“… Piercing Speaks Louder Than Words…

… Ain’t That The Truth… ”

I don’t care how many people wince at the thought of them or are completely scandalized by them, I love piercings wholeheartedly and especially nipple piercings. Whether on me or someone else. First of all, why wouldn’t I love extra bling and cute jewelry on my body? Second of all, they’re the best conversation starter, spurning a list of questions, most commonly: how bad did they hurt? There’s those who are impressed, and those who immediately label you a slut, which will never make sense to me. If anything, they’re basically insecure boyfriend repellent, which is a win in my eyes. But who cares, the best part of New York is that you could walk down the street in a thong with a mohawk and no one would blink an eye.

Sing Like There’s Nobody Listening

Karaoke is possibly the lowest effort, most entertaining activity for any demographic. It’s fun if you’re good, but better when you’re bad.

A Picture Tells A Thousand Words

My friends and I discovered a form of art therapy to beat all other forms of art therapy… sketch your ex night. Supplies: paper, pencils, drinks, and some old photos that usually you would avoid at all costs. Print out the absolute worst, most horrid photo you can, choose the keeper, and flip them all over. At random everybody gets to select a jilted beau that will be the masterpiece inspiration. Look at the face you choose, your best friend’s former boyfriend or girlfriend or partner that you always had bad feelings about, hex them with the intensity of your disdain, and with a glass of wine go to work sketching them over and over again. Be intimate with the features of a person they are longer intimate with. Don’t hold back, take as much time to practice as needed, and at the end everyone must have their favorite drawing to display. This is the best part of the night, look down at the various picasso rip offs, eyeballs in all the wrong places, and noses at all the wrong angles, and everyone must guess which ex is which. Then, with the laughter and light heartedness, poof goes all the bad memories, and the times you got emotional diarrhea looking at those old photos, because, temporarily, these people you once loved are just funny, unrecognizable faces on cheap paper.
 

Missing In Action

Finding comfortable clothing for hot spring days is hard enough as it is, but as women we have to smack on a rigid, wired, padded bra underneath it all. It’s extra sweaty, the bands are either constantly falling off your shoulder or digging into your skin, and oh, make sure they’re not too old or else the wiring will start to pop out and pinch you every time you move. What’s frustrating about bras on the hot days is that it has become trendy for skinny girls with small boobs to wear tops without a bra; yet as soon as someone with larger boobs does it’s seen as slutty or gross. Why? Why can men take their tops off whenever they please yet we have to wear twice as many layers just to cover up our nipples? Why is there yet another double standard for skinny girls vs. literally anyone else? I am so over it. It can’t only be “free the nipple” when it’s coming out of the mouth of a size 0 with a 32A bra size.

I read this in MovesFlash a couple of months ago so we in the US are quite behind the times!!!

As a frequent visitor to New York (and one of a small but avid European following of Moves Magazine)
I am prompted to ask the question, “do American women have nipples?” and “why do they all have perfectly rounded breasts on the front?”. It appears to some one from the Euro Zone that the vast majority of American bosoms look like falsies (notwithstanding that a lot are from boob jobs). This might be understandable during the day at work but even dressed to kill on a night out, perfectly round, smooth, unnatural tits. Very strange. (What makes this phenomenon even stranger is that on the rest of their bodies the garments fit like second skins; shorts, tights, and pants showing every nook and cranny and leaving little or nothing to the imagination. What is it with nipples guys?

Samantha, Red Hook and London, England

Pole Position

I currently live across the street from a strip club called “D***”, which has been an interesting experience to say the least. My nightly routine for the past two months has included at least 30 minutes per night of people watching out my window to observe what kind of characters pass through the strip club and it has been fascinating. The thing that baffles me the most about strip clubs is why people attend them in groups. I couldn’t think of a more odd thing to do than get together with my friends to get horny while watching naked girls dance. It’s almost like watching porn, so you would think that it would be a more solitary activity, yet on the contrary, men flock to this club by the hordes. I will never understand it, but maybe it’s not for me to understand, only to be entertained by the constant flow of interesting characters that pass by my window every night.

dd stands for diddly d*** … geddit?

Why is it impossible for men to get a grip on their sexual urges? I swear the majority of them have no filter that allows them to think before they speak. I was with my mom this past weekend, and multiple times was cat called with her right next to me witnessing the whole thing. Have you no respect? I don’t like being cat-called to begin with, but with my mom there to witness it?! It feels almost grosser when you have a witness to the harassment. Do you think I’m going to start flirting with you in front of my mother? I wasn’t going to flirt with you anyways, but now I just want to spit on you. You’re gross. Pro-tip: when you hear someone cat-call you, look them dead in the eye and loudly remark “EWWW!!”. Humble that douchebag real quick.

Sauce for the Gander

All I have to say is why did low-rise jeans have to make a comeback? I can accept the mom jean, the wide leg jean, even the damn mid-rise jean, but I refuse to get on board with the low-rise jean! In my humble opinion they do not look flattering on anyone and the only thing they seem to do is expose your entire ass crack when you sit down and give you a rather noticeable camel toe. They say fashion trends resurface every 20 years, so the return of the low-rise jean would make sense, but I can say with confidence that I hope they go out just as quickly as they came back in!All I have to say is why did low-rise jeans have to make a comeback? I can accept the mom jean, the wide leg jean, even the damn mid-rise jean, but I refuse to get on board with the low-rise jean! In my humble opinion they do not look flattering on anyone and the only thing they seem to do is expose your entire ass crack when you sit down and give you a rather noticeable camel toe. They say fashion trends resurface every 20 years, so the return of the low-rise jean would make sense, but I can say with confidence that I hope they go out just as quickly as they came back in!

My painting does not come from the easel.
Jackson Pollock

Have you heard of the “landlord fix”? If there’s a crack in the wall, or a dent in the door the solution is and always will be: paint over it. Thanks to this landlord habit I have no idea how many layers of paint there are in my apartment. Our doorknobs are painted over, parts of our window, wires, and more. One time a piece of my wall broke off, and you know what was hiding underneath? Just more paint. My command hook pulled off 4 layers of paint, with much more underneath. I know I’m not alone on this, every apartment in NYC has countless layers of paint. And removing the paint is a total risk. There could be beautiful hardwood walls and brass components underneath it all, but at the same time I’m terrified of uncovering what the obviously painted over lumps in my wall are. It’s a pandora box.

PRO CHOICE

I’m terrified. Roe vs. Wade is likely to be overturned and I’m scared shitless. While it might start with the banning of abortions, this is a slippery downward slope to many more slights again women… Who’s to say that plan b does or doesn’t fit under their definition of abortion. If they can ban abortion, what about birth control? And then back to interfering in marriage. And before long we’re in the land of Red Cloaks and White Hoods and knowing our place. The men in our government have taken hold of our bodies and I’m in fear of what they’ll decide
about us next.

The Willfully Ignorant….

“… the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.” ― Plato

Why is it the inherent unfairness of many of our cherished American values is so clear to some of us and so vehemently denied or, to be charitable, ignored by the vast majority. Based – as these bastions are – on the accident of birth, we seem to make no attempt to redress the balance, or, more importantly at this stage, even recognize there is any imbalance; any injustice at all. We even take inordinate adolescent glee in being fortunate. If you are born with it, the lesson goes – it being any of a select list: brains, wealth, ‘good looks’, star quality, and ability, etc. – you are successful by right. Without them, or the ability to ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’, you are not. What is so stupid about this approach is that we are all born the same way: we have no input whatsoever. None, for crying out loud. What are we so proud of? Our carefully considered and astute choice of birth parents? We need to grow up and be grateful if we’ve got it, not viciously scornful and dismissive of those who haven’t.

It is with this in mind that I seem to consistently point out the obvious; unintentionally at first, just directly addressing the intrinsic unfairness that our society promotes. That idealization of the American Dream, where everyone has the ability (or so ‘they’ say) to make a fortune, has become our rationalization for avoiding the confrontation of institutionalized injustices that permeate our society. It is solely due to this delusion that we are able to sleep easy and enjoy the beauties of a life well-lived, neglecting those whose sense of hopelessness alone cripples them.

What has become the American way is a system that can capitalize (note the word base) on our neighbor’s misfortune, further deepening the divide between the fortunate and the unfortunate. Not one of us should be content with this measurable difference.

When families are evicted from their homes, an amazing personal tragedy, others hungry for a good deal are lionized when they are allowed to capitalize on this repossession market. Is this equitable for all?

How can we be proud of our education system when the future of our country graduates from school with honors but is tainted by a $50,000 debt (probably equivalent to the dollar value of the college shareholder’s yacht)? Further evidence of our indifference to the fate of the have-nots is a penal system that punishes the children of offenders by demanding custodial sentences that satisfy our need for vengeance. Rehabilitation? This is just not an option, despite the fact that exposure to prison life promotes recidivism.

Most choose to live in this world of deliberate ignorance. So be it. Some of us however, can’t live with ourselves if we don’t at least try to redress the balance. Despite the derision this attitude attracts from some sections of our society, we will continue to come from the right direction because there really is no other. Enjoy the spring.

You Should Be So Lucky…

Why do men always think we want a relationship? This is a recurring theme in my life with men always assuming that I want anything more than a hookup. The last two guys I talked to started out great we were casually hanging out and seeing each other on the weekends. After about a week- boom- I get hit with the “I’m just not ready for a relationship right now” – Bitch, who said I was? Cuz it sure as hell wasn’t me! I find it quite presumptuous of these men to assume that I want anything more than just a hookup with them- and then to deny me of something I didn’t even ask for! Well that’s fuckin rude. I swear to god I should just write “I only want a hookup, you asshole” on my forehead- Maybe that’ll do the trick.

New York City is the home of many iconic landmarks, governmental agencies, the hottest nightlife– pretty much every possible important thing in the world can call NYC its home. But why, oh why, are commuters stuck with the ancient metrocard system.

You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re running a little late to an important meeting/school event/ date, and you rush to the nearest subway station in hopes to catch the first train. The train is there alright, but being declined over and over and over again at the automated Metrocard station stalls you a few minutes. Then, once you capture the yellow card worth city gold, you go to swipe into the stall. Declined again. But still, you are charged the subway fare. Three times over! You end up spending $8.25 to ride one lousy stop!

But this isn’t to hate on the subway system itself. Its just that the transition of the underground power isn’t going fast enough between the old metrocard and the new OMNI. So for now, we bitch and spend three times over. Congrats New Yorkers.

