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.
My friend is taking November off from all her social media, and I’m over here like, “Um, I MIGHT last a weekend…” #junkie
A friend shared this screenshot of an online dating profile she encountered, and aside from the fact that this man is obviously insensitive garbage, um…no psychiatric illness RHYMES with depression, you fucking nimrod. People don’t have “cepression.”
I mean, I guess depression rhymes with itself? But that’d be a pretty shitty poem. You should take a creative writing class or something, I bet you could learn some ways to work around that mental block. Or even just Google “words ending in ession” — Oppression. Concession. Transgression. Impression.
You’re welcome. 
Y’all enjoy your green beer and shamrock shit. I’ll be over here reppin’ OG Irish: whiskey, writing, and misanthropy.
🥃✍🏽🖕🏽
As seen on Jennifer Weiner’s Facebook page:
I’ve been discussing career goals with a friend, because I’ve been feeling totally stuck in what I’m doing, and I feel seven kinds of shitty** about it, just allllll the self-doubt/loathing, staring down the barrel of a TON of work and thought to figure out what my next move should be, because I have no idea.
Friend’s response:
“I have always thought someone should pay you lots of money just to be you and write what you already write. I don’t know exactly who that should be — Cracked, Bustle, Jezebel, The Mary Sue, various advertisers for your personal blog? — but I very much want it to happen. I know you do too, I just thought you should know that I read a LOT online and I would read all your stuff even if I didn’t know you. Just saying.”
Awwwww! You guys! ❤
I mentioned this predicament to another friend, and SHE complimented my writing, too!
“I know you’re not fishing for compliments, but I LOVE reading you. Anything you write is super smart, quick, and has so much relatable stuff with large dose of humor and humility. You seem like you have a treasure of stories you could write about family, men, and relationships. WRITE!!! For me.”
I was not fishing (nor am I now), but DAMN, I should’ve done this YEARS ago! Ego. Boosted. My friends are like my self-esteem fluffers!
** There actually does exist a chart ranking the seven kinds of shit. The reason I know this is not as disgusting as you might think, but, I mean, possessing that knowledge is really never IDEAL… I’m going to stop talking now.
Thoughts on writing:
“I’m a writer. It’s like riding a bike, or severe childhood trauma –you never really lose it.”
-Cat Grant, Supergirl
My bad, you guys. Maybe Bad Moms ISN’T a funny movie. Maybe I’m just an immature idiot and a terrible feminist.
*shrug* I still liked it. Was it a highbrow intellectual feminist statement coming from the dude-bros who gave us The Hangover? Certainly not. Was it a silly, fun movie you can see with your lady-friends? I maintain it was.
When I looked up the details write my review, I was a little disappointed, but honestly surprised, to learn wasn’t written by at least one woman. And Bradley Cooper notwithstanding, I HATED The Hangover, so I was especially surprised it came from those guys.
That said, my sense of humor did stop evolving circa Beavis and Butthead, so here’s the smarter side of it.
Via Bitch Media: Bad Moms Is Even Less Funny than You Could Possibly Imagine
One of my favorite college professors — who taught me women’s studies but now teaches master’s level writing — just told me I’m a real writer.
Feelin’ pretty preeny right about now. #ExtraSmugSingleton
(Fret not, the crippling self-doubt will be back tomorrow. Hell, probably tonight.)
I was up late last night and received the following messages from a guy on OkCupid:
1:06 a.m.: “Hi how are you? What are you reading?”
[BTW, everything I’m reading is listed in my profile. It’s one of the site’s fill-in-the-blank questions.]
1:06 a.m., followup: “I am reading Dante’s inferno and breaking Rockefeller.”
1:15 a.m.: “How was your 4th?
1:27 a.m.: “Writing anything good these days?”
If he has a paid OKC account, I think he could see I’d been reading the messages. And OKC shows you when users are on the site, so he could see I was there. But damn, dude. How are you sitting there like, “I can’t get her to talk about books, so maybe she wants to talk about her holiday — that’s pretty scintillating. No? Hm. Maybe she’ll talk about her writing.”
I shouldn’t have blocked him. Maybe the FIFTH message 10 minutes later would’ve been The One.
Smug Singleton 