Author Archives: Danny McCarthy

college, Humor, Life

THAT WAS ZEN, THIS IS NOW

Alternate titles: “THANK YOU, COME A-ZEN” or “CHEAPER BY THE DO-ZEN” or “GOOD AND ZEN-TY”.  

Written while doing laundry, while drinking discount white wine and eating “Lite” string cheese, because whoever said that millennials are lazy clearly hasn’t met me.  

I’ve had a very spiritual, holistic day, you guys. Seriously, you guys, I’m very Zenned out. Why? I’ll tell you why. I woke up at a spritely 8:30, stared blankly at my iPhone—which at 8:30 in the morning is just a slender brick of incommunicable noise—rolled over, and slept until 9:16. Then I sat up, with that same brick in my paw, and debated whether or not I should go to the gym. On one hand, I could stay in, watch the third part of Real Housewives of New York: Reunion, chillax and eat. On the other hand, if I went, I wouldn’t have to deal with the gut-wrenching and spiral-inducing shame that results from me skipping the gym. Both very reasonable, healthy options.

I opted for the latter and got myself up, walked around, laid back down in bed, got back up again, peed, preened in the mirror, decided—yet again—to not wash off my acne medication and let that werk its magic for an extra forty minutes while I schvitzed to “Clumsy” off Glory at the gym.

At the gym I did legs—aka buttz—and sped-walked home, ate a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and knockoff Trader Joe’s Frosted Flakes each, showered/shaved (my face), got dressed and realized that I was going to be late for my Zen meditation class, which is not very Zen of me.

I’ve been sweating like a mammoth this entire school year thus far, but as the temperature’s dipped a little, I’ve been hoping for a reprieve. Today would have been such a reprieve, had I not had to run-waddle half-a-mile to my meditation class—

Side bar: I keep writing “medication” instead of “meditation” and that’s very telling.

—and so I showed up, actually dripping sweat. Not just schvitzing, but full-blown Niagara Falls-ing. Zen was good, weird, but good, and I actually was able to let go of my thots—and my thoughts—for a moment, which is very weird and very not me.

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Source: Giphy// Me @ Zen

After I was all Zenned, I went to a meeting with my psychiatrist. I’m not very good at being normal at a lot of things, so even I know that I shouldn’t talk about what we discussed, so I won’t. I will say that it touched upon lyfe, love, boyz, Boyz II Men (it didn’t, I lied, forgive me?), amongst other things. As usual, after all my psychiatry meetings, I left feeling buoyed, hungry, and a little depressed—I’m all these things already, all the time.

I really like getting back into the groove of seeing my psychiatrist because A) I’m a lot, B) I’m around me a lot of the time, so I need to decompress from myself, and C) it’s healthy and helps me to be emotionally healthy and mentally “stable.” Which is, let’s be honest, pretty sexy. I also like psychiatry because I can say anything and everything goes.

Very judgment-free. Very Zen.

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Source: Giphy// Me when ppl aren’t Zen like me

After my appointment, I got coffee/lunch (again, hungry) with my friend Lottie. That’s not her real name, but I don’t give out real names and I don’t know why I picked Lottie, but I panicked and we’re here. We got lattes, I got a BLT—healthhhhhh—and we literally talked for like OVER TWO HOURS. That’s a lot of time, but we glided through it because we’re both so witty. We also look a little alike, which makes me trust her instantly.

All in all, today was one of those “mental health days” without being a “Mental Health Day” because I hate when people say “mental health days” because it’s never the people who actually need/deserve/require a “mental health day.” It’s always someone who’s, like, stressed about something small and just needs, like, a #break. It’s the same person who thinks liking to organize their binder is the same as having OCD. It’s not, and you’re an asshole.

I’m not going to engage in this negativity—I’m so knee-deep in it, I’m practically married to it at this point (AYOOO)—and also it’s literally late so I’m just gonna chop things off here and post this muthafucka.

Side bar/PS: it’s getting a little colder and I love it, because I’m an autumn person (#Virgo) and even though my body is a 7/10, my egomania is a 12/10, my self-confidence is a 5/10 and my body issues are an 11/10, so I’m glad for the chance to cover up, chastely and modestly.  

Byeeee.

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college, Humor, Life

THE UNIVERSE IS TEXTING ME AND IT’S COSTING ME A FORTUNE

Written after wearing a NASA baseball cap in Starbucks and running into a guy wearing an (acid-washed, but we all make mistakes) NASA t-shirt and saying goodbye to him as my “NASA buddy”. In related news, I’m planning a spring wedding, space-themed.  

I’m sitting on a bench in front of my college, having just ordered a “grande cold brew, with an espresso shot. Light ice” in a high, irritating voice, because if my drink order is going to be complicated as fuck, then I might as well go the full mile. Also, I didn’t get it sweetened because I firmly believe that if your order requires three specifications or more, you’re outing yourself to the world as a potential serial killer. I also put “three” because I’m trying to conceal the fact that I’m a potential serial killer for as long as possible.

I had my first “Zen Meditation” class today, and besides the mortal fear of farting into the silence, I actually found it to be a really interesting experience. We sat like pretzels—srry for appropriating dough culture—we laid down and listened to music, and we talked about shit like “being okay with mental discomfort” and finding more value in the “question, rather than the answer.” Because once you have an answer, you put yourself into a tiny little box and you die.