Man’s 

Best Friend… NOT

So last night I got off work at 1am, in the West Village. So not only is it late, it’s late in one of the most eccentric neighborhoods in NYC. Now I am one of those people that isn’t afraid of late night transit. Living in the city that never sleeps, you either make it part of your repetoire, or you make a shit ton of money and take cabs all the time. Now, it’s late, I’m tired, and I’m waiting for the subway. It arrives, on time, I love the 1 train (When in doubt, take the 1 train). I step into the subway car, and as I’m readjusting my bag on my lap, I take a gander at my surroundings, preparing to scope out the hot mess costumers either headed home or onto the next bar. Instead, I get a much more frightening picture. Not only is no one in costume, I realize that I am the only female on the subway car. I am surrounded by at least a dozen men. It is the most undesirable position to be in as a woman. My guard instantly went up. And unconsciously, all of the sexual assault headlines that I have ever read in my entire life start popping in my brain. Why? Because that type of fear is completely justifiable based on the insurmountable evidence that besides breast cancer, men pose the greatest threat to women’s health, mentality, and physical well being. It I love my job, I love this city, I love the subway…just not at 1am when I have to be in constant fear for my life.

Dieted all day yesterday; didn’t lose a pound!

So she’s at it again. My roommate is dieting. Again. Apparently this time of year it has become clear to her that those extra ounces on her 5’9 120 lb frame are unacceptable. So now not only am I bombarded with the painful message that it is mandatory to always count calories, sodium, sugar, you know, anything that could possibly be non-air but actual nutrition (aka FOOD) but now the shallow, ultimately vain stereotype has invaded my HOME. And it’s not solely that I feel a teensy bad about myself by proxy (I am human) but I also truly mourn any semblance of interesting, thought provoking, maybe even occasionally humorous conversation. Cause it’s all downhill to Splenda and Saccharin land from here. I hope you made a bucket of dough with your best selling food-obsessed books, which include the mantra “Eat food. Not too much, only plants” line, Michael Pollen, because my roommate holds her copy dear, right underneath her jutting collarbone and now she can commiserate upon no topic other than your precious “food” while she barely touches her raw, plant-only dinners. Ah, the upper middle class obesity crisis. Please pass the calorie-rich vino so I can drown out the whining. Bottom line: there is NO worse company out there than a dieter.

It’s only words and words are all I have…

Words are words for a reason. I understand that we all need to save time, but is it really necessary to save half a breath by shortening “obviously” to “obvi”? Don’t try to blame it on the internet and instant messaging – you took a typing class, and it takes just as long to type the remaining five letters as it would to type out your excessive exclamation points and emoticons. “Totes” is an umbrella company, not an abbreviation for “totally.” Yes, I know that when you say “def,” you mean “definitely,” but I feel like I’m playing Password with a mute when you tell me that the book you’re reading is “mis.” Miserable? Mystical? Misunderstood? Use your words – I thought they taught that way back in kindergarten. Truth is 99% of users aren’t clever enough to convey their meaning with 10,000 characters in a proper sentence never mind 32, or whatever it is, in a precis.

“He’s just a dedicated follower of fashion”

So what if I like to spend money on clothes, that I follow fashion blogs religiously, or that I find advanced pattern mixing to be stimulating and appropriate dinner conversation? Being a man, there is a social stigma attached to my passion for all things sartorial and it is one I don’t necessarily appreciate. There is nothing “gay” about dressing well, or being conscious of what you’re wearing, but still, many, if not most, men cringe when the topic of fashion arises, when shopping is suggested, or when asked to dress for an occasion. “You’re so gay…” my friend Clayton, who happens to be gay himself, tells me as I stand contemplating the cuff of my pants, what shoes to wear, or my shirt and tie combination. The two of us defy social norms and expectations. He, a homosexual male, concerned neither by fashion, nor the degree to which he is caught up with the Kardashians, and I, a straight male, who places no stake in football, guns, or misogyny. While it frustrates both of us to be stereotyped in such a way, as we walk down the street together, on Superbowl Sunday, in SoHo, we pass bars populated by straight football fans, and a DASH store populated by gay Kardashian fans. And, as hard as it is for us to admit, there, in the middle of the street, we are forced to agree that all stereotypes are rooted in some type of truth. There we stopped and turned to part ways, him to his bar full of misogynistic, alcoholics, and I to my boutiques.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tqXrAHuLksU

You’re too f***ing well off, assholes!

Our city has lately been overrun with a new kind of trend – young adults adopting worn vintage tees and an attitude that screams “I’m above popular culture”. To all you hipsters: the jig is up. We know you bought your whole outfit retail, even though you tried your hardest to make it look second-hand. We saw you whip out Daddy’s credit card to buy those $200 indiefest concert tickets. And although your address might say “Brooklyn,” we know it’s in a Williamsburg building just as pricey as anything in Manhattan. So quit the whole anti-consumerism act, and own up to what you really are – bored rich kids playing dress-up.

Kinky Boots

I have just watched this movie!! Drag queens. Cyndi Lauper songs. Sequined red heeled boots. Brits with a stick up their collective ass. No, this is not high art. Yes, this is wonderful. If you’re in the mood for a show that is purely camp and absolutely delightful, than this is for you. You’re life will not be changed under any circumstance, but damn if you won’t be entertained for two hours. Watch the Movie (The Broadway show closed in 2019)

NOTHING’S LOST THAT A FRIEND GETS

Attractive people, men and women, tend to travel in packs. Attractive friends, often have attractive siblings. Every so often, those good looking genes skip a generation, but for the most part, mother nature is good and just. But what are the rules on dating or sleeping with a friend’s sibling or a sibling’s friend–are they off limits or are they fair game? Normally, it’s “Back the fuck up.” But now and then, there are these occasions that warrant revisiting the original friend clauses you signed when your friendship first began. Situations get so sticky (pun intended) that you have to mentally lawyer up in order to prevent physical repercussions, as in beatings from your friends.

Your or You’re? Who cares

How much does the way we express ourselves really matter? Grammatical precision and sentence structure in verbal and written communication is often used to gauge a person’s intelligence or at least command of English and although I am for preserving the endless nuance of meaning good use of punctuation produces, I am also aware that English a live language , the main purpose of which is to interact accurately. So as long as we both agree that this is called a cup (even though it looks like a mountain to others) we are on the right track to understanding each other. Silly snobbery has no home anyplace close to reasonableness.

Definitely NOT Route 66

Let me make this clear: if you are from Indiana, Virginia, Georgia or anywhere outside New York City, DO NOT DRIVE HERE. If you have to have your car here leave it in a garage and take a cab, the subway, ANYTHING. I hate being stuck behind out-of-towners who are gun-shy behind the wheel and afraid to move past 10 miles and hour. This is New York; if you’re not aggressive you literally will never make it to your destination. Not only are you ridiculously slow, but your confusion WILL cause an accident with the cab that is determined to make that left turn before the light changes. Oh yea, and get used to the honking all around you. It won’t stop until you’re off the road!

Cry To Me

I think it’s obnoxious when girl’s cry on command to get out of things. I’m probably just bitter, because I can’t seem to make myself cry over the possibility of getting a ticket, or any other reason that doesn’t fuck with your heart, but I think its hypocritical. You want to be treated like an equal, like a smart intelligent woman, yet you behave like a child not getting your way when something goes wrong. Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m more annoyed with the people that feed into it. The positive reinforcers. I don’t understand how someone’s empty tears can erase all of their prior actions… or why a man’s tears would probably just make shit awkward. Girls are fucking ugly criers so don’t tell me it’s all about looks.

Such Beguiling Enlightenment

I’m not one of those people that praises America. (I mean in the current state we’re in, what compliments are there really left to pay?) I detest the people who post statuses on Facebook saying something to the effect of, “This is America,” and they always have a long Southern drawl in your mind because those are where the ignorant rednecks who still fly the Confederate flag and have a shit ton of guns and “God fearing people” live. Soon as I read that status, or anything remotely resembling this thoughtless expression, I defriend them. Instantly. But, 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.

Yeah Right!!

It’s rush hour, and 100 people that don’t know each other are crammed in a single subway car, falling on top of each other. Short people are trying to find oxygen, fat people are trying to find a corner to move to, and tall people are trying not to step on everyone else. We start to pull up to the station, and before the train even stops someone behind you says “Excuse me” and waits expectantly for you to move so they can be closer to the doors when they open. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I can’t move, I hate life at the moment, and you seriously expect me to move. Maybe I’m getting off at this station, hm? Maybe, since I’m closer to the door, we should wait and see what happens. While I’m at it: I don’t care how badly you want to sit down—let people getting off exit the train first!

Woe Is Me

I’m really hungry and the sandwich place around the corner only takes cash but I only have debit. Today is super hard.

Just Another Brick In The Wall

Are we really in this age of enlightenment that we claim? This MeToo breakout? There are just too many occasions in my life – and, not so incidentally, in my friends’ lives too! – I am faced with Neaderthal Man incarnate when asked the question in a heated argument with my boyfriend “Are You On Your Period”? I absolutely, absolutely loathe it when I just want to have a serious conversation with my boyfriend, concerning our relationship, and he reverts to type. That makes me fucking angry. For so many reasons. Against him for being so shallow and inadequate. Against me for putting up with it more than once. And against the world for thinking this kind of shit is in the past. NO THEY’RE STILL HERE. These assholes we women fool ourselves into thinking we depend on. It is up to us to stamp out this stupidity by whatever means. After all the cramps in our bodies are bad enough without this stamping on our emotions. It is certainly a boring truism but VERY relevant for all that. IF YOU KEEP DOING WHAT YOU’RE DOING, YOU’LL KEEP GETTING WHAT YOU’RE GETTING!

IS AUNTIE FLO IN TOWN?

Are we really in this age of enlightenment that we claim? This MeToo breakout? There are just too many occasions in my life – and, not so incidentally, in my friends’ lives too! – I am faced with Neaderthal Man incarnate when asked the question in a heated argument with my boyfriend “Are You On Your Period”? I absolutely, absolutely loathe it when I just want to have a serious conversation with my boyfriend, concerning our relationship, and he reverts to type. That makes me fucking angry. For so many reasons. Against him for being so shallow and inadequate. Against me for putting up with it more than once. And against the world for thinking this kind of shit is in the past. NO THEY’RE STILL HERE. These assholes we women fool ourselves into thinking we depend on. It is up to us to stamp out this stupidity by whatever means. After all the cramps in our bodies are bad enough without this stamping on our emotions. It is certainly a boring truism but VERY relevant for all that. IF YOU KEEP DOING WHAT YOU’RE DOING, YOU’LL KEEP GETTING WHAT YOU’RE GETTING!

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.

“… CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW…?”

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.

WHAAAAAT!!!!!!!

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.

