That moment when you’re getting ready for work and you look out your window and spot a woman who’s just got it all wrong. The outfit, the hair, the bag, the makeup, the expression on her face– everything is a giant hot mess. And you just want to reach out, give her a hug, and say “Come girl, let’s fix you.”
Wait, not a window. A mirror.
Remember that first time you saw a grown man’s penis? Remember how the sight of it caught you COMPLETELY off guard? And remember how it wasn’t just one penis, it was about 25 penises at once? Mere inches from your face? Flopping around to a catchy, upbeat musical jam? And you were 10?
Oh, ok, so your mother DIDN’T take you to see the Broadway musical Hair when you were in 5th grade.
Well. Lucky you.
Me: “What’s a good way to get more blog followers?”
Guy: “Post a nude photo.”
Me: “Ok, like something I would actually do.”
Guy: “Waist-up nude photo.”
Me: “ACTUALLY. DO.”
Guy: “Photo between waist and neck. Nude.”
Me: “So…my boobs.”
Guy: “Yes.”
Me: “Ok, so again…ACTUALLY DO.”
Guy: “You won’t even do THAT?”
Me: “No! Besides, these boobs aren’t going to get any followers.”
Guy: “Yeah. Maybe someone else’s boobs. SAY they’re yours, though.”
Today I wanted to run:
Instead, I ran:
This all probably could have been avoided if I had just run the fucking loop.
Lesson learned.
The most annoying thing about Hillary Clinton running for president is that when I vote for her (and I will), everyone will say I only voted for her because she’s a woman. Which is just an ignorant and sexist thing to say, as it completely undermines my intelligence and projects the assumption that I know nothing about the issues or what is best for America. So I want to make it clear, right here and right now, that I am NOT voting for Hillary because she’s a woman.
I’m voting for her because she’s married to Bill.
Love that rascal!
See! Look! (You can’t have a mouth if you’re gay, though).
Also, you can be Black (one particular shade only)! Or Asian (sort of)! Or Indian (I think?)! Or Jaundiced!
But you can only be gay if you’re white. Because gay emojis only come in white.
I don’t make the rules, people.
This seems like it might be a giant step in the wrong direction.
(P.S. Doesn’t matter how white, black, gay or straight you are, you can NOT celebrate Chanukah. Sorry, had to stick a Jew gripe in there somewhere).
Last night I had a wild night of Chinese-food-ordering with my sister and brother-in-law. We tried a new place called Pig Heaven, for no other reason than it is called Pig Heaven (ok, we heard they had good ribs. But that’s clearly secondary to the name.)
Steph was super excited (re: she sort of half-smiled) about the roast duck entrée which, of course, as any good Jew on Passover knows, can only be eaten with flour pancakes…from a place called PIG HEAVEN. (side note: is it still Passover? I rely on my non-jewish friends to tell me this, in the same way they text me “Happy Hanukkah” and I get all excited because “It’s Hanukkah?!?”)
Anyway, we put in the order, and when it arrived, we got this note, written in the most perfectly stereotypical broken English:
In case you missed that– 80 CENTS. The pancake was 80 CENTS. But Steph’s phone died so they couldn’t reach her to tell her that. Instead, they went out of their way to reject our request, all in the name of 80 cents, even though I’m fairly certain that the time/resources used to carry out said rejection (pen, ink, paper, transliteration, calling phone, googling how to spell “cuz”) came out to at least a dollar.
So if you live on the upper east side in NYC, please join us in boycotting this establishment (at least until the next time we’re craving ribs. Those were fucking delicious.)
That moment when your friend’s kid officially becomes too old to curse in front of, and you wonder if you have to stop being friends now.
“Yeah. But I think in order to blog you have to, like…do things.”
— friend, when I mentioned my dream of quitting my day job and blogging full time.
My cab driver didn’t say one damn word to me during the entire 40 minute ride from JFK to my apartment.
200 points NYC.
Final score: LA 581; NYC 354
(In case you’re unfamiliar with this game, which is played every time I visit LA, Spoiler Alert– NYC never wins. We have piles of garbage on our streets, guys. We’re disgusting.)
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