Deep & Meaningful One Night Stand

What is up with these men who think that buying a ridiculously expensive table at a nightclub is going to get them a date? Think about it: you just bought your way into a crowded club full of superficial girls who are mainly just trying to dance with their girlfriends, get drunk, and show off how hot,well-dressed, and/or cool they are. When one of those girls sidles up to you and starts a conversation, odds are that she doesn’t really want to get to know you – she wants some free drinks and a chance for everyone else to see her sitting at an exclusive table. Considering the guys at the velvet rope didn’t consider you “cool” enough to get into the place on your own merit, she probably won’t either. By all means, if clubbing is your thing, go on spending those hard-earned dollars at the doors of the Meatpacking district. Just don’t be disappointed when you keep failing to meet your future wife there.


Hello, public transportation seat neighbor. I’m sorry to hear that your spouse misses you so terribly and wishes you didn’t have to work so late, but I’m happy that you will be making it up by trying out those new “special toys” later. I’m sorry that your boss was an asshole at work today and that he might be stealing your oatmeal packets, but it’s a good thing you have a friend to call and discuss the situation for fifteen minutes. Your Chinese food order sounds delicious, really, and Moo-Shoo chicken happens to be my favorite dish as well, but honestly, shut the fuck up and stop talking so loudly on your cell phone.

“… or are you just pleased to see me? “

A friend of mine and I were at a university gym working out. We’d just finished and we were standing around for a moment and talking, when a friend of his walked up to us, and asked the question that has, over the last year, proved to be one of my biggest pet peeves, “How much do you bench”. This question is often preceded or succeeded by colloquialisms such as “Bro” or “Dude”, but, invariably, its purpose is this– To start an epic pissing match. In addition to this, rarely ever are both, or even one of the parties involved, honest about their actual physical limitations. What you lift has no bearing on your masculinity, nor will it make your dick bigger, so when it comes to a pissing contest, while you are busy unzipping in preparation to do battle, don’t be offended if I just continue my conversation and go on living my life.

“…Money Money Money, It’s A Rich Man’s World…”

Sure, no amount of money will change you from a ‘glass-half-empty’ to a ‘glass-half-full’ person. You can throw as much money as you want at Chanel or Apple to get their latest products, but it won’t necessarily fill the dark hole in your heart that just wants someone to love them back. That spur-of-the-moment, ridiculously expensive trip to Fiji to ‘rediscover’ yourself might just make you even more depressed when you realize there’s not much else to discover.

Money is not the end-all-be-all goal to a happy life. But, living a happy life is sure as hell a lot easier when you have money.

What money can buy you is security. Yes, you can buy a literal security system to fend against package thieves and potential stalkers, but I’m talking about the peace of mind that comes with knowing you can buy groceries for the next week. That you can afford medicine if you’re sick or that you can pay next month’s rent. The sense of security that comes from knowing you don’t need to worry, which, let’s be honest, makes it so much easier to be happy. And believe me, Mr. Benjamin Franklin telling me I don’t have to worry about feeding myself for the two weeks is better than any therapist I know.

After all, it’s the love of money that is the root of all evil, not money itself. Money itself is pretty great.

Those Boots Weren’t Made For Walking…Fool

When you wear those shoes I want to die. And I’m not speaking in hyperbole, I mean I really truly want to throw my body into the road until I’m run over by a big rig or a city bus. What are those, sneakers? Hiking boots? A clever combination of both? Wow, that’s great, because I’ve been looking for the appropriate shoe for my mountain climbing/cross training excursions. And thank goodness you wore them on 28th St., lord knows the sidewalk outside the Dunkin’s can be pretty damn treacherous. You don’t deserve to breathe, and I’m really angry that my vote counts the same as yours. Thanks for ruining democracy, jerk off.


Subway etiquette. I can’t believe this is something that people still need help with, but it seems there is always room for a refresher on how to act like a decent human. Let’s start with your bicycle. WHY ARE YOU BRINGING IT ON THE TRAIN? The point of the damn thing is that it has wheels and you’ve decided to use them instead of a car, taxi or subway car. Your bicycle is long. Yes, I grant you it’s thin, but the length of the damn thing is nearly half a row of seating in most cars. In a crowded train car, nobody wants to get caught in the gears or risk having it wheeled over ones foot in case of a sudden stop, and so regardless of its thin nature nobody. Congratulations, you’ve just helped yourself to about 5 feet of empty space. Asshole. Next let’s move onto that giant tank you have the nerve to call a baby carriage. No, it’s not the length of a bicycle. But it does take up the space of 5 average men by 5 average men. Then you have the nerve to park it in front of you, straight across the middle of the car, blocking all traffic around you. There is not enough room on this train car for that shit. Fold it and hold it, or get yourself tucked into a corner. If you don’t, you don’t get to act indignant when someone stumbles into the damn thing.

We have to fight climate change like we actually want to win.

It would appear that one of my colleagues has never heard of recycling, and it’s starting to drive me crazy. Mainly because this litterbug is constantly putting her empty venti cups in the trash we share, so people might start thinking I’M the culprit. Which is a problem. Just because I lost my Nalgene bottle and use the paper cups by the water cooler doesn’t mean I want the planet to DIE! It sucks, ’cause now I feel like I have to say something. And what’s worse than having everyone think you have a giant-size carbon footprint? Being the asshole who actually lectures other people about theirs.

Thanks…but No Thanks !

 I do not want to sleep with you. I do not want your hands all over me or your slurs in my ear. Oh drunk girl, I know you need to get some but I do not want to risk bringing you home and having you throw up and pass out on my bed. I do not want to take care of you. I am not buying you another drink. I refuse to hold your hair back while you puke. I do not even know your name, but then again, you probably don’t either. Stop undressing me with your eyes; it’s just creepy. My dress won’t fit you anyway. You are ruining your friends night, getting angry at them when they bat their eyes in my direction. Sorry I want to sleep with someone who won’t be comatose in an hour. Poor drunk girl, just stop being drunk.

Six Train Subway blues

Stop screaming. You’re indoors. It makes me very anxious. We fully understand that the train has stopped. We’re all riding on it. So please keep your comments to yourself so we can maintain decorum on this cramped subway car. When you scream things, don’t you see that no one is responding? So why do you keep talking? If everyone took a note from your book, we’d all start screaming out of frustration, and then things would get violent, and then there would be bloodshed. Do you want this train car to erupt in bloodshed? No, you don’t. You just want the train to move like everyone else, so please stop screaming and keep your opinions to yourself, I just need to get to Union Square in one piece, ok? Thanks.

Be Sure To Wear Some Flowers In Your Hair

My parents met in a bar, both alcoholics at the time. My dad fell in love with my mom, who, of course, wanted nothing to do with him and his ratty sneakers. Eventually he convinced her and, to make a beautiful story short, they fell in love, got sober, started a business, and had a family of four kids shortly thereafter. To this day, my dad still leaves love notes in the pockets of her running jacket. This is the example of romance I lived with for eighteen years before I went to New York with the deluded hopes of finding my own story, only to find a situation far from romantic. Why is it that every twenty-something single guy who shows interest and buys you a slice expects sex? When did male-female interactions go from asking you out properly, picking you up at the door, and hoping for a kiss at the close of an evening to a late night text message, followed by a slice of pizza, and the expectation that they’re going to get laid? And when they realize it’s not going to happen, actual and blatant anger has followed. What is wrong with these guys? The excuse that it’s simply the age group of men that us twenty-something women are dating is getting quite old. There’s no excuse for such presumption and disrespect. In this generation, chivalry seems to be long gone, but what about mutual respect?

I Married Beneath Me… All Women Do! Nancy Astor

Why is everyone in a such a rush to get married? I don’t get the whole race down the aisle phenomenon that seems to be consuming our generation. My friend Hannah just got married. She’s 23. Twenty-fucking-three. She married a 33 year old, but that’s beside the point. They were dating for less than a year when he proposed. And she said yes. Of course she did. I wasn’t surprised. Let me give you some background on my friend Hannah. She doesn’t date organically. She only dates online. Hannah once dropped the “L” word on the first date. She’s one of those girls that assumes that if the relationship lasts more than a month, she’s found “the one.” As a result, she’s found “the one” about 5 times. When Hannah told me she was engaged, I threw up in my mouth a little bit. She proceeded to tell me how they wanted a short engagement. But I asked her, if you know that you’re going to spend the rest of your life with this person, what’s the rush to get married? If the only reason is to reap the legal benefits, and officially announce to the world that you’re no longer single, then that’s sad and ridiculous. You can lie to yourself all you want about how in love you are, and how ready you are to dedicate your life to each other; but don’t insult me by trying to cover up the fact that you can’t suck it up and be emotionally self sufficient. You know what it is? It’s pathetic. It’s misrepresentation. It’s a fucking rouse for all the independent single women out there. It makes us look bad. It makes us look lonely. I believe the word is incomplete. When in fact, we’re single because we have more important priorities to worry about than dying alone. Come to think of it, that’s not such a terrible idea.

“… There are 8 Million Stories in The Naked City..”

You’re going to be single forever if you stay in this city,’ my doctor friend told me. ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Well even if you do find someone and think you’re happy with them, it’s just an illusion – you’ll always be subconsciously on the look out for something better.’ Is this true? Is that what New York – the city of opportunities – does to people? It gives them so many opportunities that they never feel fully satisfied with what they have. It’s the curse of ‘there must be more’. I look around at people on the subway, I see business people sipping their cocktails at bars – as successful and beautiful as so many people are here, they look lonely. Maybe I should ask my friend to give me a flu mask so I don’t catch this curse.