As I was telling my friend Shelby—remember that salty old bitch?—I feel like a lot of things in my life are getting together and producing a cosmic neon sign about my life. That’s such a millennial thing to think, by the way, that all the forces of the universe are cooperating to send some dickhead blogger a message about his post-graduate aspirations (asspirations, amiright hahaihatemyself). But let me back up.

Here are the signs the universe has been sending me (at the low low cost of $0.99 per text).

DO YOU THINK THE UNIVERSE HAS AN ANDROID OR IPHONE: 

1). Zen Meditation: Our teacher (professor? Shaman? Medicine man? Witch?) told us a lot of mdeditation is not following every thought and letting ourselves immerse in the murkiness of the unknown. He didn’t say it as eloquently as that, but I’m embellishing. So much of life is unknown, but the more you worry about it, the more you suck away at the present and lose life. Rough. Rough stuff.

2). Chelsea: I’ve been watching a lot of Chelsea Handler, and she was interviewed by Ashly Perez of BuzzFeed (wow, Microsoft Word recognizes “Ashly” but not “BuzzFeed”), and basically just talked about pursuing what you’re passionate about. That’s an easy thing for a multimillionaire to say, but she brought up Sophia Amoruso, the founder of Nasty Gal. Amoruso started out dumpster-diving for vintage stuff and selling it on eBay. She followed her passion for vintage clothing and it led somewhere lucrative. Doing things purely for money leads you to glassy-eyed, dead-souled hell.

As a graduating senior, the idea of following your dreams is scary as hell, and often gets masked by the need for “job security” and a “healthy income” and a “401k” (idk I think there’s a period in there somewhere but who knows?). our parents want to see returns on the investment they made, and so we feel this pressure (external and internal) to prove that the last four years have resulted in something.

3). Blerg: I’m taking a beat reporting class, and we had to do “mock-interviews” with a partner, research that partner online and then turn that interview into a 100-word profile. Mine was fucking well-written, and my partner discovered my fat whale of a blog. When people discover my blog, I treat it like an entertaining, but stupid, child of mine. Like I’m proud that it’s made you laugh, but I don’t want you to delve too deeply into it and see what I’ve done wrong. In the profile done on me, my interviewer said that I was “hesitant to label myself a journalist” (true) but that I had a lot to say (very fucking true). Part of my weirdness about school is that I’m not a very “journalist-y” journalist. Unbiased reporting bores me. I like drama, I like weirdness, I like being funny. I have no interest in being impartial, or ferreting out the “story.” So to have someone see my blog, arguably the most raw/polished online representation of myself, and ask what I wanted to do for a career, felt a little bit like someone bursting into me taking a shower and asking me what I planned to do about my problem areas.

FUCK IF I KNOW.

***

The interview thing happened before the Zen thing, so I feel like the universe heard my question of “Da fuck am I supposed to do” and answered with “idk but chill out dude.” Technically the question is supposed to be more important than the answer, and I’m not supposed to be comfortable in answers, so maybe the universe actually didn’t answer me, or it was a wrong number. But I’m going to take it as my own.

I don’t have any direction. I don’t have any goal. But I know what I’m good at. And if the universe/Chelsea Handler has made one thing clear, it’s that that’s what I should focus on. Following what drives my passion, what I’m good at, and finding solace in that. And trusting in that.

Did this make any sense? Should it make any sense? Maybe I should pretend that the reason it’s all rambling is because it’s actually elevated thinking and it’s not supposed to make sense and then it seems like I’m smarter than you. Yeah, I’m gonna do that. Just ignore that train of thought and focus on the fact that I’m smarter than you. Much smarter.

In related news, what do you think the Universe thinks of the iPhone 7? Do you think it’s a matte-black or jet-black kind of bitch? What kind of bitch am I? Will I ever be confident enough to get a jet-black phone? Or will I forever float in the safety of silver?

Also I can’t wait for all the horrible monster-gays to decide what phone means what sexual preference you are. I don’t even know if they updated the chart (cuz there’s definitely a chart) for the inclusion of Rose Gold. If anyone says the gays are beasts, they’re totally fucking right.

Omg I just saw someone I have a crush on and I need to look hotter but I don’t. Fuck my life.

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Politics, pop culture

OBAMA’S COMMENT ON COLIN KAEPERNICK AND THE NEED FOR FREEDOM OF SPEECH

Written the day after re-watching Scooby Doo the movie for the first time as an adult. I’m changed.

I’m in a coffee shop—asshole—and I have two hours of free WiFi and I’ve spent roughly 30 of them to read the recaps of RuPaul’s Drag Race AllStars (Allstars?), the Real Housewives of New York City “Reunion Part 1”, and the latest Difficult People. I have diverse interests, but they’re all terrible and classless.

So now I’m going to make a complete…hold on (looks up 360+180)…540 degree turn (THAT’S HOW DIFFERENT THIS ARTICLE IS GONNA BE FROM ITS INTRO; also does anyone know how to do the “degree” symbol on the Mac?) and discuss the latest in the Colin Kaepernick timeline.

While at the G20 in China, Obama said, when asked to comment on Kaepernick, that “he is exercising his constitutional right to make a statement…Sometimes [an active citizenry] is messy and controversial and it gets people angry and frustrated but I’d rather have young people who are engaged in the argument and trying to think through how they can be part of our democratic process than people who are just sitting on the sidelines and not paying attention at all.”

