Don’t Tell Me How To Live

31 Mar

There are two things I don’t like in this world. The first are a masculine set of Tevas on a woman I respect.

 The second is when I’m texting and walking and someone stops me to point out that they know someone who knows someone who got hit by a truck and died while texting and walking. Or that they saw a video online of someone walking into a mall fountain whilst texting and walking. Why are people telling me this shit? I don’t need that kind of negativity in my life. I was once walking on Kneeland Street while talking on the phone and was hit in the head (hard!) by a descending parking lot toll gate. I was disoriented for 20 seconds and…I’m still here! I don’t walk near fountains because they are cesspools for piss and pennies. And I certainly don’t appreciate anyone telling me not use technology unsafely if I’m not in an automobile. I’m over 18 and these rules don’t apply to me anymore. I’m married and have a (fur) baby for Christ’s sake! I’m a grown woman!!!! Unless something is a law then I don’t abide (unless I want to!!!). So don’t make me listen to your shit, then wait for me to reply politely that I’d better stop. I probably will reply politely, because I’m a phony toward authoritative strangers. But I won’t mean it. You can’t make me. Can’t stop, won’t stop. 

“I was texting and driving in LA once and almost drove into a mountain. That could have been a person.” -Tyra Banks



26 Mar


Being a girl in my late 20’s I am pretty much an expert at being a girl in her 20’s. And due to society’s unrealistic expectations of what women in their 20’s should look like to look “good”, one of the recurrent themes in a woman’s 20’s is the topic of fat. No one wants to be fat. Fat fat fat. Fat. It’s really important to not be fat. My friends and I can have rather silly hour-long discussions over drinks about fat prevention. We laugh as we talk about partaking in fat behavior. “Oh my God, I was so fucking fat this weekend. I ate late night Wendy’s and drank like 15 beers and skipped the gym.” “Blah, blah, blah juice cleanse, blah, blah, blah, kale, blah blah blah spin class”. We talk about what we are doing to stop being so fat – mind you the median weight of all my friends collectively is probably about 130 pounds. (Many) Women are fixated on fat.


What even is fat? Some might say it’s when you have a double chin. Or when you are a double digit pants size. Or when you eat buffalo chicken in bed. Or when you are on a Hover Round because you can no longer walk…because you are so fat. I think that the definition of fat has gotten much stricter. These days, and not according to me, if you don’t have a thigh gap, you’re fat. It’s pretty fucking crazy because I do not consider myself to be “fat”, but I haven’t had a thigh gap since I was 12ish. It’s just not feasible for me, a person who has actually been told she has chicken legs, to have a thigh gap. I’m sure there are naturally skinny people out there who have natural thigh gaps, also known as “bitches” (jk lol?), but I would have to eat only celery and water for a month to accomplish this. Even then, I’d probably actually just die. Yeah, no, I would absolutely die.


The obsessing over fat is exhausting. I’m willing to bet a lot of girls in their 20’s don’t even realize they’re doing it. If you’ve partaken in any of the following behaviors, which are taken from real life conversations I have both been a participant in or listened to,  you probably can relate to what I’m talking about when I refer to the pressure not to be fat:

The Side Profile Selfie: Extending your arm out to your side while looking dead straight ahead and snapping a selfie. Just to see if you have a double chin. Then getting disgusted followed by deleting really quickly. QUICKER!

 Double Chin Up’s: Exercising your chin by nodding repeatedly.

Drunkorexia: Saving your daily calories up for the evening calories you know you will consume from drinking.

Thinsperation: Taping pictures of fitness models or Victoria’s Secret Angels on your fridge, to remind yourself not to be so fucking fat. Because people who are models who are not fat exist in the world. Look at them!

Hoarders Diet: Watching an episode of Hoarders to curb your appetite.

ADHD Fake-out: Taking Adderall to curb your appetite.

Facelift Filter: Cocking your head to your “good side” and posing your chin upward when having a picture taken.

Apple Cider Vinegar Shots: This is exactly what it sounds like: a shot of apple cider vinegar. It speeds up the metabolism and tastes like 75 year old apple juice. And I can’t say this with any scientific proof to back it up, but it does nothing. There is a similar version of this involving cayenne pepper and water. Drink it every morning for best non-results.

IPhone Mirror: Making someone take a full length picture of you in 12 outfits you try on while getting ready to see if you look fat or not, before opting to go with the all black one.

