Make It Stop is a weekly column in which Anna Goldfarb — the blogger behind Shmitten Kitten and Shlooby Kitten — tells you what’s up. Want a fresh take on a stinky dilemma? Email firstname.lastname@example.org with the subject “Make It Stop.” She’ll make it all better, or at least make you laugh. Girl Scout’s honor.
I have a twin brother and I’ve always been the “adventurous” twin. I went to college several states away while my twin, for a number of reasons, commuted from home. After I graduated, I got a job several states away as well. While I have made several disparaging comments about my twin’s life choices in the past, I’ve tried to mend fences to no avail. We don’t talk regularly anymore. Every time I come home for the holidays, my twin takes something innocuous I say and twists it, going into a screaming fit about how I should go back to wherever I live and never come back. Needless to say, it makes coming home uncomfortable and I don’t want to anymore. My parents usually see that he is overreacting but don’t seem able to stop it either. Do you have suggestions to help mend our fights or make them stop?
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A Brazilian couple, both of whom were adopted, recently shared the surprise of a lifetime when they learned that they share the same birth mother. Cue the face grimaces and gagging. Keep reading »
Sadie just came to the harsh realization that her little brother won’t stay a smiley baby forever. She’s adorable, yes, but crying hysterically about getting older hits a little too close to home for those of us in the grownup world! Hold off on your existential crisis, Sadie, it’ll hit you hard enough in about 30 more years. [via Buzzfeed]
The beauty of being a grown-up is that when you get cravings, you have the ability and means to drive yourself to the store (or, in my case, McDonald’s) to immediately satisfy those cravings. No such luck for three-year-old Connor.
When young Connor found himself without pancakes, he felt his only solution was to punch his brother Aiden in hopes that their father would immediately deliver him a platter of flapjacks. Needless to say, it did not work. Somehow, as his brother flinched and cried in pain, Connor managed to explain his dire situation very calmly to his dad, the whole time keeping the focus on the real problem at hand: he still has no pancakes.
I get it, dude. I have that same struggle every Friday night after I leave the bar.
Like, oh, basically everyone everywhere, I’ve been totally consumed with thoughts about the fight between Jay Z and Solange Knowles following the Met Ball a few weeks ago, security footage of which was leaked online yesterday. I’m a fangirl of both Knowles sisters, and my belief in everlasting love is tied maybe a little too closely to the marriage between Jay and Beyonce, so as a Carter Family obsessive, this story is impossible to ignore. Given that Beyonce and Jay Z’s life is presented so flawlessly to the public — even their past troubles have been presented after the fact with a glossy veneer of hindsight and lessons learned — the elevator brawl between Beyonce’s husband and her little sister Solange reveals a rather large chink in the Carter Family armor, provoking loads of understandable questions and speculation.
Chances are good that we’ll never know the details, and even if anyone involved does explain what went down, it’ll be carefully worded. To be very, very clear though: Solange Knowles violently attacking Jay Z, for any reason, is not okay. It’s assault. How this will play out legally, now that the tape has been released to the public and thus to the attention of authorities, remains to be seen.
Whenever I do hear about a woman being violent towards a man, I’m forced to confront my own history of such behavior. I can count the number of times where I’ve “snapped” to such a degree on less than two hands, only three of which actually resulted in physical contact. They all involved men I was very close to and love/loved. (I’ve never been in a physical fight with another woman and very rarely verbally fight with other women.) Keep reading »
This past week, my youngest brother came to visit me. His real name is Cuyler, but everyone calls him Bob (for some reason, no one in my family goes by their real name). Bob is 18 now — a solid ten years younger than me — but we’ve always been pretty close, and it was awesome to see him after a couple months of living so far away from each other. Hanging out with my not-so-little brother for a week, I realized that even though I’m the one who’s prone to big sisterly lectures, Bob has probably taught me way more about life than I’ve taught him. Here are five of the best lessons I’ve learned from him over the years… Keep reading »