A little background: In the preseason games, Kaepernick, quarterback for the San Francisco 49ers, sat during the National Anthem, saying that he would not support a country that he felt oppressed minorities and people of color, citing particularly the recent instances of police violence and the subsequent lack of strong response towards those offenders. Since then, he has either sat or knelt during the National Anthem.

Interestingly, his team has widely supported him, saying that it is his choice whether or not to participate in the anthem.

On the opposite end, the Santa Clara Police Officer’s Association threatened to boycott offering officers for the games. They were insulted by the perceived insults that police officers were getting “paid leave for murdering minorities” and that if the “49ers employee” (Colin Kaepernick) was not properly disciplined, it could result in “police officers choosing not to work at [the 49ers’] facilities.” America’s least-favorite citrus product, Donald Trump, took the opportunity to suggest that maybe Kaepernick should leave America if he didn’t like it (which is every bitchy eighth-grader’s response when they don’t agree with something).

Others have claimed that Kaepernick was insulting veterans—he wasn’t—and that he was being disrespectful to them. In response, veterans have started the hashtag “VeteransForKaepernick.”

The first veteran, Marcus Newsome, to use the hashtag felt that people were using the veterans as a vehicle for venting their anger. One veteran tweeted that they never served to “protect a song” but rather the “right to protest and free speech.”

As a journalist, I obviously care about free speech and everyone’s right towards free speech. But beyond that, as a human, I think it’s important that people with platforms use those platforms to bring attention and light to issues that they care about. Kaepernick is probably a multimillionaire. He is firmly ensconced in one of America’s most popular sports. He could easily take a back seat to politics and stay muted and safe. But what’s important in America, especially in periods of turmoil like this, that everyone use their voices to speak up.

People who have reacted to Kaepernick’s stance make me so mad because it’s interesting to see what is acceptable in America and what isn’t. And what I mean by that is what people will get upset about and what people won’t.

A few years ago, when Ray Rice beat and abused his wife, he was given a short suspension, switched from a couple teams, but largely maintained his same level of popularity. But when someone like Kaepernick takes a strong political stance for the good of people, everyone gets foaming at the mouth. We care more about the santicity of some stupid fucking song than we do about a known abuser. We will forgive rape, drug abuse and violence, but we won’t forgive “upsetting tradition.” We are so sunken into tradition that we’re choking on it.

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Source: Giphy// Metaphor for “cutting ourselves free of malignant traditions???

These people who are so angry at Kaepernick are angry that anyone would dare question the “greatness” of America, angry that anyone would remind them on the ugly and unpopular issues going on. These are the people who would sacrifice Brock Turner’s victim to stop his horrific crime from ruining his life. There are so many terrible things that Americans will excuse and allow, but it’s sickening to see what they find to go too far.

I think my response would be different if Kaepernick’s actions were different, but at this point, I agree with him. He respectfully sat during the anthem. He gave concise reasons as to why he would not stand. He wasn’t belligerent or rude or disrespectful, and if you disagree with him, then you should behave the same way.

If you stifle freedom of speech and the right to protest, if you think that Kaepernick should be let go from the NFL, then you are acting directly antithetically from the America that you say that you are trying to protect. The America that started was not static or steeped in tradition. It lived and breathed as something that relied on checks and balances, on the passion of the people to shape it. If we squelch people today who are trying to shape America for the better with passion, then we’re fighting to protect something that’s already dead.

I don’t want to get all emo, but that’s how I feel about it. And if President Obama has the same sentiment as me, then I’m fucking golden, hunny.

On a lighter note, reversing that 540 degree turn, I’m sitting in the café and originally the table I’m currently at had no chair. I went up to the guy sitting at the table next to mine—who had two chairs—and asked if I could borrow one. Kind of rudely, he said no, that he was waiting for a friend. After I eventually found a chair, I sat down and started writing. A few minutes later, after the recap of RuPaul and midway through the recap of Real Housewives, another man came up and tried to take the chair. Even more rudely, the guy sitting said that the chair was not up for grabs. The man backed away.

Not ten minutes after that, the guy sitting packed up his stuff and left, HAVING NEVER HAD ANY USE FOR THE OTHER CHAIR. Now, I’ve done some bad things in the past—lying, cheating, hustling—but I’ve never done anything as karmically bad as that. Good luck, dude. Good luck with your fucking life.

Was it sacrilegious to use such silly gifs for such a serious article? Am I the one with bad karma??!

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Humor, Life, Rambles

SISYPHUS, “SHEEPDOGGING” AND MY LUBEY THIGHS

Written after picking a scab and now I will bleed forever for a thousand moons until the oceans have dried up, the tectonic plates have cracked and man’s cities have crumbled to dust and alien life forms will come to our desiccated husk of a world and my scab will still be fucking bleeding.

I was walking back from the gym this morning (#FitFam) and as I was walking, I happened across a couple who were walking in the same direction, wearing athletic clothing. I didn’t really think anything of it, and since I have long muscular legs (ohmygod I have been chafing so much that if we were stuck in the desert together sans supplies, I could start a fire with my thighs), I quickly power-walked past them.

I’m walking, walking, listening to a podcast—okay it’s the Bitch Bible podcast which I recently subscribed to and I’m such a stereotype—when suddenly the couple comes sprinting up behind me, except I didn’t know until they sped around me like a roaring river and made me quirk. However, it was just a short sprint, so, like, twenty paces up, they stopped running and starting walking very slowly.

