- Always keep an assortment of hard cheeses in your home. (Preferably in the refrigerator not like, randomly sprinkled throughout the rooms.)
- Wear deodorant.
- Mind ya damn business.
For more tips, buy my audiobook!*
*audiobook is fictional.
Tag: writing
Sex Ed
Mrs. Perkins knew she was in trouble the second she set the plastic mold of the female reproductive system onto her desk. The class before her, 20 students and 20 of their parents, looked on with wonder as they sat in the room that was usually adorned with test tubes and Einstein quotes. Today, they were surrounded by graphic diagrams and step-by-step instructions on how to put on a condom.
Why Principal Thompson would schedule the first annual Bring Your Parent To School Day during their sex education rotation would be discussed for years to come. This was one of two large oversights in his calendar, having also picked the week the PE activity was swimming. Sally May’s mother in a bathing suit was nothing to be desired. Tanner Bergman’s father had refused to wear a swim cap, worried the rubber would rip out the last hairs that remained on his horseshoe head. Mrs. Perkins adjusted the plastic vagina as fifth graders and their namesakes looked on.
“Let’s start with the inside. Here are the ovaries, where eggs are produced.” Children giggled and adults shifted in their seats with discomfort. Finally, little Laura Mazur shot her hand in the air, her brunette hair held back by the cutest of headbands.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Perkins?” she asked.
“Yes, Laura?”
“Where exactly in the uterus does an egg attach itself?” Laura sat awaiting a response, pen and paper at the ready. Laura was incredibly smart. Yale bound, for sure.
“On the side, although it varies each time,” Mrs. Perkins responded. Laura wrote it down, word for word. It was then that Mrs. Perkins opened it up to the class. The discussion, not the vagina. “Does anyone else have questions so far?” Ed Lerman, father of the adorable nerd Charlie Lerman, after much deliberation, raised his hand.
“Yes?” Mrs. Perkins asked.
“Why is it that whenever I initiate intimacy with my wife, she turns a cold shoulder and pretends to be asleep?” Mrs. Perkins looked over to little Laura, sitting patiently in front of her notes.
“Well Mr. Lerman, perhaps if you were more motivated in your career…“ Mrs. Perkins started.
“Is that it?” Ed asked.
“Well,” she continued, “it could also be that during your children’s bath time you watch Sports Center and drink beer.” Ed pondered this as Scottie Nemoy’s father chimed in.
“I help with bath time every night. Or I did, before we separated.” As the word separated clung to the air, Sally May’s mother to perked to attention, pushing her boobs higher into her bra.
“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked. And like that, they were gone. Now little Laura, who had just finished rereading her transcripts, had another question.
“Mrs. Perkins, where did Mr. Nemoy take Sally May’s mother?” she asked.
“Well Laura, they went to have sexual intercourse in the women’s restroom outside of the band room.” Laura jotted all of this down, furrowing her brow.
“I thought two people only had sex when they were in love,” Laura responded, now confused but still writing.
“Yes, only when they are in love. Or drunk, bored, or lonely. Or if the other person is really cute.” Mrs. Perkins then looked over to Ed, who was staring inquisitively at the plastic vagina.
“Did you have another question, Mr. Lerman?” she asked.
“I don’t think I’ve heard of half of these parts.” He squinted his eyes, still looking at the model.
“Well perhaps that, dear Ed, is why Nancy turns a cold shoulder and pretends to be asleep.”
Ed rubbed the top of his head as the bell rung and Mrs. Perkins handed worksheets to her students. He gathered his belongings, stopping Mrs. Perkins before leaving the classroom.
“Could I have one of those worksheets? I’d like to audit this class.”
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The Bachelor Finale Recap: “I’m A Lost Man Right Now.”
Well, shit. We made it to the end and like any great fairytale, I find myself wine drunk and full of meatballs, tearfully begging someone to READ. IT. AGAIN.
Chris Harrison immediately teases us with the possibility of a live wedding on After The Final Rose, which is 100% the only way he’s going to get me to stay up that late.
