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).
The season finale of the Bachelor aired this week on ABC, with Bachelor Ben Higgins proposing to flight attendant, Lauren Bushnell.
Ok. I’ve had a few people ask me how I feel about the results and even though IDGAF, I think Ben made the right choice for his vanilla-christian lite lifestyle. Ben is a babe, don’t get me wrong, but we rarely got to see him make a joke, take off his shirt or do anything without crying. Lauren is beautiful, there’s no doubt about that- she has the Aryan teenage dream, size 2, zero cellulite thing going on. The two had an undeniable missionary position chemistry that Bachelor fans love. I find them boring. I already don’t care about their relationship.
Personally, I was a fan of Jojo, the 24-year old super tanned Isla Fisher doppelganger sporting ombre locks and a Cartier love bracelet (Oh yes, I noticed). Jojo is hot, and I’m going out on a limb here and saying her boobs are fake, but I’m not judging – I’m envying that she has enough money for the love bracelet and the tit job. The thing about Jojo is that she was TOO much for Ben; too sexy, too sweet. With Jojo as the new Bachelorette, I want to see her with a former-athlete type who, I don’t know, rescues dogs and thinks he writes good poetry. Something like that.
The season was, arguably, one of the best in Bachelor franchise history, with several stand out contestants. We had Lace, the Pinot Grigio enthusiast with entitlement issues, who many people thought was the front-runner as the season’s resident villain. In a moment of clarity and self-awareness, Lace excused herself from the Bachelor, saying she needed to work on herself before she could find love. Lil Lace proved to be the smartest one of the bunch when she realized competing with 25 women for the attention of one man is f*cked up and unhealthy.
Then there was Jubilee, the Haitian born sergeant in the US Army, who ruffled feathers with the other contestants by being “awkward” and the self proclaimed “full black” contestant. Jubilee’s presence reintroduced the topic of diversity on the show, and many were hoping Jubilee would become the first black Bachelorette. Jubes was also the victim of some serious girl shit, with several nameless, irrelevant contestants hounding Jubilee for not being a cookie-cutter fake-ass bitch.
Bullying was taken to the NEXT level with Olivia, the slightly delusional Cameron Diaz clone who made enemies right away by receiving the First Impression Rose. Olivia…liked to embellish her connection with Ben. Maybe romanticize the situation a little, and got carried away with her pop culture Teen Mom references. However entertaining her behaviour was for viewers at home, Olivia quickly became the target of internet trolls, and was cut up by all of her fellow cast mates on the Women Tell All for having bad breath and cankles.
I talk a lot of shit on this blog, mostly in jest, but I seriously dislike when people are ganged up on by their peers. I side with the under-dog at all times. Olivia and Jubes- I got chu.
My friends and I gathered every Monday to watch the Bachelor for some girl chat and junk food. For the finale, we went all out! Here are some pictures from our Bachelor Finale viewing party!
Did you watch the Bachelor finale?
Were you happy with Ben’s pick?
Are they going to make it? Let’s chat!
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?
The Huffington Post recently published an article reminding women everywhere, that the grand romantic gestures that happen in movies, don’t always translate in real life.
The article spells it all out for you in the title, Romantic Comedies Teach Women That Stalking is a Compliment, with writer Chloe Angyal reminding us with ovaries, that unless it’s Ryan Gosling writing you a letter every day for a year, it’s just f*cking creepy.
This article assumed I have no concept of reality , which is sort of true, but made me surprisingly introspective of my own stalker-ish behaviors when it comes to dating. Don’t call the police (again), I’m not referring to Fatal Attraction level boil your bunny, “Why Don’t You Love Me,” type stuff. I’m talking about the little things we do online, to learn about and track the people we’re interested in.
When does it go from social media savvy, to stalking?
It’s fairly common to Facebook the object of your desire, or look them up on Instagram. When you meet someone new, and send the initial invitation to connect on social media, the friend request is the virtual acknowledgement of a burgeoning relationship of some kind; romantic, friendly, or other.
What you do next is what separates you from the rest of the pack.
Personally, I’ll admit that I’m an adorable creep.
When I connect with someone on social media, I unleash research skills that should have already peaked the Canadian government’s interest. I can find out where you went to school, where you work, what you like to do and I’ll begin piecing together an idea of your family, your previous relationships and your own level of social media comfort based on the effort you exhibit to cultivate your online image.
