For “Love Yourself Week,” I’m doing things a little different than some of the other Frisky staffers and instead of writing a list of 30 things I love about myself, I’ve got a little list of 30 things I do well. Some of these 30 things that I do well I love about myself and some … well, some I don’t. After the jump, can you tell which is which? Keep reading »
Click here to see larger image.
It’s “Love Yourself Week,” so of course we are going to channel our inner Oprahs for schmoopy listicles on the 30 things we love about ourselves. But usually when we talk about “loving yourself” here in the Frisky-verse, there’s something else we mean: masturbation.
Whether it’s with a vibrator, a dildo, fingers — or, heck, the contents of your produce drawer! — we are big fans of rubbing one out. As Woody Allen famously said, “Masturbation is sex with someone I love!” In the spirit of loving yourself in this very special way, we’ve constructed a helpful flowchart to help you decide whether you should masturbate right now. (Quickie answer? If you are reading this at the office, the answer is “no.”) Keep reading »
Last week, Amelia posted a list of 20 things we Frisky editors think make a man. In the interest of equality, we thought it only fair to give the same treatment to our own fair sex; after the jump, 20 things that make a woman. Keep reading »
Writing a song about self-love isn’t as easy as it sounds, I imagine. How do you pen a tune about masturbation that doesn’t sound obvious or conjure up disturbing images? The following artists did it right, in no particular order (and check out clips of the songs, after the jump). Keep reading »
In honor of Love Yourself Week, each day a Frisky staffer will share 30 things she loves about herself — and we encourage the rest of you to do the same in the comments!
Ask me if I have good self-esteem and the answer is “yes.” But ask me to explain the reasons why I love myself? It’s hard. I gave it my best shot … and I hope you’ll all do the same (about yourselves, not me) in the comments! Keep reading »
I was in fourth grade when my grandmother first took me to a hair salon. She drove me to her hairdresser, Betsy, a 50-year-old woman who dyed her hair pitch black, and had a head full of curls the perfect shape of large hot rollers. I squirmed as Betsy ripped out the rubber bands holding in my afro puffs and inspected the black cloud of kink on my head.
“Naomi, have you been trimming this yourself?” Betsy asked, horrified.
“Well, yes, but I don’t know how to do her hair.” Gram said sheepishly. Gram raised five straight-haired Irish-American kids, my mother being one of them. No curls were in sight until my father’s African-American hair genes messed it up. She was lost. Keep reading »
In honor of the season four premiere of “Mad Men” on Sunday, July 25th at 10/9 Central on AMC, this weekend The Frisky is re-posting a few of our favorite “Mad Men”-inspired essays.
As a redhead, I’ve often been told I resemble, well, anyone else who also happens to have red — or even reddish — hair. When I had a pixie cut, people told me all the time I looked like a young Mia Farrow from “Rosemary’s Baby,” and before that, when my hair was longer, I always got compared to Lauren Ambrose from “Six Feet Under.” About two years ago people started telling me I looked like a character on a new series called “Mad Men.” I’d never seen the show, but a friend soon emailed me a picture of Joan Holloway and wrote “Your doppelganger!” in the subject line. I had to admit — we did kind of look a little alike. Keep reading »
Monday was my birthday. I turned 28. That would have sounded old to me when I was in college or even as recently as when I was 26. Today, it sounds perfect—young, in fact, and exactly where I want to be. During lunch on my birthday, I took a walk near Central Park and got to thinking about how much my outlook has changed and the route that got me here.
Two years ago this June, my whole world turned upside down. During the course of a few weeks, my boyfriend of over three years broke up with me, I had to find a new apartment (a result of the breakup), and I started my first full-time job in New York City. Since I’d allowed my world to revolve around him, I had very few friends in the city. The friends I did have were so amazing that it still makes me cry in gratitude; nonetheless, this was a breakup of ugly proportions—one that involved a lease, money, each other’s families and the kind of shattered expectations that led to deep bouts of pessimism, sadness, fear and nostalgia. Keep reading »
This morning I woke up and the sun was shining. Lucca (that’s my dog) was lying on her back, paws straight up in the air, when she rolled over, yawned, and said to me, in her puppy way, “Moms” — she pluralizes things a lot — “I love you. You’re awesome.” And she’s right. I decided to make a list of 30 things I really love about myself, from the sort of shallow to the deeply ingrained. I hope you’ll all do the same (about yourselves, not me) in the comments! Keep reading »