Honestly they should’ve started this 3 hour shit show a little earlier in the day ‘cause real talk I am already sleepy. But EXCITED! Anyway he teases this wedding and Ben’s PASTOR is here. I suddenly hear myself go, “What the fuck is going on,” which is literally what I say about every single thing in life that has anything to do with religion.
Back in Jamaica both of the girls are wearing cutoff shorts 24 hours a day (I assume they have molded to their bodies at this point) and Ben says that his head is a mess. No shade, but I feel like Ben’s head isn’t usually terribly organized anyway.
He talks to his parents and his mom refers to them as “Lauren “ and the “other girl,” in case you wanted to know where she stands on this. Lauren meets his parents and literally holds his mom’s hand while they talk.
Is it VERY STRANGE LOOKING and my hands would get so fucking clammy you’d need one of those tiny forks to pry them open (wow, bad joke). Lauren like, really wants to be part of the Higgins family. #NeverForget that Lauren wants a life with him. Like, a life life life.
Jojo meets his parents the next day and brings them a conch shell with flowers in it. Not my favorite choice, but she’s basically been at sea for a month so I’ll let it slide.
Ben tells his folks about all of their moments. About how they had a date here, a date there, how she laid her head on his shoulder and they talked. I cannot IMAGINE saying that shit to my parents. “Hey mom I really like this guy, I put my head on his shoulder and we talked.” My mom would be like Sam get a fucking LIFE!
Jojo asks Ben if he’s ready to get married at the end of this and he says yes while SHAKING HIS HEAD NO. He’s a 26-year-old smokeshow, so I don’t see why he is even pretending he wants to get married at all. Give it ten years, buddy! There is so much pussy to be had.
His parents smell the huge mound of shit Ben currently stands in so his dad goes, “Unfortunately you can’t propose to two different ladies,” which I would only say if Ben were 85 and in a nursing home trying to decide between Esther and Mary Jo. Ladies?? They aren’t old maids, DAD.
Ben is really starting to freak the fuck out. As is his mom. She cries and is like, super worried about who he’s going to choose because it’s SUCH a big decision and I’m starting to wonder if she thinks he is contractually obligated to marry the one he chooses? This is a television show, Amy. It’s not AS big of a deal as you think it is.
We keep checking back with Chris Harrison but really we keep checking in on Ben’s god damn pastor, who stands in the wings of the studio reading a Bible. Look I don’t care if you’re a pastor: when you get flown to LA to be on television, I would think you’d rather count all the lights on stage or try to identify which people milling about are the executive producers, than reread a book you’ve read a million fucking times.
Lauren and Ben have their final date, where they lie on a boat together and talk.
I would be SO BARFY on this date I can’t even tell you. Yeah sure, let’s drop anchor and just chat about our love together while we sway up, and down… up and down… up and down. I could throw up thinking about it.
I am however totally into the fact that Ben is mentally losing his shit. GOOD. Do you know how many bachelors have just super casually dumped somebody without suffering any devastating inner turmoil? Basically Ben could use a fucking Xanax.
He def wants to explain this whole “I also said I love you to Jojo” business, but all he can get out is the phrase “No matter what happens…” which is the #1 thing someone in Lauren’s position does NOT want to hear. Look how not happy she is hearing that:
Ya. But thankfully we cut back to BEN’S PASTOR again just to remind everybody that “No matter what happens” some crazy shit is gonna go down in this finale. (I think I hate Ben’s pastor.)
The first thing Ben says when he sees Jojo for their date is that he is going to pray for clarity. How about you just search through that junk drawer of a brain and figure this shit out yourself, dude. Also I want to pray for some Claritin, because my eyes are itchy as FUCK right now. Jesus. Allergy season AMIRIGHT GUYS?!
He and Jojo make out in front of a waterfall because really that’s what they do best.
She asks if he feels good and Ben being Ben goes, “Um.” Nice try, but girl is NOT going to let you off that easy. He SQUIRMS as Jojo asks why he feels so confused and where they’re going to live after the show wraps and all I can think about is how I bet Ben has had a stomach ache for the past week and a half. I would go through so many fucking Tums on this show.
