy with it just the way it is!
Well, the day after Thanksgiving last year, I couldn’t say that was true. I can’t precisely pinpoint what it was, but I had an inescapable feeling that something in my life needed shaking up. Keep reading »
“It’s really awesome for me that you’re not obsessed with showering every day,” my new boyfriend remarked recently. I looked at him somewhat surprised. “Well, then I don’t have to either,” he explained.
See, I’m a “shower every other day” kind of girl, with the occasional whore’s bath thrown in when necessary. It’s not something I’ve typically advertised to the men I’ve dated over the last few years and I doubt they’ve noticed since I’ve taken care to groom before dates and whatnot. But with M. living out of town and coming to visit for days at a time, our mutual grooming habits have been obvious and, it seems, in sync. Keep reading »
The past four months of my life were really, really s**tty and hard. I got dumped suddenly by someone with whom I was in love. I moved out of the apartment we shared together and back in with my parents for three months. The Frisky was sold to new owners and we’ve all had to adjust to that (with a smaller staff) while working from home since we don’t, as of yet, have a new office space. All of that happened within a few weeks of each other. Can you say stress? My coping mechanisms were crying jags and burying myself in my bedsheets with “Keeping Up In The Kardashians” on Netflix Instant.
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I’m 25, going on 26, and I am very proud to call myself a feminist. I think the standard of beauty in this country is bulls**t. I like to question authority and talk about the meaning of life and also I’m really stressed out about fine lines that are starting to show up around my eyes…
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If you have sex with 20 people, you will get genital warts. At least, that is how I framed it to my friends. My pillows had seen more than a few DIY haircuts when I saw something downtown, too: bumps. I knew it was an STI. Genital warts, to be honest, but I wasn’t ready to be. Maybe it’s razor burn? I thought, instead of facing facts. Or just ingrown hairs? Maybe if I grew out a ‘70s bush it will go away?
Yeah, it didn’t. Keep reading »