And I fucking realized that with my long muscular legs and thick thighs, that at the pace they were going at and the pace I was going at, I would soon overtake them (physics (?)). I guess I could’ve slowed my pace but death is imminent and I had eggs to fry for breakfast so my pace waits for no man. Praying that they were done sprinting/would drop dead, I went around as we both crossed the street.

Butthole clenched, I walked along the—now much narrower—sidewalk, tensed like I was in the g*ddamn Hunger Games, and lo-and-fucking-behold, they come sprinting past me and ten paces up, drop off into a leisurely jog.

Side bar: THIS DOES NOTHING FOR YOU. Yes, sporadic sprints will confuse your muscles and help you burn more calories, but then dropping off into a FUCKING SLOW WALK will just put you at risk for my foot into your lower spine.

If you took Ancient Greek in high school/didn’t have many friends in middle school and read Greek mythology (I was both of these), then you might’ve heard of the myth of Sisyphus. Damned by the gods for…idk, skipping out on his cable bill or something, Sisyphus was forced in the afterlife (it’s like life, but more dead) to push a huge boulder up a hill. That in itself is actually just a CrossFit workout (wow, “CrossFit” is a recognized word in my Microsoft cuz I got that 2016 download), so the gods wanted to make it harder. When Sisyphus reaches the top of the hill, the boulder rolls back down and Sissy must start again. And that’s the real punishment for Sisyphus: the futile nature of his struggle, the constant cycle, no real traction gained despite his efforts.

Walking, like a sheep hemmed in by a pair of fucking sheepdogs in Nike gear, I felt like I was trapped in my own Sisyphean hellscape. Except I would rather burn campus to the ground than get stuck in an endless cycle with these fucks.

End of the story is that eventually we came to a corner and the path diverged into two. I hovered gently behind them and decided I would take the road less traveled on, aka the road where these two fucking weren’t. I can’t handle couples in general, but I especially can’t handle being herded by a couple.

Couple of fucks.

I moved back to school on Thursday, which is why I didn’t post anything that day. Not because I didn’t have the time. I had the time. I just didn’t want to.

This might just be a ~quirky little quirk~ of someone who had a double helping of anxiety and depression (greedy, I know), but transitions (school to home, home to school, USSR to Russia—fucked me up) are especially difficult for me to process. So my first day back—Thursday—after my parents left, I busied myself before hanging out with a friend and then hanging out with another friend and watching RuPaul’s Drag Race: AllStars 2 (#spon?) to ride out the lingering anxiety of being in a “new” place even though I moved back into my old apartment and I’m a fucking senior on campus. Anxiety has no rhyme or reason or rhythm (much like myself).

It’s Saturday today, and I definitely feel a lot more calmed and grounded—fame hasn’t gotten to my head—and also the Sisyphus-sheepdog incident really made me laugh, so I decided that I was in a stable enough condition to write this.

Ohmygod side bar: I’m gonna say what, but I’m making a very big life decision within the next few weeks, and I will be revealing that when it comes to fruition. VERY EXCITING STUFF.

So that’s really it. I’ve been wearing a lot of light-wash denim lately, and the other day I wore my Birkenstocks for so long I got a blister. Also I’ve been chafing up a storm lately for some reason, and I rubbed deodorant on my inner thighs this morning (per a friend’s suggestion, that is not a usual thing I do), and it helped a little bit. But I couldn’t quite get used to the feeling of lubey thighs and that really affected my mentality for the day.

Side bar: Buy my single “Lubey Thighs” on iTunes. The full album will be dropping later this month, Diary-Ah.

#LUBEYTHIGHS

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Humor, Life, pop culture, Rambles

HIPSTER NONSENSE

Written while having bad skin.

I don’t want to be dramatic, is something I say to myself and others before I go off. I won’t even say it now, because I want to remain cool and calm and collected, and foreshadowing a blog post with “I don’t want to be dramatic” just mentally gives me the go-ahead to rant. And I’m above that, frankly.

I’m about to head back to school. I have officially turned 21 (#twentyfun). I’m living life large, but also small because I’m so thin, and also medium because I can speak with the dead. But as I’m going back, I have to start reacquainting myself with my peers and my piers (Boston is a river city), and that means reacquainting myself with Fakesters (Fake Hipsters, but I can’t think of a wittier amalgam, so fucking sue me. Also like you even fucking know what an amalgam is).

To the casual basique onlooker, I might be generally confused (slightly) for a hipster. I’m gay (very against the mainstream), I wear a lot of sweaters, I make strong references, and I’m an English major (hipster boner city because if I’ve listened to one New Balance-wearing wannabe discussing 1800s English poets, I’ve listened to a thousand). However, I’m also deeply invested in the welfare of the Kardashian-Jenners, I don’t own an antique printing press, and my iPod nano has since lost all charge because I retired it in 2009 like the humanitarian I am.

However, when you dance the dirty tango with Hipsterdom, that means that you come into contact with A) real hipsters (which I can’t even) and B) Fakesters (which are like real hipsters but infinitely more insufferable). Look, I get it. Everyone gets caught up in trends. The ‘90s are back, hunny, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. HOWFUCKINGEVER, I can’t handle it when people take things a little too far.

I’ve been watching Friends recently and besides the very problematic lack of queer or black people, it’s been cute. It’s also been hauntingly familiar because everything that all the characters wear is something that I’ve seen on a classmate. Crop tops, oversized flannels, a simple boot. We’re jonesing for the ‘90s bad. Which is cool. Which is fine. But there are some things that cross the fucking line.