The main thing to take away from every conversation Jojo has with anybody is that she and Ben are best friends. Then buy each other these adorable avocado bestie necklaces and move on! This is a show about LOVE, not about who you can laugh with as you rip a huge fart.
Jojo needs a sign. SOMETHING to know that he’s going to pick her and she doesn’t fucking get one because he’s not gonna fucking pick her. She asks him the REAL REAL as they sit on a bathroom floor off camera and Ben finally cracks.
She is like, mega sads and feels FOOLISH, okay Ben? Foolish. Back at the live show Chris Harrison says the word dramatic for the 8th or 10,000,000th time tonight. We get it, it’s dramatic! I didn’t expect this finale to be a fucking snoozefest, bro. It’s about the exact level of drama I was anticipating.
Neil Lane asks Ben if he knows who he’s, ya know, PICKING OUT AN ENGAGEMENT RING FOR and Ben looks pret-ty unsure about it.
But in true Bachelor fashion all of a fuckin-sudden he totally knows and surprise! This hasn’t been as confusing for him as we thought. He loves somebody more, plain and simple. Now for the moment of truth.
Jojo and her bad dress come out of the helicopter first and all I can say as I pour the last of my red wine into my glass is, “Oh girl.” Her heart is about to be curb stomped.
She gives him a long speech about their future together and I’m starting to wonder just how sadistic ABC is, because I want to die right now. He says nice things to her and then twists the knife with the magic word, “But…” Here is her face as she realizes she outtie:
Her first reaction is basically WTF?? And then she does the most perfect thing ever which is nod her head and go, “Mhmm.” Oooooh, girl is pissed, Ben! You’ve really done it.
The bad bitch that she is, Jojo lets him have it. She is basically like fuck this NOISE and as they walk out she’s like, “I gotta go,” which is SO classic because she’s had literally nowhere to go for like, 2 months and suddenly she’s acting like her Palm Pilot is jam packed with meetings.
Ben calls Mr. Bushnell and asks for Lauren’s hand in marriage. Is that a thing people still need to do? I get that it’s romantic but the feminist in me is like um, pretty sure you need to be askin THIS BITCH that question but OKAY.
He gets a yes from Lauren B’s dad and then does this very nerdy fist pump into the air as he lets out a big WOO?? I am covered in goose bumps because of how cringey it is. Lauren gets out of the helicopter and he tells her he wants to kiss her face. He then obviously proposes to her and it’s pretty fucking cute, I’ll give them that. Pretty cute indeed.
Chris Harrison immediately goes, “How good was that?” as if we just walked out of a matinee of Hamilton or some shit. The After The Final Rose special is, in a word, LONG. But I patiently wait for what I swear to God better be someone’s god damn wedding at the end of this.
They announce that Jojo is the next Bachelorette (May 23rd, y’all!), which is very exciting partially because I think she is the producer’s WET DREAM of a bachelorette but mostly because I can’t wait to walk into work in the morning and go IN YOUR FACE, FUCKERS!!!!! to everyone because I’ve been saying Lauren B was gonna win and Jojo was going to be the bachelorette for like, 7 weeks now. Oh, you thought Caila was going to be the bachelorette? That’s cute.
The wedding ends up being a god damn cock tease. There totally isn’t one and what they pretended was going to be this big build up to something was just a big build up to a RAMP DOWN. Everybody just stands around hugging for the remaining minutes of the show. Technically Ben re-proposes to Lauren but we literally JUST watched you propose to her the first time like, five minutes ago! Get your shit together, ATFR!!
Thanks for reading these recaps, kiddos. I hope you enjoyed them as much as I enjoyed WORKING MY ASS OFF to write them. I kid. It’s been fun.
Imma be recapping the shit out of Jojo’s season of The Bachelorette and season 3 of Bachelor in Paradise, so hold on to your granny panties. Patience is a virtue that I also struggle with.
