Dating is hard, y’all. It’s a jungle out there. I fully commend anyone looking for love (or something like love) for going online and downloading dating apps and putting themselves out there.
The latest season of The Bachelorette premiered on Monday night, and although it was about two hours of carbon copy white dudes exiting a limo, it was worth watching just to see the previews for what looks like a crazy dramatic season!
I wont go into too much detail of what happened (this isn’t a recap, there are people being paid to write those elsewhere), but I will give you my thoughts, talk shit and swoon about yesterday’s fantastic premiere!
Let’s start with the belle of the ball:
I’m a big fan of Jojo. I think she’s beautiful and charming and was really excited when she was named the next Bachelorette. I think Jojo and former Bachelorette Andi Dorfman are similar in that they’re both successful Southern women who drop “y’all” left right and center, with great hair and fake and bake tans, but unlike Andi, Jojo reads much softer and sweeter on camera.
Ok, let’s talk about the men.
Jordan is already the front-runner of the season because he nabbed the first impression rose and is brother to NFL player Aaron Rodgers (who I refer to as Olivia Munn’s boyfriend). I’m not sold on Jordan, but he has thunder thighs and skinny jeans and in high school I would have eaten that shit up. Be careful, Jojo “Former Pro-Football” player is code word for “Unemployed Fame Seeker.”
Listen, I’m sure Chad’s mom thinks he’s great, but in actuality, Chad looks like he’s one injection of ‘roids away from committing a murder suicide (also his neck-beard looks like untamed bush) The temper on this one looks terrifying. The only thing that upsets me more than an angry, violent man, is a sales person who doesn’t know the importance of staying on brand. Seriously, Chad – you’re a real estate agent. Do you think this is good for your brand/sales/client base? Get it together. Read a book. No bueno, Chad. NO BUENO!
I legit burst out laughing when Luke stood against a barn looking like a Clint Eastwood impersonator at a roadhouse restaurant. Although he’s an army vet, he’s also an aspiring country singer. I’m already dreading the inevitable moment when he pulls out a six string and serenades Jojo with a song. It’s cringe worthy. I’ve dated some musicians in my time, and I would laugh whenever they tried to serenade me. Work on your craft…but in a sound proof room.
The hipster is so far my personal favourite of the season. Have you read his Bachelorette bio? Swoon. Have you seen his Ethan Hawke Reality Bytes hair? That’s the dream. Apparently Brandon is actually a model (which I could overlook) but judging by his beaded bracelet and the fact that Jojo seems uninterested in circle scarfs and slam poetry, his days seem numbered.
This season looks dramatic as f*ck, and I’m so excited for glittery gowns, balyage highlights and testosterone fueled bitch fights.
Are you watching this season? Who are your favourites so far?
There are three things I fear:
- Unplanned pregnancies
- Working out in public
Geographically speaking, I don’t really have to worry about tornadoes because where I live they’re pretty rare, and there’s not a penis willing to have sex with me as far as the eye can see, but working out in public has been a legitimate fear of mine since puberty.
About two weeks ago, after realizing that both my ass and my heart look like they’ve been in a drive-by shooting, I decided that it was time to stop focusing on dating and get in shape.
My Bachelor viewing squad all belong to the same gym, so I thought, what better way to fight your phobia of sweating profusely in public than by standing next to skinny beautiful bitches who will act as camouflage to the fact that you look like you’ve peed your workout tights? #BoxSweat
I’ll admit, part of my fear of joining a gym was because I didn’t know what to wear. I don’t own anything Lululemon based on principle, and I’ve heard how my male friends talk about girls they meet at the gym, so I’m assuming I’ll be judged by both sexes on my attire/body/hyperhidrosis.
It took serious calming down from my friend Sarah to get me to actually attend Saturday morning bootcamp, but I have to admit (and I hate myself for admitting this), it was actually the best decision I’ve made in a long time.
Sure, I should be happy that I’m getting in shape, moving more, blah blah blah getting healthier, but my love of the gym has taken a turn from “focusing on me” to a very dark place.
During my registration, I had a consultation with a trainer about my diet and fitness goals. The first question she asked was relatively simple, “What made you join a gym?”
Do you know how satisfying it is to picture the face of the guy who ghosted you on a medicine ball as you slam it into the ground repeatedly?