I was on Snapchat and I was scrolling through people’s Stories—muted—when I came across the Snapchat of a not friend-friend (like, we’re “friends” but I wouldn’t eat in front of her) and she has Snapchatted her listening to a circa-2007 iPod classic. So let’s break down this situation. You think it’s fucking hipster and alternative to listen to an iPod classic (no h8, don’t send me your letters, iPod classic stans) and document on a modern social media app with YOUR FUCKING IPHONE 6S. If you’re going to commit and make me seem like an asshole millennial, then you don’t get to use a goddamn iPhone. Go back to a corded housephone, you monster. And I say this with a lot of love and also if the person who did this ever finds this blog, I just want you to know that I don’t hate you, please don’t spit at me.

I can handle the Tumblr freaks and the mirror selfies and the acid-washed mom jeans. I can handle them because I am them. But I can’t handle blatant and (frankly) dangerous behavior. You’re not edgy. There’s a reason why we don’t use the iPod classic anymore. And that reason is because we have fucking iPhones, which you know, you fakester.

This might seem harsh, but let me reason with you. I deal with fakesters a lot: I go to an urban school in a fairly liberal city. And a lot of me being a mainstream, trendy motherfucker led me to feeling like an idiot. I felt like I was stupid in the face of these “edgy” people, like I was a phony or a total basic for liking the things I like. The people who are so stuffed to the gills with ennui that they’re choking on irony. I’ve learned to cope and ferret out my own internal reasons for feeling inferior.

But I can’t deal with fakery. I can’t handle peers who go thrift-shopping with their parents’ credit cards, who have political opinions but aren’t registered to vote, who have answers to questions they don’t understand. I can handle the slight narcissism that comes with being a hipster and going anti-trend. I even respect it sometimes. But I can’t handle full-on bullshit. You’re not indie. You’re not edgy. You can be you and do your thing and wear chokers and I can do my thing and read Daily Mail, but let’s not pretend that we’re any different. At the end of the day, we’re both trendy millennial fuckers. And that’s okay. Because that’s the way it should be.

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pop culture, Review, television

Review of REAL HOUSEWIVES OF NEW YORK FINALE: THE UNRAVELING OF LUANN

Grade: A (but not an A+ because it’s still disgusting and sad)

There are a few episodes of reality television where the “reality” and reality blur together uncomfortably and you realize that these people are, like, really fucking messed up. The episode of Kourtney and Khloe Take Miami where Scott smashes a mirror is one. And the finale of this season’s Real Housewives of New York City is another. The drama was so close, so hideous, and so tangible that it almost felt scripted. But it was real in the ugliest way.

We open up back in Miami, where the producers cattle-prodded the Housewives into going because Mohegan Sun sucked and Bethenny was bleeding too profusely to go to Mexico (I never thought I would be angry at vaginas for having their own storylines in RHONY and having those storylines impede my promise at a dramatic vacay). Bethenny, whose jawline is really cute now, has just told Luann that she has a photo of Tom and some woman making out. AT THE REGENCY. WHICH I’M ASSUMING IS A BAR.

Side “bar” (ha?): These women and the inhabitants of their social spheres inhabit only, like, three places in Manhattan: Boutique the club, The Regency Bar, and Sonja’s vagina. The last one has late checkout, so it’s particularly popular for the late-risers.

Anywayanywayanyway, Luann refuses to believe Bethenny and oscillates rapidly between swooning onto the ground like a Southern Belle, fake-vomiting, and shouting, “TOM’S MADLY IN LOVE WITH ME.” Reminder: they have been dating for four weeks and engaged for one. Luann says that she “knows” he’s the one. FOUR WEEKS.

For her part, Bethenny does truly seem remorseful, which is a little too late. The entire season, Bethenny has been a raging psychopath (not a diss, just a fact) and so mean to Jules, so I find it a little weird that this is the thing that she’s in literal tears about. After she tells Lu, the camera shows her sitting in bed, lying in bed, and drinking straight from the Skinnygirl bottle. Great sutured advertising, btw Bravo!!

The entire time (all four weeks) that Luann and Tom have been together, the women have said that Luann is in love with being in love, and in love with the hype. And when she whispers to Bethenny, haggard and old and tired, “Don’t do this to me,” it’s almost as if she’s asking Bethenny, “Don’t do this to me. Don’t ruin my storyline.” I know that’s harsh, but I think it’s also true. Luann is an honestly awful person. I don’t want her to be unhappy, but I also think that this is a natural progression of her storyline.

This episode was, for the first thirty minutes, too close and ugly and weird and not-good drama. Luann’s in a tizzy, Bethenny’s inconsolable, Ramona is getting very close to people’s faces and screaming, “I FOUND OUT THAT MARIO WAS CHEATING FROM PAGE SIX.” It’s a lot.

And then, when Luann is in the bathroom after the bomb has been dropped and she’s been talking with Tom, you see the wildness recoil and something more calculated take its place. Reality TV “reality.”

However, before we get into the whole problematic of it all, I just have one moment that is perfect. Luann, this entire time while she’s been spinning out, has been texting Tom via voice call. Meaning, she speaks into Siri and Siri types out a text message. TO REMIND US THAT THESE WOMEN ARE ELDERLY.

Luann, in her text to Tom: “How could you do this to me. Question mark.” BECAUSE YOU HAVE TO VERBALIZE PUNCTUATION. A moment of levity.