Dress Code Is No Secret

What happened to dressing? I don’t mean the kind of dressing where you roll out of bed and manage to get a t-shirt over your head. Everybody does that, and I’m fucking sick of it. I’m talking about real dressing. Dressing where you match the event. Dressing where you’re a little uncomfortable in the name of looking right. Going to a restaurant where dinner is $150 a plate and the men are in dinner jackets and the ladies are in dresses to match, rather than just the waiter. Or going to a Broadway show without your damn baseball hat and with shoes. Real shoes. Dressy, shiny shoes. Not flip flops, not Crocs, not Uggs. What happened to occasion? I see the same thing everywhere: Men whose jeans cling tenuously to the line between dressed and indecent by being just snug enough to catch on a boxer hem. (WHY IS THAT EVEN STILL A THING? It’s AWFUL. It looks good on ABSOLUTELY NO ONE.) I see women wearing their pjs in the streets, or wearing leggings as trousers instead of innerwear. And they’re wearing them to restaurants! Not cafes or diners, but restaurants! Places that they would have, at one point, been turned away from. How have we gotten to this point where we are so obsessed with our immediate comforts all the time that nobody can even figure out how to wear proper attire to a wedding? And what the hell do we have to do to reverse it – because it’s gross.

C’mon Baby Light My Fire

Fracking is very bad for the planet, gives us water that ignites, sink holes that appear from nowhere, cows and sheep with two heads, independence from, and the consequent freedom to condemn and change, despotic governments that had previously held us to ransom, pollution and desecration of the environment. Whoever said it’s complicated is a genius of understatement. Good luck with that one.

‘I’m just doing me, and to me, that’s what got me this far’. Lil Uzi Vert

Greta Garbo never said ” I want to be alone”. She actually said ” I want to be left alone”. So listen up shithead. Public transportation may have the word public in it; but in reality, that shit is private. Every person is in their own little world. Either wrapped up in a portable device, an intense conversation with a peer, or entranced in reading material. Whatever medium they’re choosing to occupy their time, they want to be left alone. Especially if someone is wearing headphones. That is universal sign for “Do Not Fucking Disturb Me.” So, surely you can understand my outrage when a man approaches me on the subway and attempts to strike up a witty conversation. Well, I know that you’re not blind, because you can CLEARLY see I am wearing headphones and purposefully blocking out all other noise around me. 1. I just got off work. I am tired, I had to spend my entire day talking to people. And now you’re turning what would have been quiet time into “I’m going to pretend to want to get to know you, but really all I want to do is get in your pants” time. Basically, you’re disrupting my Me Time. 2. Public transportation is crowded and cramped as it is; you’re making me feel more uncomfortable by the second because you’re intruding on my bubble of personal space, in which I have no opportunity to escape without making myself look like a total bitch, and you like a complete asshole. Which you are. 3. Unless you are devastatingly handsome, like a full-on 8 or higher, go away, because you have no shot in hell with me.

Hot town, summer in the city Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty

Nothing beats New York City summers: Levis’ cut offs. Tank tops. Hot asphalt. Baseball caps. Dirty feet in flip-flops. BBQs. Rooftop sunsets. Sweaty sex. Kickball in Prospect Park. Vodka lemonades sipped coolly on the terrace. Margaritas to-go. Watching Do The Right Thing and Kids 987 times, just to get in the spirit of things. Pool parties. Block parties. Free concerts. Old movies in Bryant Park. The Hamptons. Mister Softee. Weekend camping trips upstate. Coney Island: funnel cake, the Cyclone, and Nathan’s hot dogs. So please. For the love of our city, for the love of our summer, and for the enjoyment of all: if you can’t stand the heat, get out the effing kitchen! I don’t want to hear you gripe about “oppressive heat,” “outrageous A/C bills,” or “disgusting humidity.” Just leave. No one’s gonna miss you.

Go f*** yourself. How does it feel?!

There’s a floating word out there, and it needs resuscitation, nay, a complete transformation. At night, it looms above the minds of countless females who stroll the city streets and dream of grand titles and corner offices. “You haven’t conquered me yet,” it taunts them. I want to squash its voice, but I know it is slowly dying. That’s because well into the shelf life of the term “objectification,” a secret was finally let loose. It’s called the power of projection. It tells me that I have the advantage of presenting myself in any way I want. In this way, I effectively strip the beholder of his assumed power on me. So quit your nagging, objectification. You’re a dead guy.

Don Juan Dickheads

It drives me insane when I am trying to have an interaction with the guy at the deli or wherever, that should just be simple and over in a heartbeat, but instead I am forced into an interaction where I have no choice but to be either flirtatious or a bitch. I cannot be merely pleasant. He has to make it all about my femaleness. I want this bottle of water, here take some money, have a nice day, bye. It is hilarious when you tell me that my drink costs $10, and then when I look confused, you say you are just kidding because I am so beautiful. Definitely the highpoint of my day, right there. We don’t need to joke or flirt, and you wouldn’t do any of this with a male customer, and it is annoying and condescending. I don’t want to feel that the fact that I am a girl makes our fleeting moment together all about the fact that I’m a freaking girl, man! Don’t point it out, I am aware each day that I am a girl as I feel the eyes of creeps boring holes in my ass and breasts. When you make it abundantly clear that you, too are aware of my womanly attributes, it makes me feel caged in. Give me my money back, keep your sexist water.

Roses son rouge, Violettes sont blue, Socrate va bien, Mais je prefere Hugh

Thank God  those Nineties RomComs are over and done with. I think one of the reasons so many people are fucked up in the head when it comes to relationships these days is because of those sappy romantic comedies about a man and a woman, who despite everything, live happily ever after. The guy could have been a cheating man-whore, but all of a sudden he’s running across a bridge or paddling a boat to the airport to catch the girl who somehow changed him in the course of two and a half hours. Face it, ladies – that kind of shit just doesn’t happen. Hell, women are going to start marrying the wrong guy on purpose with the hopes that ‘The One’ will barge through the doors of the church, profess his love, and whisk them away. I find it especially humorous when that happens in movies, and the new pair gets married right away – I mean, the girl is already conveniently in a wedding dress and all. I’m not trying to be cynical, but these movies  ultimately screw up our real-life relationships. Women now want their men to woo them in unconceivable ways, or else they are dubbed a bad beau. Sorry guys, dinner and a bouquet of flowers is no longer romantic enough. They went out with Hugh Grant’s floppy haircut and lopsided grin. Nowadays it has to be Socrates and Aspasia and deep understanding. So, no more wham, bam, thank you Sam then.

Dumb F***

You want to hear a true story and then you’ll know what really pisses me off? “Artsy” wannabee annoying fucks, that’s what. I was riding in a cab to, you guessed it, an art show, with, you guessed it, “artist,” and boy was that a bust. The entire cab ride it seemed I kept getting chunks spat on my face from all the bullshit he was feeding me. “And these are my new pictures,” (yes, he had them saved in his IPHONE for shameless self promotion.) This guy, A. Looked like a tool bag. B. Was wearing SUNGLASSES at NIGHT TIME, precisely the reason why he’s a tool bag. And C. Was clearly TRYING to act like what he thought an artist should act like. (In his case, you could tell he had a picture in his mind of artists having to be very mysterious and serious.) The few times he opened his mouth, it would only be to talk about his dreadful pictures or the fact that he’s been shooting photographs for 6 years. I tried to mess with him a little to at least get a good laugh out of the situation, so I attempted to snatch the sunglasses from his face to see what he would do, but he shot back before I could get a hold of them and said, “You ain’t my girl.” “What???” I replied. He said, “You can’t just wear my glasses, you ain’t my girl.” Was this guy on drugs? I have to say that was the icing on top of a fantastic cake of a cab ride.

Pro-Choice By Choice

As a liberal feminist, I believe being pregnant shouldn’t put a halt to anyone’s career. I’m also trying to be more sympathetic because I watched two former colleagues experience meltdowns trying to bear offspring. One miscarried during a client dinner. Another went through the ritual of daily injections and used a $10,000 grant from the company for in vitro. She shared every detail with our staff and I began dreaming of her fertility woes at night. Her unborn child was swimming through my slumber. On doctor-ordered bedrest for a month after the implantation took, she wouldn’t let anyone else take the reins while she was out. She checked her phone from the hospital, but felt she couldn’t harp on her team when she wasn’t at the office. I tried relentlessly to motivate her sales team, but grew frustrated when I realized she was the only one working past 5pm. When our only male sales rep took a two-week paternity leave, I found myself in an office resembling The Shining. Ironically, I had my own pregnancy scare during the initial baby boom. Maybe my body was subconsciously trying to get in on the action. I was eight days late when I began imagining how I would break it to everyone that the unwed Marketing Director—who hadn’t been trying—was with child. After plunking down $40 for an E.P.T., it turns out I wasn’t. My lover called as I dealt with my mixed feelings of relief and disappointment. I never told him. His aunt, like a mother to him, had passed the week before and the “circle of life” metaphor of it all freaked me out. I did want to have his child someday, but under different circumstances. Gone were the fantasies of being the single, knocked-up girl at the office. I wouldn’t be a test case to see how far our society had come. In an ideal world, there would be no scrutiny for being husband-less, no pressure for a quickie wedding by my Christian mother, and no whispers as I walked down the hallway. Besides, I wasn’t 16 like Juno—wasn’t it an accomplishment to get pregnant in your 30s just a generation ago? I do understand the enthusiasm of these women to boast of fertility victory after chasing it for years. But what about the staffers who can’t have children? Or don’t know if they ever will, like me? It seems insensitive to discuss nothing but procreation. Some of the expectant mothers rush to get it all done, not even considering what will happen during their leave. It can be a lot for the staff to shoulder if a temp isn’t brought in, which is harder to justify in this down economy. When the new moms return to work, many take advantage of a flextime, a progressive perk some companies offer. But shouldn’t it be available to all employees? I may not be taking care of an infant, but I do help my disabled father, which some days can feel just as taxing. I believe quality of work life should exist for all, whether you have a mini-me or not.

