Wordsole

Remember, unless you are in a sexual and/or romantic relationship with her, there is absolutely no polite, right, or okay time to ask a woman if she’s pregnant. Think you see a little something showing? It’s called a stomach. Stop acting like you don’t know that sometimes they curve out absent a wandering fetus and keep your mouth shut. Your curiosity won’t kill you.

I hate New Year’s resolutions. “Stop smoking.” “Lose weight.” “Date more.” “Sleep around less.” “Work out every day.” “Find a hobby.”

They seem so punishing and vague. I’ll give that quitting cigarettes is a good idea, but that resolution doesn’t mention how. It’s only ever about the result but not the journey. Resolutions set us up for failure, and collective amnesia has lots of us many making them every year with this sad hope.

Which isn’t to say that the new year isn’t a good time to assess. Look at your life and figure out where it’s going and what you’d like to change.

But seriously, fuck resolutions. Just. Fuck ‘em.

“Wow, I thought you ate healthy until I saw THOSE.”

A friend of mine was standing in line at the grocery store, when a douchebag in sheep’s clothing looked into her cart and seeing a box of cookies amongst her vegetables, made the above comment. When she sent me a text about it, I imagined being behind said dude and “accidentally” bashing his shins with my cart. Repeatedly.

Food shaming is prevalent all year round, but there’s something about the holidays that brings judgmental types out in force. They’ll look into your cart or at your plate or in your freezer and offer unsolicited treatises about your food choices as though anyone gives a damn what they think.

In my experience, there are three common food shamers/judgers who want nothing more than to make what you eat their business.

1. The Eyebrow Raiser

When ERs see the second brownie on your plate or watch you get up from the table for another helping, they don’t utter a word. They simply raise one eyebrow and give you that look. You know. THAT look. The look that says, “My goodness, I suppose it must be nice not to care about your health. Of course, it’s not any of my business, so I’m not saying a word.” Bonus points if the raise is accompanied by a self-satisfied smirk.

2. The Pusher

Second helpings {and thirds} are awesome if you’re in the mood, but when you’ve had enough and want to sit quietly while watching YouTube videos of news anchors accidentally saying the F word, The Pusher is the worst. “Come on, have some more. There’s plenty. Seriously, is that all you’re gonna eat? You’ll waste away. What do you mean you don’t want dessert?” It’s not uncommon for Pushers to accompany their exhortations with sighs about how many calories are in the egg nog.

3. The Constant Dieter

CDs know the calorie count in every holiday dish and treat. They’ve read all the articles about keeping the pounds off this season. They want badly to let go and just enjoy, but they’re so full of food shame themselves, they have to share it. “Oh, I wish I could have a piece of cake, but I’d have to spend a week at the gym. No, no, no, you go ahead! Please, you can enjoy it for the both of us.” Constant Dieters make you sad and blindingly angry in the same breath.

With magazines falling over themselves to treat food like a weapon of mass destruction and office parties and gatherings filled with delicious offerings, dealing with Food Shamers/Judgers can be tough. But it’s worth remembering that no one ever saved the world by refusing a brownie OR going for seconds. Your food choices are yours to make. Full stop.

Every time I try to write about this video, the ringing in my ears that is the douchebag alarm gets so loud, my head hurts and I have to lie down.

This is not news to anyone who has more empathy than a fruit fly, but Rick Perry is a viciously calculating cynic who uses his “faith” and his bigotry to try to scare people into believing that America is losing her way. Notice he called the U.S. by the feminine pronoun? And well, ladies have a tendency to get lost not being so good with directions and all.

Rick Perry is the kind of strong, manly man who believes in God and tradition, and he would appreciate it if we could go back to the ways things used to be when gay people served and died in the military while living in secret. Because you can fight for your country, but you can’t fuck for your country unless it’s all heterosexual-like.

For Douchebro Perry, Christmas isn’t just a holiday; it’s a symbol, of family and religion and the path of righteousness. He doesn’t care that people get trampled and pepper sprayed looking for good deals because money is tight and times are hard and because people really love good deals. He doesn’t care that there are families who aren’t legally recognized by the majority of the states. And he could give two shits about the separation of church and state. This is the man who uses the word strong when he wants to use the word FEAR.

I was born and raised in PA, and my brother and a lot of friends attended Penn State. I’ve been reading as much as I can about the tragedy there and out of all of the horrible details and egregious acts of shitty behavior, something jumps out at me. Too many times, I’ve heard or read about people lamenting the damage that’s been done to Joe Paterno’s legacy. They worry that his career as a winning football coach and all around “great guy” will be forever tarnished. It may be an understandable sentiment, but one I have no time for in the wake of what’s happened. Under Joe’s watch, Jerry Sandusky was able to molest and rape boys who were told that they could trust him. They could trust the organization. After all, PSU football has a reputation to uphold.

