50 Things I Do Not Have Time For

By Lori Goldman

I'm a busy, badass bitch who is just going to get right down to it.  Here is the list you were promised by virtue of the title of this post.  There will be no fun pictures or gifs because, as I think I've adequately alluded to, I JUST DON'T HAVE THE TIME. 

1.  People who get very specific on Facebook event invites.

No one cares that you won't be there.  Where?  It doesn't fucking matter.  You were probably invited as a part of a mass filter so there is no need to tell the other 700 people that have been strong-armed into what is basically a group text nightmare that you are visiting family in Connecticut.  Especially do not post in the group that you are going to a funeral in Connecticut.  Now you've ruined this housewarming for everyone.  Just kidding, no you didn't because, again, NO ONE CARES.

2. Mansplaining.

To the man that just tried to tell me about my job-- "Communications, you know, getting words out there:"  Go fuck yourself.  First of all, that's a really rudimentary definition of communications and, second, repeating everything I say in a more forceful tone does not make this a conversation.  Also, I only very loosely work in communications, but you have irritated me to the point where that is the least important fact of this rant.  You are doing a really poor job of masking your loneliness with your superfluous chatter.  You've exhausted me and I do not have the time to tire.

3.  A skincare routine.

Look, acne is new for me.  I think I had a total of a pimple and a half before I turned 24.  I thought washing your face meant letting shampoo graze over your forehead when you are in the shower.  To be clear, I still do that but I now know that it's not what that means.  I decided to be proactive and do some preliminary googling on what normal people do with their face.  The answer is about 87 steps.  Or 1,044 if you are Korean which, when it comes to your face (but also when it comes to BBQ), you should be. 

4. Defending brunch.

Oh my god shut up already.  I am sorry that I need a fun word to use when I am eating my first meal at 1:00 pm because I am a sad piece of shit.  With brunch I am flirty and cosmopolitan.  Without it I am just depressed.  Also, yes, making fun of white people is the enjoyable thing to do.  Nay, making fun of white people is the right thing to do.   But like pick something else.  Like colonialism, for example.  Or a Capella. 

5. Trader Joe's frozen entrees that have over 30 minute cook time. 

What is even the point of you, Trader Joe's Baltic pies???   I'm no monster, I know how to assemble a salad or grill a cheese.  If I am choosing to dine by freezer light, it means that I have less than 45 minutes to spare. So come at me, Joe!  I'm sick of your quasi-convenient nonsense!  But I do love your pot-stickers!  So keep those up!  Just watch yourself, okay?!

6. Going to the zoo.

Seriously, WHO has the time for that??

7. Girls with really bad names in a good way.

If you're called Fern, we are in a fight.  You can't just waltz in here with a name that announces how quirky you are.  Some of us have to actually work to seem interesting.  And look, I know I am working with a small amount of unique name privilege-- I've only met one other Lori that was born after 1960 and it really freaked me out.  But I am standing up for something bigger.  I'm fighting for the Sarahs, and the Rachels, and the Beckys with the good hair.  Actually that bitch is on her own, no one can save her now. 

8.  Deciding whether Adam Driver is hot. 

It's the question of our generation that I just cannot be bothered to answer.  Even writing about it now, I'm in a tailspin of is he or isn't he, and I don't have the time!!  We all just need to lock this question in a vault with the other great mysteries of humanity-- i.e. Is There A God and Am I Gay, etc. 

9.  Listening to anything but the Hamilton soundtrack.

I only sort of chose this life.  I bought the Hamilton soundtrack because I am weak and I love a musical more than is socially appropriate to admit on a blog that has nothing to do with musicals. The CD has been playing in my car on repeat for the past 3 months and I'm over it.  But I'm not going to go through the whole rigmarole of changing CDs and I certainly am not going to listen to the radio.  Who has the time for commercials?? The only commercials I'll tolerate are for Squarespace, Stamps.com, or MeUndies because I'm a podcast listening piece of human garbage!  Work!

10.  Figuring out where that siren is coming from.

I am DRIVING, which means I am having important THOUGHTS.  Your siren is so loud that you could literally be coming from any direction within a 10 mile radius and I wouldn't know the difference. So here I am, distracted from my own genius by moving my head around like an epileptic baby bird trying to figure out where you are, or if you actually even EXIST, fireman!!!!!

11. Explaining why I don't do bikram yoga.

It's incredibly obvious. My resting state is sweaty.  I do bikram life.  Get off my wet dick. 