Poor Little Rich Girl

Everyone thinks that today’s situation enables them to be jaded and worn. In some way or another, we think that we’ve been through just as much as everyone else. Well, ladies, that’s absolute bullshit. I can tell you now that you have absolutely nothing in common with those who’ve experienced true hardship. It’s ridiculous to think that just because you couldn’t salvage enough from your relief check to do a weekly mani-pedi, you think you are going to be destitute. This world is chock full of people who have nothing and have been through the ringer. No, ladies, just because you’re thirteen pounds overweight doesn’t mean you can hold it against the world. It doesn’t mean you can identify with rape victims, destitute single mothers, or the homeless. Sure, the economy’s in trouble and life isn’t exactly a walk in the park right now, but STOP and appreciate what you have. Who knows what you’ll be blessed with in the future?

Confused from the Midwest

Now, I am the type of girl who grew up with three brothers and have mostly guy friends. Why is it that all the first dates I’ve been going on recently, have been with men who get attached quickly, are emotional, get clingy quickly and are, well, basically less manly? I’m not looking for Mr. Macho but I’m I want more than my BFF with equipment. Why is it that I cannot find a man who will just be a man? Where have all the manly men gone Colorado? I don’t want a fashion forward, metro sexual. I want an intellectual mountain man, a Marlboro Man with a PhD (minus the cigarettes). Is it too much to ask for the combo? Where have all the symbolic cowboys gone? Did they ever really exist?

Times Up Guys

I understand that it’s only natural for one to look back on their college years with fondness, to enjoy regaling old stories and to become inundated with nostalgia upon reflections of campus life and old residence halls. What I don’t understand are the people that reflect on their university days constantly, the kind of people that are apt to declare that college was “the best four years” they’ve ever lived. These people, once they’ve hit the thirty mark, transform from frat boys and sorority girls that miss the old days into the type of people that seem pathetically attached to a bygone era. When they get that glassy look in their eye and announce their conviction that life will never again be so good, I can’t help but cringe. There’s nothing less appealing than a graying thirty-something giving a toast to Kappa Sigma. Yes, college was fun, but it’s time to move on already

…P.S., I Love You, you, you, you…

I’m enjoying coffee when my girlfriend lovingly looks at me and asks her favorite question, “What are you thinking?” The truth, I was thinking about what would happen if you farted into a black hole. I wouldn’t mind the question if she actually meant what she asked. Because the truth is, she doesn’t care what I’m thinking about unless it pertains to her. It would be fine if she really wanted to know and laughed or joined me in my pondering or – but no – this was not her reaction. So why the fuck am I in trouble because my answer isn’t what she wanted it to be? Here’s a tip, whenever they ask that fucking question, “what are you thinking?” save yourself the trouble and just say, “You.”

Two Types of People

There are two types of people in this world: Those who have frizzy hair and those who don’t. I was the only one out of my group of friends blessed with extremely pouffy hair. Lately, I blame my nonexistent love life on the fact that when we go out, all men are always attracted to my friends with sleek and straight hair. This is a gene, guys. I can’t help that my hair has a little volume to it, and hate to break it to you, but I’m not going to spend 12 hours making it perfectly straight for you. And how dare you think that we should spend 12 hours turning it into something it’s not. Perhaps if you at least have a conversation with me you may, god forbid, look past it.

Damned If You Do…

Mixed signals. The worst of the worst is mixed signals. Girls, you know what I’m talking about: when every little thing between you and him seems like a rather big thing? And then it’s actually not? Like when he texts you ‘Let’s hang out tonight’ and you frantically rush home after work, squeezing your ass into the tightest pair of pants you have with that really uncomfortable g-string, wildly hoping he’ll see them later, only to have him show up with his three buddies and completely ignore you. Or when you put that extra effort in showing up to work looking great, and he breezes by you without even saying hi. We freak the fuck out and think of absurd questions: Why didn’t he notice my eyebrows were plucked today? Who is he texting instead of me? Is this skirt too frumpy? Did I have lipstick on my snaggletooth?! We go on the defensive, practicing our stank eye as best we can, avoiding him at all costs. And then one day it’s different – he smiles that really cute smile, talks to us for over five minutes on his lunch break, and we think he’s into us all over again. It’s a never ending cycle which we never break free from.

Definitely Not James Bond

Men (and women): You need to get over this ‘non-date’ dating. I’m not looking to hang out with you. If I was looking to hang out with you, I’d have made friends with you at somebody’s party, or at some mutual activity. I’m not looking to meet your parents on the first date, but I’m also DEFINITELY not looking to join a bunch of your friends at some pub you’ve made yourselves regulars at. I’m trying to figure out if you’re someone worth dating, not watch you and the guys make asses of yourselves in front of a football game on a bar TV. I don’t care if we go to dinner and a movie, but I’m NOT going to put up with a last minute text in some sort of guy code trying to trivialize what should be the start of a relationship into beer with the buds. I don’t care if you don’t like talking on the phone; you’re not 10. Pick up the damn phone and ask. Me. Out. Make a day out of it – we can walk up and down the same street twenty-five times just talking, it’s fine! But make it a date! Because if you want to date me, you have to put some effort into it or you’re never going to be worth my time. And you sure as hell aren’t getting laid.

BFF? More SLB!

My roommate. I love her, but she is the constant reminder of why I don’t want kids. I cook for her, clean up after her, and incessantly nag her. I berate her for not cleaning her room, do the dishes, and take the trash out, which she never does the first time around. I even buy all the supplies –edible and functional. The rest come from her parents and Costco. I’m the mother and the wife. And did I mention I already have TWO jobs that actually pay me?! I don’t need a third. Cooking and cleaning are not innately feminine skills, they are life skills that one learns overtime. I am her caretaker. Sometimes I want to be her undertaker. But I imagine all parents feel that way at one point with their children.

Ne’er a Drop to Drink

I saw an ad for bottled water on the subway that is shipped 6,000 miles to the supermarkets of New York City. Can we really be taken seriously when we continue to squander the earth’s resources on such selfish and pointless exercises as this? Why do we let the admen convince us that our lives will be somehow lessened, incomplete without this particular product and at inflated prices? It says something really derogatory about us as human beings consumers but much more about them as amoral chancers. It’s water for goodness sake.

This Door Swings Both Ways.

I’m flattered by your displays of civility. I really am. In a city where everyone is just plain mean, I’m humbled by the fact that you would hold a door open for me. But when I’m a good five paces behind you, it becomes something of an inconvenience. Because now I have to run – perform that awkward half lumber/half jog – just to accept this chivalrous gesture. It’s not helpful for me, it’s not helpful for you. For once, just let the door slam in my face.

Whine-y Little Biatch

Leave your problems behind the door before you step outside your home. I am just about sick and tired of everyone walking around with a nasty attitude like it is other peoples fault that your life sucks. If you are having a bad day handle it is by yourself, don’t take your anger out on the innocent person next to you. It is because of people’s constant nasty mood that New Yorkers have gotten such a bad rep! Listen, I’m not saying that we all don’t have a bad day here and there, but seriously, cut
the nonsense, lighten up and check your attitude at the door because no one cares or needs to feel the wrath of whatever you are going through.


Knowing I Become My Enemy The Instant That I Preach !

There are pieces of a baby doll covered in blood in a plastic bag on my parent’s fridge alongside a mock music video set to a Dylan song that prominently features my mother and her cohorts talking on those 3 inch thick prehistoric cell phones about clinic protection. Abortion is not a new topic, nor is it particularly interesting to people who have spent years so intimately married to their stance on it. However, like any field, there are things you only learn on the inside. I was brought up by a front-line fighter in the battle over keeping abortion clinics open with about 5 of my formative years spent working intermittently at various locations. Among other duties I spent hours standing outside of the door in a green vest, a beacon of protection to women scurrying in for procedures. I memorized the birth control chart we had on the bathroom walls. One thing that became more commonplace toward the end of my stint there was the decreasing age, of girls stopping by to procure birth control. It was more surprising every time. The trepidation with which a 13-year-old would ask if we had to tell her mom about this was one of the most touching moments of my job. I wanted to hug and slap her every time. Hug because she was taking control of her life and health. Slap because she scared me, with her barely pubescent acknowledgement of sex. Saying abortion still feels like increasing the electricity coursing through the air. Perhaps on a nationwide level the discussion has been relegated to the back burner due to economic uncertainties but tea partiers are still obsessed with our over-sexualized, cell-phone talking girls who are growing up too fast; never mind what their male counterparts are doing, it’s these young sluts who will be our destruction. However readily accessible conversations about serious issues facing women is never a bad thing. Though abortion took up thousands of hours of my family’s time, it also prepared me so strongly for a life open to discussion and debate of any difficult issue.

Back, Sack and Crack

I swear the next time I get a Brazilian wax, my boyfriend is coming with me and getting one too. Yeah, yeah, women are supposed to be delicate and perfect and hairless, but that shit HURTS! You think hairy, unkempt guys are a good look? Think again. If I have to spend money to have boiling hot wax ripped off my special areas for your pleasure, you’re coming with me to get your dangly bits done, buddy.

“I’m looking through you, where did you go…”

I have been single now for close to two years and I found the same problem within the last several guys I have dated. They fall off the face of the earth. Now, this is of course not a literal statement, but how hard is it for them to at least tell me that whatever it is we are doing is over, instead of me thinking that your phone is broken or that you’ve died. Grow a pair and tell me don’t just ignore my text asking if you have anything planned for Friday night and then appear on Facebook in a new relationship with some girl who isn’t me. I have no problem with our relationship (of sorts) being over just let me know like an adult. A simple text would even be suffice. I know you saw my message, my iPhone told me so.

