Growing up is overrated.
You can delay it as much as you’d like, but eventually, you don’t have any choice but to give in. I never wanted to grow out of Limited Too clothing. Never. But one day, their size 16 dress fit me like a crop top and when I tried to browse the store, little girls smelling like strawberry Tootsie Rolls walked up to me and asked me to grab a shirt for them off the rack because they were still doll-sized and I was a giant. Read More On Huffington Post Women…
The Twitter is abuzz about this Time article that simultaneously paints men’s attitudes about not dating women in their 30s as “caveman-era,” then goes on to uncritically give voice to a whole other set of stereotypes about women in their 30s by asking men why they do date tricenarians, as if the entire body of women aged 30 to 39 have had the same life experiences, look the same way, act the same way, are at the same level of emotional maturity, espouse the same attitudes, want the same things. As if women go from 29 one day to 30 the next and are magically POOF!ed into a whole new being, and these artificial lines we draw between one set of women and another are actually real. As if we aren’t all very different individuals who are given, in the very grand scheme of things, an arbitrary number to attach to ourselves that has to do with our planet’s relative position to the sun. Keep reading »
I’m not saying I wouldn’t get along with the lady staffers at Buzzfeed, but Buzzfeed clearly does not employ women like my friends, for whom drinking whiskey isn’t this big, crazy, new thing. I don’t think I know anyone who hasn’t at least tried whiskey. Also, what’s with the faces? They look like Malôrt faces. For reference, Jeppeson’s Malört tastes like burning rubber and cat farts (but in a good way). The first time I had Maker’s Mark, my reaction was “THAT BURNS” and also “THAT TASTES LIKE CARAMEL, MOAR PLEEZ.” I cannot speak as highly of Jameson’s. Jack Daniels is OK. Keep reading »
Chances are you’ve heard the story: an unmarked door leads to a dimly-lit massage parlor where women with strong hands and tolerant smiles await a train of libidinous male patrons. The “happy ending” tale is all too common, a mixture of truth and urban legend that captivates male imaginations even in an age of casual sex and unlimited Internet porn.
“It’s always a certain type of place,” said Brian, a 41-year-old screenwriter who admits to visiting the odd “men’s spa” or two (though never, of course, for that). “You go for a reason, and you know what you’re getting when you walk in the door.” Read more on YourTango.com…
Samhita Mukhopadhyay asked today on Al Jazeera: Can online dating ever be women-friendly? She talks in her op-ed about the challenges of online dating after your mid-30s, the rash of gross misogynist messages you can expect to receive as a woman on online dating sites, and how Tinder was intended to be woman-friendly, but can it really be woman-friendly if its creators don’t know what life is like as a woman and have, now, been accused of sexual harassment? She doesn’t mention sites like Straight White Boys Texting, which cull their content from Tinder users, among others, and which seems like a pretty pertinent point: Even if you “approve” of them based on their profile, you have no guarantee of how a potential date will actually treat you in real time.
Her conclusion is this pretty depressing last-stage-of-grief coping mechanism: “It’s as though the offensiveness on dating sites becomes a sorting mechanism, a virtual last man standing; only the last man is (hopefully) not a drunk sexist jerk.” My god. I mean, I know what she’s talking about. I’ve been there. It’s just that I was 25 and after four months of being on OKCupid the well of all right guys had already dried up and I couldn’t find anyone who was neither sexist nor duplicitous nor hyper-defensive (I expect from previous bad online dating experiences of their own). Keep reading »
I’ve said it briefly before, but I want to say it again in more depth: I’m not ashamed of my emotional disorder. In the six months since I started writing for a living, I’ve had a rash of people — okay, trolls — on the internet writing e-mails, leaving comments, and even writing blogs about my mental stability, but specifically saying that there’s something “wrong” with me.
I mean, kind of. I have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I don’t think I’ve ever said explicitly why: Because I was in a long-term, abusive relationship, and because six months after I left it, I was raped. On top of that, I was diagnosed with ADHD when I was 13, and I’ve gone through a slew of diagnoses to figure out exactly why I feel emotions as intensely as I do, and my doctors and I have recently settled on it being sort of a generalized personality disorder — not exactly one or the other of those listed in the DSM-V. Keep reading »