34. Counting.

Integers and the process of ordering them is a societal construct that is a direct result of the patriarchy.  I refuse to be oppressed into numerical submission. 

35.  The media's representation of improvised comedy.

There is nothing worse than bad improv, I get that, but OMG there is no reason to be so hateful.  Especially from you, Tina Fey.  And you, Abbi and Ilana.  Y'all are not stand-ups!  Live your truth and stop biting the hand that fed you. 

36.  Maintaining a basil plant. 

Yeah I like a fucking caprese as much as the next white lady, but I am not going to keep a plant on my window sill to shame me for not investing time into summer salads.  The plant will eventually die, just like the spark of dignity I once had, and I don't have time for the emotional breakdown that will inevitably ensue.  Maybe if I had time to refill my Xanax prescription, I could carve out the time to tend to a plant, but that is just not the world we are living in.

37.  People who ask a question only to hear it asked back.

No, I have never carried a boulder on my shoulder while hiking the Appalachian Trail.  But I bet you have!!!  And honestly, I'd be curious to hear about it.  I love a rhyme and a good eat/pray/love story.  JUST OPEN WITH IT.

38. Playgrounds that don't allow dogs. 

Let my dog frolic!  He needs it more than your children (whose only value in this world is a choral performance in the background of a rap song). When your children are under-exercised, do they take an anger shit in your shoe??  Idk, maybe they do.  Literally the only exposure I have to children is the infant that rolled off of a couch while I was babysitting.  I did not catch her.  I could have.  But I chose not to. 

39. Matching my bra to my underwear.

The only time that I have matched my bra to my underwear was when I accidentally put on a full cheetah ensemble by accident.  I love an animal print unmentionable, so it was bound to happen sooner or later. 

40. Seasonal Affective Disorder.

I am sorry that you were feeling SAD.  I love you and your miniature heat lamp that I firmly believe should be covered by insurance. But go shit in a river.  Yes, the sun is out and now you are romping around, preaching the merits of vitamin D.  Good for you, you D loving sluts!  Good for you that you could hop off this hellscape merry-go-round, while I am gripping this rusted pony for dear life.  Good for you that you get to take a summer vacation.  And you expect me to just save your seat?? Well guess what?!? I WILL DO THAT FOR YOU, YOU PART-TIME DEPRESSIVE FREAK.

41. Bringing an appropriate dish to your potluck.

Either serve me dinner or let's go out.  Unless your definition of a potluck is everyone brings beer and a bag of chips, I'm not interested.  Don't get me wrong, I am charmed by your whimsical ideals about communal living.  I don't just happen to have the ingredients for a 15 person dish that fits into your curated menu lying around my pantry.  LOL AS IF I HAVE A PANTRY.  

42. People who use anti-censorship rhetoric to defend bigotry in the comedic arts.

No one is trying to burn anybody's copy of Catcher and the Rye, so calm the fuck down and take a hard look at yourself.  It is pretty disgraceful that anyone would co-opt the Free Speech Movement, a revolutionary period of history born out of the need to defend and protect civil right activists and anti-Vietnam War protesters, in order to secure their right to say shit like, "I love me some black pussy" at an open mic. 

43. Bumper stickers that say "My dog is smarter than your honors student."

Look, only thing that makes me more emotional than dogs is parental acceptance.  Taking grading politics out of this for a second, a child should never be denied the pleasure of having their parents be proud of them.  Would you look a sticky, freckled mess of a human in the eye and say, "No, offspring, I will not humor you with this bumper brag because some asshole has made it clear that they think it's stupid.  They think YOU are stupid."  No, you wouldn't do that. So cool it with your statement stickers.

44. 

Fiddler on the Roof is the Zooey Deschanel of Musicals

By Lori Goldman

Look, you really don't have to read any further.  I could have titled this post, "You'll Never Guess Which Hollywood Starlet Is Exactly Like Fiddler on the Roof," or, "Did The Fiddler Invent Bangs??" but I am just a nice girl who puts her heart on the table and her cards on her sleeve.  In other words, I am easily confused by metaphor, but am very open about it.

Yes, I think that Fiddler on the Roof really exemplifies what it means to be a manic pixie dream girl.  Anatevka is my Elizabethtown.  Manic pixie dream girls may pride themselves on being unique and original, but everything they do, Fiddler on the Roof did first.  You may be thinking, "Lori, this concept seems more like a tweet than anything."  And you may be right.  But I already did tweet about it and zero likes later I feel compelled to explain.  

