If I were to dig up my old sash from Girl Scouts, you’d find the badges still straight pinned to it. My mom never took the time to sew them on and make my hard-earned badges a permanent fixture of my childhood. I assume this is partially because who the hell wants to take the time to sew those tiny ass badges on that cheap sash, and also partially because my mom knew my time in the scouts was fleeting.
If that’s what she thought, she wasn’t wrong. Like everything else I tried as a kid, I quickly gave up on the Scouts. What my mom lacked in badge sewing, she surely made up for in making sure I took cookie sales seriously. It wasn’t hard; after all, the top prize was a stuffed animal, and I just knew it had to be mine (even the year when the theme was “wolves,” which I’m pretty sure was just residual prizes from Boy Scouts because how the hell do you figure little girls are going to bust their cookie selling asses to earn wolf merch?). This salesmanship (saleswomanship?) stuck with me, and I later went on to work in retail and outside sales, excelling at both. Today, I’ve sold you on this essay, and you’ve managed to make it to the end of paragraph two, so it’s obvious I know what I’m doing.
While the badges faded (and likely fell off; they really weren’t affixed properly) and the stuffed animal prizes were (begrudgingly) donated, what persevered is my love of Girl Scout cookies. Girl Scout cookies is a season. It means it’s time to take a break from whatever new-year, new-me bullshit I agreed to four weeks prior. It means it’s time to allow myself to have cookies for breakfast and justify it as a thing that happens only once a year (HA!). Many of you are probably sitting on a crisp $50 you have ear-marked for cookies (am I the only one with a Girl Scout cookie budget?) but are feeling lost with the plethora of choices, so I’ve taken it upon myself to rank these cookies for you (you’re welcome). In order of importance: (more…)
Two weeks after our amazing surprise wedding, my husband lost his job. It was an utterly unexpected shock. In what should have been the happiest and most exciting time of newlywed bliss, the stress of being a one-income family weighed heavily on the two of us.
Today, as my husband embarks on a new job and a new
career, I am forced to reflect on what our three-month bout of unemployment has meant for our family, and ya’ll, I learned a lot.
I was in college when I learned the term “period panties.” Learning that seemingly all of my sorority sisters also had a secret stash of faded underwear bespeckled with stains, holes, stretched elastic that they hoped they’d never be caught dead in saved in the backs of their underwear drawers made me breathe a sigh of relief at the normalcy of my own indelicate delicates.
For years I, like most women, have been rotating my ugliest most tattered pairs of undies to the back of my underwear drawer and saving them for a special occasion in which they’d be called upon to serve…my period. For me, this had been a relatively predictable cycle as I relied upon these underwear to serve as backup in the event of a leak, or worse a tsunami, during this dreaded week. That is until I changed my method of birth control and my cycle changed. Most of us are familiar with the overwhelming sadness that accompanies realizing you’ve just ruined a pair of brand new, adorable underwear, when your period sneaks up on you, unexpectedly returns (seriously though, why does this happen!?), or is in some other way unusual. However, I was quickly blowing through those 5 for $27.50 “deals” as my period changed and was becoming increasingly frustrated by the emergent need to scrub my new underwear in cold water, only to have to cut my losses and relegate them to that back corner of the drawer. Soon, I had more “period panties” than I had wearable pairs. That’s when I saw a sponsored post on Facebook for THINX.
I hemmed and hawed at the idea of THINX for months, reading reviews online, texting friends to tell them I was finally going to take the plunge, and then chickening out. I was nervous. THINX were a whole new world, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Finally, I took the plunge and went full-on THINX. I am so glad I did. I think you will be glad to try them too, and below are five things I think you should know about THINX before taking the plunge.
**Warning: Spoilers Ahead!!! If you’re not finished with the Gilmore Girls revival, click your back button immediately**
Like 90% of women aged 25-40, I cannot stop thinking about, talking about, and Tweeting about the Gilmore Girls revival. From the death of Grandpa Gilmore to the lack of Sookie to the need for more Jess and less Logan, I once again felt all the Stars Hollow feels.
On the weekend of the release of the four episodes I gathered my core group of girls to share in the momentous occasion. We laughed. We cried. We hit pause a lot to remind each other of what had happened nine years prior. And, naturally, we ate three large pizzas.
But in all of our conversation, one theme kept recurring: what. In. the. Literal. Fuck. is. Rory. Doing?
My friends were appalled by the mess that had become of Rory Gilmore. No home, no job, no boyfriend save for an old flame who was otherwise engaged. What happened to our Yale graduate with the promising future as a journalist with the New York Times?
While everyone wrung their hands with worry over Rory’s future, I was more concerned about Lorelai embodying Cheryl Strayed’s Wild and Emily Gilmore wearing jeans. Rory’s life didn’t seem so worrisome to me. In fact, it seemed oddly comforting.
In the days following our watch party, I scoured Twitter and Facebook reading every hypothesis and reaction to the four episodes, and again I realized I am very much in the minority when it comes to not caring about Rory’s loose ends. Why is everyone so worried about her? (more…)
I was one of those weird kids who played with Barbies a little too long. Like, the age in early adolescence when parents start getting concerned thinking, “God, please don’t let my kid be the one who takes her dolls to high school with her.” Much to my parents relief, I finally packed away my giant Tupperware tub of plastic bodied blondes just shy of the eighth grade.
Dear Mrs. Clinton,
I’m five years old and sitting on my mother’s bed wearing an oversized and threadbare t-shirt she had handed down to me. My hair’s still wet from my bath and pressing to my back as I rest my head against a pillow by my mother’s side. All of these years later, the feeling of wet hair on my back as my head hits the pillow after a long, hot shower is one of my favorite feelings, a feeling of nostalgia associated with this precious memory. My mother opens a book about the history of the presidents of the United States. It’s a book much too advanced for me at five, one meant for adults, but reading this book has become our pre-bedtime routine, and every night for months my mother read aloud to me all sorts of trivia about our presidents. Knowing me and my interests at five, she spent so much time telling me the names of the First Ladies, showing me pictures of their inaugural ball gowns, and telling me the names of all of the presidential pets. Each night before we would study a new president, she would quiz me about the ones I had already learned, asking questions like Who is the 16th President? Spiro Agnew was this president’s VP, For what is Dolly Madison most known?… This was just another of my mother’s clever attempts for me to learn while having fun. (more…)
I’m in the middle of a 24-day cleanse. This is my second one this year. For those of you, like me, who struggle mathematically, by the time I finish this cleanse, I’ll have cleansed for 48 days so far this year. In my first cleanse, I lost 13 lbs. This time, while I’m electing not to weigh myself until the end, I can already tell I’ve lost inches. In losing that weight and inches, I’ve gained some perspective on the most idiotic thing we tell ourselves and each other when we’re trying to lose weight.