Duckface with Bad Intentions: Duckface, not to be funny or topical, but to enhance your cheekbones and decrease cheek fat.

Spanking Out: Not going out because your spanks are in the wash.

Fatting Out: Not going out because you are fat.

Hilarious? Sad? Borderline disorder?

Just the world we live in!


Standardize THIS!!!

26 Mar


I was a public school child. My sister went to Catholic school for a few years and tapped my parents out so I was sent to Wollaston, which I barely remember, followed by the mean hallways of Beechwood Knoll when it first opened up. And by “mean hallways” I mean “magical hallways” because Beechwood Knoll was hands down the best school I have ever been to. Going to school with all the kids from the neighborhood? Magical. Doesn’t get much better than gossiping about TGIF on Monday morning and making plans to play Cops and Robbers over the weekend on Friday. Not to mention, I had the best teachers in the world. The only almost negative memory that stood out from elementary school was something I find kind of hilarious today, because I don’t think it would ever be allowed to happen in school these days. Allow me to refresh your memory, if you are familiar with anything Quincy Public Schools…

In Quincy there is (or was) a program called the Lab Program (at least, it used to be called Lab, not sure if that’s changed or if it even still exists). It was basically a program for kids who were smart, which I think is kind of a load of bullshit, and I swear I’m not bitter because I was a “standard” level student. Standard was fun and there was less pressure academically (is that a good thing?). But I think it’s bullshit because I am pretty sure acceptance into the program was based solely on the California Achievement Test scores and to not give a child the educational opportunities that Lab offered because of ONE STANDARDIZED TEST feels kind’ve unfair. I don’t want to get into the controversy surrounding kids and standardized tests and how some students are good test-takers because I honestly do not care. Maybe that’s because I don’t have kids and I’m not a teacher. Maybe that’s because I try not to overthink about topics that are way bigger than me, like education. But a few of my friends were “labbies”, as standard kids teasingly called kids in the program, and I remember their homework was about slope and the stock market, whereas I thought that “slope” was a hill you ski down. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t in Lab?

Anyways, tangent! When the Labbies were selected for the program, some woman came into our classroom and said that she had to steal a few kids from the class. In elementary school, your schedule is so planned out that for someone to just pop into your classroom is kind of exciting. She didn’t say where she was taking them, and we all looked around the room anxiously at each other. This was probably around that annoying age when children want everything in life to be fair. Who was this kidnapper and why was she trying to break our pack up?! She informed us that she would be taking the kids whose pointer fingers were longer than their ring fingers (don’t quote me on which fingers she said were longer, it’s been years). Cue my mental stranger danger alarms going off. I glanced at my teacher, who seemed to be in on it. Traitor. The woman then began reading names from a list she was holding. About 5 or 6 kids got up and stood by the door after hearing their names called while the rest of us idiots stared at our hands, trying to eyeball measure our fingers. Before it dawned on us that she was fibbing about her reasoning, the woman announced that she was taking the kids whose names were called for the afternoon and that we would see them tomorrow. We had no idea what it was all about, but our teacher made a surprise announcement that we would be skipping the lesson plan and playing a game in the media room for the remainder of the day. Looking back on it, this was to take our minds off the departure of the other kids, two of whom were my very best friends. I forgot about the treason my teacher had committed and had a ball with the rest of my dumb friends singing songs entitled “Oh Me Oh My I Lost My Homework” (how fitting!)…but I couldn’t help wondering if my other friends were having more fun wherever they had gone.

I learned later on after school when calling my best friend, who was quite humble and I could tell felt a little awkward talking about it, that they’d been pulled from the class because of their placement in a gifted program, and that they would be shipped over to another school every Thursday to do gifted shit. I guess that’s where they found out that slope wasn’t just a mountain at Wachusett. I also learned that they would be separated into their own class in middle school. This was a huge letdown, because I had been in the same classroom as my best friend for a few years now, and the thought of starting middle school without her gave me anxiety. If I remember correctly, the Lab students also were told not to talk to us too much about what they did on Thursdays. Not sure if there is any truth to that, or if it was just some silly childhood rumor. The rest of the non-labbies made due with the fun activities that were planned on Thursdays as a means to keep us occupied.