“I’m looking through you, where did you go…”

I have been single now for close to two years and I found the same problem within the last several guys I have dated. They fall off the face of the earth. Now, this is of course not a literal statement, but how hard is it for them to at least tell me that whatever it is we are doing is over, instead of me thinking that your phone is broken or that you’ve died. Grow a pair and tell me don’t just ignore my text asking if you have anything planned for Friday night and then appear on Facebook in a new relationship with some girl who isn’t me. I have no problem with our relationship (of sorts) being over just let me know like an adult. A simple text would even be suffice. I know you saw my message, my iPhone told me so.

Basic Instincts… Whatever They Are

A little black dress. A white button-up shirt. A pair of black pumps that you can actually walk more than 10 steps in. A leather jacket that makes you feel like a rocker chic and can take you from day to night.

There are lists upon lists upon lists upon lists of ‘Wardrobe Basics Every Woman Should Have” or “10 Articles of Clothing Every Woman Needs” out there. I spent years looking for that “little black dress” that I could wear to every occasion imaginable. After all, if every magazine and every fashion site and every forum said I needed one – I probably did need one, right?

WRONG. These lists are so restrictive. It’s a ‘one-size-fits-all’ prescription method to fashion, which, in my opinion, isn’t really fashion at all. It might be good for making you look basic and uninspiring, if that’s what you’re going for. There’s so much more to fashion than just that, though! Maybe black makes you look washed out – so get a little pink dress, instead. Who said every woman needs to have a pair of heels, let alone black pumps, at all? Rock those oxfords in a three-piece suit. Have some fun with it! You’ll make mistakes and wear an outfit that a few years down the road, you’ll cringe at, but what’s life without a few of those cringe moments.

That, and I just hate leather jackets.

Better to say nothing and people think you are stupid…

Niceties have come to bother me lately. If you say something that offends someone else, don’t try and cover your ass so much. Be genuine. Explain yourself rather than try and cover yourself and in turn make yourself look like a bumbling idiot. You’re never going to please everyone, ever. So why pretend, or stress yourself out, trying to do so? On the other hand, if you make a sweeping generalization, and someone calls you out on it, take the blow of being wrong—there’s nothing wrong with that either. Don’t just ramble and try and make yourself right!

“Physician, heal thyself,”

Empirical studies have shown countless benefits to adopting a mindfulness practice in which an individual learns to patiently (and nonjudgementally) observe their own thought process, he or she will develop the mental fortitude necessary to challenge his or her own thoughts, and the perspective and distance needed to stop automatically identifying with each of them. Such a person becomes more open-minded and patient as well as less reactive and fearful (as they are no longer operating under the false notion – or imposition – that all of their thoughts are a reflection of their own beliefs). This is the sort of individual with whom I would like to discuss my ideas, one who is in control of their own mind and not fearful – on any level – of hearing an opposing perspective. Only such a person as this can fully partake in an open dialogue and respond with simultaneous confidence and respect for the opposition.

Princess Perfect? Oh No!

You know that friend we all have? The one who never asks about you unless you leave some monumentally unsubtle hint, but can talk about himself forever and a day without pausing for breath? The one with whom a conversation is in fact a contest of one-uppmanship that you don’t even realize you’re having until about twelve minutes in and you’re casting about for that ONE experience of SOMETHING you had that you know she didn’t? The one whom you have to schedule everything with otherwise they’ll NEVER actually do what they say they’ll do? And half the time they don’t do it even when it’s scheduled, and you just can’t help but feel like the most trivial thing is now the biggest deal in the world because it just keeps happening. What is it about that friend that we keep coming back to? Why can’t we just cut ourselves off from them and live happily ever after? Surely that has to be better than the constant feeling of disappointment. Just think of the mental stress that could be avoided if only you didn’t have to store up little moments of “LOOK AT ME I’M WORTH TALKING ABOUT TOO”. And yet we keep turning back to them as though the punishment adds some kind of validation to your existence; when in fact all it does is give you something to whine at your mother about. And all she’s going to do is tell you to let go and cut off the friendship, but you know you can’t. What is it about that friend and why do we keep falling for it?

Art is Art. Everything else is everything else.

Art: Be it visual, musical, or theatrical, art is something that people enjoy at the expense of the artist(s) who make it. The artist is someone who creates, who pours love, energy, and time, into everything they produce and gives their creation intense devotion and attention until it’s completed. An artist is often someone who may be unrecognized by anyone other than friends or family and may not be making a living off their art. An artist is not and never will be someone will fucking work for free. Let’s think about it: You want someone to take their time, their energy, and their supplies to create you a piece of art. Presumably this is because you like what they can do. So why wouldn’t you treat this like any other exchange of money for service? Why wouldn’t you pay to make sure they can buy markers, paper, pens, sketchbooks, paints, glitters, glues, needles and threads and keep making the art that you like enough to want to have? This idea that artists are people you can pay $5 for a fucking oil portrait needs to be taken out into pasture and put down.

In-Hospitality syndrome

I believe as a person who works in the hospitality industry, that the restaurant business is the one exception where American customs must be observed or else people may be subjected to my “I will cut a bitch” syndrome. This isn’t everywhere else in the world where tip is included on the bill. Doesn’t matter if you come from Russia or from under a fucking rock. You absolutely HAVE to tip the waiters and waitresses. I don’t care if it’s less than 20%. Hell, I don’t even care if it’s less than 10%. But if you have enough money to take your broke ass out to dinner, you damn sure better be tipping the person who served it to you. Another thing, this isn’t fucking Europe, where everyone and their grandmother eat dinner after 10:00pm and stay until 2:00am. This is America, where people don’t have the luxury to just breeze along laxidazzily while you take three years sipping wine and eating your dessert. If the kitchen closes at 10:30pm, you don’t make a reservation at 10:15pm and proceed to order the 9-course tasting menu and make the entire restaurant staff stay an extra three hours because in your culture, that’s an acceptable form of behavior. This type of behavior is called douchebag, asshole, or in layman’s terms, “That guy.” Don’t be him. He’s not cool. I think every international tourist should be given a handbook of local customs that must be followed to prevent fatal injuries or at the very least, death stares, from the natives. Restaurant etiquette needs to have its own section. Because if I have to delay my personal freedom because some Parisian princess has to eat at 11:00pm, there’s no telling what might happen to her food.

Just One Look

I love New York. I love the people here. But would it hurt you to smile? I know you’re all high-powered businesswomen; you don’t need us to buy you drinks or make you feel like a complete person. But a smile wouldn’t hurt you, would it? I know lots of women who complain about the single scene in the city, but if you’re having persistent problems meeting someone, maybe the issue is with you. All it takes is a friendly look and a willingness to speak to someone. A smile goes a long way.


As a recent transplant to New York, one of the major warnings I received from those who have lived, worked or visited the city was “watch out for the people.” Keep your eyes down, learn how to navigate the city streets and subway platforms, don’t bother with the “pleases” and “thank-yous” your parents taught you, and don’t even think about expecting a door held open for you. I’ve lived here for close to a year now, and all I can say is, what is wrong with you people? I have had virtually nothing but great experiences with the “average” New Yorker, and I find them to be friendly, open, helpful and charismatic (did I say friendly? I’m a native Canadian so I know what I’m talking about here). Barring the inevitable jostle or rude comment that will occur in a city of eight million people, I think New York City’s reputation of rudeness needs to be put to rest. Maybe it’s the rest of the country that has a chip on its shoulder?

I Used To Be A Solipsist… ’til I Found S M

Look, I have Instagram. I like posting flattering pictures as much as the next person, but this culture of extreme narcissism is getting out of hand. What an unbelievable phenomenon: a person with absolutely nothing to offer the world except for painstakingly posed and filtered pictures of their own faces somehow wins the pseudo-adoration of thousands of followers on Instagram. This talentless individual (because he or she would be off finding cures for cancer or teaching kids to read if they had any other skills aside from taking selfies) posts the exact same picture of their exact same face in the exact same pose, day after day, and the mindless Insta-sheep drool all over it. At first, it was a novelty; then it became a caricature of actual human interaction; now it’s a bore. It’s sad. I swear, every time a 21 year old “student who loves life and cats” posts a selfie, a book bursts into flames.

A Royal Mess

What the fuck is wrong with you people and the Royal Family and the Royal Wedding and the Royal Couple and the Royal Inlaws and the Royal Sex Lives and now the Royal Squabble. As an ex-Brit I can only say you are collectively missing the discrimination gene. These people don’t deserve your attention never mind your fixation. At the very best those in the UK have no choice as they are stuck with these morons at the top of their food chain. (The Queen, poor soul, at around 90 years old, is obligated to drag herself up the steps to the throne room every day to keep the bald head of the moron-in-chief crown- less). What were the sacrifices of the Continental Army all about if they weren’t supposed to free us from this outdated yoke? Enough already. We have plenty on this side of the Atlantic to be excited about without succumbing to the idola- try of the idle rich plus their hangers-on (hmm, sounds vaguely familiar). A Royal Mess was a 2013 movie FOR KIDS from DISNEY. What are you missing? What are we lacking? Where the fuck are we heading? It looks like Harry knows… or at least his wife does.

Can this really Be True?

Religion – If you believe in magic who is to say that your magic is better than the next guy’s. How do you decide you are tuned to the right station. Especially if the next guy’s magic god tells him that that His Word is better than yours and more, you need to die because of your belief. Both come from god, both delivered to believers in god. Who are we, mere humans, to question god’s word, wherever it originates and however much it sickens us. It’s god’s word, isn’t? OR are there many more than one divine creator living side by side, each with his own doctrine, bickering with one another like bad neighbors over the dog crapping on the front lawn. This all leaves the poor human being to choose which is his team. Unless of course there’s not a lot of them. Not many, not one, not any. Then you’re just left with a bunch of gullibles with egg spread everywhere on the face led by a bunch of charlatans with bulging pockets or at least over served egos.