“… “Do The Right Thing!… ”

Why do we all feel so much fear today from the truth? When we see something is
wrong, why is everyone frightened to step up and defend a stranger? What is it all
about and for, if we do not help each other?

“… Inked… and Fearless!… ”

“… all tattoos are temporary, even permanent ones… ”
There comes a point in every adult’s life when they have to decide if they want to join the ranks of the inked or keep their skin virginity forever. For some of us, tattoos are an impulsive decision made with no real thought behind them, and for others they take months and years of planning and contemplating. And there are the Kim Kardashians who claim “you don’t put a bumper sticker on a Bentley”. But this week I put a bumper sticker on a Bentley for the first time, and it feels great. I encourage all of you doubters out there to get the courage and just get that tattoo you’ve been thinking about. You only get one body, so why not decorate it?

“… Give Me That Rock ’N Roll Music… ”

There is absolutely nothing that I love more than live music. I don’t care who the artist is. There is something so incredibly magical and special about being surrounded by people who all came to see the same show and sing the same songs with you. For a moment, all the problems in the world fall away, and you are one with the music, one with the moment, surrounded by love and joy. Whether you are dancing, screaming, or crying, so will everyone around you. It is a moment of mass human connection that nothing else can beat. So this is your sign to buy those concert tickets you have been dreaming about, I promise it will be worth it.

Hook, Line… and stinker

Oh Gossip Girl in the Fall, is my favorite show for this time of year. When you’re living in the city, watching shows that romanticize it makes it feel even more like home. The best part about Gossip Girl is that we are exposed to all parts of NYC ranging from the Upper East Side, all the way down to DUMBO Brooklyn. Of course, some of the aspects of this show are nothing like reality and I may not be a pretty nepo-baby from the Upper East Side, but the show inspires me to see what could be possible in New York with just a little hard work. It also helps that since it primarily is Fall in a lot of the seasons, I can get some new style inspiration from our gorgeous blond and fashionista Serena Vander Woodsen. Blair’s confident attitude also helped me rethink standing down on things I don’t want to be quiet about. Gossip Girl is for every girl, and when you run out of things to watch this season, it’s never too late to watch or re-watch the show of the season.

There Is A Season, Turn, Turn, Turn

Whenever a new season approaches, I find great difficulty trying to adjust. I dread winter cold, hate the crispness of fall, despise the heat of summer, and have to tolerate the rains of spring. But, it goes beyond that. I tend to find my mood significantly changing when one season ends and another one begins, kind of like now. As fall settles in, so does my depression. It’s like fall is the Sunday night of the year! However hard you try you can’t get past the thought of work (winter) tomorrow. I don’t share the excitement to go pumpkin picking and decorate my house, in fact, I don’t even like preparing for a new snowfall each winter. When summer comes, is it really time to go to the beach? What’s wrong with staying in the A.C.? Approaching seasons only mean that there’s more pressure to follow along with society and its annoying habits and norms. I would much rather do nothing and not feel guilty for it. Why can’t my life just remain the same as the seasons change? Hint: Because they cannot then make money out of you. Have you noticed that Christmas starts in August these days. Sorry pet peeve. Why does seasonal depression have to flare up just because everyone else is singing Christmas carols while you’re binge watching Netflix? So thank you cruel world but this young lady is not for turning !! (Pun intended).

Bagwash Laundry Blues

Is it just me, or does my laundromat think I’m running a mini-mint at home? Seriously, ‘Does Anyone Have a Quarter?’ Because my laundromat’s idea of change is a ten-dollar bill. I decided to get out of my sweatpants and dress cute last week and now I’m 20 dollars, or 80 quarters, out. These laundry prices are so sky-high that I half-expect my washing machine to offer me a spa day as part of the deal. I just want clean clothes, not an emotional breakdown in the laundry room.

https://www.songfacts.com/facts/george-formby/chinese-laundry-blues

Peter Paul Rubens Was Right … 500 years ago !!!

Why doesn’t body positivity get it? Body positivity is sort of outdated at this point, and I am so grateful for that. I think slowly people are understanding that the body positivity movement of a few years ago clearly hasn’t worked out, I mean has anyone really noticed people being less fatphobic? I fucking haven’t. In hindsight, it was all such half cooked and underdeveloped commentary on women’s bodies that sort of missed all the important marks. The whole thing was big bodies are beautiful and sexy, and yes I completely agree, but societal change isn’t about like, “oh look at this hot sexy fat women that is actually a worthy human being because she’s worth fucking just like skinny girls” (cue the body positivity movement getting like 3 chubby women employed as lingerie models). Like fat women get laid, been known for centuries people, same thing with fat women being confident, like again, been known, fat women have been out here being confident in the face of judgment for centuries. The body positivity movement was all about trying to fit bigger bodies into the mainstream, when we need to change the mainstream. The whole fucking issue isn’t, big bodies need to be considered beautiful too, the issue is why do we care so much about beautiful to begin with, why does feeling good about our bodies need to be that we evaluate them as beautiful? The issue isn’t changing beauty standards to include fat women, because that, as proven, won’t happen, it’s about devaluing our beauty standards because value and beauty should never go together. Body neutrality everybody! Body neutrality.

Summer Sneaky Links

Let’s take a moment to appreciate the absolute magic of summer sneaky links. I’m talking about those spontaneous, late-night adventures with someone special. The warm breeze, the moonlit skies, and the thrill of secrecy. Sneaking out under the cover of darkness, sharing whispered conversations and stolen kisses. It’s like a summer romance straight out of a movie. No worries about curfews or responsibilities, just living in the moment and embracing the freedom. Whether it’s a secret beach rendezvous or a midnight stroll through the city, summer sneaky links add that extra dash of excitement and make memories that will forever ignite a smile.

Crass marketing knows no bounds !

Who are the flowers on the wrappers of tampons and pads actually for?! They’re certainly not for the trans, nonbinary, and/or masc folks who have periods. And, as a cisgender woman, they’re certainly not for me, either. When I’m dealing with incessant cramping, exhausting mood swings and constant discomfort, there are truly few things that Id want to see LESS than a dinky flower on the receptacle that I use to collect my uterine lining. Talk about an insult.
 

“There is a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women.” Madeleine Albright

Women being pit against each other is a tale as old as time, but I can’t help but wonder how it is still happening. We have so much information regarding the inequalities of women, and we have to fight every single day to be regarded as even remotely on the same playing field as our male counterparts– so why is it that other women are sometimes our biggest enemies? I’m so tired of people who preach “women supporting women” when in reality they are the first to stab a female counterpart in the back to better themselves. The feminist movement will not progress until this ends.
 

Tuned in?

Read the room, bro. I swear sometimes men pick the most horrendous moments to make a move on you and it catches me off guard every time. The other night, I was hanging out with some friends and there was this guy there who I had just met that night. To give some context on this man, imagine the most insufferable Political Science major with the worst case of Mr. Know-It-All and times that by 100 and you’ll have this guy’s personality. Talking at a speed of 1,000 words per minute, I swear he could man-splain every topic out there– safe to say we all had headaches by the end of the night. Anyways, at the end of the night we are sitting on a couch with two of my other friends and homeboy is capital D Drunk. At one point, my two friends get up to go to the bathroom and I am left with the extremely inebriated Poli-Sci douche. We start chatting and I tell him about how I used to live in a town that was known for a major massacre of students during the Brazilian dictatorship so we talk about that for a little. I kid you not, the last words he says before he leans in to try to kiss me are “yeah, the Brazilian dictatorship was pretty bad they did some unspeakable things.” I just want to know, what about that conversation gave foreplay?? What made him think, yeah military dictatorship is really setting the mood right now. The audacity of men is insane to me. I took one look at his “leaning in to kiss you” face, got up, and left the building. Not today.

“Where Are You Tonight, Sweet Marie”

I do not need to hear every story about your ex. I don’t need to hear about every terrible thing he did to you immediately followed by you asking should I text him? I think everyone should be allowed one bad ex story per gathering. (My go to is the time my ex girlfriend posted a video on Twitter of childhood photos of me hung up next to their best friend, their dogs, their druggie mom that left them, and their dead dad, captioned: Whether or not you’re still in my life, I’ll always love you. We dated for six months. We were also in high school. She was immediately blocked.)
Somehow I end up becoming friends with people that are hung up on everyone that isn’t in their life anymore and don’t give a fuck about the people that are. So now that I think about it, maybe I just need to be more picky when I’m making friends. Or maybe I’ll start getting up and leaving after anyone mentions their ex. Either way, I guess this one’s on me.

I DO… (I think that’s right)

I have always reveled in gaudy, over the top weddings. I love to see the beautiful dress, gorgeous venue, and everything else. I’m sold! However, the standard for ridiculous weddings (and let’s face it the money spent on these parties is ridiculous) is constantly being raised. How it will look on social media is now the 100% main consideration for wedding planners. The semi-professional video that used to do for the bride to look back on is now in the bin. Bigger, brighter, brasher… and viewable… is now the standard for everyone. However even that pales with Indy Blue’s recent wedding which has gone viral on Tik Tok; it is the most insane event I’ve ever seen. The bride and groom had multiple photoshoots beforehand, which she has vintage designer clothing for every single occasion. She wore a huge feathered hat instead of a veil on her wedding day. The venue was this luxury garden type situation. Everyone is discussing the details of this wedding as if they will be able to recreate these details. This wedding must have cost an even more insane amount of money and should not be compared to any normal person’s celebration. I believe there used to be a line before normal weddings and the royal family weddings. Now it seems that the line is blurred. Your wedding should be catered to your tastes. Huge weddings feel impersonal. The postability of your big day should certainly not be the factor that it has become.

I’ll Never Forget…Whatisname?

It’s so weird interacting with lovers of loving past. I always find myself on this weird fence of am I going to be a dick to them because they really hurt my feelings and should give them a taste of their own medicine… or am I going to be nice to just be nice? Because once it’s usually done, I’m not one to really revisit, so am I boring and nice so that we can be cordial face-to-face? Seems like the right choice, but that’s so boring and meek. I like the spicy idea that they are unsure if I’m okay with them or not. I like being ambiguously sassy. But then I feel petty and childish sometimes. It’s just so weird! I don’t know what to do. It’d really just be better if they didn’t contact you months later. That would be the polite thing to do. Because, really, what are they trying to get out of being nice to you/hitting you up again?