I don’t know why I remember this experience so vividly, because I was grateful for the lack of pressure. Maybe a kid who wasn’t up to speed academically would have been set up to fail in Lab anyways. I know that some people, not just kids, are more gifted in certain areas than others, it’s a fact of life that the extremely opinionated need to get over. My friends in Lab were better test takers than me. I just find the way that the Lab kids were pulled from class to be hilarious. Like, way to make the dumb kids look like idiots in front of the kids selected for the smart classes. Holding our hands up like schmucks. Pulling our wooden rulers out. Amazing. I don’t think the Lab Program directors had any kind of game plan for how they were going to announce their selections. The woman who walked in the door that day was just winging it or something. It doesn’t feel like that long ago, but would that EVER fly nowadays?! Parents would flip their shit! “YOU HURT MY KIDS FEELINGS, YOU MONSTERS!!!” But it was the 90’s and being excluded from the gifted program at school built character. By middle school Labbies were writing essays about Wall Street after school and I was being peer pressured to chew and screw at Friendly’s. Self-fulfilling prophecy brought on by stereotyping the standard level kids?!?! Meh. It was probably because I spent my free time picking up a hooker named Misty in a video game called Grand Theft Auto and the Labbies weren’t allowed to watch South Park. But I think I turned out decent.


Sit the F Down, Maxine

24 Mar IMG_2572-0


Sarcasm is perhaps one of my most frequently used forms of humor. Nothing like the use of irony to mock a little contempt, am I right?! Meh.

Sarcasm is easy to use and always in style. But, like everything, too much of anything can be a horribly obnoxious thing. And if you know someone who is ALWAYS sarcastic, you’ll get it. I’m not talking about people who only use sarcastic humor, but quite literally use sarcasm during every single interaction they encounter on a daily basis. I’m talking the people who you say “Good morning!” to and they respond flatly with “Yeah, REAL good morning”. Hmm. Okay. You’re fun. Only thing more depressing to walk into than a flat ass well wish for a pleasant start to the day is elephant poaching, or Tracy Chapman’s car breaking down mid escape. Give me a fucking break! I’m no Julie Andrews, especially before the caffeine hits the bloodstream, but JUST ONCE can your voice hit one octave up from Eeyore?!

Sarcastic pleasantries are about as useful as an O’Doul’s laced with oregano. But worse than a sarcastic greeting is a sarcastic everything else. Everyone knows someone like this. Everyone. They are your neighbor. A classmate. A mutual friend. The lady at the post office. The Comcast guy. They are the people who post corny (and wouldn’t you know it – sarcastic) witticisms on their Facebook pages or work spaces. Think that sarcastic old bitch from the comic strips. That’s them! Maxine!!!

You can’t say anything to them without a sarcastic response. Example:

“Want me to cut you a piece of this cake?”

“Do I look like I want a piece of that cake?”

Like what the fuck does that even mean? I don’t know. People like cake. Right? Don’t people like cake?! Who is it that look like they want cake or don’t want cake!!? Why are you making me question this?!?!?

Even when you’re happy, talk to a chronically sarcastic person to take you down a notch:

“I got promoted!”

“Oh, I bet you’re happy about that!” , followed by a brief snort.

WHAT? Yeah, it’s a happy thing! The fuck?!

You can be having a serious conversation with a chronically sarcastic person and you can still be met with a borderline condescending response and if you call them on it, or if your tone hints at any annoyance whatsoever, they retort with a “You know I’m just a sarcastic person” and try to get you to laugh it off. Or they’ll try to twist it into you not being able to take a “joke”. Well listen, sarcasm is only funny when it’s not thrown around in every single sentence you utter. Chronic sarcasm isn’t funny and makes me question your intelligence and social skills. Approach with caution, unless you want people to think you’re a little “off”. Actually, just stop it and Google “comedic timing” and “time and place” and “awful people you meet in life”.

The Problem With Pants

19 Mar

I’ve recently come to the realization that it has been about 5 years since I was a regular pants-wearer. That’s because for the past 5 years I’ve been addicted to leggings. I am starting to wonder if I will ever wear real pants for more than one consecutive day again. It’s a thought that would keep me up at night, if I cared about what people thought of my fashion sense, and if I didn’t love leggings so much. This isn’t some bullshit either. I truly and honestly wear leggings EVERY DAY. I’m not just one of those people who say they wear leggings every day just to say it. “Those people” probably being the same people who complain that they definitely failed a test, only to reveal that they got a 99% when they get their score. I’m the real deal every day legging wearer.

WHY LEGGINGS? Well, I’ll tell you why.