I swear, if you didn’t know me, you would think I was Arya Stark, because I’m literally mumbling the names of everyone who I hate as I’m pushing 120lbs on a stupid sled across the floor… Jake, Alex, Geoffrey, The Hound.
You should know that I’ve YET to run into an ex after a break-up, but I’m hoping all of that changes once I develop Michelle Obama arms and a thigh gap.
Yes, friends, I’m building a revenge body because I internalize my feelings and have convinced myself that the reason I’m single is purely physical and not a all because of my personality, timing or circumstances outside of my control.
This is just the beginning of this journey of vengeance. I have 6 weddings to attend, and my trainer wrote them all down on a piece of paper to help motivate me into achieving my fitness goals.
What are those goals?
Regret (on their part)
Rue-ing the day they met me. RUE IT.
I’m not crazy.
(Ok, maybe just a bit).
I’ve been absent from life/work/blogging for the past month after a series of health issues knocked the wind out of my sails and infused my life with a shit storm of Victorian-era drama.
I had decided that in 2016 I would approach life with the level of fearlessness normally reserved for four year old’s learning gymnastics. I was determined to tackle life like it was a pummel horse and make it my bitch. Live with an open heart, an open mind, with absolutely no fear of getting hurt!
I got back into the dating game, stacked my schedule with invitations from friends and gave up bread and cheese. For three weeks, I was on top of the world. I had a renewed sense of what I hoped was an adorable enthusiasm for life. I spoke in cliches, I was Pinteresting positive affirmations, I ate salad without croutons… I was a completely different person!
After a few weeks I hit my first road bump in the dating world, and decided to grant myself the luxury of two weekends completely devoted to “healing” aka drinking my troubles away with my girlfriends.
My liver and I were in the middle of getting over someone when the father of one of my best friend’s passed away. To say we were devastated would be an understatement. My optimism, hopefulness and determination to find happiness was completely derailed by this loss, and I was just on the periphery; watching someone I love very much grieve was and is unbearable. It was sobering (literally) to have perspective on my troubles when someone dear to me had just lost so much.
I did my best to support my friend but on the morning of the celebration of life, I woke up to find my face covered in red welts. My forehead to my chest was peppered with red dots, and larger hives. I began to frantically scratch my skin, pressing my face against anything cold in hopes of a temporary relief from the heat my cheeks were radiating. With only hours before the service, I did the only thing I could think of: Free base Benedryl and paint on the foundation.
I looked in the mirror before leaving for the service and was horrified. I looked like I was the “after” photo in a “Just Say No to Drugs” campaign, clawing at my face, I was an apparition from the future warning young children not to try meth. I managed to make it through the celebration without drawing blood, distracted only by my need to keep my friend’s glass filled to the brim with wine.
The next day, the rash crept down my chest, onto my stomach, and onto each arm. I sat in bed icing my body, convinced I was either a) allergic to my late twenties or b) morphing into the Elephant Man. My throat began to tighten, and I broke out into a fever that had me hallucinating that Colors of the Wind was playing on a constant loop.
The next day, having absolutely no strength, I begged my mother to forego work and take me to the doctors. I sat down in the examining room and started to cry. “I normally have really good skin!” I wailed. “Nothing I do will make it go away!”
“You have strep throat,”said the doctor . “You’ll be off work for a few days.”
Like an insensitive Stevie Wonder fan, I implored him to reconsider his diagnosis. “Look at me! Look at my skin! Are you blind? This isn’t strep. This is much worse!”
“You have Scarlet Fever. A form of strep. The rash will go away in a few weeks. It’ll take a while, and peel. Take these for a week and you should be good to go.” He jotted down a prescription for antibiotics. “You don’t work with the public do you?
I left feeling like Beth March in Little Women after a visit to the Hummels. I felt so strange. Weak. Someone send for Marmie!
My boss was kind, but couldn’t veil the fact that he considered me a rat potentially carrying the plague to infect our office. “Maybe you just stay in bed. Yeah…just, don’t come to the office, OK?”
I spent an entire week in bed. A week after the rash outbreak, my skin was finally clearing up. I decided to shower and join my friends to see my sister perform with her burlesque troop. I was tired, but excited to be back among the living. I decided to reward myself with a glass of wine, for putting on pants and not scaring away humans with my appearance.