Wham, Bam, Thank You Ma’am

Don’t turn your back on me. I am not asking for a commitment, I am not asking for you to wake up and make me some gourmet breakfast, or to whisper sweet nothings in my ear. For god’s sake, I am using you just as much as you are using me. Do you know what that means? (I won’t go into detail) but… I was freaking good, better than you Mr. and now you are going to turn your back on me? Hell to the No! I am not sure how women got this reputation of always wanting a relationship. Ugh, I bet you one day long ago, one woman actually met a guy that could screw well on the first go around, and just feel in love, and screwed it up for the rest of us. I’m a woman with needs, needs that you can’t fulfill with this quick time we spend together. (Quick being the operative word!) So, do what you can to temporarily full-fill my needs, and rub my back, spoon me, make sure I’m comfortable. Yes I said spoon me. Do something to thank me for your satisfaction, because, lets be honest. I am still waiting for some. Just because you choose to fall asleep beside me, will not make me think we are in some relationship, it just shows me you aren’t some fucking asshole, ASSHOLE. You want to create some boundaries do you? Hm… Let me think, I know how to make a boundary, does the words ‘closed for business” make sense? Thanks, and Good Night!

Blame Shifting Sociopaths

I never fully understood what gaslighting was until it I recently experienced it first hand and boy does it make you mad when it happens to you!! Everything you say and do is turned upside down and used against you.. I equate it to somebody else “playing the victim” and spinning the situation completely backwards to make you look like the one in the wrong. All of a sudden the blame is totally on you when someone is gaslighting you and let me tell you it sucks. When you try and defend yourself to someone who is gaslighting you, they make you feel like you are crazy for even thinking they did anything wrong and that you are the victim. The truth is that gaslighting has always been around (it originates from the 1944 movie Gaslight with Ingrid Bergman), but now people are finally starting to recognize it when they see it.

SUMMER LOVIN’

This might just be a me thing, but at the beginning of every summer I always tell myself that I am gonna have a big glow up and come back in the fall 10x better. However, this never ends up actually happening; in fact, the opposite often happens and I glow down. I put so much pressure on myself to eat healthy, wake up early, workout everyday, and do so much that I overwhelm myself and end up just laying in bed all day and binging Love Island. I think there’s a lot of peer pressure on women to have a “hot girl summer,” but that is hard when you don’t feel your best.

Summer used to be my favorite season and it has recently become more and more stressful because of all this pressure to glow up and be my best self. I wish the world would say, “fuck that” and just let everyone enjoy their summer the way they want!

SINGLE … AND OH SO HAPPY

“So are you dating anyone?” When it comes to friends, family, or even meeting new people, this question always seems to come up. And frankly, I am so sick of it. People pose the question in a way that insinuates that dating someone is essential to life. (Now that’s a little tongue in cheek, a touch ironic, because of course it literally is!! But what is also essential here is to separate the social from the biological. The stigma (as was) of being without a partner, the ‘shame’ of not being able to find a partner, the opprobrium of living life alone, set against the end of the human race; the destruction of all of society as we know it. All because you will not follow the rules and decide to be SINGLE. ) Without a ‘significant other’ we are somehow in some way less as human beings. That it influences your happiness somehow – ignoring the fact that it is a choice and that that choice – being as it is contrary to society’s norms – actually makes you a more useful person than the one (read vast majority) that blindly (and blandly) succumb. But when you answer “no”, there’s always that awkward silence, tinged with embarrassment. Why are we embarrassed? Maybe because it raises the spectre of their own slavish conformity. Being single is liberating! It’s interesting! It’s fun! And it’s about time we recognized that.

New York State of Mind

I’ve only lived in New York for a couple years, but after that short time I am conscious of the fact that I’ve developed the New Yorker persona. Specifically, keeping to myself in public, getting easily aggravated by slow walkers, and swearing at cat callers. These traits are appropriate for the big city; ask anyone who lives here, and they’ll tell you they do the same things. But what’s shocked me is that when I visit my quaint hometown, these traits follow me. I sometimes go on sunrise walks, and as I pass locals who smile and say “goodmorning”, my first thought isn’t “Awe that’s nice,” it’s “Why are you talking to me?”. I realize now that it’s the newly forming New Yorker inside me, who just wants to be left alone by strangers when in public. Though I’m not the proudest of these subconscious acts, I am proud that even when I leave New York it never leaves me.

Coffee Mate

There are many great mysteries in life. Is Area 51 filled with aliens? What happens after we die? Who really killed JFK? But by far the greatest is this: Why the fuck does D***** coffee taste like absolute crack one day, and sewer water the next??? I promise I’m not the only one that thinks this – I’ve seen people talk about it all over TikTok. But seriously, I’m an East coaster and I NEED my morning coffee, so why is it that every blue moon or so, my caramel macchiato tastes like it’s been mixed in with a scoop of Hudson river???

Rompers… back to the future.

Why oh why do Rompers want me to go naked in public bathrooms? Don’t get me wrong, I love rompers just as much as the next single, flirty girl looking to get a compliment on her outfit. But it is so morbidly embarrassing when I have to strip stark naked just to use the bathroom while wearing a romper. Now some rompers have those cute little buttons that detach and make it easily accessible to pee without having to take it all off. But others do NOT have those cute little buttons, and you are forced to drop it all down. PSA now- If you ever go to the bathroom with me while I’m wearing a romper… Get ready for my birthday suit.

O Say Can You See The Land Of The Free?

I’ve never been the biggest fan of the 4th of July. Sure, I love
cookouts and fireworks, but let’s be real; red white and blue
don’t exactly go together for a cute outfit. Besides my distaste
for the fashion of the holiday, the past three years I have been really against the holiday all together.
Back in 2020, the 4th directly followed a slew of police brutality from the murders of George Floyd, Breyonna Taylor, and many other unarmed Black Americans, to the brute force used on crowds of peaceful protesters. That year I noticed performance activism on a whole new level: many of the same people who were reposting stories about these horrible, racist abuses of power were also out repping their American Flag bandanas and
white booty shorts so they could go drink on a boat. Odd, right?
Why are you out celebrating this nation when you seemingly
agree that it is broken and racist?
Just a few days ago, Roe v. Wade was overturned– a direct attack on women across the country. And I have seen those same people reposting stories about how atrocious this ruling is. So, let me just say this: if you are disgusted, saddened, and scared by this decision, if you have reposted these stories or links to donate to abortion clinics, and you still go out on Monday donned in American colors and choose to celebrate this country? You’re a fucking hypocripte. And you’re not an ally.
I don’t care if you want to party, by all means have your Bud
Lights and hot dogs. But continuing to celebrate the
independence of this country when the majority of individuals
(POC and women) don’t have their own individual freedoms
promised by our constitution is laughable and you look like a
clown.

Performance Activism… Oh you F…ing
Hypocrites !!

I’ve always found it interesting to see what celebrities do when a major event or tragedy takes place– specifically, what their
social media approach is. I follow a variety of influencers on Instagram, and it’s very clear when someone actually cares
about an issue versus if they’re just posting something for their
own benefit, or to save themselves from controversy. For example, I follow a YouTuber/podcaster who is a huge advocate online and is constantly providing his following with links to
gofundme’s and other support websites where you can provide aid to a specific cause or person in need. Meanwhile, people such as the ………….. (Fill in Your Own Favorites) have
frequently made one story post about said tragedy, and then
immediately afterwards are promoting one of their brands.Wtf? I can not wrap my head around this at all. It is clear when you are posting something that you don’t actually care about, so just
don’t post about it at all. They are only making a post about the subject matter so that they can go back to their regularly
scheduled content. I think this phenomena is so fake and
disrespectful to the people affected by the national or
international tragedies that go viral. Stop using your platform to spread performance activism, and actually fucking do something to help.

“The best leather for all family occasions” Really??

Leather pants. Ah what a love-hate relationship I have with this
newest trendingstyle. Don’t get me wrong they really do

execute just the right areas & amounts – which is really great for my confidence I must say. On the contrary, I’ve never sweat so much in my god damn life. The pants were practically painted onto my body,- I thought they were going to start melting off my

legs any second. It was as if it was a hot summer day barbecue all taking place in my trousers. The only thing I could

do was just accept defeat and stand there while I felt my ankles getting wet. BUT I cannot tell you how many compliments I got on them – So like is it worth sweating my ass off just for validation through a few compliments? Absolutely

C R E E P Y…

Why oh why do men stare so much at the gym? The other day I was working out, airpods in, minding my own business and this fuckin guy won’t stop staring at me!! I’m squatting and he’s
staring at me, then I go over to the dumbbells and he parks right behind me. Like not kidding- His stare is so far up my ass I can feel it in my throat. Is he for real? Like are you even working out dude? Back tf up!!
By the looks of your arms, you might want to spend a little more
time focusing with the weights…

Parenting By Numbers

Recently, I saw a woman reading Parenting for Dummies. Am I the only one that finds this disturbing? Accounting for Dummies and Golf for  Dummies I understand. But are we equating raising a child with fumbling around with a calculator or a putter? I don’t know what’s worse, the guy that came up with the idea for this book or the expectant parents that actually buy it.
It kills me to see how late parents keep their kids up at night.
I was riding home on the Subway one Saturday night to find this
woman yelling at her young son to stay awake. It was one in the morning! Fuckers.

Stupidity is a talent for misconception. Edgar Allan Poe

Why is the ability to think so denigrated in our society? Why are bright people so reviled? Why is more than one question on a subject deemed to be didactic? It must be the only human condition in which the plenty are pitied by the meagre, the rich by the poor. Usually the blessed make the allowances for the unfortunates. Not so with the old grey matter. The answer to one question in a Proust type survey, “ What is the most overrated virtue” was given as “intelligence” too many times for society to feel anything but uncomfortable… and v. worried. (Notwithstanding the anomaly that intelligence is regarded as a virtue by these respondents!)

‘I got just the guy for you’… HA

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.

New York City !!!

Given that a lot of the cache of New York is based on hype, and that many of life’s very real necessities require so much more struggle to achieve here than elsewhere, why do people come here, and why then do they stay?
I’d say that it is both the hype and the struggle that attracts people and keeps them here. The idea of New York, even inasmuch as it is merely an idea, is so powerful and seductive that people choose it over the bland realities of humbler towns. For many, the mere phenomenon of feeling they are at the center of the universe more than makes up for the deprivations and sacrifices the city demands. And as an idea, New York transcends America, managing in its mythology to retain the best of what America is—opportunities, the fast pace, the excitement—while eschewing the worst of it—the religious zealotry, the prudery, the conservatism.
New York was an idea we glommed onto while we sat in our parent’s spacious ranch in an uncomplicated suburban province plotting our escape. We gave over to the romance of every rags-to-riches story: what brave souls! And we allowed ourselves to be seduced by the impossible glamour; the melancholy yet funny Manhattan. These imaginings became a challenge we presented ourselves. And the dreamer in us — or the seeker, the go-getter, the self-starter — took up this call to arms. We promised ourselves: I will come, damn it, I will see, and I will conquer.

