In Celebration of Women

Hello, I am still alive. Sorry it’s been so long since my last post. Now that the world is falling apart in a new and exciting way every single day, I’ve returned to write about my feelings.

Recently, I got broken up with in the kindest and gentlest way anyone has ever been broken up with. There was rosé involved. But despite the care used to deliver the final blow, or maybe because of it, I was devastated. I am devastated. So I find myself in a world where men in suits are working hard everyday to ignorantly or spitefully take away rights from women and minorities, struggling with the feelings I have for one man. The worst storyline in a dystopian novel.

The best storyline of course, is the women. The women I know, who I have angrily and tearfully turned to so many times in my life but especially since November 9, have kept me together this month. Each one urging me to take my time, feel my feelings, offering curses and ire that weren’t necessary except in their offering. Day drinking with me and reminding me that grief is human and normal and that even though I loathe being human and normal, it’s ok. They enveloped me in an estrogen-bound coven until I was ready to be a human on my own again.

There have of course been wonderful men too, but as someone very wise once told me, it’s ok for things to just be in celebration of women. A march can just be about reproductive rights and equal pay and the anger of men living their lives after committing atrocities against bodies they don’t value as human. A benefit can just be for women. We share a quiet rage that we struggle to express for fear of being called irrational or laughed at. We are bonded because we are not believed. But we believe each other. And today I am humbled and grateful for that belief and validation.

Where in the World is My Prince…..

Man. It has been a rough day. And now the internet has dealt me my deathblow. sad panda

I know right now he’s seeing someone, but throughout all his girlfriends, I always believed somewhere in my heart that we would have a beautiful family together some day. But now I’ve learned that my dream man, my soul mate, the person many have admired but only I would be special enough to win is never going to help me build the life I’ve always wanted; will never be able to fully complete that life. ick

Jon Gosselin has had a vasectomy. Go ahead, cheer and make jokes. Laughter is the only barrier between us and utter despair. We will never push our children on a swing set while surrounded by all of his many children. We will never wear sweet Ed Hardy gear and pretend to look annoyed at the paparazzi that we secretly called. We will never go on a reality show together to try to “make it work”.

I had some dreams, they were clouds in my coffee……


Giving New Meaning to GOOP



I’m not proud of that title guys*.

I really don’t care if Gwenyth Paltrow did or did not have an affair. She is a grown woman with her own relationship with her husband and I don’t give a shit what goes on between them. However if she had an affair, she owes it to her readers to tell us how she had the most organic, gluten-free affair of all time.




*Yes I am.

A Little Story From Out West

Happy Monday little pandas! Sorry there are no memes, all the news seemed either too sad (wage disparity, the second attack on protesters in Egypt, every train/plane/boat crash) or too obvious (Lindsey Lohan is out of rehab on Thursday, Shep Smith loves True Blood, the royal baby is in the world) to meme this week. Please accept this panda picture and a little story instead.Panda

Last week, I was in Wyoming for my cousin’s wedding. I saw two moose and rode a horse who did not care for me, so it was all very exciting. I also met a guy who commutes between Jackson Hole and Boston. Let’s call him Ralph. We chatted at the rehearsal dinner and kind of hit it off. He makes software, I make calendar appointments. He likes mountains and I like improv comedy.

Whenever I mention that I do improv, most people react by telling me how funny they are. This is incredibly weird to me, given that when someone tells me that he is a lawyer, I don’t talk about the time I argued my way out of a speeding ticket from a bike cop in college. Ralph told me a story about how he and his friends think it’s so funny to go out and make up facts about themselves when they talk to girls. It bears mentioning that Ralph is in his forties.

I am currently trying to be more open-minded in my dating life so even though a million tiny, creepy bells were going off in my head, I told myself to not be a bitch.

By the reception the following evening, the bells in my head were getting louder and creepier though not from tangible behavior so I just tried to remain close to my family and be cool. However, just like a fawn in the woods, at some point I had to separate myself out to go get some cake.