From there, I’ll search tagged photos to see who you socialize with the most versus who comments the most on your photos, rule out that frequent commenter as the friend you only talk to online, find out that your parents are divorced but you’re dad’s re-married to a nice woman named Sheila, Sheila has three kids from a previous relationship, you all seem to get along well and celebrate the holiday’s up North at your cottage, where you once broke your leg skiing . Of course I won’t admit to any of this and when we hang out casually ask whether or not you’ve ever broken a bone, if you like to ski, or if you have any brothers or sisters. I’ll feign surprise but correct you when you say you broke your leg in 2008.
It was 2007.
If I REALLY like you, I’ll see what events you’re attending and maybe, JUST MAYBE suggest to my friends that we attend, “Just because.”
If we’re chatting and you all of a sudden don’t respond, but two seconds later like a photo on Instagram, I’ll know you’re avoiding me. I’ll know, and do absolutely nothing about it because I refuse to double text, and instead will just sit here and watch what you’re liking online.
This is creepy, right?
Totally creepy, but slightly adorably because I’m just being extra cautious of stranger danger and vetting a potential match before I invest time and effort into getting to know them. Also, the fact that I have zero muscle tone and am inherently lazy automatically makes me a threat to nobody.
Ok. I exaggerated…slightly.
But what’s more likely to happen: Me doing all of this recon before a coffee date, or a man scaling a Ferris Wheel threatening to kill himself unless I go on a date with him?
Firstly, I’d commend his climbing abilities. It’s rare that people show any kind of initiative anymore. Secondly, the fair only comes to this neck of the woods once a year, so his window of opportunity is incredibly small, but I can online lurk 12 months a year, rain or shine, night or day.
I’m really not this weird.
Happy lurking, Y’all!
There are some people who are grossed out when I talk about menstruation. Those people usually have penises. It’s not that I think the female reproductive system is a beautiful thing, I’m really just looking for any and every opportunity to commiserate with my fellow egg baskets over our monthly massacres.
This morning I woke up with a week early monthly guest and a horrible nosebleed. I just tilted my head back, looked to the heavens and let everything just flow south. The only plus side to this unexpected horror, was that my best friend and I have synched our cycles, which I’m hoping means we can FINALLY fight crime and make others shed blood instead of shedding our own.
The whole thing seems very Wiccan to me. I kind of dig it.
Until then, I’ll be sitting in pajama pants, clutching my pooch, waiting the week out so I can stop crying randomly at anything and everything.
What makes me cry during my period?
Day 1: Getting my period
*Tears of Joy*
Day 2: Catching a glimpse of my bloated self in the mirror and wondering, “Hmm, this is what I would look like at 4 months pregnant.” Then hyperventilating because you can’t imagine yourself ever being ready for motherhood
Day 2: Afternoon
Crying because you’re worried, that if you ultimately do want kids, what if you later discover you’re infertile, and then you’ve just got your period to waste tampons and good underpants on a monthly reminder of what you can’t have.
Day 2: Evening
Crying because you’ll get to adopt a kid and keep shit right down there.
*Tears of joy*
Day 3: Watching old Hollywood movies and crying because everyone in the movie is probably dead
Day 4: Checking online dating profiles and crying because you’re online dating
Day 4: 10 mins later
Crying because you’re worried nobody will love the guys you’re swiping left to. SOMEONE SHOULD LOVE THEM!
(Just not me. Never me)
Day 5: Seeing an old person take their dog on a walk. The dog’s wearing a coat and little booties.
Day 6: Adele.
Happily skipping out the door without a feminine product only to find that your body is a traitor and released a last wave of assault to remind you that you should never, ever, think you understand your body.
(Oh yes, Girls. Some of us are full week-ers)
Day 8: PTSD
You only have 21 days before you have to relive the carnage.
Brb. Gotta go eat some cookies.
I’m a little late to the party, but I took a much needed break from blogging. Blogmas was a son-of-a-bitch. Seriously. Blogging every single day?
I dislike doing anything for free. I literally look for incentives in everything I do. My friends know this and have Diet Pepsi chilling in their fridge whenever I come over, because they know how much I loathe pants and would much rather be sleeping than run a brush through my hair and interact with people.
Anyways, I overdid it with the blog posts and fell out of love with the WordPress world, but I’m refreshed, have some new stories and am ready to get back to embarrassing my mother with my posts.
I’ve been quite the little gypsy this month, spending most of my time in a train, plane or automobile travelling for work and pleasure. I’ve been going non-stop, have barely had time to cuddle my cat (which you know upsets me tremendously), but things are FINALLY slowing down, and I’ll be able to reconnect with you good people of the internet, and of course myself… and my cat.