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Source: Bravo TV// “How could you do this to me. Question mark.”

After she’s freaked out, Luann does the classic horrible move of getting back together with Tom and shooting up Bethenny like a trussed-up turkey on Thanksgiving. Why is Bethenny so involved with Luann’s business? Why is she gunning for Tom? Why did she fact-check?

The last one makes me actually annoyed. Bethenny rigorously fact-checked and made sure that her information was solid before coming to Luann. LUANN SEES THAT AS SHADY. LUANN, YOUR FIANCE IS PLAYING TONSIL-HOCKEY WITH A COUGAR AT THE REGENCY. GET YOUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT.

Luann’s darkest moment, when you glimpse the depths of her denial and delusion, comes when she tries to believe her own lies. She says they had a fight, he went to the Regency, and met up with a girl whom he had not seen in a while. She was, according to Luann, “of course ready, willing, and able to be there for him. And, you know, Tom fell into her clutches.”

And right there, more than any other moment in the episode, is when I decided that I hate Luann. Because someone who blames other women for the cheating of her fiance, who forgives the man but slut-shames the other women, is so beyond anti-feminist that it’s disgusting. Women like Luann are so willing to believe their own narratives, that men are gullible and fall into the traps of women, that they take back cheaters time and time again because “that’s just their nature.” Tom can’t help it. UM TOM COULD HELP IT. AND HE’LL DO IT AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN. Luann will keep making excuses for him because to not make excuses would be to give up the fantasy and the narrative of “Happy wife, happy life.” And that makes me so sad, that people are willing to sacrifice so much for the facade of a good life.

Luann does a bunch of shitty other stuff, but all in the haze of acting for the storyline. She’s gone and cracked, and it shows. During Bethenny’s Mexican fiesta party, appropriation to the max, the women are discussing the $10K pinata (I CAN’T EVEN BEGIN) that Bethenny got them, when Luann marches up, taps on Bethenny’s shoulder and says, “STOP TALKING ABOUT ME AND TOM.” She obviously believes in the reality tv formula that a group of women talking must be gossiping. It’s so obviously her trying to start drama and her blind belief that these women really care that I had to laugh. I didn’t want to. I HAD to.

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Source: Bravo TV// What’s sadder: Jules’ belief her marriage will succeed or her denim lewk?

This finale was one of the darkest I’ve ever seen, from the glimpses of turbulent pain in Jules’ eyes as she says that she hopes hers and Michael’s eighth anniversary will be lucky for their marriage, knowing full well that in the time of the testimonial filming, her relationship has already headed for divorce. The blind faith of Dorinda. The magic eyes of Ramona. Sonja looked amazing, but she always does. The upcoming knowledge of what Carole will wear to the Reunion. All SUPER dark stuff, you guys.

And at the center of the tornado, in a circle of belying calm, are Bethenny and Luann. Their friendship in tatters, and Bethenny’s utter disbelief that Luann could attack her for Bethenny’s probably first, and last, attempt at benevolent, no-strings-attached do-gooding. Luann will choose her LuMan every time, and the rest of the girls are just collateral damage.

I typed this all on my new LAPTOP, so I haven’t quite got the hang of it yet, but I wanted to put up content. Also my BIRTHDAY IS TOMORROW #TWENTYFUN. Ugh I hate myself for that hashtag, but I won’t delete it. I need to learn from my shame.

Favorite Moments:

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  • Bethenny screaming at a waiter to never serve vegetarian ceviche in her presence again.
  • Luann: “Me and Tom are doing our own therapy. People tell us to go to a therapist, I say, Why?”
  • Everyone loving Adam’s new haircut. It’s cute. It’s not that cute.
  • Sonja being confused by food and reminding us, yet again, that she and Tom were lovers and that her current boyfriend gets his rocks off to antique napkins.
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Rambles

FIVE THINGS I COULD BE THE OLYMPIC ATHLETE FOR

Apart from the hugely jarring fact that Bravo is not airing any Real Housewives episodes while the Olympics are airing—like why?? As if they have the same demographics????—this Olympics has been a lot about “the Olympics” and less about “me” so I’d like to pull the focus back onto myself. I’m sure we’ve all seen those Tumblr posts where it’s like “Katie Ledecky at 19 breaks world record, while I’ve got my hand stuck in the Pringles can” or “Gymnast: lands a triple axle flip but lands off-kilter; me (mouth full of Cheetos): bad form.” And that’s so millennial that we’re all feeling the same amount of shame and self-loathing that we, as old teenagers and young twentysomethings, are literally accomplishing nothing while our peers are winning medals and looking so ripped while doing it.

So to make me/us feel better, I’ve created a list of things that I could be the Olympic athlete for:

Side bar: Do we call them “Olympic athletes” or “Olympians”? Or is “Olympians” strictly for Greek deities? Drop me a line.

Five Things I Could Turn Into An Olympic Sport:

1). Folding laundry: I’m, like, really good at it. I have that trifold trick down pat, and I’m actually not bad at folding buttondowns, which—as everyone knows—can be a real drag to fold. I have yet to master the “Grasping the shirt at two seemingly random points and through artful twisting and cotton origami” method of folding clothes, but let’s pretend that that’s the same thing as using performance-enhancing drugs. Yes, it’s technically faster, but morally dubious.