I woke up the next day with swollen eyes, and a new batch of hives all over my body.
It was official. I was allergic to fun.
It turns out, not only did I have Scarlet Fever, but I had a red wine allergy. Something I didn’t clue in on until later that week when I decided to reward myself AGAIN with another glass of wine, this time for making it to work like a healthy, normal, functioning member of society. Another bout of hives and my best performance as an extra on Breaking Bad and it was confirmed that I, Elizabeth Regina Di Filippo, am forsaken by God, or a god, probably Bacchus.
No more red wine.
No more clear skin.
No more wearing make-up without looking like I’m just getting a handle on my 12 steps.
Some co-workers have affectionately began calling me Miss Scarlet, and quite frankly, My Dear, I want to go home to Tara and hide under a duvet burrito for the next four weeks until my skin can return to normal.
I’m not quite 100%, but I’m doing much better. I’m dealing with my fear of all things red the only way I know how, by completely avoiding all clothing, food and most importantly, wine with so much as a pinkish tinge.
It’s going to be a long road to recovery, but I think I can manage.
After all, tomorrow is another day!
I would be lost without my Flipboard App.
Mostly because then I would have to actually talk to other people instead of looking busy on my phone.
I came across an article the other day that caught my eye, called 17 ways men can appear more attractive to women, published on the Business Insider website. The article suggests choosing, “someone in your league,” and “wearing a new cologne,” to help attract the ladies.
Since I consider myself to hold a P.H.D in Sociology, Anthropology, Psychology and Cosmetology, I thought I would help a brother out and provide my own list of suggestions to help those with danglers get a P in a V this Valentine’s Day.
You would think this would be common knowledge, but unfortunately, I have to put hygiene at the top of my list for ways to appear more attractive to women.
Please, for the love of God, shower at least once or twice a day. Preferably in the morning, before our dates, and after you leave the gym. This is what separates the boys from the men.
Attraction is about pheromones and don’t get me wrong, I love a little bit of man-musk but there’s a difference between “Hot guy with a hint of Irish Spring soap” and
“Hot Guy who I’ll never call again because he smells like aged cheddar.”
If you REALLY want to make us weak in the knees, how’s about a spritz of cologne for the fancy occasions? Just a spritz. I shouldn’t be able to taste you when you walk by me.
If I have to shave my legs, armpits, bikini area, tweeze my eyebrows, wax my upper lip, and unfortunately pluck a stray chin hair, you sure as shit have to at least match me in the level of grooming.
You think I do all this for fun? No. I do this so that you’ll have sex with me.
All bets are off if if I get close to you and realize you’ve got one eyebrow, a mustache starting from your nostrils and back hair coming out of your shirt to wave hello to me.
Quit focusing so much on shaving your man-brambles. Truth be told it’s kind of terrifying if you’re a complete Yeti and then from the waist down your penis has bangs and is looking at me. We don’t really care, because we don’t want to even SEE it. Seriously. A trim will suffice.
I don’t expect you to take off your shirt and all of a sudden be Channing Tatum, but gimme something. Show you care. That’s all I’m asking.
Change your sheets
Men who do laundry are attractive. Men who voluntarily wash their sheets are husband material. I like to know that if we’re having adult sleepovers, I’m not rolling around in a month’s worth of your dead skin cells, your ejaculated children, or any other bodily fluid that isn’t the direct result of our wrestling match that day.
Change your sheets once a week. Every week. Seriously.
Wear dark wash jeans
An independent study conducted by me noted that men who wear dark wash jeans are 100% more attractive than those wearing acid wash or classic light blue denim.
Leave your sneakers at home
Remember when you were in elementary school and you got a sick new pair of running shoes that you couldn’t wait to wear to school to show your friends? Yeah, well we aren’t in elementary school anymore. Unless we’re at the gym, going for a mild jog, or taking a hip-hop class, put the tennis shoes away. Be a big boy. Diversify your wardrobe.
When women meet a man (if they’re smart) they look for the following:
1. Wedding ring
Go home, rent Crazy, Stupid, Love and let Ryan Gosling educate you in the art of style.
Just like men are always saying that a woman with resting bitch face is intimidating, a guy wearing a perma-prick face is a red flag.Smiling is an easy way to say to women, “Hey, I might be a serial killer or I might not, but don’t you wanna find out?”