1. The Outfits. 

Diane Keaton was the tennis-playing gentile princess who contra danced Woody Allen out of his comfort zone by smoking a j and wearing a tie in Annie Hall.  Although, she might have gone a bit too far because Allen now seems overly comfortable living outside society's prescribed lines of decency.  You know, like with making dog shit like Blue Jasmine and being rapey.  But I guess we can't blame Diane.  No one can forbear the all-consuming power of a dream girl in menswear or, more accurately, shtetlwear.  We give Keaton a lot of credit for that look, and we should, but she didn't make that shit up.  She looks like the Rebbe's noodnick son who drank a little too much Manischewitz before going to tutor a bar mitzvah boy.  She is one l'chaim away from taking a fiddle and climbing up on the roof.

2. Matchmaker, matchmaker, I'm just a kooky sister.

You know how in New Girl, Zooey Deschanel is supposed to be unconventionally attractive because she wears glasses and doesn't know how to talk to boys? She is looking for love in all the wrong floral-print places, etc etc.  Someone help her!  She needs a montage and maybe a leather jacket.

Or perhaps a song and dance to bring her back down to earth.  I know that works because Tzeidel, Hodel, and Chava were the same way in Act 1.  Those three were over being single and were just looking for a man who would love them for being THEM, you know?  But playing with matches a girl can get burned!!  So they are just going to settle for being modern women who refuse to settle.  Because this is Imperial Russia at the turn of the century!  Things could be a lot worse for women!

3. Fruma Sarah is Natalie Portman's wet dream.

Do you remember this travesty? 

Perhaps the better questions is, were you #blessed with the ability to forget?  Never mind the fact that someone has FOR SURE DONE THAT BEFORE, NATALIE PORTMAN this classic Garden State moment convinced girls everywhere that if they moved their bodies like they were possessed by a demon, they could conjure up a sensitive, depressed boyfriend.  You can't because, I'm sorry, that is not how the dark arts of flirting work. 

You know who did do something truly unique, though?  Like really freaky and weird? Fruma Sarah. 

Fruma Sarah is everything that Natalie Portman wants to be-- a bad ass ghost who is shrill in a fun way and is covered in neon robes.   Fruma Sarah is the definition of a free spirit.  Literally, she is a freed spirit.  Also, not to get too literal with "dream girl," but Fruma Sarah only exists in Tevye's dream... and in the hearts of dead disappointed women everywhere.

4. ROAD TRIP!!!

Road trips are the bread and butter of manic pixie dream girls.  When all else fails, they have a scene on Route 69, or whatever, that gives them a chance to show off the totally bizarre way they eat gummy worms.  Fiddler is no different.  At some point everyone leaves either to join a revolution or escape a genocide.  But don't worry, they are singing while they do it.  Who doesn't love a show tune sing-a-long on a road trip!?!

6. If I were a rich man, jk, I'm doing fine but like let's pretend.

The thing that differentiates Kirsten Dunst in Elizabethtown from Kirsten Dunst in Marie Antoinette is money.  The former is fun and exciting, the latter is a bitch.  A manic pixie has to be a little poor—it’s the only way.  It makes her relatable and allows the man to take care of her in a way that he feels comfortable with, you know? The thing is, these girls might yell about how broke they are, but the reality is they just have to order take out maybe one less time a week.  They're doing fine, their cell phone is on the family plan.

Tevye is the same way.  Like he literally has this whole performance about being poor.  He is no Tsar, but he has 5 daughters and they are all fed.  He's got at least one horse.  Or it might be a mule, but that is not the point. 

7. The town has a fucking troubadour.

Almost 50 years before Stars Hallow and their weak-ass troubadour, THERE WAS A MAN THAT PLAYED A FIDDLE ON A ROOF.  Not a violin, a FIDDLE.  On a ROOF!!!!!! HE'S BOTH THERE FOR NO REASON AND A PART OF AN ELABORATE METAPHOR.  HAVE YOU EVER HEARD OF ANYTHING WITH THAT MUCH ADORKABLE WHIMSY??? 

If I haven't convinced you that every manic pixie dream girl trope was brought to you by Fiddler on the Roof, that's fine.  But just know that Lin-Manuel Miranda sang "Tradition" at his wedding so I'll always have that.

Is This Used Condom In The Middle Of The Sidewalk Evidence Of Carelessness Or Carefulness?

By Anya Volz

Uh oh! Not again! You thought the banana peel you just slipped on, on your way to work was a little more lubricated than usual. You look down to investigate what just caused you to be one more minute late than your usual four and a half minutes, and you see latex and actual human semen cooking on the sidewalk in the hot sun! Delicious! Before letting the fact that this is now all over the bottom of your shoe and you will both literally and figuratively carry it with you for the rest of your day, you have to wonder: Is this used condom in the middle of the sidewalk evidence of it's users' carelessness or carefulness?