Sorry but Orange will NEVER be the new Black!!

I think some people in America have an extremely embarrassing confession to make: they are all tanorexic. A condition that can be described as believing oneself to be too pale and thus spending excessive amounts of time and money on trying to become a darker shade. The word, usually reserved to described people who are excessively brown or in many unfortunate cases orange, is a pun, but also a serious problem: Orange people! These people are never satisfied with the color of their skin and believe themselves to be more attractive the darker (or oranger) they get. Spray tans, tanning beds, spending hours outside covered in body oil, there are many means of getting orange and no doubt as the sunnier weather approaches they will all be in evidence. It seems to me to be out of control. Somehow these orange people have somehow missed the memo that tanning and the UV rays cause cancer. Like smoking cigarettes, tanning gives you cancer, leathery skin, and wrinkles. How sexy is that? Just about as sexy as being orange…

Bigger is definitely NOT better.

I would genuinely like to know when it became acceptable to tote large, airplane sized luggage on the way to your office; on your morning commute; on the 6 train; in the rush hour; in New York City. Is a briefcase simply not enough room to hold all your large, inconceivably important documents that a hard-cased, rolling suitcase, is necessary? Let’s not kid ourselves; no one’s job is so all fired important that a bag too large for an overhead compartment is justified rolling behind you like a pedestrian U-Haul truck. What are you over compensating for? Is this your equivalent of the super-sized pumped-up red-neck pick-up truck.

Don’t Nok Tic Tok

Can we stop making fun of kids for just being kids? Let kids and
preteens make stupid and cringe TikToks, we know we would’ve at their age. Stop making fun of the cliche things they like, and how they want to dress. Just because you don’t understand how kids operate anymore doesn’t mean that they’re doing something wrong.

The Idiot’s Guide to….

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.

Compensating? Bigger the TRUCK, smaller the P****?

It’s safe to say most of my rants have to do with men. Just the stupidity of them. Today I’m walking to work at 9:30 in the morning. 9:30. IN. THE. MORNING. and some asshole sees me crossing 9th Ave and instead of waiting for me to finish crossing like a decent person, he revs up his engine and ZOOOOOMS right by me, with his stupid exhaust popping so fuckin loud. WHERE. WHERE is the necessity in that?? It doesn’t make you look cool, or attractive, or anything more than just fucking small and annoying. So, I did the only thing I felt was right at the time; flipped him the double LITTLE finger and went on with my day. God I fuckin hate men.

These Little Town Blues

The city is a living hell these days. Betweem the rats under the subway and the freezing streets, I need to move out asap. But then I realize it’s February and mid-winter and back home I would be digging out four foot snowdrifts and fighting with my mom. My kid sister still lives there so that sisterly ‘rivalry’ would start up again. And my dad would want me home by ten every night. Worst of all Tony would come a callin’ and that would lead to a weepin’ and a wailin’ and a total recall of the three years we dated. So you can see why I cashed in that Amtrak ticket and sidled down to my recently adopted Racoon Lodge replacement and gave myself a couple of tequila shots. After all even the greatest city in the world needs some TLC now and again.

Tequila sunrise… er, I mean literally

Why oh why is it that when someone buys me a shot it’s always tequila. Tequila is wonderful with lemonade and in margaritas, but god as a shot its fucking disgusting. If people just asked me what type of shot I want I could avoid begging the bartender to take it back. And better yet if the bartender doesn’t take the shot, I can avoid the bad decisions that always follow tequila!!
Maggie S

Seen and Not Heard

As a natural blonde, I am socially obligated to follow the reputation that “Blondes Have More Fun” and are in fact the superior hair color. But! after much review, I have come to find the Winter Season Hates Blondes.

See, blondes are already on the outs. You have the natural blondes that try desperately to keep their color intact throughout the year, and then you have the fake blondes that take a trip to
the hair salon every month for their “touch up.”
Regardless, I have found most people have a thing against blondes; they think we’re dumb or too ditzy to carry a
conversation and that’s fine. I can handle the occasional stereotypical comments but I cannot and WILL NOT handle the
way the winter season treats us blondes.
No matter how much product I use to keep my natural color, my hair is absolutely unrecognizable depending on the time of the year. In the summer, she is flowing and glowing in her natural
beach waves. In the WINTER, she’s fucking flat and DRY.
There is no flowing, there is no glowing, there is nothing. Just boring hair getting stuck to every sweater and hat I own and
refusing to stay in the style I desperately try to put it in.
Now, the biggest problem with blonde winter hair is what I like to call the “Root Dilema”. See, in the winter when I lose that sun glow because its negative fuckin’ 2 degrees outside, my roots get dark and do not match the bottom half of my hair. And when I say dark, I mean dark. I look like a fucking bumblebee on my
head- Black and yellow, black and yellow. It’s embarrassing!
To make matters even worse, brunettes never have to worry about this dilemma. Their hair is always same color regardless
of season. Bitches. For the first time, I have really begun to envy those brunettes.
Oh god, did I really just say that? What has winter done to me??

Seen and Not Heard

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?

Seen and Not Heard

So this past weekend reminded me why I hate guys. Yes, true, there’s that occasional diamond-in-the-rough guy who treats you like a princess and is gorgeous to boot, but overall the male population just isn’t cutting it.
Here’s where my animosity started up again: So the other day I was out shopping by myself, debating whether to spend thirty-five dollars on another solid v-neck tee to add to my collection, when a felt someone come up close behind me, a low voice breathed, “Hey there pretty girl. You’re lookin’ so good.”

I whipped around, armed with some big words and the unmistakable “F-off, creep” look, and came face to face with a twelve-year-old. A freakin’ preteen! Okay, Okay, so maybe he wasn’t twelve. But he was definitely fresh out of middle school. I was so stunned I couldn’t even flash a decent dirty look.

For the rest of the week I couldn’t get that kid off of my mind. Is this what the world is really coming to? Little boys are looking up to their older brothers, uncles, and fathers as role models. Is “hey sexy” what they’re learning about respecting women? What happened to those great guys who learned how to treat women from their moms? Women now expect men to act this way, and accept second-hand compliments like “your ass looks great” and “I can’t wait to get you home tonight.”

So boys, what’s with the cat-calling?! Whether it’s getting felt up on the subway or hearing flattering words yelled at you from truck drivers, this kind of behavior has just become disgusting. Someone needs to explain to me why guys think it’s O.K. to talk to girls like that, especially girls they don’t even know. If this conduct is spreading to the point where guys not yet out of puberty think it’s ok to talk to women this way, then some serious readjusting needs to happen. So here it is guys, step up!! Be a real man and treat the women around you the way they deserve to be treated! You want to know what women really want? Well here it is: sincere compliments and sweet gestures. Simple for you and perfect for us. Cause chivalry sure isn’t dead and “damnnn girlll” won’t get you anywhere with the good ones.

Thrown Under The Bus… Again

What is the point of Buses that read, “NOT IN SERVICE?” Does the MTA transit department take some small pleasure in passing the hardworking citizens of New York City anxiously waiting for their bus? When they see that giant mechanical insect on the horizon, they feel that rush of relief like a drug addict who’s finally getting their fix. Their patience has paid off, for they will soon be heading to their destination. But their solace is ripped from their souls when they suddenly realize that their confidence in MTA officials has all been in vain because the bus that they thought was intended for their journey turned out NOT to be their bus. It dawns on them that that particular mode of public transit isn’t transporting ANYONE!!! It’s basically taking up an already crowded street and contributing to the metropolis’s pollution for no other reason than to figuratively give the middle finger to everyone waiting at the bus stop saying, “Later, bitches.”

Tech Smarting

Isn’t it funny when your internet connection magically disconnects on the day that you have to give the most important Zoom presentation of the year? Or when you have been using your $5,000 Apple computer for more than fifteen minutes and it starts overheating, making your room sound like a landing-strip at the airport? I truly believe that my electronics have a personal vendetta on me and plan to stop working when it inconveniences me the most. It has to be personal. There is no way that I can watch Tiktok videos on my iPhone for five hours straight and still have 98% battery, but when I am trying to call an Uber in the pouring rain at 4 AM, my battery is nowhere to be seen. Please let me know if these are common occurrences for everyone or if I’m living with an army of electronics who are plotting my downfall, thanks.

I have four children. Two are adopted. I forget which two.”

I’ve never been the type to think about having my own children. Maybe the thought of physically having a baby scares the crap out of me. I have enough fun getting my monthly prize; don’t need to win an extended 9-month lottery. Think about it, there are plenty of children sans parents. Isn’t about time that we start taking care of the suffering ones first instead of our own selfish desire to replicate versions of ourselves? Harsh? I don’t think so. According to Oprah.com, “There are over 143 million orphans around the world…enough children to go around the equator 3 times.” So yes, if you have more than one child of your own, you are having too many children. Aside from having children for personal reasons, a lack of education on safe sex and religion are also two main reasons for far too many many impregnated women. Take a stroll in the many impoverished parts of the City; how many mothers promenading with their children are within the age of 18-25 years old. Mostly Catholic, it pains me to see them abiding by the Bible for the fabled after-life instead of taking actions to live realistic and financially stable. Let’s face it; the children are really the victims here. Orphans or not, they are not in anyway in control of the environment in which they grow up. There are already too many children desperately waiting for someone to love them and care properly for them.

MY BODY MY CHOICE !

No matter what the motivation for circumcision and FGM – social, societal, religious or any other apart from life-saving – is it unreasonable to suggest that babies – that’s boys AND girls – should be given the choice of cutting into, or off, parts of their bodies when they are old enough to make a considered decision… FOR THEMSELVES?

You’re DISGUSTING!!

Is it REALLY necessary to eat your entire meal on the subway? I mean, c’mon. I know maybe you woke up late or its been a long day at the office – but you’re crossing the line. When you pull out the Tupperware of penne pesto with shrimp. SERIOUSLY. Your leftovers are the LAST thing I wanna sniff of after a long day at the office. Gimmie a break. How about a snack? What happened to snacking? Grab some chips, pretzels. Ok, you’re on a diet – I’ll allow baby carrots. But please put the tuna salad sandwich away. Have some water, Gatorade, coffee, vodka and sprite-whatever. Look around, do you see anyone else eating a seven course lunch? The answer would be “No.” So save grandma’s meatballs for home and pull out a Perrier. Jeez.

Joan Didion … Toni Morrison … Zadie Smith

 Yes, I majored in English. Yes, I have a ton of respect for teachers, but I do not want to teach with my degree. Did I say I was also an education major? No, I said I was an English major and yes, I know I am now one of the million New Yorkers who want to be a writer, but I still have a fighting chance. I mean hey, look at me now. You’re reading this!