In the meantime, read all my other show recaps one by one as if they are an advent calendar counting down to the premiere. (I do not provide tiny chocolates, although I fully support you eating some on your own.)
Read the Women Tell All recap here.
My recap of the fantasy suite dates can be found here.
If you’re more into hometown dates, that shit is here.
An Open Letter To The Wax Figure of Sofia Vergara
By Sam Jarvis
Dear Wax Figure of Sofia Vergara,
Thank you for taking the time to read this, even though you are made of wax so I assume you are illiterate. It’s still kind of you to maintain aggressive eye contact with this piece of paper as I hold it mere inches in front of your face. You haven’t blinked in several minutes, so I’m pretty sure you’re absorbing the information.
I write to you today, because I want to tell you that I understand everything you’re going through. I can’t imagine how agonizing it would be to know that while you look like the creepy fraternal twin of Sofia, you lack her accent and bubbly personality that is so adored by millions. It can’t be fun to have breasts that are sculpted to perfection, but are missing the bounce and natural movement that make them so iconic. And perhaps worst of all, there is no wax figure of Joe Manganiello. You spend every night alone in this room. Well you aren’t technically alone, you are surrounded by Wax Figure Rihanna and Wax Figure Heidi Klum, but I’ve never heard either of them speak a single word.
Sure, you look a lot like the highest paid actress in television. That’s nice. But those residual checks have no mention of you OR Madame Tussaud. You have to tell people you were made in London, which is wayyy less interesting than Colombia. They speak English in London, did you know that? So boring. I assume you would defend all of this by saying that none of it matters, that your one true happiness in this world is your 24-year-old son Manolo and as long as he’s good, you’re good. But he isn’t your son, he’s Sofia’s. You’re as barren as a chunk of plaster and wax because you ARE a chunk of plaster and wax.
I don’t mean to put you down. I respect everything you do, even though all you do is stand there. Your skin looks just as flawless as it did yesterday when I visited and brought you that nice wedge of brie. You keep a smile literally glued to your face day in and day out, nobody ever stopping to think hey, what if this inanimate object has a complex set of emotions? I’ve thought of these things, but only because I’m currently in an intimate relationship with an ottoman. So I get it, you know?
Anyway, I guess I should let you go. The line behind me is truly horrified that I refuse to put this letter down and walk to the next figure until I am absolutely positive that you’ve gotten to the end of it. I just want you to know that I support you, and also that things aren’t really working out with the ottoman and I wanted to see if you’d like to grab a drink sometime? You know what, let’s hold off on that drink, because at this very moment I’m getting arrested for licking your ear. Wow, everybody in this museum is like, super mad at me right now. I’ll write you from prison!!
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Read more of my short humor pieces here.
Oscars Recap: “What Does That Mean, To Play Us Off?”
So what was the theme of the night? Any guesses? No?
Chris Rock gets up to host and I’ll be honest I’m pumped about it. He immediately makes a joke about how Kevin Hart has made more movies this year than porno stars, which makes me chuckle until I stop and go, porno stars? This is 2016, grandpa Chris. They’re called porn stars.
He’s gotten a little work done around the eyes, but I’m okay with it. Looks slightly puffy, like he did a few rounds of boxing before throwin’ on his suit but I get it, it’s Hollywood.
His opening monologue is about #OscarsSoWhite, which is predictable but appropriate.
Spotlight wins for best original screenplay, and I love how they type out the words from the script and put it on screen so everybody knows what the fuck a “screenplay” looks like. I like to compare the beautiful sentences and dialogue of these films with my own scripts, which tend to have things like, “We hope it’s a fart, but know it’s something more” in them. It’s fine, guys, I’ll grow into more serious dialogue (I won’t).
The Big Short wins for adapted screenplay, and Adam McKay is so fucking tall. He is a ginormous man. Look at him compared to all the other people.
Time to get UNCOMFORTABLE. Stacey Dash walks on stage and I immediately get a pit in my stomach because nothing that comes out of her mouth is EVER good. She tries to make a joke about Black History Month (girl doesn’t think there should be one: read here) and you can hear a god damn baggie of coke drop in that place. It is VERY AWKWARD.
