I’m sure you’ve sensed a bit of an ominous cloud settling over your part of the closet. Perhaps you’ve seen the scraps of denim littering the floor of my bedroom. Or maybe you’ve noticed that your comrades are starting to return to the jean pile as mere shadows of their former selves — half the garments they once were?
Well, I’m sorry to say your intuition is right. Your days are most definitely numbered. You won’t be long for long. Because it’s finally warm outside, which means my cutoffs obsession has begun. None of my full-length jeans are safe. You’ve got another week, maybe two, tops. And then? Snip, snip. Keep reading »
This is a difficult letter to write. But it has to be said. I’ve been struggling with my feelings about you for a long time now. I wasn’t sure how to express it all clearly and carefully, without hurting you. No one ever wants to hear that they’re not the cat’s pajamas. Believe me, I understand. Keep reading »
Dear Young Women On My Subway Car Yesterday,
I remember high school, a small world in which everyone feels like a character in an epic drama. A place where peers pass judgement and share hearsay as entertainment. Where few consider the appropriateness or repercussions of their conversations. Yesterday, the two of you stood in a New York City subway car and gossiped loudly about a classmate, making the entire subway car uncomfortable, especially as the story was about a teenage girl having sex in a public place. You laughed at her confusion about a possible pregnancy even though a condom was used. You proceeded to tell the intimate details of what she and her partner had done. I won’t share those details because my intention is not to shame the subject of your conversation. And besides, I have no right. Keep reading »
Dear formerly pregnant friends,
I know this is way, way overdue on my part — but I really owe you an apology for how I reacted when you excitedly told me you were going to be a mom. The minute “I’m pregnant!” came out of your mouth, I saw the look of pure joy and elation on your face. But what did I do instead of sharing in that happiness with you? I immediately started ranting and raving about how much your life was going to change — and not necessarily for the better. Read more on The Stir…
Dear Fantasy Girlfriend Carrie Underwood,
I want to preface this letter by letting you know that I am not a lesbian, nor do I plan on experimenting with women any time soon. With that said, I would certainly not kick you out of bed. In fact, you’re up there on the “People I’d Gladly Do If They Let Me” list with Paul Walker, Ryan Gosling and Tim McGraw.
While I was watching/sleeping through the CMA Awards last night, I was literally mesmerized by your legs. They’re perfectly toned, bronzed and otherworldly. For a moment, I thought I put my TV on mute, but it was just me—entranced by your limbs. You’ve had killer gams for a long time, but unfortunately, the trainwreck that was the 2013 CMAs, drew even more attention to the only appealing facet of the show other than Luke Bryan: your legs.
And since you exercised the shit out of those bad boys last night, perhaps you should take a seat because this might sting a bit. Here it goes … you sucked. Keep reading »