2). Bingeing Netflix: There are very few things I’m better at than watching copious amounts of television. I burned through Scandal, I laughed through Chelsea, I tore through The Office. I’ve recently started rewatching Friends and this is completely unrelated to bingeing, but there are very few things in this world that I am more into than Season 1 Chandler Bing. The hair, the snarkiness, the gay vibe. I LOVE HIM AND WANT HIM TO BE MY HUSBAND.

Side bar: Everything that the people on Friends wore is exactly what everyone I know wears now.

3). Not knowing when I’m being flirted with: Not that this happens a lot, but for someone who is as self-centered and egotistical as me, you would be certain that I would be better at knowing when someone is similarly entranced by me. But, for whatever reason, I’m the last to know when anyone has been flirting with me. If you’re flirting with me (plz flirt w me), can you just, like, email me the night before to let me know to be on the lookout? Thanks. Also can you put something catchy in the subject line, otherwise I won’t even see it. I get a lot of emails.

4). Tongue-popping: What started as an ironic quirk has ingrained itself into my behavior as a nervous tic and a method of echolocation. Whenever I enter a particularly well-acousticed—not a word—area, I tongue-pop to hear the echo. It also acts as excellent verbal punctuation and pizazz. I can tongue-pop really loud, and the only downside to this Olympic skill is dry-mouth.

So that you can also learn this valuable shady skill, I’ve included a YouTube tutorial by the Tongue Pop Queen Herself, Alyssa Edwards. Yawelcomeyawelcome.

5). Cooking peppers and onions: My family reads me to filth for this, because I can only cook, like, four things really well, and one of those is peppers and onions. My friend—whose Wunderkindof pseudonym I can’t remember right now, and I forget which article she was mentioned in so I can’t look it up/I’m too lazy to look it up—can attest that I make bomb peppers and onions. Sometimes I’ll add kale into it too. The secret? Low heat, lots of patience, and balsamic reduction. If I could wed and bed one reduction, it would be a balsamic, hunny. Bombsalmic reduction. So fucking good. So fucking easy.

I’m not really good at that many things—oh I can crack a lot of bones in my body!—so I’m gonna end this list at five so that it doesn’t drag on and get sad.

“Get?!” you ask in disbelief.

This article is—at this moment—under 700 words and under 700 words has never felt so long. I’m really scraping the bottom of the barrel right now, but I’m too dumb to know anything about politics—usually I’m more well-versed but idk what’s been happening with my brain—and no good juicy pop culture has been happening lately. Celebrities, give me your drama! I’m out of a job until you do!

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Rambles

THINGS THAT ARE IRRITATING BUT I’M ABOVE IT. DEFINITELY NOT IRRITATED.

Written after a weird, resent-y day. I hope this seethes with resentment, especially towards YOU DEBORAH. GIVE ME BACK MY TUPPERWARE.

Is anything more stressful than staring into the void of Netflix after finishing a binge and not knowing what to start next?

Whenever people say stuff like that—rhetorical questions—I always answer with stuff like “Famine” because I’m terrible. But seriously you guys, there is actually nothing worse than not knowing what to watch. This is tough stuff, you guys. You guys.

Remember when I said that I was going to stop writing about myself and focus on topics outside my person? That’s really hard when your life is as deep and multifaceted as mine. Also I would have to “look stuff up” if I wrote about not-me, and you guys the keys are really hard to push on my laptop and it’s just not in my five-year-plan to have bodybuilder fingers from pushing sticky keys. You guys.

I have nothing to say/everything to say but I’m not allowed, so instead of not posting on Thursday, thus marking the first Thursday in a WEEK that I haven’t missed—I’m on a roll, people—I think I’ll just burn off some resentment calories by listing things that make me annoyed that I’m not able to actually change. This was written I guess when I hadn’t posted in a while, but the similarities to my life rn are SHOCKINGLY WEIRD. Astral coincidence or I’m just stuck in a rut on Thursdays…

1). Group chats where I can’t turn on the “Do Not Disturb” button because sometimes they have important info/compliment me.

2). Having a corn kernel stuck in your back molar JUST after you clipped your nails. OMG I JUST FUCKING CLIPPED MY NAILS. I’M TOTALLY IN A RUT.

3). When your thighs chafe but you’re not being more active than usual, so you have to deduce that you’re just getting fatter. STILL FAT.

4). Compliment jacking off contests: This is a gross way to describe it, but the only other way is “the black hole where you just keep shoving compliments at each other in the vain hope that one of you will just give up and die, and thus end the cycle.”

5). When you keep accidentally writing “irrigating” instead of “irritating.” One is a valuable farming technique and one is a nuisance. I mean, technically they’re both nuisances, amiright ladies? My farming material never lands.

I can’t think of any more, so I’ll cease and desist.

OMG YOU GUYS. THIS ABOVE STUFF WAS PRE-WRITTEN BUT THIS (AUGUST 11TH) STUFF IS BEING WRITTEN RN!!! I JUST WROTE THE OPENING OF ANOTHER SHITTY BLOG POST AND THEN I THOUGHT I WOULDN’T POST BUT I REMEMBERED THIS SHITTY BLOG POST AND NOW I HAVE CONTENT TO POST!

Oh, should I have written about Kylie Jenner turning 19? I’ll pass. Even though I love you Kylie!!!!!