Argument #1: Whoever is responsible for this is literal scum

Many might be quick to assert that this condom is clearly the mark of a thoughtless, negligent individual (or, more likely, individuals). What kind of a person leaves their baby batter in an object that could easily be mistaken for a water balloon, only to be found and inevitably strung onto a child's macaroni necklace and proudly presented to a parent as part of a scavenging arts and crafts project? Surely, the kind of person who doesn't think about how such a chain of events would reflect on the whimsical art teacher who only wanted to teach the kids about the vitality of repurposing. Only an asshole would insist upon single-handedly destroying the significance of a lesson about waste, the environment and children's creativity.

Of course, this piece of shit never thought about who might bear witness to their strewn bag of splooge on the busy sidewalk. They never thought about who might be walking Fido the dog with an affinity for all things disgusting (as most dogs have) and would be hours later cleaning this prick's tattie water out of the carpet where Fido disgorged the delightful treat. They didn't think of you or the months you've tirelessly worked to incrementally increase your lateness by a mere ten to twenty seconds at a time to see how far your boss is willing to let it slide without addressing the issue. An entire MINUTE? Hah! The jig is up now, for sure! Thanks a lot, jackass. What a disgraceful display of irresponsibility. 

Argument #2: We're being ungrateful

Are we going to simply disregard the fact that whomever this condom once belonged to had the foresight to not throw their whole future away on one passionate night of ...whatever they were doing? (Sex on the sidewalk, I guess? Honestly, that part is still not 100% clear.) No, they buckled down, put their hard-earned money down on some nice Trojans (ribbed for her pleasure, and everything!), and they protected themselves and their "loved one" from the consequences of unprotected sidewalk sex. Or at least the consequences other than the possibility of road rash or being charged for public indecency. Trojan's still working on a product line for protection from those two things.

Not only did they practice safe sex, but they commemorated the event by leaving the condom at the site the positive life choice being made. Maybe they did think of the child who might stumble across this memento. You know what you can't blame them for? This kid's parents' failure to talk about and destigmatize sex starting at a young age. I'll tell you what that macaroni necklace is from this side of the argument: a great jumping off point for a long-due conversation. 

And maybe it's time that irresponsible dog owner rose to the occasion and fucking trained Fido not to eat anything remotely edible on the street. They should just count their blessings and be happy our responsible friend didn't splurge on chocolate flavored condoms last night. Then Fido would really be in a sticky situation. Take this as a valuable lesson that nobody can train your dog for you, least of all the type of people who are too busy having a great time on this residential sidewalk at 2:00am. 

It's still not cool about messing up your lateness agenda, but sacrifices have to be made for all good causes.

Argument #3: We're reading too far into this

I can see why you might think that. And you're probably right. But doesn't it feel better to assign meaning to what is otherwise a meaningless, chaotic existence? 

Let's go fuck on the sidewalk before it's too late. 

Passover, As Told By Ginger (If Ginger Was Wasted)

by Lori Goldman

Get out your Prince of Egypt DVDs (or Rugrats' Passover, both great films) and pretend that you love that gluten-free lifestyle because it is mother fucking Passover.  Hashtag RIP firstborn Egyptians!  Miss you!   

Passover is my favorite holiday because you get drunk with your grandpa who inevitably goes into a third act monologue about how one time Jesus spoke to him in a dream.  Jesus has divine powers, you guys, but he is not the SON of god.  I know that to be true because Jesus himself said that to my Grandpa Seymour back in the late '90s.  

Anyway, Passover is also awesome because it's all about freedom and radicalism.  Passover is also probably about Bernie Sanders.  Bring that up at your next dinner party.  Someone is bound to agree.

In any event, this is the story of Passover.  Shout out to 7 years of Jewish day school education.  Pray hard, play hard, bitches!!!

Egypt was kind of a fucked up place.  Imagine the Trump presidency.  But all of his real estate was pyramids and the Jews were like a weird Muslim/Mexican hybrid.  Wait IS this story about Bernie Sanders??