‘We must form our minds by reading deep rather than wide’. Quintilian

I am quite the literary fanatic. One might even use the word “nerd” to describe me. I love to read. Always have, always will. It’s how I was raised. When my father took me to the bookstore and announced that he would buy me 2 books, I spent hours ensuring that I picked the perfect ones. As a result, being literarily inclined is a quality I look for in the people I surround myself with: friends, co-workers, and especially significant others. So when I hear someone who I have come to admire, and enjoy spending time with, say, “I don’t like to read,” It’s a turn off. A major fucking red flag that forces me into an existential crisis and causes a ripple of questions to pop into my mind. Did this person go to college? Yes, that’s how I met him. Then how can he not like reading? I don’t know. What’s the best part about reading? That it engages the imagination. Does this person blow my mind in bed? Yes. Then how could he not like reading? I don’t know. No matter how many questions I ask myself, I can never understand why anyone, young or old, male or female, could possibly abhor reading. Besides the airplane, it’s the closest thing we have to time travel. Books have brought us the most iconic entertainment series of our generation. So if you don’t like reading, I think it’s time to re-evaluate your life. At the very least, it’s time to get out of mine. Because I have no use for people who can’t think outside the box.

Hey Doc, it’s just the jab thanks!!

Why am I getting naked? I don’t think this is an inappropriate question to be asking. Why are you making me get naked? I get it, you’re a doctor. This is a doctor’s office. Cool. But I’m getting a tetanus shot. All you really need is my arm and if I do suffer from some rare allergic reaction I’m pretty sure you could rip my clothes off quickly enough – I’m wearing a T-shirt. Or I was, before you made me get naked, put on a hospital gown, and walk past the waiting room a hundred times while you shuffled me from room to room. This, I feel, was unwarranted. I’m not downplaying the importance of your profession, but they give flu shots at the drug store. And I’m pretty sure getting naked in a Duane Reade is a chargeable offense.

Hot Wheels

What is the must-have accessory in New York this season? An old lady shopping cart, clearly! Do you have tons of groceries to get from the store to your house, too close for the train, too far for a reasonable person to take a cab? Old lady wheelie shopping cart! Back hurt? Sitting in a chair day after day, no time for yoga, scoliosis acting up causing spasms and slouching? Throw your mail and extra shoes and coffee in your old lady shopping cart! Put it in a big shoulder bag? Good luck getting horrible tourist sidewalk occupants to move their slow asses for you! Push them aside with your newest favorite accoutrement! Don’t want to drag it with your hand? Tie it to your belt! I’m telling you, this sleek, sexy must-have can be got in virtually any color, from black to grey to light grey. Goes with everything and easily breaks down and can be wrapped up, as if taking it around with you could get any easier! Eat your heart out, New York, this one is mine!

Is This Wolf The Cost of ‘Success’

Would somebody please tell the liberal Wall-Street-Hang-Em-High losers this is the way this capitalist country (and the world) works? It can’t run without the amazing ingenuity of the big brains in the financial world. Without the banking system the world would literally collapse. And all your holier-than-now good intentions would be just that. Intentions. And the banking system needs the guys who come up with new ways to make money. Without big incentives you won’t get the best guys. And guys, we need the best guys.

You’re only as young as the last time you changed your mind.

Niceties have come to bother me lately. If you say something that offends someone else, don’t try and cover your ass so much. Be genuine. Explain yourself rather than try and cover yourself and in turn make yourself look like a bumbling idiot. You’re never going to please everyone, ever. So why pretend, or stress yourself out, trying to do so? On the other hand, if you make a sweeping generalization, and someone calls you out on it, take the blow of being wrong—there’s nothing wrong with that either. Don’t just ramble and try and make yourself right!

Nature Calls

There are a lot of things I don’t understand about women, but one of the most baffling is the group trips to the bathroom. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in the middle of a perfectly decent conversation when all of a sudden its like a tear gas bomb exploded in the middle of our circle and ALL of the women file out towards the bathroom like soldiers on a DEFCON 5 mission. Not sure if there are secret handle signals or hormone secretions involved, but somehow they all just know and within seconds an entire friend group is gone. And they don’t just leave – they’re MIA. Might as well get a few more rounds because those girls aren’t surfacing for at least 20 minutes. What goes on in those bathroom rendezvous? Do you need help wiping? A friend to assist with your mascara reapplication? WHAT? Because I can tell you a guy’s trip to the John involves a routine emptying of the bladder, hand washing, and then it’s back to the party. Come on, ladies, lets us in on what happens during those toiletside chats of yours. Because all men think it’s weird.

Jaw Jaw not War War

I have had my fair share of political debates thoughout my school, college and adult life. Deeming who is in the right, who is absolutely without a doubt in the wrong, arguing why it even matters until you’re blue in the face, and concluding how it all fits together for a greater purpose for good, why there is so much disparity between individuals in the human race, do we really think too highly of us as a species resulting in too high expectations (because that’s what we are suppose to do, right?). I will admit… being from a political slam-packed generation (referring mostly to everything that has happened since 9/11 and its’ rippling effect throughout our world and in the face of what appears to be a  disintegrating society especially in the time of covid,) it becomes hard to draw a line between what is worth debating and what seems to only make things more blurry leading to a different discussion altogether. It’s a lingering question that is constantly sparked in the air amongst us, ‘What really matters?’ In its’ simplicity it evokes the complexities of our globalized world.

F*** You! F*** Off

I know it is so New York to be late for everything and so Midwest to complain about it but how about you waste your own fucking time and not mine. Because the chances are if you don’t have the respect for me to organize your affairs so as not to encroach on my affairs you are probably not worth my effort. How’s about that.

D D?

I fully support the concept that  everyone has their own opinions, but what I don’t understand is when those with opposing opinions tell me I’m wrong. I thought opinions were not right or wrong, simply subjective to the individual? Ok, that’s fine, a failure to understand the English language is unfortunate, but not unforgivable. The unforgivable part to the conversation regarding opinions is the condescending part. Just because you think you are right about something, does not give you license to condescend to me and tell me that I don’t have life experience. I refuse to give you a laundry list of the bad things and good things in my life, just to make you realize that I came to my conclusions about life through true, gritty, bad experiences. I don’t owe an explanation to someone who doesn’t know how to respect other people and their lives. But if I did, it would be this simple. Why do I think the way I do? Because I grew up and fucking dealt with everything in my life.

“Find What You Love & Let It Kill You” Bukowski

The guy I’m seeing has a lunatic for an ex-girlfriend. He is an amazing guy, I love his mother, we have tons in common but his ex needs to fuck off. I don’t want to ditch him I like him, and apparently she liked him too, in an obsessive stalker type way. She calls my phone from restricted numbers, has shown up at his apartment in the middle of the night, calls his sister to talk about me etc. She’s not violent, just pathetic. I want to grab this girl by the shoulders and shake the sad out of her and point her in the direction of a good therapist.

Weird Food

Kale smoothies. Chia seeds. Flaxmeal. Gluten-free. If I’m subjected to anymore of this health craze, I’m going to go fucking insane. People, why is it that this year is the year of health issues? Y’all had no problem with eating Doritos and donuts five years ago. To the people who are ‘allergic’: I have photo evidence of your ass at Taco Bell back in the day. I have had it up to here with people telling me they can’t have this, can’t eat that, because they’re ‘allergic.’ I understand that maybe one out of every five people who say they are allergic or cannot digest shit like gluten are actually allergic, but to the hordes of people who have this health ‘plague,’ you guys need to chill. I want to rip out your faces at restaurants when you take twenty minutes to order because you need to ask the manager if the house salad has fucking gluten in it. I’m all for people being healthy, but you can be healthy without being ‘allergic.’ You can be healthy without going to Trader Joe’s every week to spend absurd amounts of money on ‘certified organic’ foods. And for christ’s sake, stop shoving your health shit down my throat.

And Damned If You Don’t!

If I am currently not in a relationship, it isn’t because I’m depressed, it’s because I’m happily single. Happily Single doesn’t mean that I’m against relationships, It just means that for this period of time I’m not looking to be in a relationship and am having fun dating myself. What I hate most about this topic is the assumptions and categorizations that go along with it. “Are you gay?” “Are you lonely?” “Are you dealing with a lot of stress?” “Did you have a bad breakup with the last guy?” Why can’t the assumption just be left at happy and single? Not looking, not upset about the last relationship, not interested in the same sex (which I never understood how being gay goes hand in hand with being single), just not currently in a relation- ship. There are all these negative connotations that go along with a woman not being in a relationship, but why? When men are single it’s simply left at “Oh, he just hasn’t found the right girl yet”. So why can’t it be left at the same sentiment for women, I just haven’t found the right guy yet. People are still hesitant about going out by themselves and for what? If we can’t love ourselves, by ourselves then what are we doing by trying to love someone else? Being single isn’t an omen for the future, and sure as hell isn’t harming anyone. So instead of shaming someone for not having a beau, let them go through the motions of dong what they want at their own pace, because there doesn’t have to be anything wrong with them just because they’re single.

Crack Tradesmen

What is it about contractors that make  them feel that they’re allowed to operate outside the rules? You gave me a quote and I agreed with the number listed under total – how the hell did you manage to find so many extra things to do that I’m suddenly four thousand dollars over it? I asked for a quote so I knew what to expect, jackass, not so you could play the lottery with my money. You have no problem demolishing; oh no, that takes five seconds. But to actually finish things? I’ve been waiting for 3 months! And now you want to get snippy with me when I don’t offer you the check BEFORE I get what I’m paying for? Maybe if you managed to get it right the first time – without trying to wring me for the last penny in my pocket – I’d be more willing to part with it, but from where I’m standing, this job ain’t finished and you ain’t getting paid for something that’s not done.

