A Valentine’s Day poem:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Watching Netflix is cheaper
Than dinner for two.
Thank you, thank you. I’m clearly not bitter at all. It’s just that Valentine’s Day sucks. Valentine’s Day is the worst day of the year for single women and also everyone else. It’s too much pressure for couples (i.e. “What if this is too much? What if this isn’t enough? What if he forgets all together?”), and it’s obviously no fun for single people.
(and I actually had a boyfriend when I tweeted that)
Alternate title: Snow Diggity
28: Hours since Mayor de Blasio declared a Winter Weather Emergency in New York City.
85 million: People in the path of Blizzard Jonas.
30: Inches of snow predicted in southern New York.
26.8: Actual inches of snowfall in Manhattan.
16: Emergency alerts on my phone from Notify NYC.
11: Texts from my grandmother asking if I’m alive.
500: People in line at Trader Joe’s on Friday night.
4: Free scones the guy at the coffee shop by my apartment gave me since they were closing early.
5: Minutes it took to regain feeling in my fingers after writing this. Continue reading
In 2006, Abercrombie & Fitch had a gray t-shirt that said “Single and Ready to Mingle” in brown, curly font across the chest. When my 8th grade boyfriend Pablo Gibbs (née Gomez) and I broke up, I wore said t-shirt to school the very next day. I can’t remember if I bought the t-shirt preemptively or if it belonged to one of my step-sisters, but I bore the words like a badge of honor that told the world I was on the market. In this context, “on the market” means “able to spare a slow dance at the next mixer.” Things were simpler then. ISIS wasn’t a threat, and I wore a size 2. A breakup was painless enough that I was ready to wear a t-shirt about it less than 24 hours later. Fast forward 10 years, and I’m not so stoked to “mingle.” After collaborating with 3 of my girlfriends, here is a list of 25 things single women are actually ready to do. Continue reading
The bad news is my boyfriend and I broke up. The good news is now there’s a chance I might end up with Leonardo DiCaprio!
I know what you’re thinking.
Who would ever let you go? That’s why you don’t leave France for a boy! Did you learn NOTHING from The Hills? I know, if Lauren Conrad taught us one thing it’s that you don’t pick a guy over France. But like many twentysomethings before me, I fell in love, quit my job, moved back to Tennessee…got a new job, got a new house, got a puppy, and got dumped.
When you go through a breakup, a lot of questions cross your mind. Should I move? Who gets the dog? Am I going to die alone? And most importantly, Who will explain what’s happening on Game of Thrones? Continue reading
Sometimes when I’m teaching a class, I pretend like I’m hosting a variety show…and by sometimes, I mean always. I think of my lesson plans as “bits,” and when I call on students, I refer to them as “volunteers from the audience.” The only thing missing is a laugh track like sitcoms have, which might be tough to acquire, considering the fact that most of my classrooms don’t even have projectors or speakers. Luckily, my
fan club students have to laugh because I’m so funny grading them. Continue reading
When I used to imagine my first apartment, I envisioned a balcony, bay window, wine cellar, clawfoot tub, rooftop terrace with a crackling hearth, maybe an exposed brick wall or two, an unconventionally cute neighbor to help me carry my bags…you know, the usual. When I actually began searching for my first apartment, I adjusted my criteria a little. The three factors I considered while apartment hunting were location, number of dead bugs, and price of rent–in that order. Continue reading
“Been around the world, don’t speak the language
But your booty don’t need explaining
All I really need to understand is
When you talk dirty to me
Talk dirty to me
Talk dirty to me
Talk dirty to me
Get jazzy on it.” -Jason Derulo
I would like to write a strongly worded letter to Mr. Derulo, in which I reprimand him for giving me this false sense of security. I’ve “been around the world” and I actually DO (sort of) speak the language, and can I just tell you that whatever the locals are saying in the bedroom COULD NOT BE FARTHER FROM MY MIND? French landlords do not “get jazzy on it.” Continue reading