Leggings are wonderful because they give you a feeling of pantlessness that no other leg-wear can accomplish. There are no restrictions whatsoever in leggings. You can do weird and unnatural movements in leggings, and it’s almost as if you are doing those weird and unnatural movements sans any pants at all. You can lunge from room to room if you want to, and it will feel like you are nude from the waste down. But…you’re not. It’s so freeing. You can also work out in your leggings, and sleep in your leggings, and get high in your leggings!

Leggings are an excellent pants alternative for poor people because they are cheaper than regular pants. If you wear the same jeans every day, people will start to notice and think you’re a poor scrub. Cue the bullying. But when you wear leggings every day, people will just assume that you have a shit ton of leggings!

Leggings are so versatile. You can wear them in black for a basic and slimming effect, or you can be a little crazy and wear a pair of Aztec leggings. As long as you don’t wear flesh colored leggings, cat, cheeseburger, faux denim, or space leggings, you can always be somewhat fashionable on the cheap! When you wear leggings, your footwear options also expand. You don’t have to worry about shoving excess denim into your boots with leggings. Leggings fit into any boot!

When you get an awkwardly placed hole in your jeans, you can’t wear them anymore (even though we all sometimes buy jeans with rips in them on purpose). When you get a tear in your leggings, you take a black Sharpie and color in your skin. Boom! No more tear! And if the tear expands, you can just spend 7 bucks on more leggings, OR Sharpie your entire thigh! No one will know, I swear!

With leggings you don’t feel as fat as you are, although you might look fatter than you are to the random passerby. You can eat whatever you want freely without having to unzip your fly for some breathing room. Your muffin top will sit comfortably tucked away under an elastic band.

The legging lifestyle is how I live. It’s a way of being. Being pretty lazy. But free. And that’s all an American such as myself can ask for. Some people are meth heads. Some people are hippies. Some people are yuppies. Some are yogis. Some are Jewish. Me? I’m a legging’er. Sometimes I think to myself, what if I AM leggings? Just a pair of black leggings, drifting through life without a care. Like a rolling stone. Like a plastic bag drifting in the wind. Like a virgin kissed for the very first time. Like a G6.

Live free in leggings or die of discomfort in slacks. Just try not to get your dick stuck in the zipper.jeans


19 Mar

To that time I got married. Just want to scream at myself: Stand up straight bitch! Make sure you stand up straight even if you are nervous on an important day! 

Picture courtesy of the lovely & talented Kristen Conte of Conte Sound Productions. Other than marrying Ryan, hiring Conte Sound was the best decision of my life. 

Eminem’s Daughter is L-I-V-I-N

18 Mar

Has anyone ever noticed that every single year for the past 4 years or so, an article comes out from whatever website telling us that we should feel old because Eminem’s daughter Hailie is growing up? It was meh the first time. About as intriguing as the first time I saw the link to see what the chick from the cover of Enema of the State looks like now (scary, Google it and you will forever say no to meth). You click the link to see if Hailie or the meth-head are prettier or uglier than they were a decade ago, then it’s done with. I don’t need the annual updates that someone who is clinically not dead is aging. Yup, weird to think of Hailie not being an infant out for a joy ride in the backseat of her dad’s car with her dead mother in the trunk. And yeah, okay, kind of trippy seeing a picture of her in her cap and gown, standing next to her mom (who Eminem told me via ill lyric was DEAD!). SO good to see that Hailie is not in a heroin den just outside of 8 Mile Road. But now, every single year I see a new viral article “Eminem’s daughter crowned homecoming queen will make you feel old!” and “Eminem’s daughter’s all grown up in Twitter photo!”. At this point the article is so redundant that it is actually having a reverse effect and making time go by slower. Like, I feel like we are all in this time warp countdown just waiting for Eminem’s daughter to die of old age. I also am beginning to feel like people are deliberately going out of their way to ignore Eminem’s public plea to leave him and his daughter alone…

Exhibit A:

But at least have the decency in you To leave me alone, when you freaks see me out In the streets when I’m eatin’ or feedin’ my daughter To not come and speak to me

I think that can be modified to Em’s current situation of leaving his family the fuck alone when they are graduating with honors. Maybe he just can’t think of something that rhymes with Summa Cum Laude or repetitive viral article or Buzzfeed news? Anyways, don’t tell me when to feel old, media outlets! People who are alive do tend to grow older! I’ll feel old when I’m dead. Or during my next two day hangover. Either or. emine_8442 Image from


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