Boobies Trapped ?

As a frequent visitor to New York I am prompted to ask the questions: “Do American women have nipples?” and “Why do they all have perfectly rounded breasts on the front?” It appears to someone from the Euro Zone – where figures are flaunted – that the vast majority of American bosoms look like falsies (notwithstanding that a lot are from boob jobs). This might be understandable during the day at work but even dressed to kill on a night out, perfectly round, smooth, unnatural tits? Very strange. (What makes this phenomenon even stranger is that on the rest of the body the garments fit like second skins; shorts, tights, and pants showing every nook and cranny and leaving little or nothing to the imagination. What is it with nipples guys?
Bron, fashion retailer, London

The New Dark Ages

I am alone in thinking that the humanitarian disaster in Afghanistan is bringing out the worst in Americans. If I have to fight one more person over a “serves them right” comment, I swear I’ll give up and leave this country. These are human beings – have you seen the pictures of those thousands of little kids and old people totally disorientated, having lost every possession – caught up in one of the worst man-made crises in the world, and all you can say is it’s good enough for them. That really sets us as a people back in the same dark ages that those rulers of Afghanistan have obviously never left) and puts us up there next to the bad guys we quite rightly condemn out of hand.

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.

Faggedaboudit

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.

Seen and Not Heard

So this past weekend reminded me why I hate guys. Yes, true, there’s that occasional diamond-in-the-rough guy who treats you like a princess and is gorgeous to boot, but overall the male population just isn’t cutting it.
Here’s where my animosity started up again: So the other day I was out shopping by myself, debating whether to spend thirty-five dollars on another solid v-neck tee to add to my collection, when a felt someone come up close behind me, a low voice breathed, “Hey there pretty girl. You’re lookin’ so good.”

I whipped around, armed with some big words and the unmistakable “F-off, creep” look, and came face to face with a twelve-year-old. A freakin’ preteen! Okay, Okay, so maybe he wasn’t twelve. But he was definitely fresh out of middle school. I was so stunned I couldn’t even flash a decent dirty look.

For the rest of the week I couldn’t get that kid off of my mind. Is this what the world is really coming to? Little boys are looking up to their older brothers, uncles, and fathers as role models. Is “hey sexy” what they’re learning about respecting women? What happened to those great guys who learned how to treat women from their moms? Women now expect men to act this way, and accept second-hand compliments like “your ass looks great” and “I can’t wait to get you home tonight.”

So boys, what’s with the cat-calling?! Whether it’s getting felt up on the subway or hearing flattering words yelled at you from truck drivers, this kind of behavior has just become disgusting. Someone needs to explain to me why guys think it’s O.K. to talk to girls like that, especially girls they don’t even know. If this conduct is spreading to the point where guys not yet out of puberty think it’s ok to talk to women this way, then some serious readjusting needs to happen. So here it is guys, step up!! Be a real man and treat the women around you the way they deserve to be treated! You want to know what women really want? Well here it is: sincere compliments and sweet gestures. Simple for you and perfect for us. Cause chivalry sure isn’t dead and “damnnn girlll” won’t get you anywhere with the good ones.

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.

It’s Illegal, It’s Immoral or It Makes You Fat (DO NOT try this at home)

Sure, the US is a little behind the times when it comes to the legal drinking age. I can fly to Rome and have a glass of vino in my hand within minutes of landing, but if I dare to ask for a beer at a bar in New York, I’d get asked the age-old question, “Can I see some ID?” As annoying as it first seems, my friends and I have discovered a way to make the best of the fact that we’re not technically allowed to order drinks. In fact, we’ve crafted entirely different identities based on the names on our fake IDs. My character, who’s name is Morgan Riley from Austin, Texas has a strong accent and loves fruity little drinks. And, of course, she’s a bit of a flirt. So what if technically we can’t drink? We sure as hell are gonna have some fun with it.

Tuned in?

Read the room, bro. I swear sometimes men pick the most horrendous moments to make a move on you and it catches me off guard every time. The other night, I was hanging out with some friends and there was this guy there who I had just met that night. To give some context on this man, imagine the most insufferable Political Science major with the worst case of Mr. Know-It-All and times that by 100 and you’ll have this guy’s personality. Talking at a speed of 1,000 words per minute, I swear he could man-splain every topic out there– safe to say we all had headaches by the end of the night. Anyways, at the end of the night we are sitting on a couch with two of my other friends and homeboy is capital D Drunk. At one point, my two friends get up to go to the bathroom and I am left with the extremely inebriated Poli-Sci douche. We start chatting and I tell him about how I used to live in a town that was known for a major massacre of students during the Brazilian dictatorship so we talk about that for a little. I kid you not, the last words he says before he leans in to try to kiss me are “yeah, the Brazilian dictatorship was pretty bad they did some unspeakable things.” I just want to know, what about that conversation gave foreplay?? What made him think, yeah military dictatorship is really setting the mood right now. The audacity of men is insane to me. I took one look at his “leaning in to kiss you” face, got up, and left the building. Not today.

Tequila sunrise… er, I mean literally

Why oh why is it that when someone buys me a shot it’s always tequila. Tequila is wonderful with lemonade and in margaritas, but god as a shot its fucking disgusting. If people just asked me what type of shot I want I could avoid begging the bartender to take it back. And better yet if the bartender doesn’t take the shot, I can avoid the bad decisions that always follow tequila!!
Maggie S

You Can Choose Your Friends But You’re Stuck With Your Family!!

I think I am getting to that age where you realize you can now only spend a limited amount of time with your family. Now that it has been a couple of years since I’ve lived permanently with my family, I have noticed each year that goes by, I am able to spend less and less time with them before becoming annoyed at their presence. I know that sounds terrible but I have to speak my truth. I adore them with all my heart, but now that I am not around their, let’s call them quirks, on a day-to-day basis, they become painfully more visible in the moments we are together. It’s like when you leave your room for a while and come back in and notice that smell that your nose had been accustomed to before but now smells pungent after spending some time in the fresh air. I cherish the moments I have with my family now that we live apart, but at the same time, they must be short & sweet or else they will sour.I think I am getting to that age where you realize you can now only spend a limited amount of time with your family. Now that it has been a couple of years since I’ve lived permanently with my family, I have noticed each year that goes by, I am able to spend less and less time with them before becoming annoyed at their presence. I know that sounds terrible but I have to speak my truth. I adore them with all my heart, but now that I am not around their, let’s call them quirks, on a day-to-day basis, they become painfully more visible in the moments we are together. It’s like when you leave your room for a while and come back in and notice that smell that your nose had been accustomed to before but now smells pungent after spending some time in the fresh air. I cherish the moments I have with my family now that we live apart, but at the same time, they must be short & sweet or else they will sour.

It’s Illegal, It’s Immoral or It Makes You Fat (DO NOT try this at home)

Sure, the US is a little behind the times when it comes to the legal drinking age. I can fly to Rome and have a glass of vino in my hand within minutes of landing, but if I dare to ask for a beer at a bar in New York, I’d get asked the age-old question, “Can I see some ID?” As annoying as it first seems, my friends and I have discovered a way to make the best of the fact that we’re not technically allowed to order drinks. In fact, we’ve crafted entirely different identities based on the names on our fake IDs. My character, who’s name is Morgan Riley from Austin, Texas has a strong accent and loves fruity little drinks. And, of course, she’s a bit of a flirt. So what if technically we can’t drink? We sure as hell are gonna have some fun with it.

“These Boots Are Made For Walking…”

My life has become a constant question of what shoes to wear. I’m tired of the neverending war between fashion and function. And it’s even worse since I’m a pisces! (Let me explain: every zodiac sign has a body part that they tend to have issues with. For pisces, it’s feet. My mother is also a pisces and I spent my childhood peeling away the calluses from her big toes.) Anyways, I have to walk about three miles a day to make it to school and I also happen to live in one of the hilliest cities in America. So the question always is: do I wear my comfy shoes or these super cute boots that look good with every outfit? It depends on how much fire I have in me that day, how much complaining I think my roommate can handle, and how much cuter I want to look. My roommate is definitely getting tired of my complaining.

“What, is the jay more precious than the lark
Because his feathers are more beautiful?”
― William Shakespeare, The Taming of the Shrew

Pretty privilege is quite the phenomenon. As someone who grew up painfully average looking and still doesn’t quite fit into any of the desired stereotypes, sometimes I forget it even exists. that is, until I’m walking into a store with a friend and we leave with a discount that really shouldn’t have been approved. Or we get a free dessert brought out at dinner, or someone literally runs to catch up to us to tell her how beautiful she is. While this is something that never happens to me when I’m by myself, there’s always a way you can use it to your advantage. Going to an expensive bar? Go with the friend that always has her tits out. Flea market? Call up the friend with that energy you can’t quite put a label on but seems to attract the most horrible smelling men you’ve ever encountered. If we put the work in, pretty privilege can benefit us all.

It’s Not Only Your Eyelashes That Are Droopy…

There is a popular mascara called “better than sex” by too faced makeup. But honestly in this day and age anything is better than sex the way this generation is acting. everything is about sex. no strings attached. dont catch feelings, because they will ghost you. Because everyone is only having sex, it gets boring!! like god id rather actaully go to the movie theater than have to deal with another man. it is the same thing every time. youre in and your out. boring. literally anything, absolutely anything is better than sex in 2023.

Live Now … Pay Later

The nightmare that is combination of being on a budget and also having extreme FOMO keeps me up at night. The anxiety of needing to save money while at the same time hating missing out on stuff truly sucks. That moment when you get the text inviting you somewhere really dope then checking your bank account and seeing double digits? Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I’ve never been the type to wish to be rich, but at the minimum I think most of us just desire financial security. I don’t need a big house or a lot of cars, but the thought of being able to spend money without the nagging thought of my extremely limited money supply being drained would be great. Most of the time, I let my FOMO win and just bite the bullet, but that has proven to be extremely unsustainable. I know there are ways to compromise but you also never want to be that friend that makes everyone feel bad by ordering just an appetizer at dinner. Respect to the girlies with self control, but given the choice, I will always splurge.

The Winner Takes It All, The Loser Takes The Fall.

I can’t help that I’m a sore loser. I’m not upset about losing. That’s not it. I don’t actually care. But I get this twist in my chest and my neck gets hot and the room gets small and suddenly we need to play again. We need to keep playing until I win because I cannot leave that table until I’ve won at least once. It’s not a matter of pride. It’s not a matter of stubbornness. I can only assume it’s hereditary. I’ve been playing in card game tournaments with my family since I was six. My grandfather made me cry when we were partners and I made a wrong move. I’ve played my cards meaner than I’ve had to and watched as my cousins stomped off to tell their parents. But I can’t help it. There’s nothing sweeter than victory.