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Humor, Life, Politics, pop culture, Things Happening RN

THINGS THAT ARE HAPPENING RN: DONALD, OBAMA, AND SHAWN MENDES

Some days I am bursting with ideas, and I feel as if I could write for hours. Other days, I stare out of the window—waiting for my husband to return from war—and just can’t get anything done. I can’t actually tell which type of day this is because all I’ve been doing is watching YouTube videos—so it might be the latter—but I figure that I could comment on things that are already happening, thus cementing my position as someone without any creativity but with a lot to say. People love that, right?

WHAT’S HAPPENING RN:

1). Donald Trump vs the Khans: This is kind of already been discussed, but Khizr and Ghazala Khan, the parents of a deceased U.S. soldier, spoke at the DNC against Donald Trump and his treatment of Muslim-Americans. The Khans’ son, Capt. Humayun Khan, was killed in Iraq in 2004. Khizr called The Donald out on his lack of empathy and also his disgraceful conduct. In true Trump fashion, rather than respond gracefully, Donald attacked Ghazala Khan, who did not speak at the convention, implying that, because of Muslim tradition (??) she was not allowed to speak. Ghazala wrote a piece for The Washington Post, saying that she was too overcome with emotion to speak at the DNC and that as a parent, Trump should have had more empathy for someone who has lost a child.

Interestingly, this is one of the few things that is really sticking with Trump. Maybe it’s the combination of misogyny and criticizing a U.S. solider who gave his life for his country and him illustrating exactly what the Khans were talking about, but even some Republicans have criticized him. This, however, has not stopped them from endorsing him, which President Obama completely called them out on.

Obama asked if this is someone that Republican leaders have repeatedly strongly spoken out against, but still continue to endorse, what it said about their party as a whole. Yet again, another reason why Obama is a total rockstar and I am weeping at the thought of him leaving the White House.

2). The Olympics: I’m not like #sporty, so I haven’t been watching the Olympics and I missed the opening ceremonies because I was at a party, but apparently the Olympic Village (which I keep wanting to call “Victor Village” a la Hunger Games) is less than impressive. After maintenance attempted to run a “stress test” to see if the Village could cope with actual Olympians living in it and that test resulted in major issues, some athletes have been relocated to hotels and the US basketball teams are living on a docked cruise ship.

Side bar: They have basketball in the Olympics??

Coupled with the Zika virus issue, this is shaping up to be a little tough for the Olympians. But seriously, they’re all so hot that I doubt any of them have time to do anything other than stare at each other and compete.

3). I had a burger yesterday: I’m writing this on Sunday, and yesterday I went with my best friend and his girlfriend (we are also friends, but I need her to understand her place in the food chain) to this dive near their house and it was so good omg. Sometimes it makes me remember that good food doesn’t need a lot of accoutrements and embellishments. This has been reflected in my style and is also a general theme in my life right now, so I’m glad it’s being reflected in my food. Something great is usually also something simple. Except for me: I’m a complex diamond of a human person.

4). The Cursed Child: The script for the play “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” was released in book-form, and I can’t decide whether or not I want to read it. It’s not written by J.K. Rowling (more like J.Slay Rowling amiright ladeez) and I’ve already read all the spoilers—NOT PLEASED—so idk if I should. It’s interesting that this is a year of Harry Potter revival, with The Cursed Child and Fantastic Beasts coming out close together. but while Fantastic Beasts doesn’t bother—it won’t affect the original seven books and it gives us a canonized lewk into the American wizarding world (nerdgasm)—The Cursed Child totally bothers me because it RUINS THE EPILOGUE. THINGS AREN’T SUPPOSED TO EXIST PAST THE EPILOGUE.

5). Kylie’s Birthday Surprise: Just shy of her nineteenth birthday, Kylie Jenner released her Birthday Special Surprises for her cosmetics line. An eyeliner—new for her—a new gold metal matte, an entire eyeshadow kit, a new gold gloss, two cream eye shadows, a new matte, and new mini-mattes. She’s, like, a fucking mogul, you guys. Like, we’re all just watching Kylie Jenner take over the world.

Also also also do you think that Kylie will release a highlighter and call it “KyLighter?” Because I might’ve just thought of her newest product. Fucking missed opportunity if she doesn’t, and also a missed opportunity if she doesn’t hire me as Media Consultant/Product Punnist/Thinspirationist.

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Shockingly, I don’t have much to say. Well, I have a lot to say, but I don’t know how much of it I can put online without regretting it later. Isn’t it ironic, after all the bullshit I put on this blog, that I have boundaries and standards? I don’t believe it either. Also, like, besides the Olympics—which I’m too busy to watch—and the DNC/RNC—which I’m too dumb to understand—there really hasn’t been much going on. It’s almost Kylie Jenner’s birthday.

Actually omg you know what I have to say? Remember how when everyone was freaking out in anticipation of Kylie Jenner turning eighteen and being #legal?? And it was basically all about how we knew that Tyga and Kylie were together but to avoid the whole “statutory rape” thing, they had to keep it on the DL until she was legal. Ew, I just realized how gross that is, that a 26-year-old left his girlfriend and their son to be with a literal 17-year-old. For some reason, this has made me completely understand Blac Chyna in a way I never did before. My eyes are opened.

Anywayanywayanyway. Well, today is Shawn Mendes’ eighteenth birthday and I feel like it’s a similar thing for the gays that I know. Because he’s literally so hot but I was literally like “Ew he’s literally 17” but now he’s not. This is my Kylie moment. He’s my inspirashawn. OMG THAT’S BRILLIANT I’M A FUCKING POET.

#INSPIRASHAWN

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