Here’s what you should know right now…
I think I must have had a spiritual stroke, or been touched by the Holy Ghost because I’ve legit become like a walking Pinterest inspiration board. I’ve caught myself saying shit like, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all” and “Everything happens for a reason,” and “I’m open to the possibilities of love.”
I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I was hoping that if I ever had some kind of medical issue it would be the fun strokes where you wake up with like, a Pakistani accent but you’re still a white girl from the suburbs. I never thought I would become this monster who can self soothe and rationalize with Christian Broadcast television-like values. It’s quite disturbing, and yet, healthy? I don’t know. I haven’t had a session with my therapist in almost two months, so this is either a huge breakthrough or the calm before a storm and I’m going to be shaving my head and attacking cars with umbrellas in a hot minute.
I’m still single. YAS, Queen. Single and accepting it, thank you very much!
It’s really not that bad. I’ve only cried twice this month, and both times were right before a cycle started so, I consider that progress.
I’m still living a carb-centric lifestyle, but I’ve been using the My Fitness Pal app to guilt me into healthier choices. I’m basic, but trying to get healthy because it’s a new year is just TOO basic. I’ll get healthy, in like, March – when my first wedding of the year is a month away and I need to shove myself into a dress. I’ve been receiving Save the Date cards in the mail and have already begun financially planning for wedding season. I’ve decided that this year, instead of being thrifty and recycling dresses, I’m just going to go balls to the wall and use every event as an excuse for a fashion show and a new profile pic.
Other than that, I’m essentially just living for Monday nights when I can watch the Bachelor with my girlfriends, have been on some serious Netflix binges because it’s too cold to do anything else, and I’ve been planning new adventures for 2016 because it’s cold as fuck and I need an Eat,
Pray , Love STAT.
That’s really it for me, kids.
What about you?
This is kitchen table talk. It’s rainy and miserable for the second day in a row here in the GTA (Greater Toronto Area) and I’m sipping a hot tea. Which means…. we need to talk trash about celebrities as if they’re our friends.
Halle Berry files for divorce from Olivier Martinez…
This is Halle’s THIRD divorce and second baby-daddy. She’s 49 years old. Personally I find her a little boring, and I can tell she’s been hurting for work lately because really, what was the last GOOD Halle Berry movie? Monster’s Ball? Did anyone even see Monster’s Ball or do you just know about it because she won the Oscar for it. Personally, I think her best work was BAPS (Black American Princesses), everything else is just a paycheck.
Halle Berry is gorgeous, but I feel like a real bitch because everyone’s like “Oh, how does she keep in such good shape?”
Really? Do some research. She’s diabetic. She has no choice but to leave chocolate alone. That’s just being smart.
Do you ever have that friend who’s really pretty and successful but for whatever reason, sucks at love?
I do. Her name’s Jennifer Lopez.
These two are kind of on the same level here. Both have three divorces under their belt, both are successful in their own right, with two babies at home. I think there’s GOT to be something shady about Jennifer and Halle. They need therapy or Jesus, because whatever they’re doing relationship wise, just isn’t working.
I think Halle needs a break from men, and needs to focus on getting a job worth a Golden Globe or at LEAST an Emmy.
Another girl we go way back with, Gwen Stefani, is making the rounds with shitty music about her divorce. Yes, I called it shitty. Because you know what? It’s shitty. It’s NOWHERE as good as “What You Waiting For” or “Cool”.
Gwen finalized her divorce from Gavin Rossdale this week and has been doing promo for The Voice with her co-stars on any and every talk show in the Western world.
Have you seen the video for “Used To Love You”?
Painful. Cringe worthy.
She’s beautiful, offbeat and an icon for our times (No Doubt was everything to me back in the 90s), but she’s either got to hire better song writers or start hanging around Taylor Swift, because her new music is disappointing.
Gwen’s not… she’s just… she looks hungry. Maybe if the rumors of her and Blake Shelton hooking up are true he can get her to indulge in a rack of ribs or something. Let her roots grow in. Slam a few beers back.
She needs to mix it up because 2005 stuff isn’t working for 2015.
Girls. Take a break. Focus on work. Binge watch Gilmore Girls and have a wallow day.
Wow, I sound so mean these days. But I’m not, I swear I’m just so tired. Hence the tea, and smack talk.
Ok, what do you think?
Let’s discuss these newly single ladies. What should they do next? What shouldn’t they do? Who should they date?