Well, thank heaven for this distinction. I’d hate to sully your manly journals with my silly lady thoughts.
You might want to think about emblazoning a dick and balls right on the front cover, just to be 100% safe.
I’m surprised they even allow the idea that men could write in a journal. But y’all definitely write only about MANLY things — sports, cars, power tools, World War II, The Shawshank Redemption, and barbecue.
I ordered a few new sports bras from Amazon because mine were all a decade old and pinched my shoulders, and… Y’all, Glamorise is NOT fucking around.
FIVE HOOKS.
And I’m short, so this covers about 1/3 of my back.
The ULTIMATE in mammary security!
Oh, hey… Kiss my dick, Amazon. 
Once again, Amazon taking the boldest of leaps with my search terms…
Ahem, so… I have most packages delivered to my office, and my coworker just handed me this one.
It’s a candle. But that’s…REALLY not what it felt like…
Hm… You know, I think I might actually be OK with dying alone.
Me: “That’s hurtful, Amazon.”
Amazon: “I learned it by watching YOU!”
So I searched Amazon for “petite satin pajamas” and…
Damn. That’s a mighty bold interpretation, Amazon.
I wanted Olivia Pope, not Olivia POLE.
My newly updated Amazon wish list is proof that Jesus loves me and wants me to be happy.
Or, you know, proof that book publishers know an It Girl when they see one. Whichever.
(I’m trying to score review copies, but they won’t send them until right around the release dates. *shaking fist at life*)
I just remembered my parents gave me an Amazon gift card for Christmas, so I’m sure they’d be thrilled to know I’m using it to buy a copy of The Bell Jar.
Also ordered The Life-Changing Magic of Not Giving a Fuck, which, oddly, will likely instruct me to spend less time with my parents. (“Keep only the things that spark joy” was the original premise, so…)
Smug Singleton 