Ok, so Pharaoh Trump was all "These Jews keep having babies, enough already," so he issued a decree or whatever saying that all newborn Jews had to be killed.   Cut to our Yocheved, a jewess who just gave birth to a son!  Oh shit!  She knew that Pharaoh's secret service were coming any second so she was like, "Yo Miriam!"  Miriam was her daughter. "Yo Miriam!  Get this baby and put him in a basket.  Send him down the nile, that's the only way."  Miriam was like, "WTF this seems like a very trashy thing to do, but okay, mom."  So Miriam put him in a basket and then hid in the bushes while scurrying alongside her brother.  Finally the basket, holding Moses Sanders, made its way to Batya.  Batya was the (infertile?) daughter of Pharaoh who like loved kids, that was sort of her thing.  Literally the people's princess.  I don't want to give her too much credit though because she didn't do anything when her dad wanted ENACT A GENOCIDE, but like it was a man's world, it's not totally her fault.  Regardless, we should all boycott Ivanka Trump's line at T.J. Maxx because remaining silent means you are on the side of the oppressor, etc.

Batya takes Moses as her son because it may be his-(s)tory, but literally women do everything.  The problem is, she has no #milk in those barren tits, so she needs a wet nurse.  Conceptually, wet nurses are either the most beautiful form of sisterhood or just supremely disgusting.  Cast your vote in the comments!  

Anyway, Yocheved, with those baby bearing breasts of hers, becomes Batya's personal cow.  Maybe Miriam suggested it (cue "Who Run the World") but I really don't remember.  The point is that is takes a fucking village to raise a child so can someone PLEASE get some affordable childcare going on this side of the Arabian sea?? 

Moses grows up and is super bothered by the treatment of the Jewish slaves because he is woke AF.   He ends up killing this guy who he catches beating a slave, but then Moses freaks out because he like sort of had this sneaking suspicion that he was Jewish and like maybe this confirms it???  It's like getting your first gay crush.  You have to sit with it and be like, "OMG is this my queer life??? Did Will & Grace prepare me for this?? KAREN ARE YOU THERE?!?!?"

So Moses runs away to Vermont and becomes the mayor.  While there, he sees a Burning Bush (see: Adjusting to Life As a Feminine Person With Body Hair) which is actually a misnomer because the bush was on fire but not actually burning!!!! Miracles of miracles!!!  

Moses is just like "BUT HOW?" and then God, played by Elizabeth Warren, calls down, "tell Pharaoh to let my people go." 

So Moses takes a pilgrimage back to Egypt to ask Pharaoh to let his mother fucking people go, but Pharaoh is just not playing that game.  I'm pretty sure Pharoah used a gay slur while making fun of Moses's lisp which was just uncalled for.  Moses said, "You're a fucking lunatic and I'm sending 10 plagues so just check yourself, okay?" 

And Moses did. There were frogs and lice and boils and hail and scarlet and black and ochre and peach. That was a Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat joke.  Kudos, thank you, and I'm sorry to anyone who got it.  For those of you catching up, here are 10 things that plague me, just in case you were wondering.

1. Depression

2. Low Self-Esteem

3. A Neighbor Who Is Constantly Yelling At His Yappy Chihuahua

4. Panic Attacks

5. A Perfect Nose

6. Adult Onset Acne

7. Uneven Eyelids

8. Unencumbered Talent

9. Overprotective Parents 

10. Smoking Weed Makes Me Hella Paranoid

Anyway, the final plague was the death of every Egyptian firstborn-- the atomic bomb of plagues.  Jews were told to leave a mark outside their doors so that the Angel of Death would PASS OVER their homes.  PASS OVER!!! PASSOVER!!! DO YOU GET IT?? DO YOU??!???!

After that, Pharaoh was like WTF FINE LEAVE.  So the Jews did, but as they were crossing the Red Sea, the Egyptian army was behind them.  The sea parted just long enough for the Jews to cross and then the Egyptians drowned.  

Upon getting to the other side, the Jews started celebrating.  Moses scolded them because you should never celebrate death, even if it is the death of your enemies.  He gives a nice little speech about it, which FUN FACT was my bat mitzvah torah portion. #Beshalach. 

That suit though!!

Then the Jews lived happily ever after.

Jk, then they wandered in the desert for 40 years because God thought they were too broken to live in Canaan.  And then there was the Holocaust.  But whatever!  Break out the Manischewitz!  It's time to lounge and make matzah pizza!  

Father-Husbands Are the New Sister-Wives

by Lori Goldman

So I have daddy issues.  Like I could try to deny it, but I am an upper-middle class fat jew from the suburbs and my (until recently) absentee father has a serious eating disorder.  I was more likely to wake up post-puberty with no limbs than with no daddy issues.  

