THOUGHTS: OUR BLOGGERS
I know it may seem strange, but I get sad when I think about sad stuff. Broken-legged puppies, divorce, obituaries. It all makes me upset. “It’s OK to cry sometimes, don’t worry about it,” you would probably say to me, like my friends often do. But they don’t get it. I’m different from other people and I’m finally ready to admit it:
As a woman who spent her adolescence fighting a tumor the size of a melon, I’m lucky to be alive. I pause for a moment of gratitude every morning to take in the sunrise and thank God for my life.
My gay best friend Andrew came over one Sunday for a tradition we have called “Us Night” where we drink wine, watch movies and talk shit about our best girlfriends. After watching the scene in
You might know me as the author of the infamous essay, “I Was the Only White Person On My Subway Car And Now I GET What It’s Like To Be A Minority.”
I don’t like to brag, but his morning I witnessed a particularly feasible orgasm by my girlfriend, Tammy.
As an Aunt and a frequent social media user, it is my sworn duty to loudly approve of my nieces’ behavior via Facebook. So fun!
This year I realized my husband’s been spending too much time planting tomato seeds in the garden and not enough time banging the shit out of me. I didn’t know what to do about it. I needed some aggression in my life. And then I found her: Wantana, my bikini waxer.
While browsing of the outbreak section on the CDC website, I came across a concerning statistic on HPV – almost every sexually active person contracts a type of the virus at some point in his or her life. But I haven’t. Why have I been excluded from this club?
The planet may be getting hotter, but so am I. Climate change has been really great for my hair!
Valentine’s Day is a day of love and celebration. And while I haven’t had a boyfriend, and I often feel very alone in this world, there are many reasons I get still excited about this amorous holiday:
My boyfriend Matt and I have been living together in our 300 sq. ft. studio apartment in the Upper East Side for three months, and I am done. No really—I’m done with all of it. I’m done with work, showering, friends, and the outside world. I’m staying put here in this tiny, stuffy space, with just the two of us. I deserve this intense happiness.
As a true fashionista, I show 100% commitment to all trends, especially the ones that make you look like you’re carrying a load in your pants. Harem pants aren’t going anywhere, and as long as they’re here, I’m taking full advantage.