Kutest Killer Kitten

Last month, I adopted a beautiful black and white kitten named Dandelion. Although she is an absolute cutie pie, she is a horrendous menace 50% of the time. I am so fucking tired of taking her out of my kitchen sink, and prying her off of my naked foot as she attacks it like she’s murdering a small rodent. This little kitten is the Jekyll & Hyde of felines. No matter how cuddly she is during the day, I am still fearful that I will wake up one night with her furry little paws strangling me. As cute of a little furball as she is, I am sure that, one day, she will not hesitate to murder me in cold blood if I so much as feed her 10 minutes late.

‘A Nose’ For Trouble

At what percentage of migraines per thousand citizens will it be made illegal to wear chemicals on our bodies; perfume, cologne, deodorant (it all smells like flyspray) that severly affect our fellow Americans. Smoking’s gone the journey; Stinky food on subways is not only unacceptable, it’s illegal; Why is it okay for someone’s arbitary choice of cover-up chemicals (or their idea of a sexy or cute ‘fragrance’) to kill the other 15 people in the elevator. And if you think this is another curb on your freedoms think about other smells in enclosed spaces. Even last nights curry smells (from whichever end of the alimentary canal) however pungent don’t often have that lingering nerve-gas-attack affect.

It’s Complicated

Do liberals live in a dream world, detached from reality? Yes and no. Do we see the world through rose colored spectacles? Yes and no. Do situations and people always have to be viewed from a positive rather than negative point of view? Yes
and no. In the very unlikely circumstance that any MAGA supporters are reading this (unlikely because first this is not their type of read and secondly this sentence
is already way too long to hold their interest), they would be nodding their heads and laughing out loud. Of course we liberals answer yes and no to any question because there are always at least two sides to an argument. Nothing is ever a simple white hat/black hat choice. And liberals can not only see tthe truth in that but on many occasions can actually see – but obviously not agree with – the other side’s point of view. (Which ironically – and paradoxically – is often cemented in
place for the opposition by their inability to see the existence of another, conflicting view). So as the adults in the room we must keep patiently explaining the
complexities of any given situation and the dangers of succumbing to simplistic and erroneous arguments, however bombastically they are delivered. If might is ever considered to be right instead of merely seeming effective to the knuckle-draggers then we are indeed heading in the wrong direction; back to the cave from whence we came.

Taylor Swift’s Evermore Just Sold More Than One Million Copies Worldwide In Less Than Seven Days

According to Swift’s label Republic, evermore has sold over one million copies worldwide in less than seven days after its release. Wow.
An impressive feat on its own, and even more so when you consider that folklore, her first album of 2020 that was released over the summer, did the same numbers in just as much time. 

But, wait, there’s more. evermore marks Swift’s eighth album to sell over one million copies within a week’s time. What a run!

 Read more…

“…Repeated Light Tremulous Sounds.”

Renee, singer, Clinton

I’m young and tech savvy, but I just don’t get Twitter. Who the hell cares? Even celebrity tweets are inane and useless. I don’t care what Ashton Kutcher had for breakfast, and I certainly don’t give a flying fuck where Average-Joe is going for Happy Hour tonight. I don’t want to read in 140 characters or less that you just ate an awesome sandwich.  If you have to take the time to tweet every asinine thought in your head, your life is not interesting enough to read about. Also, anyone who uses the word “tweet” or any variation of such in a  conversation should be punched. Hard. Get off Twitter and get a fucking life already.

Stop Feeding Your Face!

Lets get real! It’s about time we stop making excuses for why we are over weight, the truth is we are over weight because we over eat. Perhaps if we stopped moping around and put the cream cheese bagel down we’d realize that losing weight is a simple task that needs nothing more than some simple will power. Yes, yes I know, being over-weight can stem out of health problems, a deeper psychological issue or stress but come on if you really wanted to shed those pounds you’d get your butt up and go get those problems taken care of. The solutions are out there, you just need to stop being lazy and go find them. I can guarantee you one thing, sitting and enjoying a bag of potato chips is not going to get your fatass any slimmer. We are fat because we eat, don’t exercise, make the wrong food choices then complain when we don’t fit into our jeans. So, jog to your nearest doctor, psychologist, gym, or masseuse and stop bitching about your weight.

What’s Out: Cash

Electronic forms of payment have become increasingly available, convenient, and cost efficient due to technological advances in digitization and data processing. Anecdotal reporting and certain analyses suggest that businesses and consumers are increasingly eschewing cash payments in favor of electronic payment methods. Such trends have led analysts and policymakers to examine the possibility that the use and acceptance of cash will significantly decline in coming years and to consider the effects of such an evolution.

What’s In: Glasses

After researchers noticed fewer nearsighted patients in a hospital ward in China, they speculated that wearing glasses might offer some protection against Covid-19.

When researchers in China were analyzing hospital data of patients with Covid-19, they noticed an odd trend: Very few of the sick patients regularly wore glasses.

In one hospital in Suizhou, China, 276 patients were admitted over a 47 day period, but only 16 patients — less than 6 percent — had myopia or nearsightedness that required them to wear glasses for more than eight hours a day. By comparison, more than 30 percent of similarly aged people in the region needed glasses for nearsightedness, earlier research had shown.

Given that the rate of nearsightedness appeared to be so much higher in the general population than in the Covid ward, the scientists wondered: Could wearing glasses protect a person from becoming infected with coronavirus?

Grow Up Guys.

I’m no sociology expert, but the popularity of self-help dating books and many columns in women’s magazines is fascinating to me, mostly just because they’re all bullshit. Whatever happened to the concept of being yourself? Nowadays, American women are doling out wads of cash to read up on all the reasons they’re still single, or discover what they need to do get a guy to propose. The fact that publishers everywhere are capitalizing on the idea that all single American women are pathetically boy-crazy, desperate, and so mindless that they need a book to teach them how to flirt with a guy is much more depressing than simply being single.

Live Now, Pay Later!

America is a nation of instant gratification. We want answers, money, remedies, fame, success and we want it now. Right now. We make decisions in order to achieve things immediately and we disregard the process we chose to get there. When people make decisions, they think in the short term. How do I get what I want the fastest? How do I get it now? Very rarely do they think of the damage that is done in making decisions with such a short deadline. So, we want things quickly, that’s fine, but at what cost? Would you risk you getting wrinkles for whiter teeth? How about cancer for less cramping during ‘that time of the month’? Or more likely duodenal ulcers for unbridled fame. That is what some people are doing by going tanning (what?) in tanning beds, and the worst part? Some doctors are prescribing it to patients.


Whatever happened to ‘eat, drink and be merry?’ In America, obesity, heart disease, high cholesterol and a shit economy happened, okay. We don’t need Maslow to lecture us on the importance of food for survival. We’ve come to view food as the enemy, deprivation and restriction the weapons to combat it and exercise the punishment when we lose the fight against it. So, while we binge on low-fat foods, opt for sugar-free alternatives, diet perpetually and indulge in guilt-free food porn to make up for the pathetic bowl of mixed greens for dinner, the war against obesity rages on. So, what are we doing wrong? Somewhere between sugar substitutes and crash diets, it is clear that Americans are missing the mark when it comes to proper diets. Meanwhile, based on life expectancy

and obesity rates alone, the French and Japanese seem to be doing something right. With books like Mireille Guiliano’s French Women Don’t Get Fat and Naomi Moriyama’s Japanese Women Don’t Get Old or Fat, they seem to think Americans can learn a thing or two about healthy eating as well, and maybe it’s time we took the hint.


This is dedicated to the guy I went on a few dates with, unfortunately, and will soon be cutting off all contact with. It is never, ever okay to call someone five times in a row every night of the week unless you are in grave danger. But, it is never acceptable to call five times, one right after the other, and then once I finally get back to you just to say “Hey, did you just walk down my block?” No, I didn’t, it’s fucking 3 in the morning and even if I did, stop being a creep. So when you start dating someone else (since you won’t be dating me for much longer) try and limit your stalker-esque calling tendencies to maybe just three at a time.

Losers in Waiting

Do your pick up lines work? Ever? I mean those ones you shout at me on the street. Do other girls really stop what they’re doing to start chatting you up because you whistled at their legs and couldn’t keep your mouth shut? Because it’s funny, I don’t remember my legs asking for your opinion. When you asked for the time and I gave you an answer, I did NOT invite you to follow me several blocks. Oh, I’m not smiling enough for you? Maybe whether or not I’m smiling is none of your business. Maybe you telling me to smile because YOU want to see it is not making my day any better. I’m reading on the goddamned train because I want to finish my book, not because I’m using it as a prop to get you to talk to me. Women are not on this earth to please you, nor to smile and be nice to you, and maybe you should really reconsider what you’re doing. Because no, you are not just trying to make me feel good about myself or whatever shit you want me to believe. Every time you leer at me in the street you’re demanding that I take time out of my day to give you attention and I don’t owe you that. I don’t owe you a damn thing.

“… be the good people you want to believe in…”

Why does everyone bitch and moan that there are no good people in the world? I left my wallet in a cab. It’s a tale as old as time, but I had a few too many cocktails and slid my wallet down the side instead of inside my purse and it was gone. So, I was facing the daunting task of having to face three government agencies in the quest to prove my identity and obtain a new driver’s license. But wonder of wonders, there’s still so much good in the world! It’s unbelievable but in this day and age, in this flailing economy and these desperate times, I have recovered a lost wallet! Today I got a call from the now-tenant of my old Seattle apartment, saying that she had received my wallet in the mail. All the cards were inside; nothing was missing. There was even $22 in cash inside. According to this angel (Holly), the wallet was in an unsealed envelope, bound in a rubber band with my Washington driver’s license on the outside. The envelope had ‘no postage paid’ – an apparent hindrance on the wallet’s travel – written on it, over which a manager had scrawled ‘ok,’ apparently passing it safely through inspection. That means there is not just one person in the world kind enough to drop a found wallet in the mail box, there are a whole string of honest post office employees who granted the poor pink little thing safe passage en route home. Basically, I’m grateful and am sending this out as a ‘thank you ‘ to all involved; may karma kiss you a million times over, you wonderful, wonderful human beings. You saved me a trip to the DMV, the DOL and the Social Security office. And to those of you who maintain no faith in humanity: shut up already, be the good people you want to believe in.

