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.
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 could see the headlines now, “Canadian nobody lures London woman to her death in mistaken identity sex trap”
A little wordy, but fitting.
On Tuesday evening I received the following message via Instagram,
Hey! I hope you’re okay. So random- I came across your Twitter profile because of the bachelor and realised I noticed you from somewhere
Last night, Chris Rock used all 3 hours and 37 minutes of the 88th Academy Awards to bitch slap Hollywood with some hard truths about the lack of diversity in this year’s nominees.
When he wasn’t making rich white people shift uncomfortably in their seats and demonstrate their limited range with nervous laughter and forced smiles, Rock subtly tackled body image in cinema by force feeding actors and actresses Girl Guide cookies. This feat, veiled as a fundraising attempt for his two young daughters, was presumably the first morsel of food containing gluten and glucose Hollywood elite have consumed since puberty.
The broadcast definitely broke from the tradition one usually associates with the Academy Awards. At times, I found myself missing the formality and prestige that celebrates cinema (think Billy Crystal monologues and goosebumps inducing montages). Somehow talk of Minion appendages and James Bond’s s lackluster performance in the bedroom, didn’t quite scream Oscar caliber material.
The show delivered some laugh out loud moments, especially the sketch where black actors insert themselves into this year’s nominated films . SNL alums Tracy Morgan as The Danish Girl and Leslie Jones as the bear from The Revenant were standouts, that had me laughing well into commercial break (and then again this morning).
Another giggle of the night came from Tina Fey and Steve Carell made the most of their roles as presenters to introduce Best Production Design, injecting the category with their notorious brand of deadpan humor.
My favourite part of the evening was Lady Gaga’s emotional performance of Till It Happens to You, a song written for The Hunting Ground, a documentary about sexual assault on college campuses. I recently watched the film and was blown away by the courage of the men and women who survived heinous crimes and were denied justice by their schools and local law enforcement. You MUST see this film, it will break your heart, make you insanely angry, and hopefully change the way victims of rape and sexual assault are treated.
Even though the show was unbearably, make-me-late-for-work-today long, I stayed up until midnight to see Leonardo Di Caprio receive his first, and long awaited Oscar for Best Actor in a Leading Role. I’m not ashamed to say that I let out a high pitched shriek of joy, as social media went into a frenzy, with women who used to make out with his Tiger Beat poster every day before bed, declaring their joy that our collective first love was finally recognized by the Academy for his work. Even though DiCaprio picked up the award for The Revenant, in our hearts (and our vaginas) he was winning for Romeo + Juliet, Titanic, The Aviator, Blood Diamond, The Departed and the Wolf of Wall Street.
Spotlight took home the award for Best Picture a film I feel SLIGHTLY/OBSESSIVELY connected to due to the fact that my friend Ashley and I got to visit the set while filming took place on our university campus in Hamilton. The crew was kind enough to let us watch filming on the monitors for a few hours so long as we stayed silent (not a problem because we were completely starstruck). We haven’t received our SAG award for best ensemble cast, but I’m sure it’s in the mail.
So, there you have it.
I’m sleep deprived, emotionally exhausted for Leonardo, and feel like I’ve had several shots at the Vanity Fair After Party .
What was your favourite moment of the night?
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!
Today’s post is definitely a direct result of #PeriodProblems that I published on Monday. I’ve passed the threshold of walking with my body at a 45 degree angle to help with cramps and have moved into the, “bitchier and hungrier than usual” phase which will take me through to next week.
Ever see something in the news, on social media and just think, “NOPE!” ?
Me too. All the time.
Here’s what has me shaking my head this week…
People who’ve been married for over a year and are still posting their wedding photos…
The only person who cares to see more photos of your wedding are you and your mom. That’s it. Maybe your Mother-in-Law if she likes you.
Don’t get me wrong, I love weddings and I follow a shit ton of wedding vendors and photographers on Instagram, but if it’s been 3 years and you’re still putting up a profile pic or a TBT to your wedding like it was yesterday, you’re being judged.
By me, God, and probably everyone at Style Me Pretty.
If you want a nice picture, you’re going to to have to wait for someone else’s wedding and get dressed up and snap a photo like the rest of us. Let it go. Your time is up.
Rob Kardashian’s Snapchat handle @robphuckedme…
Really? Reaaaally. What’s happened to you. What are you doing to yourself. You went from the lovable little brother of the Kardashian fam, to the little brother of a friend who I would be afraid to run into in the kitchen at night during a sleepover.
Get it together, man. Stop being weird.
You literally have every opportunity to succeed in front of you and instead you’re being someone people report on Tinder.
Guys who complain that they’re, “Too nice to get a girlfriend…”
Instead of riding the pity train with you, I’m going to throw you under it, Anna Karenina.
I spend all day listening to my male coworkers complain that, “Girls only like assholes and nice guys like us finish last.” Wrong. You’re finishing last because you’re thinking you’re morally superior to your male brethren whilst simultaneously being a dick to the girls that are actually interested in you. There’s someone for everyone. You’re not immune to heartbreak just because your Mom said you were a “good boy.” Pull up your big boy pants, take a hard look at yourself in the mirror and go forth into the battlefield with a different mindset.
If you’re having a hard time figuring out what’s actually wrong with you, come to my cubicle and I’ll tell you.
People who say Grease: Live! was bad…
Grease: Live was fantastic.
Was it better than the movie? No.
Was it well done for being a television production 38 years after the movie was released? Yes.
We get it, you loved the movie. We all loved the movie. We all loved when John Travolta was hot and possibly straight. You know what I love more? A new generation of kids being introduced to Grease.
Sure, the kids didn’t get to learn that Grease Lightnin’ was a real pussywagon, but still. They’re going to learn the songs and want to watch the movie because they thought the live production was cool shit.
So you have two options: Either singalong or bite the weenie, Rizz!
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?
I’ve got to admit, I only know who Zendaya is through Dancing With the Stars (old lady moment right there), but she’s been making headlines lately for being Taylor Swift’s bestie (one of them) and for speaking out about some retouched photos for Modeliste magazine.
The pop-star, asked the magazine to pull her cover story after the photo-shopped images of her began circulating online.
Look at some of the photos and then we’ll talk…
First of all, Zendaya’s a beautiful girl, no doubt about that. She’s stunning.
HOWEVER, isn’t this just a case of a shit photo-shop job getting attention for a no-name magazine?
Have you ever heard about Modeliste before right now? Honestly. I haven’t. I think she might have done them a FAVOUR by calling out their photo-editing skills online. There is literally nothing wrong with the original photos! Zendaya has the type of body people retouch to look like they have!
If the lighting and skin tone was an issue, slap on an Instagram filter and warm that right up. Valencia that shit! X-Pro II ! Nashville! Nobody ever uses Nashville!