I stood there weighing the options between strawberry lemonade and chocolate caramel when I felt a presence. I turned, and there was Ralph. He remembered another funny thing he’s always wanted to try: “Ok, so it’s my wedding and the cameras are on and everyone is there. My parents, her parents, everyone. And it comes to the ‘you may kiss the bride part,’ and it starts out real nice. Then I start biting her lip, she starts spanking me, I’m pulling her hair, then I turn her around and bend her over….”, etc.


Have you ever had someone ruin the small piece of strawberry lemon cake and small piece of chocolate caramel cake that you’ve picked out to enjoy for yourself at a family member’s wedding? It is terrible.

Biting back contempt, I responded, “There’s a bride and a groom here tonight; you should go share your idea with them.” He mumbled something about it not being the right crowd to appreciate something like that. I agreed and excused myself.

You guys, what the fuck? At best, this idea was a derivative sketch concept found in the back of every aspiring writer’s high school portfolio. Like, if you want to tell a dirty joke to a lady while her entire family is steps away in the hopes that it will somehow help you get in good with said lady, 1)make the joke funny and 2)don’t back down like a pussy as soon as she dares you to take it to the next level.

In the end, I’m grateful for that joke. Though it ruined my perfectly whipped icing and deliciously light cake, it reminded me to listen to my bells.

Pocket Full of Kryptonite

Something lucky happened today. I was riding home on the G train, enjoying my good fortune at having darted in just before the doors shut. Chipotle in my bag and a song in my heart; life was sweet. I glanced casually down at the Cosmopolitan magazine cover on the lap of a seated passenger. It bore Miley Cyrus looking awesome (Sidenote: Is anyone else really into Miley right now? Like not her music more so than before, just her fun haircut and candid interviews.), a standard promise of  “Your Best Sex Ever”, some stuff about spring and backsides, and the eye-catching article title “The 3 Words You Must Never Say to a Guy.”Diddy knows

My interest was piqued. I thought guys were just male people who heard and said all the same words as women. What could the words possibly be? Could “tampon”, “kitten”, or “pregnant” be involved? I was desperate to know. I vowed not to speak till I knew, lest I inadvertently ruin everything.

Fortunately for me, I have a subscription to Cosmopolitan. It comes to my house every month. It was five dollars on Amazon. Don’t judge me. I plunked down my Chipotle Steak Burrito Bowl, once the feature of my evening, now relegated to a side note. And y’all, I found out the words.Noooooooo

“I look fat.” The words that no girl should ever say to any guy. If you have ever said these words together to a guy, you may as well have castrated him at his surprise birthday party in front of his parents and entire eighth grade class. You probably didn’t know, but trust me, you basically destroyed him from the inside out.

You won’t believe what those three words do to guys. They make them feel helpless and according to the article, “Guys hate feeling helpless.” It will also kill all the fun. According to the article’s author, an actual guy, his friend Will says, “As soon as a girl says those words, the night’s ruined.” The whole goddamn night. Is ruined.Ruined.

Worse, uttering, “I look fat,” plants seeds of doubt in guys’ minds. Why would you make your guy doubt you or worse, himself? What the fuck is wrong with you? Our guy author, Josh Aiello, who seems really great and is maybe single so keep your fingers crossed but your insecurities to yourself, tells us, his (I assume former) girl said “she was fat so often that when my parents came to visit, I didn’t introduce her to them. Why? Because I doubted what I saw when I looked at her was what other, more objective people saw.” You may be familiar with Josh Aiello’s biopic, Shallow Hal.

Also, ladies, when you say “I feel fat”, you make guys think they might be fat. And y’all, there is nothing worse than making someone feel bad about his body or his body image. Try thinking of others before you talk.

What’s the Use of Wonderin’?