So like, who runs the Oscars? There’s a person who gets to decide what happens during the ceremony, right? Because what is MORE awkward than whatever Stacey Dash just said, is that someone creating this show thought it would get a laugh. What a WEIRD THING TO THINK. Chrissy Teigen’s reaction pretty much sums it up:
Alicia Vikander wins for supporting actress for The Danish Girl and girl is like, really beautiful. She is also a TALENTED ACTOR and the feminist in me needs to point out her incredible work before delving into her body and hair and eyes and the fact that I am suddenly very, very aware that I can never be a famous actress because I am just not hot enough. It’s okay. It’s good to be honest with yourself sometimes.
The woman who wins for costume design for Mad Max is my spirit animal. She just like, strolled into the academy awards on her way home from CVS or some shit and I love it in her!! Fuck these people, amiright?
They play a clip for The Revenant, and afterwards they cut to a guy in a bear suit clapping and everyone I’m with starts cracking the fuck up. They love it.
You know who doesn’t love it? Leo. You know who else doesn’t love it? The Revanant director and his wife.
The cinematographer for The Revanant wins, and it’s his third year in a ROW. He did Birdman and Gravity and it’s like oh, okay, so you’re THE cinematographer. I get it.
A woman wins for editing Mad Max and this betch comes on stage and crushes it. She is like, a regular mom who picks her kids up from school and probably makes birdhouses on the side. And wins Academy Awards for editing badass movies, nbd.
There is a very uncomfortable clip about Black History Month, where in the end the joke is about celebrating Jack Black. Very original. All of this is feeling like cringe-y overkill at this point.
Now there is an announcement that The Minions are on their way to the theater and the Ghostbusters theme song plays us into commercial. Are these people on shrooms? Could you guys put any more random ass shit together?
Mad Max wins for sound editing and mixing (see the difference here), Ex Machina wins for visual effects, and now we’re onto the important thing which is a bit about Girl Scout Cookies.
Look I get it, award shows need comedic breaks. But if you’re spending so much fucking energy playing people off stage, maybe give them five more god damn seconds each and cut all this bullshit out of the show. BUT I DIGRESS.
We get to the animation shit and Inside Out wins for animated feature (duh). Now Kevin Hart gets on stage to speak his piece and I applaud every word he’s saying, but the 90s kid in me is just loving that he busted out a bedazzler to make his suit.
There is ANOTHER sketch about diversity and it’s just awkward that a room full of white people are laughing at it. Anyway here is the main visual you need to take from it:
Leo LOVES. IT. Hated the bear suit, but god dammit if he doesn’t get the giggles from this woman holding an Oscar.
Mark Rylance wins supporting actor and that’s cool, dude is a good fucking actor.
Louis CK presents for documentary short film and says, “These people will never get rich in their entire lives,” which I think is hilarious and perfect. Except A Girl In The River wins and this chick comes out and says that thanks to this film honor killings have been banned in Pakistan. Um, hi. This is the most important moment of the Oscars and we completely gloss over it because we are all huge pieces of shit. I’m sitting here eating fucking chocolate covered strawberries, swear to God, and she is making actual humongous changes in the world.
Amy wins for documentary, which is fine even though the style of this movie made me feel very weird. After they present live action short (I’m sorry I’m not giving this more attention than this sentence but these awards are TOO FUCKING LONG and I’m tired and full of strawberries), Lady Gaga performs and it is very intense, as everything in her entire life is. I like it. Hateful 8 wins for original score and the only words you can make out in this entire foreign speech is “Harvey Weinstein.” Sam Smith wins for original song. Yes, I’m working at lightning speed here. Patience is dwindling.
Alejandro G. Inarritu wins for director for the second year in a row and the producers reeaaaaallly try to play him off when his speech goes long. But you know what? Alejandro DOES NOT GIVE A FUCK. Cannot be played off, refuses, and they eventually give up on the music.