Hold a puppy
Works every time.
Talk to me
Ladies, how many times have you been out, locked eyes with a beautiful stranger, and then NOTHING happens? Story of my life.
I get that making the first move is scary, trust me, I get rejected ALL the time – but 9/10, people are actually, surprisingly nice!
Take a chance and say, “Hello.” We want you to!
Put your phone away
Not only does being on your phone in public give you a double chin, but it signals to women that you’re mentally somewhere else and presumably talking to someone else who has a vagina. Give your undivided attention to whomever you’re with.
Unless that person is really boring. Then go on Instagram and look at kittens.
Welp, I think I’ve said enough for today. Now I’d like to hear from you!
What do you think a man can do to be more attractive to women?
Today’s post was written by my hilarious cousin, Laura. Enjoy!
Short on cash this Christmas? Me too, though my collection of dresses I wear once and never use again is growing nicely. If you’re like me and are looking for inexpensive homemade gifts to give this season that are above and beyond your usual knitted scarf, then here are some suggestions to help spark that crackling fireplace channel in your loved one’s heart.
Children are mastermind gift givers. They’re cute enough that you couldn’t possibly complain about the shoddiness of their homemade CD rack, and they create gifts so personalized and terribly made that you can’t even return or regift them (eg. almost a decade of terrible ties my father never once wore but kept in the back of his closet like a shameful secret. What do you MEAN you don’t want to wear that gaudy, shiny neck noose with the Three Stooge’s faces plastered all over it?). The number one thing everyone probably remembers making as a child is macaroni art. Get together a paper Plate, some white glue, elbow macaronis, and gold spray paint? BAM. You’ve got yourself the perfect….erm…thing to give your mom for Mother’s Day. Stick a picture of your dumb, toothless face in the middle and you’ve got what can loosely be described as a picture frame.
So my advice to you is bring back some of the nostalgia of their youth and start giving macaroni art again. But don’t just phone it in with a paper plate frame. No, get your shit together, Cheryl. You’re an adult now. Think of something they love, something they use every day and just…enhance it. Little reminders of your love all over their house via the power of macaroni. Boyfriend plays a lot of videogames? Macaroni the shit out of his X-Box controller. Sister has a favourite coffee mug? Everything is better with macaroni! And if you’re my OG Italian grandparents, prepare for a macaroni covered Virgin Mary statue, painted gold natch, to add to your collection.
2.A Prison Style Tattoo
Nothing says “eternal love” like a tattoo of some broad’s name across your doughy bicep. Tattoos are the epitome of ‘forever’, which is how long love lasts, right? While some people may balk at the permanence of such a gesture, I think it speaks to the person’s sense of spontaneity and commitment, as well as how easy it’ll be to swindle money from them in the future. So my suggestion to you, friends, is give the longest lasting gift of all: a prison style stick-and-poke tattoo.
NOT ON YOURSELF, you walnut. What are you crazy? Those things don’t rub off. I meant give one to your sweetheart! Preferably while they are sleeping or after they drank from that wine glass with all the Ambien in it that you ‘accidentally’ left sitting on the counter. That way, it’ll be a super-duper surprised when they wake up and see your name or “I’ll be watching you” across their chest (thank you Sting for the endless supply of romantic song lyrics to choose from). Remember: No one regrets a love tattoo. Not even Johnny Depp. Or at least, that’s what my 1990 copy of People Magazine says. I really should renew my subscription.
3.The Severed Heads of their Enemies
Anyone who has ever attended post-secondary school has heard the term “Turkey Dump”. For those not in the know, the Turkey Dump refers to the unusually high number of breakups that happen during the Thanksgiving weekend. Many young people experience their first taste of freedom while in college; living away from home, eating ramen with processed cheese slices and Red Bull for every meal (ie. my Freshman year), and meeting tons of new and exciting people. It can take the shine out of any prior hometown affections, including your highschool girlfriend. You realize she’s just not as interesting as that cool chick you met in your Women’s Studies class who has a nose ring and uses hemp tampons, and you use the visit home as the perfect opportunity to dump her townie ass.
So surprise your loved one with something that will stay with them forever. Break up with them, preferably under mistletoe or after a few subtle hints that may lead them to believe you’re about to propose. It’s got everything in a homemade gift you could ask for. It’s straight from the heart, it’ll surprise the shit out of them, and it’ll make their Christmas the most memorable one yet. The only money you’ll spend is replacing the tires they may eventually slash.
