A long time ago, I read somewhere that a sign of whether a woman has her shit together is whether she has her nails done. If she has the time and inclination to get or give herself a manicure, to spend just 30 minutes every couple of weeks doing something purely for herself, then she is on top of things. She is, all things considered, doing okay.
Now, I don’t know remember where I read this. I don’t know if it’s true or reliable. And I don’t know if taking time out of your schedule to manage your cuticles is really a dependable proxy for having some degree of control over your life.
But I do know that this idea has always stuck with me.
And I haven’t had a manicure since March.
- A candle that smells like a man then cookies in the oven then your childhood room AND it screams wildly when you are about to fall asleep without blowing it out
- Perfect bitch face so when somebody bumps into you or makes a sexist comment you turn your face and it’s like Blue Steel with x10 more vagina sass
- Puppy that sufficiently enjoys when you leave the house and doesn’t give you sad eyes, it just turns on the TV and patiently marathons Rock of Love Bus till you come back
- A world without any more fucking think pieces on millenials
- Tights that come with a tracking device so you can find the only non-ripped pair in your goddamn Saving Private Ryan scene of a room
- An Iphone that stays charged forever
- The outfit that sits perfectly on that line of “not too matchy matchy” and “bat shit lady wears a bunch of bat shit patterns”
- Cashiers and waiters and bartenders will stop talking to me like I’m 16 just because I look 16
- A television channel that plays only *clears throat*: Sabrina The Teenage Witch, The Craft, Boy Meets World, The Little Mermaid, Curb Your Enthusiasm, 10 Things I Hate About You, Sleepless In Seattle, My Best Friend’s Wedding, Cruel Intentions, The OC. I could think of more but they’d need to fit into my theme of “Current Mood.”
- A little magic box that produces an object you don’t want to buy cuz you only need it ONCE like a fucking cake pan or 4 cups of flour or Neosporin or just enough whiskey for tonight
- A gentle reminder I need to go to bed
- Like, a good 90% of the comments on the Internet should go away
- That Jedediah Atkinson character on SNL gets like a 2 hour weekly radio show
- I’d like to see hard proof that my Furby will never come back to kill me
- Lip gloss that looks glossy but doesn’t stick my hair to my lips and I am a feral animal trying to get it off me
- I COULD say “hairspray that doesn’t get into my eyes and mouth” but what I really mean is “coordination” and Santa can’t help me out with that one, the old bag.
- I am so tired, so so damn tired of saying college loan forgiveness but perhaps let me explain this agony I feel in a fake Fall Out Boy track list: 1. This Can Of Beans Won’t Eat Itself, Sugar 2. I’d Give You All My Money But You Already Have It Anyway 3. The Only Difference Between College and Graduation Is 40 Years Of Crushing Debt
- A reasonably priced haircut and bra
- An umbrella that I don’t have to remember to bring because it remembers me (re: sentient umbrella)
- Sweaters that make my boobs look good
- Peace, endless brie wedges and money and good eyebrows
Bolded for necessary emphasis.
Do people who cut their English muffins with a knife, rather than poking around the muffin’s circumference with a fork, therefore losing the potential for all those glorious, egg yolk sopping up nooks and crannies, realize that they are vile heathen monsters? Or are they just ignorant of the massive error of their ways?
(For the condiment bloggers: Cholula, freshly ground pepper, and Maldon salt on top of these fried eggs. Marvelous.)
- After I got home from Bar Method this morning, my entire left hand started burning. It felt like I had grabbed my flat iron with my bare hand. But I hadn’t! And it looked totally normal. BUT IT FELT LIKE IT WAS ON FIRE. It was incredibly painful and I didn’t know what to do except google “hand feels burnt” and then read on webMD how I must have MS or rheumatoid arthritis. Additionally, this made it incredibly difficult to do any of the following: shower, dry my hair, flat iron my hair with the device that had magically somehow burned my hand OR HAD IT, apply makeup, pack my work bag, scoop cat shit out of a litter box, and deal with basically everything else in the world.
- Once I had MARGINALLY assembled myself for a day of actual life, I walked out of my apartment and found myself in an elevator with the aspirational version of me. Have you ever run into that sort of person? It’s not someone who is like, out of this world unattainable. It’s just a person who kiiiiiiiiiind of looks like you and has your same style but actually pulls it all off. So I am staring at her in the elevator, admiring this woman, with her perfect auburn hair, her better version of my outfit, her impeccably applied and not smeared makeup, her seemingly nice attitude, her hand that presumably did not feel like it was currently on fire—and then the elevator doors open and a dog walks in and I trip on its leash and fall all the way down to the ground and scrape the shit out of my non-burning hand. Excellent. We are two-for-two here, people. Note that Aspirational Lady was kind, helped me to my feet, and did not laugh at all. That bitch.
- At some point between me feeling like my hand was ABOUT TO SPONTANEOUSLY BURST INTO FLAMES, the elevator FIASCO, and getting to the office, I noticed that I had 15 unread emails, all of them accompanied by that smug bitch of a red exclamation mark. So I start freaking out, as one does when one is about to get fired for messing something up in a way that is so bad that it requires 15 emails with a red exclamation point before 9 a.m. And then the first email finally loads and I see that it is a VERY IMPORTANT MESSAGE about cookies. Specifically, Dutch cookies that my boss’ Dutch friend gave him a few weeks ago and told him he could not have until December 6, which is a Dutch holiday called Sinterklaas, and which also happens to be today. It’s now 10:15 and I’ve had 4. They are DELICIOUS. Also my hand doesn’t hurt as much now. I assume it’s the cookies. IT’S A SINTERKLAAS MIRACLE.
OH MY FUCKING GOD
DO YOU GUYS REMEMBER
THE ONE ABOUT THE SPIDER BITE
AND THE BITE WAS ACTUALLY SPIDER EGGS
AND BABY SPIDERS CRAWLED OUT OF THE GIRL’S FACE
HERE IS A REMINDER
THE PICTURE WILL PROBABLY KILL YOU
ARE YOU READY
HERE IT IS
ARE YOU DEAD YET
BECAUSE I AM
I AM DEAD ALL OVER AGAIN
LIKE I WAS EVERY DAY IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL
WHEN I LOOKED AT THIS FUCKING BOOK
AND HAD NIGHTMARES
BUT KEPT LOOKING AT IT ANYWAY
BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP
WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ME
WHY ARE THEY DOING THIS TO ANY OF US
WHAT HAVE WE DONE WRONG
A bit too on-the-nose there, Onion, don’t you think?
Our wedding photographers and dear, dear friends recently started Jonas Paul Eyewear. Named after their son who is blind.
Here is a quick video on the company. These people are simply amazing. I can only pray to have as much grace as they possess.
Please share this with friends and family that may have little ones.
All of these kids are cooler than I will ever be.
Also, these glasses are sick. Buy them for your children. Ensure that future generations look dope.
~*~*~ THE RETURN OF CONDIMENT BLOGGING ~*~*~
It has come to my attention that the above is a condiment commonly used in England on cheese sandwiches and is beloved by many, to wit, the below food blogger featured on TheKitchn:
Branston Pickle is also featured in the oh-so simple cheese and pickle sandwich: BP spread between two slices of bread with sharp cheddar cheese. It’s a satisfying lunch, made even better when adapted to an American style grilled cheese sandwich. Just imagine gooey, savory chutney oozing alongside cheddar inside crispy, buttered bread.
I would be very grateful if anyone could confirm this description. Bonus points available if you are able to ensure that it is in no way similar to Vegemite, which is a foul beast of a condiment despite the entire population of Australia suggesting otherwise. MANY THANKS.