Brie Larson, angel of my heart, wins for best actress and Leo wins for actor and immediately goes into some shit about the environment. One issue at a time, bro! Tonight is not about greenhouse gases!
Spotlight wins for Best Picture and I want to be happy but honestly I am so fucking over this award show at this point. TOO LONG, guys. The “thank you” ticker did NOTHING for the length of this show and I’m honestly glad I don’t have to watch more of this for another year.
On a positive note, best dressed goes to this dude on the right for his ear/necklace combo.
Read more of my recaps here.
What Really Happens When Girls Go To The Bathroom In Groups: A Piece of Investigative Journalism
By Sam Jarvis
It was a night like any other, all of us sitting around a big table in the middle of PF Changs. We laughed and ate beef and broccoli, flirting with the boys across from us. It had taken me months to infiltrate this group, hundreds of dollars worth of gel manicures to gain these girls’ trust and prove that I wasn’t a rat, I was their friend. I had fooled them.
Roxy chewed on a bite of orange chicken, reaching into her mouth to pull out a piece that was definitely too- something. She set it on her plate and I gagged in my mouth. It was then, under the dim lights of this critically acclaimed restaurant, that Lena made eye contact with us.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
As soon as she said it, the girls looked to each other in understanding, rising from their chairs in unison.
“I’ll come.”
“Me too.”
I felt the temperature on my face rise. This was the moment I had waited patiently for, and I wasn’t going to screw it up. Lena looked at me.
“Are you coming?”
I nodded, stood. I took my purse with me but I’m not even sure why. I could feel my heartbeat in my ears, trying my best to ignore it so I could hear the end of Jacqueline’s story about switching eyebrow threading places.
Lena led the girls into the women’s bathroom and I immediately took mental notes of my surroundings. Three stalls, two sinks, automatic paper towel dispenser. This was information they’d need when I reported back to the agency. I’ll be honest, I was in a bit of a daze. Having always been a loner, I had never been asked to go to the bathroom with a group of girls before. I was scared, but elated.
Roxy went into a stall and without shutting it, started peeing. I adjusted my bra to make sure the wire I was wearing was still intact. Deep breaths, I thought to myself. I knew they were picking up my heartbeat in the audio.
Nothing happened for several minutes, as I pondered the possibility that I had gotten a bad lead. But suddenly, Lena and Jacqueline were talking in whispered code. As I leaned in, struggling to make out the words Cote d’Ivoire, and Tuesday is the drop off, I put it together. Holy shit, they’re arms dealers.
Roxy put on her reading glasses and scanned a detailed map she procured out of her bra. Lena asked if anybody had a tampon. I truly couldn’t believe what I was seeing: these women were selling machine guns to African soldiers.
Sudanese militants, secret weapon bases, they were discussing it all in great detail.
And as I watched tens of thousands of dollars pass from one girl’s moisturized hand to the other, I breathed for the first time in several minutes. My palms were sweating so profusely that I needed a paper towel to wipe them. I casually walked over to get one, but of course the machine couldn’t sense my hand motion beneath it.
All of the girls were looking at me. I glanced up nervously, wondering if this paper towel dispenser faux pas had demolished the cover I’d worked so hard to create. Lena saw the terror on my face.
“Something wrong?” She asked, putting a hand on her slender hip.
“Nope.” I said, as convincing as I could. I took Improv 101 a couple years ago and hoped to God it was shining through now.
It had been hours. They’d sketched out twelve drop routes, paid, in cash, for seventy five semiautomatic weapons, and made me try on four different shades of lipstick.
My focus waning, it was thankfully time to go. They rolled up the plans, stuffed them back in their undergarments, and took a last and final look at themselves in the mirror.
“I’m thinking about getting low lights,” Roxy said to both herself and no one. And although I couldn’t believe that millions of innocent people’s blood was on her hands, I did think she would look excellent with some darker pieces near her temple.
We walked back to the table, now completely cleared. All that remained was a small pile of fortune cookies. One of the guys looked up from his phone.
“What took you so long?”