What Paterno’s supporters seem to have forgotten is that none of us get to write our own legacy. To believe that is to buy into the press. The good press, at least. To assume that you are above public scrutiny. But a legacy is not just what you present to the world for approval. It is also what the world gets to see when you’re at your lowest point.

Joe Paterno didn’t do his best, as a man or as a leader. No matter what you think he knew, he was the head of the Penn State football organization, and according to many sources, treated like a god by both the administration and the student body {I recognize that PSU students are not a monolith, but his reputation for being beloved is certainly part of the legacy that has been in discussion.}

He knew that Jerry Sandusky was being inappropriate with young boys, and he did the bare minimum. He wasn’t alone in this. There were so many men along the way who could have stepped in or raised a flag. Instead, the cult of college football once again turned inward and protected a child rapist.

Now what’s left is to try to figure out how many of those men should be fired and how many should be in jail. Paterno tried to get in front of it by announcing his retirement at the end of the season. Once again, he thought he could control his legacy. But to let him continue on as coach would have been another slap in the face to the victims and their families.

To the students who rioted when Paterno was fired, I ask, “What the fucking fuck?” Crude, I know, but it’s all I’ve got. I can’t and won’t tell anyone how to feel about Joe Paterno’s ouster. But imagine instead if all the rioters had taken a page from the students holding candlelight vigils for the victims. Who are trying to help make it right even though they know it never can be.

And to this young man, who stood in the midst of the angry crowd and held up a sign, I say simply, thank you.

This year, I decided to participate in National Novel Writing Month {NaNoWriMo for short}. Which means that I am one week into writing a novel. Or at least something approximating a novel.

I’ve thought about attempting it before, but this year felt different. I’ve been trying to kickstart myself creatively, and I’ve really, really, really been trying to give myself permission to be terrible as a writer. Not in the end result. Not at everything. But in that initial getting ideas on paper and trying to string a story together.

The first two days felt incredible. I wrote quickly and without any kind of judgment. I knew it wouldn’t last. Except that it has. Even though I find excuses not to write during the day, I also find ways to overcome those excuses. My story feels weird and disconnected, but there are also funny moments in my piece that make me proud that I’m giving this a shot.

And then there’s the moment I had this morning. I had to play catch up. I’m not terribly worried when I don’t meet each day’s goal as long as I’m staying on top of things. And staying on top of things meant that as of 10am this morning, I hit 10,000 words. More words than I have ever written for a single project before. It felt like this:

October 19th is Love Your Body Day, so I had to laugh when I got an email from Victoria’s Secret with this image:

Remember, ladies, loving your body is good. But loving your body by spending money to get free shipping and overpriced lingerie is great.

So, how many birthdays do you hear about in a week? One, three, seventeen? Facebook has made every special occasion and celebration public. Which means we’re expected to write something sweet/funny/snarky on somebody’s wall every day. But how many ways can you say happy birthday or good job getting paroled?

Have no fear. Below is a handy dandy list of unique things you can write on a friend’s wall when the time comes.

Birthday

Life is short! And your liver probably can’t hold out much longer. So either stop drinking or rock this birthday like it might be your last. It probably is.

Ever since you went vegan, your birthday cake tastes awful. Congratulations on guaranteeing an entire cake for yourself.

This is a reminder that we are not celebrating your birthday but the anniversary of your birth. You’re welcome.

Who knew you could get through an entire year without learning anything about yourself? Happy birthday to someone with no self awareness. And a great smile!

Engagement

Since you’re one of those people who doesn’t support everyone’s right to get married, I really hope this ends in disaster.

Way to beat the odds, you two!

It’s good to know there really is a lid for every pot. Even the pots who spend all day online searching for Lost fanfic.

Congrats! Does this mean I can date your ex?

New Baby

Well, well, well, looks like we’ve found the next Abe Vigoda.

I’ll be thinking of you when I’m backpacking in Europe!

Here’s hoping you take better care of a child than your goldfish Sandy. Joking!!

Congrats! Does this mean I can date your ex?

Some mornings, you’re the dog.

Some mornings, you’re the kitten.

P.S. The way that kitten tries to play off the spectacularly failed attack is a thing of beauty.

ETA: The gif is no longer showing up for some reason, but you can see it here.