A thing they don’t tell you about starting a relationship — of any caliber — in quarantine is that there is absolutely nowhere to put your feelings. They stay contained, like yourself, in a 500-square-foot studio apartment, until you reach a breaking point and decide it’s worth the risk to set them free. And putting your heart on the line during a pandemic? Well, that’s like taking a thousand risks at once. You ought to be prepared to protect all the vulnerable parts.
I met J in the most iconic of destinations: my Instagram DMs. I knew he existed long before he took the leap, however, because he’d been following me for years on Twitter, after reading a few of my McSweeney’s pieces. He was the best kind of follower — a “fan” who didn’t push boundaries, one who just quietly liked the wild, witty, weird words I posted on the internet, and nothing more. …
(Well, it’s a man — but you get the idea.)
Since the birth of gender reveal parties, these controversial celebrations have proven to be dangerous and superfluous, revealing very little beyond an ostentatious display of pink-or-blue chaos. This is why it’s time to ditch this neo-traditional event, and shift the attention to one that’s more impressive and innovative, and less harmful to both the environment and social constructs.
So, please mark your calendar for my first-ever Tinder reveal!
Single, childless people are part of an ever-growing community who don’t get to be consistently celebrated and rewarded for love- and family-based milestones via endless baby showers, bridal baths, bachelor bashes, wedding parades, engagement ragers, gender reveal festivals, divorce fiestas, etc. …
I’m feeling myself! ✨
Well, to be honest, I was feeling myself when I took this selfie three hours ago. But now? After a burrito bowl? Not so much. But earlier? Definitely. The way the soft, dreamy 4 p.m. light came through my window and begged me to me un-hunch my back, purse my lips, change my top, flip my hair, re-hunch my back, and ignore work emails so I could take 263 pictures and land The Chosen Shot is truly something to behold — and to be shared! I have no qualms about posting a sexy photo of myself online. None. …
He gives me butterflies.
He gives me caterpillars.
He gives me ants.
He gives me mosquitos.
He gives me fleas.
He gives me flies.
He gives me spiders.
He gives me grasshoppers.
He gives me termites.
He gives me lice.
He gives me honey bees.
He gives me Bumble bees.
He gives me moths.
He gives me praying mantises.
He gives me hornets.
He gives me murder hornets.
He gives me WASPs.
He gives me crickets.
If you liked that, you might also like…
“This bar has been my go-to spot during quarantine. The drinks are cheap, the staff is knowledgeable (about reality TV — not cocktails), and there’s never a line for the bathroom!”
“While the standard pour of wine is five or six ounces, at My Place, you can have any amount you’d like! For example, a bottle is 25.4 ounces, and if that’s what you want, they’ll find a way to fit it in a glass.”
“The coat check is a chair.”
“Happy hour starts at whatever hour you’re feeling happy! Or sad. Or anxious. …
For far too long, I have been labeled the pariah of the airline industry. Decade after decade, passengers have scoffed at my existence, bullied me for my physical features, made me question my self-worth, and doubted what I bring to the (tray) table.
Travelers consistently beg to sit anywhere else: “Stick me in the lavatory! An overhead bin! Just let me just hang off the wing!” they plead.
Just because you monsters haven’t figured out how to share an armrest, I’ve always been treated like a flying electric chair. People even start fist fights over me, which is, unfortunately, not as flattering as it sounds. …
While sexting during these uncertain, trying, hard (!) times, you still want to be sure you’re reading the room. (Yes––the one you’re in alone.) Here are some common sexts you can send––updated to be timely and relevant.
…besides the same pair of sweatpants for the last 8 days?
…to hold your phone in so it captures the best angles for video calls.
…at making sourdough bread.
…from washing 11 pots to make one (1) meal.
…that Amazon said would be here in three weeks, but it came today!
…after you didn’t take one for 14 days.
…of me about washing my hands for 20 seconds. …
There’s something I want to get off my chest.
As someone who recently started working from home, I must confess to milking the routine of living in sweatpants and oversized college T-shirts 24/7. This “saggy-chic” vibe is one I’m hooked on now, and, as a result, my breasts have made a special request to never be confined again.
Yes, I have laid off all my bras — indefinitely.
My bras are some of the hardest working in the industry, so let me give you the lowdown on their titillating background and interests, and how they stack up against the competition — in hopes you can help them, at a bare minimum, find ample work. …
Before it’s “too late,” Elsa must travel through treacherous elements to the nearest fertility clinic to freeze her eggs. Should she just let it go?
The Fairest of Them All manages to end up on dates with men who lie about their height on Tinder.
A courageous tale of one woman’s gynecologist, her bikini waxer and a package of Summer’s Eve Lavender Chamomile Cleansing Cloths.
Aurora used to go out every night, but now refuses to settle for anything less than a fistful of melatonin gummies, 12 hours of sleep, 2–3 sex dreams and a morning with no new body aches. …