Lena smirked, glancing at the girlfriends who flanked her sides. I was oddly proud to be one of them.
“Oh, you know. Girl stuff.”
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Weekly Horoscopes For Strong, Independent Women
By Sam Jarvis
Aquarius
(January 20th-February 18th)
You’ve got a lot on your plate this week, Aquarius. Three Facebook friends are going to get engaged, and you will do squats in your living room while talking on the phone with your mom about how unhappy your cousin Megan must be now that she’s tied down. Remember to relax and remain optimistic about the future.
Pisces
(February 19th-March 20th)
Ruler Neptune will decide a lot of your fate this week, Pisces. Your coworker is going to imply that you must be on your period since you didn’t reply to his email with, “the usual girlie exclamation points.” Your instinct will be to slice his throat from ear to ear, but try to hold back. You know he has a small penis. Let that be enough.
Aries
(March 21st-April 19th)
With Mars as your ruler and fire as your element, things are going to be smooth sailing, Aries. You’ll get a bunch of Tinder matches, but you aren’t in a hurry to respond. This week will be better spent with your lady posse, drinking wine and discussing current events.
Taurus
(April 20th-May 20th)
Watch out, Taurus. You’ll order a green juice and the guy will call you sweetie as he hands it to you. Tell him you are a badass bitch and the next time he demeans a complete stranger he should remember that he is talking to the owner of a company and not one of his sweaty ass food truck peers.
Gemini
(May 21st-June 20th)
Your moon is over Venus this week, twin. Some guy’s gonna ask if you need help carrying that humongous Amazon Prime box full of stemless wine glasses to your third floor walk up. Don’t lose your cool. Say no thank you, carry that heavy ass box up three fucking flights of stairs, and put more money into your 2016 Roth IRA.
Cancer
(June 21st-July 22nd)
With Mercury rising (?), it’s time for a change, Cancer. You’re starting to realize that maybe your boyfriend is a fucking loser. Has he washed his sheets in the last three months? You will hit your breaking point and dump him. Your bestie will respond to the news with a, “You go girl!” gif.
Leo
(July 23rd-August 22nd)
You’ve got the travel bug this week, great lioness. You don’t need an excuse to book a trip or even a spa day, you’re a grown ass woman who earns her own paycheck. Spend the weekend in Palm Springs raging with older gay men. Go to a Korean spa and hang out with very naked Asian women while someone scrubs all your dead skin cells off. It’ll hurt, but in a good way. Treat yo self, girl!
Virgo
(August 23rd-September 22nd)
Don’t be over analytical, Virgo. An old lover from your past will reenter your life, possibly stirring up forgotten feelings. Remember that you are doing so much better at life than they are. I mean for god’s sake, he sells supplements. Be polite, say hello, and keep it moving. It may feel better than you think.
Libra
(September 23rd-October 22nd)
You’ll find balance in your apartment this week, Libra. Rearrange your space without any help from anyone. You don’t need a god damn man to move the couch. You like when your legs feel like noodles and you have two dead arms the next day. That means you did it all by yourself and now the chaise is on the south facing wall!
Scorpio
(October 23rd-November 21st)
Biting your tongue will be your challenge this week, Scorpio. A guy you’re casually dating will bring up the fact that his ex used to cook him chicken pot pies on rainy days. Although you’ll immediately think to say, “Well you can cook your own damn meals with me,” try just giving a long, overdramatic eye roll instead. He’ll get the picture.
Sagittarius
(November 22nd-December 21st)
With ruler Pluto, you’re going to find yourself feeling a little melancholy this week, Sag. You may be craving some male attention, and that’s okay. Flirting is not the same thing as needing someone to open this motherfucking jar of salsa that I’ve been trying to get open for the past three days. Like, is this what my life has come to? Bursting into tears alone in my kitchen eating shitty plain eggs with no chunky medium spice salsa? UGH like seriously, I knew I should’ve bought that little rubber square the last time I was at Bed Bath and Beyond but I was too focused on what I was going to use my 20% off coupon on. As if I have even used that stupid Vitamix a single time in the last three months. What a waste of money.