Mean things please mean minds.

I don’t understand why people have to rain on others’ parades. Really. How miserable and insecure do you have to be that you can’t just shut up and enjoy someone else’s glory. I was at a wedding recently and one of the bridesmaid’s toast was one part typical, heartwarming jokes, and the other part was inside jokes very dear to her and the bride—making the bride laugh harder than any other toast. Later on in the bathroom, I overheard to guests talking crap about the inside jokes! What does it matter to you? The speech wasn’t meant for you. Can you think about anyone but yourself for once?

Have You Got No Friends

Just because it’s warm enough to wear shorts does not mean you should wear the smallest, tightest pair you can squeeze into. In fact, don’t ever ‘squeeze’ into anything. It’s a recipe for disaster. No one looks good when their thighs are being suffocated, not even a size 2. It only makes you look fatter and how can tight shorts even be comfortable? You may be exposing more skin but you have lost all airflow and you have lost all possible interest from the opposite sex. Wear your size, breathe easy, and spare us all from the fat rolls your have forced from your too-tight shorts. No one wants to see every dimple your too short shorts produce. Eww.

Compensating for What??

We The People of America, I think we need to have a little talk about the second amendment. I know you haven’t read your Constitution lately – no, wait, that’s a lie. You probably haven’t read it ever. But that precious second amendment of yours? Yeah, it’s not talking about protecting your right to arm yourselves to the teeth in preparation for the Zombie Apocalypse. Why yes, it does say that the rights of the people to bear arms shall not be infringed, but it’s also implied that this is for the security of a free state. You do not need an automatic weapon to keep your state free – that’s what our military is for. It was also written with the idea that arms were muskets. Muskets that took a full minute to fire four rounds – five rounds if the troops were particularly good. You know how many rounds can get fired in a minute with automatic and semi-automatic weapons? More than you need to for your precious hunting, and certainly more than you’d ever need to ‘protect yourself’. Nobody is saying you can’t have a gun. No one is saying you can’t have a handgun AND a shotgun. Just have stringent background checks. We’re saying you don’t need a small arsenal. Nobody does. And certainly nobody needs a goddamn semi-automatic to hunt deer or protection. There is one purpose for that kind of weapon: Killing people. And unless you’re trained military, I sure as hell don’t trust you with one.

“A keep away from a Runaround Sue yeah’

Have My Cake… And Eat It! This particular phrase is pertinent to dating, or rather promiscuous dating. Dating two guys at once can be perilous, sure; but not if you know what you’re doing. I’m currently dating two men (about to tack on a third, but that’s beside the point). They live in different boroughs, which means they live in completely different worlds, if
not opposing universes. I like both of these men, equally, but for quite contradictory reasons. They are total opposites, nothing alike. And what can I say? Dating is sort of like fashion; we women like to have options. So until it blows up in my face, don’t bother me, I’m eating cake.

“Network” Revisited

Tolerating poor and slow service at a restaurant, a burnt coffee at S******* or an idiot on the Subway who has somewhere more important to be than you, are all going to be never ending occurrences unless someone decides to speak up and be heard. Americans have become scared to utter the simplest complaint and are too concerned with the opinion they may bestow upon themselves if using their words. We no longer expect much in return from what most of our hard earned dollars go into. The quality of our clothing, the taste of our food, and the lifestyle we live are all a reflection of something we as  individuals settle on. When will someone stand up and argue the fact that a change needs to be made in the expectations that we set upon standards in society? The 85-year-old woman at Starbucks is not going to waste her time chiming in about a luke warm cup of tea, and the mother of three cares more about feeding her children than the rude service she received from her waitress. It is us, the younger people of America that should take a stand for what we deserve and should expect. We have fallen into a trap of settling for anything less than the best and if we don’t want a future of settling for the bare minimum then another day should not be wasted on the bare minimum on the receiving end. Stop biting your tongue and speak up!

Love is Love

Who can doubt the evil of the church after their edicts on gay marriage, gays adopting, and promotion of making homosexuality a custodial offense in a lot of African nations. Okay, the whole marriage thing is religious nonsense anyway so let them keep it and we have our own binding civil contract for all, straight, gay or whatever mix you want. The whole frenzy on gays adopting kids is a much nastier stance. By far the most important factor in a child’s upbringing is a loving, safe, dependable environment. How does a gay relationship that fits this criteria (and remember you have to really want kids to jump through all the adoption hoops) fail against two hetero 19-year olds who bang out a kid every year with no thought but a Saturday night drunken special and bring them into a barren and abusive household. I’m not even gay and I don’t much like kids, but common sense is just that.

Waste today, want tomorrow… Lauren Oliver

It bothers me when people order or make food and only consume a portion of it, chucking the rest, but I can deal with that. My roommate’s eating/ordering/wasting habits, however, are something else. She’s slightly lazy and even more spoiled, ordering take-out often and only buying groceries from FreshDirect. This would be fine if she actually ate the food she bought. Instead it sits in the fridge, our teeny fridge, unopened, taking up space, rotting, going to waste. Turkey, carrots, massive cantaloupes, milk from last month – you name it, it’s there or has made an appearance in the past. Though I’m sick of waiting around for the food to turn to mush and throwing it out myself (or mooching when appropriate and necessary), I’m most mystified when she orders takein for that night, then leaves it on the table for two days…unopened! Perfectly good sushi, burgers, pasta, wraps, and everything under the sun have experienced a long-term relationship with our kitchen table when they should have been gobbled down immediately. I guess I’m just jealous because I wish I could afford to order take-out as often as she does, But seriously, order your takeout and eat it too! And your  FreshDirect. I’m sick of watching food go to waste while people literally beg for a dollar outside our doorstep.

…And teach your parents well…

I don’t care about your children. I’m sorry. I figured since they didn’t spring from my loins you would have understood my detachment, but I don’t think you’ve quite received the message. My service job sucks and it certainly doesn’t get any sunnier when your kids are running up and down the restaurant causing all sorts of mayhem. I’m sorry, but rolling your eyes and shrugging isn’t good enough. “Kids will be kids!” you seem to laugh. “Aren’t they darling?” Short answer: no. It’s a fucking liberty to try out your parenting skills on the rest of us! Or maybe you’re just a lazy biatch. So here it is, how about you teach your kids to sit in a chair, quiet themselves, and quit asserting their adorableness to everyone. It’s not the kid’s fault (yet), it’s yours.

Look At Me Ma. Please !!

Men call us needy, but in reality they are far more attention-seekers than us. Next time you want to seduce a man compliment him on his silky hair, his wonderful sense of humor, and while he goes on bragging about his career promotion go ahead and compliment him on his accomplishments. If you are even contemplating talking about yourself only a low cut shirt will save you.

“Hounds Follow Those That Feed Them”

Why is it that people with small dogs can’t bear to leave the house without them? They’re on planes, on the subway, in stores, at restaurants… barking those high little barks and drooling all over the place. And worse, people who treat their dogs like kids. My neighbor reprimands her dog for being a dog. It was licking itself the other day and my neighbor shouted, “We don’t do that here Truffles. Mommy said no!” What’s next, no X-Box? Freak! And what are we standbyers supposed to do in that situation? After the owners (note the terminology) put on a big show of ‘goochi goochi gooing’ their little furry babies, they look up at me like as if it’s my turn to baby talk their dog too. I don’t think so. Are you crazy? I have friends who are so obsessed with their dogs that it’s to the point where I’m just plain weirded out. At the beginning I played along a little, giving into the “AWWW!”s just to satisfy whatever my friend wanted from me. But now I’m just tired and I don’t care. Every time you bring your dog to hang out, which is strange to begin with, don’t expect to me to talk to it like it’s your new born child. And don’t get seriously offended when I don’t aid to your own dramaticezed affection for it. It’s not that I don’t think it’s cute. Yeah, whatever, it’s cute. But it’s a dog. It has no idea what we are saying. If anything it probably thinks you are nuts for dancing around like that and making those insane noises and faces at him. I’m on his side. Relax. Take him out of his stroller and take off his paw sized snowboots before this gets seriously out of hand.

Time for Your Big Girl Shoes

So, as a recently graduated young woman, I find the group female pity pow-wows to be rather exhausting. It seems now that whenever a female friend breaks up with her boyfriend, has a fight with her mom, or has a tensioned run-in with her super-intendent, my roommate sends me a text saying, “so-and-so had a rough day, so I’m inviting her over.” Fine, sit on my couch if you want to and eat all the ice cream in the fridge. It was freezer-burned anyway and I could use someone to eat all the left-overs accumulating in the back. But somewhere in between their gushing and my roommate’s consoling,I ‘m expected to stop my day of emotional maturity and adult functionality and hash-out your crisis. What? I’m not your romantic partner who just dumped you. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see anything you didn’t see. All I’m getting are some random details that you’ve overanalyzed and obsessed about, along with some quotes that you’ve memorized on the train ride over, and you expect me to somehow piece this all together for you? I’m an adult woman, and so are you. Deal with your shit.

So No Onomastics Experts here then?

Dear Starbucks: you make me want to be a different person. And no, I don’t mean a better person or a more admirable person. I mean literally a different person, with a different name and a different identity. How else should I cope with the fact that you butcher my name every morning? Why do you even bother to ask for a name if you’re going to slaughter it? – just give me an order number. That’s way less embarrassing than having to respond when you call out ‘Tara’ or ‘Tyra.’ My name is Tiernan. It’s not phonetically that difficult and I’m most definitely a man. My parents did not hate me enough to name me a girl’s name. But you do, Starbucks. You hate me. And I think it’s probably time to break off our relationship –  Dunkin’s is closer to my apartment anyway.