HAVE YOU HEARD?…IT’S IN THE STARS…

Let’s talk about Co-Star. Before you say anything, yes I’ve heard the things about the app “trolling” you, bla bla bla, but honestly, if you take it that seriously anyways that’s your fault. Here are a few reasons why I love it. First off, most of the time, the “do’s” and “don’ts” are absolute nonsense, but when they are accurate I find it actually hilarious. My favorite example to share of this is one time, my college was having an Axe throwing event (totally random, right?) and guess what my Co-Star said that day? “Do axe throwing.” Like that’s fucking hilarious, come on. I did not, in fact, go to the axe throwing, but maybe if I had I would have found the love of my life, who knows. Secondly, you can see all of your contacts’ big threes (sun, moon, and rising) even if you don’t add them on the app. My hair stylist is a Gemini rising? Me too, girl. The Tinder boy who I ghosted after a week is a Cancer sun? Makes sense why he was so clingy. The girl I had 10th grade AP Environmental Science with is a Scorpio sun, moon, and rising? Yikes, good thing our friendship never progressed past 10th grade AP Environmental Science class. I’m not even like a staunch believer in astrology, but I just love pretending like I am. Lastly, my favorite thing about Co-Star is that it is a great litmus test to see if the man you’re seeing is a slut or not. If you know, you know.

Facetious ? Moi? Na..well maybe a little bit!

There was a time in my life when I would go to a Superbowl party just to scoff. I would stand in the back, shoveling tortilla chips and assorted dips into my mouth, rolling my eyes with the rest of the pretentious, halftime-show-and-advertisements crowd in the back of the room, while the die-hard fans of the Bulls, or the Rams, or the Pats, or the Bears, or any of those other nondescript one-syllable teams screamed at the the TV. It’s true, I used to be a chronic Superbowl hater. Now, though, the Superbowl is one of my favorite pastimes. I sit there, still munching on my chips, and, thanks to some thoughts I borrowed from the comedian Jenny Slater, I think how absolutely sweet it all is. I watch those boys running down the field, and I imagine that they’re all the best of friends. And they’re such best friends that they all decided to wear matching shirts and pants—those silly little pants that they love to wear. And then they all run after the ball together, and give each other a big hug when they catch it. Isn’t that the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?

Oh Happy Days!

I might be young but the night is not. I’m not anti-parties but I am anti-waiting around till a get together gets it together and gets exciting. This wouldn’t pose as an issue if I could stealthily perform an Irish goodbye when I lose interest. Unfortunately, my friends are scarily perceptive. they feel my ennui, become aware of my impending departure, notice my absence then drag me right back just before I reach the front door. They’re great don’t get me wrong. but I just can not for the life of me make boring, pointless small talk to fill up the time till the high octane fuel (read alchohol ) kicks in and the party turns around. Just get there later you might say. Great, if those same friends weren’t so easily offended when I suggest a twelve o’clock blast instead of an eight o’clock fart fest. Sorry Glor.

Bad Hair Day

As a native Californian, I have lived a privileged life: my favorite tree has always been ‘palm,’ a SweetGreens salad place was never more than five minutes away, and, until last year, I wasn’t exactly sure what a snow plow looked like. But none of these privileges compare to the ability to walk out of the shower at eight in the morning, throw on a tank top and run to class, letting my hair air-dry along the way. Now, in New York City, I can hear my hair, condensed into rock solid icicles, clank against my headphones as I huddle-walk to class. I can practically see the split ends breaking off as I waddle along in my knee-length coat, knowing there’s nothing to do but wait for it to thaw.

Prince Harry Gets The Cold…erm, Shoulder

TMI, TMI, TMI, man! Listen, I respect his decision to leave the Royal family, I support him and Megan in building their own lives, blah blah blah… but I can do all this without needing to know the most intimate details of Prince Harry’s life. I’m not sure what possessed him to share some of the information that he shared in his autobiography, but some things… some things we can keep to ourselves. The notion of celebrity has gotten to the heads of the public in making us want to know the details of the lives of our favorites, I can definitely admit that. But we maybe don’t need to feed into it so much, right? I want to know Harry’s zodiac sign, not about the time he got frostbite on his – yeah.

My Harry Styles Era

I’m obsessed with calling everything an “era”. Had a salad for lunch? Healthy girl era. Picked up an extra shift at work? Girlboss era. Didn’t reply to that guy that kinda treats you like shit? Self-respect era. Working at a New York magazine? Carrie Bradshaw era. I think it’s just so fun and unserious. I like coming up with the most ridiculous ways to attach era to a sentence. Here are some of my favorites that I or one of my friends have used, no context, found just by searching for “era” in my text messages: “crossing guard era,” “FourLoko era,” “celibacy era,” “flop era,” “villain era,” and my favorite “projectile vomit era.” I hope 2023 is filled with many more silly goofy eras.

Note To Harry…

Harry, you do realize you’re an American now (with all the good and bad that entails.) Be thankful you made the break from the soon-to-be broken up UK. You, and your beautiful family, can establish yourselves here (like countless millions before you) and leave the “Auld Country” where it belongs… in the past. Besides it looks like you got out before the whole shebang gets kicked out by its ‘subjects’! Whaaaat?? Sorry, forgot you Windsors were chosen by God to be Kings and Queens of England, to rule in perpetuity. Notwithstanding the fact that you are Germans by descent and are there by virtue (?) of the now deceased Queen Mother’s shenanigans. (Ironically because another Royal Son chose another divorced American actress over family chains and stranglehold!.) “God save the King ” ‘cos no one else cares.

“I don’t want to straight-face you
Race or chase you, track or trace you
Or disgrace you or displace you
Or define you or confine you
All I really want to do
Is, baby, be friends with you” Bob Dylan

Listen, I get that you think that you’re hot shit, random girl on the subway, but you don’t have to be a stuck-up bitch. We are both in an extremely crowded train car, and you happen to be directly in front of me, so my eyes met yours. To fill the awkwardness, I just smiled, and waited for you to smile back, or maybe just look away. But no. you had to scrunch up your little white girl face, look me up and down, and then scoff. There are millions of women in this city, so chances are, you’re going to bump into a few strangers, even make some awkward eye contact. They’re not all looking to bang you, I promise. Take that stick you have lodged in your ass and throw it away. I promise you will have lots more fun after you stop beating yourself with it.

Up, Up and Away… almost

My fear of flying has worsened in the past year as I’ve had to take more flights for travel and catchup on my life. It’s so frustrating because I am a pretty adventurous person. I love to travel, and want to explore even more parts of the world. However there is something that cripples me; something that is all consuming. Something that looms large every daylight minute (and several bedtime nightmares). And it’s pretty fundemental. It is…getting on the plane. Once onboard with the doors closed, claustrophobia only adds to the problem. I’ve flown domestic and international and survived my fair share of turbulent flights. Am I alone when I always look around the aircraft to see other people’s reaction and nobody else seems worried or phased. I mean we are thousands of feet above a major ocean and this cramped thin metal tube begins to shake. Can I be the only one who sees the problem with this? Apparently so. It frustrates me as I do love to explore, but is putting my body through fight or flight mode just to see another part of the world worth it. You betcha !! Down to the last chewed fingernail.

Scary, Scary Night

So last Halloween I got off work in the West Village at around 1:30am. Good fucking times. So not only is it late, it’s late on the sketchiest night of the year, in one of the most eccentric neighborhoods in NYC. Now, I am one of those people that isn’t afraid of late night transit. Living in the city that never sleeps, you either make it part of your lifestyle, or you make a shit ton of money and take cabs all the time. Now, it’s late, I’m tired, and I’m waiting for the subway. It arrives on time, I love the 1 train (When in doubt, take the 1 train). I step into the subway car, and as I’m readjusting my bag on my lap, I take a gander at my surroundings, preparing to scope out the hot mess costumers either headed home or onto the next bar. Instead, I get a much more frightening picture. Not only is no one in costume, I realize that I am the only female on the subway car. I am surrounded by at least a dozen men. It is the most undesirable position to be in as a woman. My guard instantly went up. And unconsciously, all of the sexual assault headlines that I have ever read in my entire life start popping in my brain. “The woman in India who got gang raped on a bus.” “The woman who was raped and stabbed to death who ultimately brought awareness to the bystander effect.” It was worse than paranoia. Why? Because it is that type of fear is completely justifiable based on the insurmountable evidence that, besides breast cancer, men pose the greatest threat to women’s health, mentality, and physical well being. I love my job, I love this city, I love the subway…just not at 1am when I have to be in constant fear for my life.

Hop On The Bus, Gus… I Wish!

What is the point of Buses that read, “NOT IN SERVICE?” Does the MTA transit department take some small pleasure in passing the hardworking citizens of New York City anxiously waiting for their bus? When they see that giant mechanical insect on the horizon, they feel that rush of relief like a drug addict who’s finally getting their fix. Their patience has paid off, for they will soon be heading to their destination. But their solace is ripped from their souls when they suddenly realize that their confidence in MTA officials has all been in vain because the bus that they thought was intended for their journey turned out NOT to be their bus. It dawns on them that that particular mode of public transit isn’t transporting ANYONE!!! It’s basically taking up an already crowded street and contributing to the metropolis’s pollution for no other reason than to figuratively give the middle finger to everyone waiting at the bus stop saying, “Later, bitches.”

Stop. Stop… Just stop.

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

Service with a SMILE

Why is tipping such a big deal in the United States? A question I am usually asked by non Americans. To be honest, I often ask this question myself. I can hear thousands and thousands of groans and curse words right now but honestly if you were paid a decent wage you wouldn’t have the somewhat stressful situation where you are being overly nice to someone in order to get a decent tip, someone you might not even talk to on the street!! I do not mind tipping for good service, but tipping just because is a little annoying to me. It felt good when I went abroad and did not feel pressured to tip. Even so, I carried the trauma with me thinking every time we paid for a meal we would be pressured to tip. There have been quite a few incidents where the service was terrible even having my waiter waste water on my shoes and not even apologize for it. He put the tip on the receipt without even asking me and what turned into a reasonable priced meal ended up jumping to a number I will not name. In order to change this? Yeah, I would have to say infront of everyone, can you take the receipt back and lower the tip… Way to put me on the spot. If waiters make most of their salary off tipping then there needs to be a revision in how waiters make their money. I am quite sure the billion dollar company that is employing them can do a better job in distributing salaries.