It’s hard to be single this time of year. I went to Target on Sunday, which is usually my favorite activity. But my standard bliss was ruined by a million happy couples, holding hands in the cereal aisle and discussing the virtues of Crispex versus Wheatabix; romantically deciding to take up the whole aisle with their love. And there I am, just buying maple and brown sugar oatmeal for one, no discussion needed.loveless food

It seems like everyone has someone this time of year: Kim has Kanye; Kate Middleton has her baby; even the inflatable Santa emerging from and disappearing into the inflatable Airstream Trailer in front of my neighbor’s house has an inflatable Rudolph who sits in the front of the trailer. And then there’s just me, walking around with a hat rigged so that I am always standing under mistletoe, just in case.

Which is why the story about the Long Islander who shot his girlfriend in the back over her inability to believe in the Zombie Apocalypse as much as he believes in it hits me especially hard. Such a tragedy. All the good ones are either gay or taken. Some people might say that committing a violent crime against your significant other over something as purely hypothetical as the Zombie Apocalypse is insane. Like, literally batshit crazy. Those people are probably happily married. The rest of us can’t afford to be so picky.

It seems expensive to go to a bar to feel this sad....

It seems expensive to go to a bar to feel this sad….

Perhaps you guys remember a little musical by a couple of guys named Mr. Rodgers and Mr. Hammerstein, called Carousel. Some people think that musical is a gorgeous, lyrical glorification of domestic violence, saying Billy Bigelow’s slap “felt like a kiss” because Julie loved him so much. Some people think that is super fucked up, especially when he dies (Spoilers?) and comes back as a ghost specifically to abuse their daughter and then disappear into the clouds during a choral arrangement of the most beautiful song ever. Those people probably aren’t afraid of dying childless and alone.

Relationships are about compromise. If your partner has an insane apocalyptic paranoia, or wants to eat crackers in bed, or has the need to ghost-hit, you have to let him be free to feel those things. Don’t try to stifle who he is inside, even if that person is a dangerous, violent potential murderer with an insane distrust of the US Military’s activity.

Studio Tree

Puttin’ Your Cheap Two Cents In

Rarely do I say that a movie is terrible. I know a lot of people who go to the theater to bemoan the predictable plot or excessive explosions or the fact that no woman in the world has only one friend, who, incidentally, is always available day or night to sip lattes and talk about the main actresses problems but never her own. I do not complain about these things because I respect and admire Judy Greer’s career and because I love to lose myself in a story, especially a Romantic Comedy.

Here on Earth is a terrible movie, which I can objectively acknowledge but I will also tell you I was covered in tears when I saw it in theatres. I own Maid of Honor and What Happens in Vegas. I can’t hear a word against Katherine Heigl. Do not test me on this. Any time I feel overly hydrated, I watch A Walk to Remember and my problem is instantly remedied.

My willingness to suspend all disbelief and cynicism for romance has a treacherous bi-product: I see romantic comedies everywhere. Obviously, my imagined love life is full of meet-cutes and hot but non-threatening James Marsden types being unexpectedly touched by my klutziness from afar. But sometimes, I get to play Judy Greer/Melissa McCarthy/Thomas Lennon, which is just as good.

There are two people in my office who are in love. They are both tall. They are both young (in college/just out of college!). They both eat berries in the morning. They both like to eat sandwiches at lunch, sometimes. They don’t really interact, except to exchange pleasantries. They both wear work slacks. Love.

Though I have never seen any evidence of this, I’m pretty sure it’s not just in my imagination. Tall. Young! BERRIES. I have a plan to get them to be in love officially. It mostly consists of IMing another co-worker back and forth about ways they have proved their love, such as, “He’s reading something, she’s reading something. Romance.” And, “They will date-even if it’s only in my mind.” Were this an actual Romantic Comedy, some plucky, busybody co-worker, in a fit of dramatic irony, just wouldn’t let go of how cute the male and female ingénues would be together, which I am on board for. She would also get coffee with at least one of them, which I am probably not going to do, as I prefer to busybody from afar.

Either way, my spidey sense is telling me that love is in the air. With each passing time that they kind of acknowledge each other with a head tilt or a polite but emotionless, “Excuse me”, I become a little more certain.