Capricorn
(December 22nd-January 19th)
Don’t expect the worst this week, you sexy mountain goat. A new job offer or promotion may be extended to you, and it’s a good time to take it. It will come with a significant raise, so be sure to enjoy it. As Rihanna once said, “Bitch better have my money.” Also your DVR’s on the fritz so make sure it records The Bachelor this week. And delete all those episodes of Lockup: Raw. It gives you nightmares.
Read more of my short humor pieces here.
How Many Houseplants Is Too Many? 10,000?
By Sam Jarvis
Decorating your space is important to not only the aesthetic of the room, but also your happiness as an individual. And what better way to add some color (and oxygen!) to your apartment than buying a shit ton of houseplants. But how many is too many? Let’s discuss.
Look around your living room. Take note of any areas that get good light, and also every spare inch of the floor. Can you see the floor? Yeah, that’s no good. Honestly if it doesn’t look like a god damn Rain Forest Cafe in there, you’re going to need more houseplants.
Put shorter plants on countertops, side tables, desks, your cable box. Put taller plants everywhere else. Sooo many tall plants, okay? Put a plant in every drawer of the kitchen. Put fifty in your closet. Just start gluing leaves to the walls. It’s going to really liven up the space.
Now I’ll be honest, 10,000 is probably too many, especially for a one bedroom apartment. But 9,990 is usually about right. Also flowers fucking suck, don’t buy flowers. They’re dead. They’re already. Dead. Houseplants are ALIVE, and you generally want things in your apartment to be living and not dead. Roommates, cats, foliage.
Once you have literally zero space left, sit on your couch and enjoy the beauty around you. See, that was a trick!! There shouldn’t be any space on your couch because you guessed it, houseplants.
Read more of my short humor pieces here.
Always A Bridesmaid, Never A Desk Lamp
By Sam Jarvis
Let’s face it, I am an amazing bridesmaid. I’ve got extra bobby pins. I know the right pace to walk down an aisle. I can inform Aunt Georgia that the reception buffet is the wrong place to tell the story of how she walked in on Uncle Bob spooning his tennis student. And as I watch every beautiful bride walk down the aisle, her soon-to-be husband smiling at her in what I’m certain is the most incredible moment of their lives, I will dab a tear from my eye. And then of course hold her bouquet and straighten out her dress.
I’m happy for my friends. Really, I am. But when is it going to be my turn? My time to shine onto a neatly organized surface, illuminating a collection of paper clips near a days-old coffee stain? It’s hard to watch the girls I grew up with get zipped into dresses, one after another, knowing that I may never get the chance to gather dust in a cubicle, a Post-It note saying, “Pay gas bill!” taped to my base.
You can’t force these things. I know that. But if you haven’t turned into a desk lamp by the time you’re 30 or 35, you start to worry that it may never happen. I’ve baked penis-shaped cakes, lunged for bouquets in turquoise chiffon, and scoured social media for anything filtered and cropped that’s missing #TimHeartsSarah. But will I ever be surrounded by a mug full of pens and a half-eaten granola bar that is quickly attracting ants?
The next time someone asks me to be their bridesmaid by sending me an adorable Pinterest-inspired DIY photo frame, I hope that I will be in the position to respectfully decline. I will tell her that I can’t, partly because David’s Bridal doesn’t make dresses small enough for office supplies but also because my Saturdays will be spent sitting silently in an empty, dark office, excitedly awaiting the arrival of a bustling Monday. I will therefore be unable to attend your celebration of love at the Marriot by the airport.
It’s important to have hope, to have patience. I struggle with that sometimes. But tonight, as my head hits the hotel pillow, spinning from the open bar and several rounds of the Horah, I feel at peace. Someday I will be complete. I will be a desk lamp, watching Nate from accounting pick his nose and wipe it under his swivel chair. And I can’t wait.
Read more of my short humor pieces here.
New Webisode Idea
Tune in next week for, “Sam Eats Several Handfuls of Cheez-Its.”
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