The winter of my discontent

On my way to work, I saw a bunch of little kids, like 6 or 7 years okd, waiting at the school bus stop. It was 8 degrees outside, with a wind chill of “fuck fuck, mother-ever-loving FUCK!”

See, this is why I can’t have kids. I barely got MYSELF out of bed this morning. If I’d had tiny people in my house whose main goal in life is to hang out, eat cereal, and watch cartoons? “OK, screw it. We’re taking a ‘snow’ day. You there, start the blanket fort. You, you’re on storytime, go pick out some books. What’s 2 + 2? Right, FOUR! Excellent, A+. Y’all are gonna be fine. I’m on breakfast — Pop Tarts sound good? Mommy’s going to have her special Irish coffee, and then I’ll be right with you.”

My kids would be the weird home-school kids at the beginning of “Mean Girls.” Hopefully minus the guns and homophobia.

‘Hot Dudes Reading’ and the Horny Hypocrisy

Dear Readers,

This is relevant to many of our mutual interests. I love you, and want you to be happy: ‘Hot Dudes Reading’ Books on Trains Is the Hottest Instagram Right Now

All my love,

P.S. I’m trying NOT to think of this as a gross invasion of privacy, because it doesn’t seem like these guys know they’re on this site, nor that they consented to be. And I’d be a little skeeved if someone put my photo on a “Hot Girls Reading” site. (I mean, they wouldn’t, I’m merely cute, but OK, then, a “Cute Girls Reading” site.)

But…they’re just so majestic and lovely. I’m sorry, gentlemen. I was under the influence of your dreaminess? Is my hypocrisy going to be a problem?

I know. I am a terrible person. Fortunately there’s no blood in my brain to really let that trouble me too much.

Middle age love for Meghan Trainor

I’m almost 40, so obviously I was rockin’ out to “All About that Bass” in the car on the way into work this morning.

Singing along, I started wondering about this magical unicorn of a mother she had that told her “Don’t worry about your size.” According to my mother, the ONLY thing I had to worry about was my size. Oh, and using condoms. (Explains a lot, doesn’t it?)

But just in case you’d forgotten, every inch of you is perfect, from the bottom to the top. (Especially the men. Y’all have the best inches…)

Six degrees of sluttiness

Me: “I just RSVP’ed for a friend’s wedding. I need something to wear that’s church-nice but still vaguely slutty. I’m actually looking forward to shopping for this unicorn of a garment.”

Friend: “Actual slutty or YOU slutty?”

Me: “Me slutty. I can’t rock actual slutty.”

Friend: “Yes, you can! You can be that slutty and more if you just believe in yourself.”

Me: “HA! Therein lies the problem — I don’t, so I’d just be all wonky and uncomfortable. I’m good with my nunnish sluttiness.”


Smoking Vagina Bear = Worst. Build-a-Bear. Ever.

You guys? I have SO many questions.
IMG_4055Is the bear my vagina?

Why is it smoking?

Is vagina-bear smoke good?

Will a Summer’s Eve product stop the smoke or fan the flames?

Did the Summer’s Eve market expand to lubricants rather than just making my vagina smell like a dryer sheet or a fresh meadow?

There really need to be more words in this ad.

“That’s right, Christy. Keep telling yourself that.”

I sincerely hope I never spoke about my ex (or about anyone, really) the way I hear some women talk about their husbands. (I am 99.9% sure I didn’t, even when we broke up.)

Jesus Christ, I get that you need to vent sometimes, but it’s like you never talk to THEM. You must be saving it all for me, because alllllll you do is bitch. And let me tell you, listening to it is an absolute TREAT.

Do you love this person? Do you even LIKE him? You really need to buffer by mentioning some of the nice things, because you’re either married to a complete fucking jag, or you’re just an ungrateful asshole who can’t see what he does for you. And honestly, having met both people in the relationship, it’s really a tossup.

How to Succeed in Business…

Offering my unique skill set in support of a friend’s business venture:

“I’ll work for you for free, peddling your wares at farmers markets. I’ll wear low-cut shirts and ‘girl-next-door’ you into an empire. You’ll basically be Hef.”

Upon reflection, I think my appeal is more Feyschanel than girl-next-door. But that would totally still move product.

How the “Sports Illustrated” swimsuit issue made me move to England.

Via ET Online: Plus-Sized Model Ashley Graham Rocks Tiny Bikini in ‘Sports Illustrated’ Swimsuit AdIMG_3975
Choose your own snark:

1. If you need me, I’ll be slamming my head into a wall.

2. I don’t even really have time to comment on this. I’m too busy packing and booking a flight, because if she’s “plus-sized,” I’m clearly the queen of England, and my people are probably wondering where I’ve been.

Not snark: “‘I know my curves are sexy and I want everyone else to know that theirs are too. There is no reason to hide and every reason to flaunt,'” Graham says in a statement.”

Goddamn right, girl. Go on with your bad self.