Whoever Said Money Can’t Buy You Happiness Was Probably Rich

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 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.

It’s…Err…Err

Hello Famous People, can you stop confusing me? Every time I see you in Chelsea or slinking around the Village or shopping til you drop on 5th Avenue, I think I’ve found a long lost friend, only to realize, no I did not meet you at summer camp in 1999 in the Adirondacks and wait a minute you’re too old for us to have gone to college together. Your ubiquitous face isn’t supposed to show up in my real life! Go back to your magazine spreads and billboards where I know how to recognize you immediately, and I’ll keep looking for my long lost friends on these busy streets (at least the ones I haven’t already found on Facebook).

You Say Goodbye… But I Say Hello !

I’m going through a breakup. My ex and I were together for almost four years, and adjusting to my life without them has been really tough. But, in saying that, I am really enjoying getting to know myself. I’m sure that sounds silly because of course I know myself, but spending all this new time alone, just me, myself and I has been really refreshing. I know this is going to sound corny, but I am really valuing my time alone. I have more time for my interests, and I am working on aspects of myself that I’ve been pushing away for a while now. I have a new committed relationship now: I am committed to me. Bettering me, loving me, getting to know me. Gtg update my IG status!

“Run the World (Girls)”

One of the most rewarding things about NYC is the freedom to have an “independent girl life”. what i mean by this, (besides the obvious hint of female empowerment), is this city allows us single and strong women to thrive just as much as the handsome finance bros. we don’t need the husband and 2 kids in Park Slope- if we want to go on a hot girl walk with the dogs, take a stroll into a coffee shop, visit the corner farmers market- all are to our dispense AND we will get a ton of looks by the men nearby while doing it. something i’ve found about city men- they LOVE city women who follow the latest pinterest boards, wear gold jewelry that perfectly aligns all 5 ear piercings, and the two piece workout sets – it’s a perfect recipe for city men to fall for a city girl.
But who cares about men anyways? This is for the girls and their city freedom!!!!

Teach Your Children Well

Children are held in such a revered place in our society; loved, cared for, provided for, protected. PROTECTED ??? Yeh, protected; from almost the moment of conception to reaching majority (that’s 18 if you wish to put your life at risk for your country or 21 if you merely want a beer) we have checks and balances and agencies and officers of the court and elected representatives all looking out for our kids. So why or why is it that two major threats to their safety and wellbeing – and lives – seemingly remain wilfully and blindly unchecked. (Ostrich heads in the sand couldn’t do any better.) I’m talking about school shootings and climate change. One in the here and now and the other, conveniently for the present grown-ups, at some point in the future when those same grown-ups are passed and gone. WTF. The ‘solution’ from ‘the present grown-ups’ is use your vote; vote for change . Yeh right. We can see how well that works. It’s a given that a democratic system without a doubt has the best potential for a fair representation of the will of the people. But it has to be a DEMOCRATIC system; where the outdated provisions of the electoral college are abolished; where corporations are not people; where the SCOTUS Citizen’s United ruling is reversed; where money doesn’t talk and campaign contributions are capped; where campaigns are financed by public money to avoid conflicts of interest; where gerrymandering (by both sides) and voter suppression (mainly GOP) are custodial offences; where lobbying and sponsoring elected representatives is banned (K Street slush funds); where voting is mandatory as a civic duty and where one person gets one vote and the person with the most votes is elected. Isn’t it time to take a look at creating a fair democratic system that realises the potential of a nation that is a shining example to the rest of tthe world instead of a cess pit of corruption and self interest. Given that the system by which we elect those that govern is the absolute foundation of a just and fair society, shouldn’t we make that the absolute priority? Isn’t it time for a total overhaul of our process that will re-establish the principles of the Founding Fathers (if indeed they really are all they’re cracked up to be).

Or are we forever stuck with ‘it is what it is’.

So sorry kids, it looks like you’ll just have to suck it up. And hope that when your turn comes there will be enough backbone in your generation to admit we’ll have to suffer for real change to bring us into the 21st (or 22nd… or 23rd) century.

But we do love you, you know. Just not enough to protect your future!

Ethnicity… What The F*** has it got to do with you

You know how in every job or internship application, there is this question that asks you about race? When I searched why it’s always there, I found out that it is to ensure diversity and inclusion in the workplace, which is a great purpose! But it got really confusing when I knew that I had to choose “white,” although I am not! The options are usually (Asian, Latin, white, and black). According to the “legit” standard categorization, it turned out that North Africans and Middle Eastern are categorized as white, which I find ridiculous! I’m Egyptian, and I have Egyptian and Arab friends who have skin way darker than mine, and whenever they have to apply for something, they have to choose white, although they’re not! I don’t get why race is associated with a color, and I appreciate it when I find Middle Eastern among the other options, something I don’t see often!

Don’t Just Stand There, MOVE!!!

There’s one invention above all others that truly showcases the fundamental laziness of the human race in all its bloated glory: the escalator.

Oh, how I hate the escalator, for all that it stands for and all that it brings out in people. I deal with escalators daily in New York City, and I will go out of my way (walking up or down three or five or more flights of stairs) just to avoid them, because my blood boils at the hordes of able-bodied people standing, slack-jawed, willfully refusing to move their bodies simply because an easier choice is offered them. Just like the people who take a car eight blocks to their gym to walk on a treadmill, most people will wait in a bottleneck to get on an escalator just to stand idly, gaping at their smartphones with the now-characteristic hunch of the modern-day hominid, rather than use the minimal muscles and energy required to propel themselves up a few short steps to their destination.
We have made life too easy, and we all know it’s bad for us.

We no longer have to move or think to survive. At some point in the not too distant past, we had to use our brains to outsmart deadlier animals; we had to use our bodies to find food and shelter. The ease with which we can get through our day–and through our entire lives–without any discernible effort is scary, and it’s turning us into sick, sluggish creatures that our recent ancestors probably wouldn’t recognize.

Unless you are carrying a load or have an injury, there is no reason for anyone to stand still on an escalator, ever. You are lazy, and that laziness will seep into the rest of your life. It might sound a little extreme, but your willingness to put in a little effort, even in small, everyday tasks, is what keeps your body and mind tuned and prepared and open for life’s opportunities.

If you have a choice of following the sad, shuffling masses up the escalator, or bounding unfettered up the stairs, take the road less traveled. You won’t regret it.

Gender Bender Mender

This is what I truly hate about relationships. It’s not about the relationship itself; it’s the gender role expectations people have about relationships. It’s the idea that men are always one way while women are the other, that men are lazy and women are controlling, that women want to go dancing while men want to play golf. In every relationship every gender stereotype is challenged. Men often want a traditional wedding, while women would prefer to quietly get hitched at Town Hall. When looking at an apartment recently a realtor mockingly said about an enormous walk-in closet, “But where will your boyfriend keep his stuff?” I promptly corrected him that my boyfriend is the shopper among us and proceeded to roll my eyes. With the constant divides pop culture encourages between men and women, why do people continue to perpetuate such stereotypes? In a relationship especially, people presuppose a boyfriend is one way while the girlfriend is the exact other, and that they resent each other because of it. In GLBT couples there’s an assumption that there is always both a “masculine” and a “feminine” presence that makes up the couple. But why haven’t people figured out we’re all some of each?

No, Einstein was a genius you overpriced little weed

After almost five months with a keyboard that wouldn’t type 6 or 7, I finally decided to man up and take the damn thing to the A****store. The mall could be deserted, but the A**** store is guaranteed to be a zoo (sometimes literally, with kids on leashes and puppies in handbags). Hi, my laptop is broken and I need customer service…yes, I bought your overpriced extended warrantee. I have to make an appointment? No appointments until 3 p.m. tomorrow? Fine. I returned to an equally crowded scene from an Hieronymus Bosch painting
the next day and manage to navigate to the check-in desk. Enter genius boy. “Your laptop is dented”. Yes, I know that, but it doesn’t affect it – but I do need my 6 and 7. They’re both in my phone number, after all. “That will be $700 to fix the dent.” Thank you for your help.

Seen and Not Heard

So you’re 8 years old and you’re absolutely exhausted. I get it. You’ve had a long day. I would too if I spent the better half of an hour finger painting the Founding Fathers in Social Studies class. But there is absolutely no reason why you should automatically get a seat on the subway. When we’re in a crowded car and a seat becomes available, I’m going to fight for it. I don’t care how young you are and I don’t appreciate people giving me dirty looks. First off, you’re a little boy. A little boy. Chivalry is not dead, don’t be rude. Second off, aren’t I the elder in this situation? I’m pretty sure you have to give up your seat to me. That’s how this works. Third, I’m wearing heels. Heels! I get priority. So don’t go crying to your mommy when I beat you to a seat. Man up. You’re 8 years old. And if you keep acting like I wimp, I’m going to have to take your Lunchables, too.

“… (Try and) Sing if you’re glad to be gay Sing if you’re happy that way…”

Tom Robinson Band (1978)

I think we should force everyone to get gay married so they can see first hand how awesome it is. Let’s be for real, men and women have fundamental differences, and if romantic comedies have taught me anything, it’s that they will never see eye to eye. I just want these gay marriage haters to try dating their own gender and report back to me, because I’m pretty sure the guys will be high-fiving and eating pizza in their boxers while the women spoon Ben and Jerry’s and cuddle up to Dance Moms. And then I dare them to tell me they didn’t have a good time.

Age Of Innocence

Are you ever riding a public bus at around three or four o’clock on a weekday? If so, you’ll notice them jam-packed with people around five-foot-one bogged down by backpacks twice their width. This is how it’s always been. I remember very clearly being a five-footer dragging my forty-pound backpack up the aisle, collapsing into a seat, only to have to give it up for a nice old lady who looks to have been in far better shape than I. But the latest brand of gawky 13-year-old has a new toy for the ride home. When we were that age bus rides were for swooning over cute boys and spreading lethal gossip about one’s girlfriends… unintentionally of course. But I’ve noticed that if two teenage girls are squeezed next to one another on a bus, they’re not whispering in each other’s ears, or writing each other dirty notes, or badmouthing a fellow classmate. They’re leaning over one another’s shoulders looking at each other’s mobile device. I understand the appeal of technology and realize that if people of all other ages are hooked, why shouldn’t 13-year-olds be? But can this really be more fun than discussing the time you let Bobby Frazer touch your boob?

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.

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.

DREAM ON, BABY

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.

 ….creeeeepy

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!”

TBS
“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!”

—sierrar44a4cd076

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.

IF NOT NOW WHEN?

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.”

SASHA OBAMA
TIKTOK MILLIONS AWAIT
… 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.

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.

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.