5.A Mixed CD
This is actually just a really sweet gift, more people should give mixed CDs. Just no Yanni unless you secretly dislike the person.
Merry Shitscram to you and yours. May your clothes not be soiled by the smells of Fishmas past.
I get really excited for Fridays. It’s my new Christmas Eve because I’ve got the same childlike anxiousness and I’m annoyingly happy, but there’s no family dysfunction and crying alone in the bathroom. This week I was blessed with a stat holiday to celebrate Canada day, so I feel spoiled that tomorrow’s already another day off!
Spoiled…but not as spoiled as America. Seriously, you guys have it so great.* A three day weekend with all the pomp and circumstance once could ask for? AND HOTDOGS? Amazing.
This week’s Friday Five is pop culture driven (as is my life) so let me share with you what I’m loving this week…
1. Channing Tatum
I’m not someone who’s usually influenced by dreams. Every once and a while I’ll have a really weird dream and wake up really confused, but I don’t put much stock into them. HOWEVER, I am easily influenced by dreams when they’re about people, case in point: Channing Tatum.Prior to July 1st I was not a Channing Tatum fan. I got the appeal, but I just wasn’t registering any attraction below my belly button. Then Tuesday night I have a dream that Channing and I are grocery shopping (so many of my dream dates take place in the grocery store, probably because I go to bed hungry) and then BAM! I wake up wanting to binge watch all of his movies. I’m not at all ashamed to say I watched The Vow on Canada Day…twice.
This weekend Magic Mike XL opens in theatres. Would it be weird if I went alone, so long as I kept my hands visible at all times?
2. Kim Kardashian on the cover of Rolling Stone
The beauty of Kim Kardashian is that she fails to take every opportunity to present herself as a feminist icon. She’s an exhibitionist, unapologetic about her body or her decisions to flaunt her assets, but when it comes to actually SAYING something relative to feminist issues or frankly, ANY issue, she’s a swing and a miss.Kim says in the new issue of Rolling Stone :
“I’ve never really been one on labels, and I don’t like to push my view,” Kardashian says. “If I feel something, it’s how I feel. I never say, ‘I feel this way, so you should feel that way.’ Not that there’s anything wrong with it, but I just am who I am. But, yeah.” She smiles. “I think you would call me a feminist.”
Help me, help you. Help me get people to like you. Help me, get people to take you seriously. Help me get people to stop looking at your boobs and bum.
I love this about Kim Kardashian (which is why she’s on my Friday Five list). For all the media training and the interview prep and the glitz and glam, she’s just kind of… out to lunch. Out to lunch with perfect make-up and hair.
3. Friday Night Lights
I totally missed the opportunity to jump on the FNL bandwagon back in 2006. I avoided teen television at all costs back then. I was never an OC girl, but I did dabble in a little One Tree Hill for a while.
Thanks to Netflix and the fact that I have absolutely way too much time on my hands, I have the chance to fall in love with Tim Riggins and essentially pretend to redo my early twenties! WOO!
I’m only on episode 9 of the first season but I’ve already got it bad for the broody delinquent Riggins. That hair, amirite?
4. Amy Schumer
This Buzzfeed list of the 20 Times Amy Schumer Completely Understood You is perfection. I love her brash, unfiltered style.
5. Happy Birthday, Tom Cruise
Last year I went on a Twitter campaign to become Tom Cruise’s new wife. By campaign, I mean I tweeted him daily and had zero response. I guess he didn’t like how openly I was willing to sacrifice my personal freedom and ideologies for a chance to walk red carpets and wear nice clothes. Given his track record one would think that would be exactly the type of thing he would be looking for in a woman, but oh well.
I still love Tom, despite his ass-backwards beliefs. Maybe I think we could work because I zone out whenever someone talks about space Whatever. Nobody said celebrities had to be smart, right?
Happy 53rd birthday, Tom. You sold your soul to a space devil and remain perpetually young and in my heart forever!
*Aside from health insurance, gun control laws, reproductive rights, the rest of the world thinking poorly of you (not me though), tuition costs, poverty and unemployment rates, national debt… ugh. should I continue?