A Sporting Chance. NOT

The biggest mistake mankind has ever made was creating ESPN. Don’t even tell me you’ve never been shunted aside because there is unlimited ESPN in your household. You slave away all day long and come home to your man, maybe looking forward to that ‘hello’ kiss or even just sitting down for a relaxing glass of wine. But, no! You walk home and there is some RANDOM fucking sporting event that has just invaded his mind and has him sitting in the recliner looking like he’s just had a lobotomy. And it’s never fucking ending! There’s baseball, basketball, soccer, golf, tennis, football, hockey, not to mention the BWOT’s, or the big-waste-of time’s; poker, horse racing, gymnastics, NASCAR, martial arts, rugby, lacrosse, and the fucking spelling bee! ESPN has every fucking trick in the book to brainwash our men into sitting in front of the TV like a cracked-out junkie. I could start a lap dance in fucking pasties and a g-string and STILL have him watching water polo. Ladies, reclaim your power! Stick it to the man! I want to watch a fucking chick flick and nothing’s going to get in my way. And that’s why ESPN hate’s parental controls, like the one I set to block that shit two days ago. I can’t wait to go home tonight and see his face. Sucka!

A Pauper’s Guide to Gold Digging

I’m broke. I was born broke, I’ve been broke, and since I majored in what is effectively a hobby, I’m most likely always going to be broke. I’m also incredibly, incredibly single. And look, I understand the old phrase that “money can’t buy you love” but I figured I might as well try to kill two birds with one stone, right? Look, the fact of the matter is, money can’t buy you love, but it can by you a lot of lovely things. Clothes. Real estate. The funds to commission artists to create Soviet-era portraits of your likeness. You know, things that make you happy. And isn’t that what America’s about The pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness? No one ever specified that happiness can’t include getting Botox injections with your elderly boyfriend’s 401K and then blowing the rest on a spree at Saks. I don’t need your judgment. My generation is screwed. By the time we’re ready to retire, all of our Social Security money will be dried up and sent away to China. We’re going to have to work until we’re dead. All of our money has been given to old, rich, white guys anyway, so why shouldn’t they have to pay us back? That being said, I’ve compiled a guide to getting yourself a sugar daddy or mommy; a step-by-step list to propel yourself to Anna Nicole greatness. Here goes nothing. Step 1) Go to gay millionaire speed dating events. Step 2) Start a new career as an end of life caretaker. Do it in the nude. And so on and so on and so on…

Taming the Intolerant Uncle

I would like to devote some space to an institution much discussed this time of year. It will be girded for, it will be planned for, it will be strategized around, and, quite frankly, it’ll be a bit feared. I speak of the uncles. Is there any position that is freighted with more apprehension, especially around the holidays, than that of the uncle? Mother Nature Network blog: “How to Discuss Climate Change With Your Uncle During the Holidays.” ThinkProgress: “How to Talk to Your Tea Party Uncle About Obamacare This Thanksgiving.” L.A. Times: “What to Do If Your Crazy Right-Wing Uncle Comes for Thanksgiving.” And Slate has long run John Dickerson’s advice: “How to Distract Your Crazy Uncle Over Thanksgiving Dinner.”

Why does the uncle become the go-to shibboleth of all those who decry rudeness, racism, and any out-of-touch sentiment? No one ever worries about the aunt at Christmas—poor dear, she’s had to deal with uncle for so long. But the uncle slander persists, for a few reasons…

Read more…

Don’t Only Talk To Assholes!

I fully support the concept that everyone has their own opinions, but what I don’t understand is when those with opposing opinions tell me I’m wrong. I thought opinions were not right or wrong, simply subjective to the individual? Ok, that’s fine, a failure to understand the English language is unfortunate, but not unforgivable. The unforgivable part to the conversation regarding opinions is the condescending part. Just because you think you are right about something, does not give you license to condescend to me and tell me that I don’t have life experience. I refuse to give you a laundry list of the bad things and good things in my life, just to make you realize that I came to my conclusions about life through true, gritty, bad experiences. I don’t owe an explanation to someone who doesn’t know how to respect other people and their lives. But if I did, it would be this simple. Why do I think the way I do? Because I grew up and fucking dealt with everything in my life. 

17 Seriously Uncomfortable Thanksgiving Fails That Are Hard To Forget

“Instead of using pumpkin pie filling in the pumpkin pie, my mother-in-law used leftover jack-o’-lantern from Halloween!”

We recently shared a post in which people told us about their most memorably cringeworthy Thanksgivings, and they were random, hilarious, and cringeworthy indeed:

Well, our readers chimed in with their own stories, and their tales were just as memorable:
1. “One Thanksgiving, my mother-in-law had insisted on bringing the pumpkin pie, even though she was the worst cook on the planet. Well, instead of using pumpkin pie filling, she used leftover jack-o’-lantern from Halloween!”

“And in addition, she used salt instead of sugar. So not only did the pie taste terrible, but it was stringy and had seeds in it!”

—Stephanie Ricard Nelson, Facebook

2. “My mom thought she’d already put the turkey on the table, so she pressed the ‘clean oven’ button so it would clean while we ate. It wasn’t until everyone had their side dishes on their plates that we realized the turkey was still in the oven — and it was locked shut during the cleaning process!”
“The turkey ended up catching fire, filling the house with smoke, and we had to call the fire department and evacuate the house for four days!”


Read more…

Rats are people too, you know!

Maxine, retail, UWS

I’m trying not to be a terrible person. But I’m having a hard time. Recently I’ve been buying all cruelty-free products, you know, so I don’t have the blood and tears of a million testing beagles on my conscience. But I have to say, what I thought would be a simple period of adjustment has turned into a nightmare. Do animal activists not care about odor, hygiene, or personal enjoyment? Every cruelty-free product I buy is dull, ineffective, and smells like patchouli. I don’t want to smell like patchouli. I want to smell like a normal person who doesn’t poison animals. Is that too much to ask? Look, I’m all for animal rights, but I want anti-perspirant not deodorant and if I have to poison a couple of rats so I don’t sweat like a whore in church I think that might be the way to go.


Gloria, Manhattan, business owner

In today’s crazy, surreal existence has any constructive lessons for millennials it is this: STOP WASTING ANY OF YOUR FUCKING TIME. All talk and no action make for a regretful existence. All your thoughts begin out as, “I want to…” but over time, those unfulfilled desires become, “I should have…”. Wouddacouddashoud a nobody wants to hear, least of all you. Don’t turn your wish list into your bucket list. Make it happen now. Even If not for pure spontaneity than for everyone else in your life who is sick and fucking tired of hearing you bitch about how much you want to DO and then watch as you SPEND THE NEXT WEEK SHAKING AT THE KNEES AT THE THOUGHT. Take some responsibility. Then take action. There will always be roadblocks in your life, so start making the strides to override those obstacles before there’s a wall so big you can’t climb over–like kids, or this zombie apocalypse.

…D’you wanna die?

Rich, writer, Midtown,

As New Yorkers, we put up with a lot. But one thing we absolutely will NOT abide, nor should we have to, is singing on public transit. I don’t care if you have headphones in your ears. I don’t care if the whole damn train has headphones in their ears. You don’t sing in public transit. So shut the fuck up, and let me travel in peace.

A Lame Dick Session?

J.D. (Thelma & Louise)

Do your pick up lines work? Ever? I mean those ones you shout at me on the street. Do other girls really stop what they’re doing to start chatting you up because you whistled at their legs and couldn’t keep your mouth shut? Because it’s funny, I don’t remember my legs asking for your opinion. When you asked for the time and I gave you an answer, I did NOT invite you to follow me several blocks. Oh, I’m not smiling enough for you? Maybe whether or not I’m smiling is none of your business. Maybe you telling me to smile because YOU want to see it is not making my day any better. I’m reading on the goddamned train because I want to finish my book, not because I’m using it as a prop to get you to talk to me. Women are not on this earth to please you, nor to smile and be nice to you, and maybe you should really reconsider what you’re doing. Because no, you are not just trying to make me feel good about myself or whatever shit you want me to believe. Every time you leer at me in the street you’re demanding that I take time out of my day to give you attention and I don’t owe you that. I don’t owe you a damn thing.

Year: 1991
Played by: Brad Pitt
“I may be an outlaw, darlin’, but you’re the one stealing my heart.”

… If She Wants It!!!

1st prize in the DD Department

Woah! You really think my ass looks great in these pants? Thanks, creepy man riding a bike on 7th Avenue! You made my day! You know, I was feeling really self conscious about my body today, so it was so nice for you to reassure me that you’d love to do a lot of dirty things to my behind. I was starting to give up on men! Seriously, I was! I was about to become a bona-fide lesbian until you came along and restored my faith in humanity. You know, you really should continue riding around the city screaming obscenities at women. We’re all pretty down on ourselves and you really know how to make a lady feel attractive by sexually accosting her. And after you finish doing some more of your groundbreaking work, how about you jump off a bridge and die Because now that I think about it, that would make me feel a whole lot better.

Can this really Be True?

Religion – If you believe in magic who is to say that your magic is better than the next guy’s. How do you decide you are tuned to the right station. Especially if the next guy’s magic god tells him that that His Word is better than yours and more, you need to die because of your belief. Both come from god, both delivered to believers in god. Who are we, mere humans, to question god’s word, wherever it originates and however much it sickens us. It’s god’s word, isn’t? OR are there many more than one divine creator living side by side, each with his own doctrine, bickering with one another like bad neighbors over the dog crapping on the front lawn. This all leaves the poor human being to choose which is his team. Unless of course there’s not a lot of them. Not many, not one, not any. Then you’re just left with a bunch of gullibles with egg spread everywhere on the face led by a bunch of charlatans with bulging pockets or at least over served egos.