As a result, my understanding of love and desire is fucked.  Fucked and parented, I should say, because in the venn-diagram of "people I want as my dad" and "people I want as my boyfriend," my strongest of crushes always fall directly in the middle. Let's take a trip down Lovers' (slash Fathers') Lane to honor the best father-husbands in pop culture history.

LOL yeah like maybe my dad.

My first real crush was on Kermit the Frog.  As a toddler, I recognized Kermit's capacity to hold me close and tell me everything was going to be okay.  Even beyond his intense paternal sexuality, there are a number of things that made Kermit attractive-- he was the sheepish (or frogish AM I RIGHT HOLD YOUR APPLAUSE) about being the center of attention, he knew what to do with a banjo and a rainbow, and he was in love with a literal pig.  As a child who often felt like a metaphorical pig, Kermit seemed attainable.  He was in to girls like me, you guys!!! The truth is, though, that the similarities between me and Miss Piggy end at our body type.  She was fucking rude, I'm sorry.  She talked over everyone and more often than not she was just unreasonable.  All of the lights, all of the lights, you know?? Except the lights were demands.  God bless whoever was Piggy's intern. Her addiction to fashion seems radical now, given her shape, but at the time just seemed frivolous and a poor match to Kermit's depth and sensitive spirit.  YES I still have a crush on Kermit, so sue me.  He's truly a man among muppets/frogs/troubadours on logs. 

It is a universally known fact that Dick Van Dyke is the personification of Kermit the Frog. First of all, they both have two big names and then one little poop of a name in the middle.  

Society: So you mean three names?

Me: Yeah, I guess that's my point...but those names are also really similarly structured, okay??!!??

Society: That's dumb.

Dick and Kermit also have very similar dancing aesthetics which, tbh, is also my sex aesthetic. 

In the show that donned his name, Van Dyke played Rob Petrie, a gentle green bean of a comedy writer who was apt to throw spontaneous variety (read: muppet) shows in his living room. Charming!! His wife, Laura, played by Mary Tyler Moore, is zero percent like me--not in shape and not in sentiment.  A former USO dancer who gasps all the god damned time, Laura looks like she would break in half if you pulled the legs of her cigarette pants too hard, and she blushes at all the occasions that it is appropriate for a woman to blush.  He loves her anyway, but like whatever.

The real lady star of the show, however, is not Laura.  It is (AIR HORN AIR HORN AIR HORN) Sally Rogers.  Sally, played by vaudevillian Rose Marie, is an older, single, womyn writer on Rob's staff who's sheer desperation leads her to have horrible taste in men.  Just.  Like.  Me. 

Rob respects Sally as a partner in the office, but is always there for her when she needs a man-cum-father.  Like one time Rob saved Sally from a date who was only using her for her comedic acumen and NOT her body!!!  Meanwhile, Rob and Laura don't even share the same twin XL bed so I don't think there is any man-cum happening there, father or otherwise.

I would truly be amiss if I did not mention the lead slut in the father-husband harem.  Obviously I am talking about John Goodman as Dan, in the greatest show known to man: Roseanne. 

YOU ARE, DADDY <3 <3 

All I want in this god forsaken life is for Dan Conner to pick me up and put me in his overalls.  In a child way??? In a sex way??? Both!!!!!!  I want him to buy me my first box of tampons and then get me pregnant.  I want him to give me a noogie and then rip out all of my hair in lust. 

Dan Conner respects women and parents the shit out of children.  Literally every time he refers to Roseanne as his partner or his teammate I die inside with hope that maybe, just maybe, I will find a Chicagoan giant of my own to build boats and shit in my garage and fix the washing machine. Die with HOPE, I tell you!!! But also remember that one time he went shopping with Becky to bond with her and she was all, "Dad, don't torture yourself, I know you love me," and then he kissed her on her head and slipped her a 20??? GOD DAN CONNER TAKE ME NOW.

And finally...

The indecent exposure either has nothing to do with it or everything to do with it but idk which

Look, I know it's weird JUST LET ME HAVE IT I really don't want to explain. 

While we all aren't masturbating in the corner of a purity ball, we do all have daddy issues to some extent. It's the reason why hot dads are unanimously considered the hottest subsection of hot people.  I'd even venture to say that it's the reason President Obama was elected (#fatherhusbandgoals).

But ultimately...well, I actually don't really have an overarching lesson here, so, um, let's all just enjoy being broken together!!!  Here's a pic of of Ryan Gosling carrying a dog with a very unfortunate haircut:

So You're Not Engaged And You Didn't Match With A Residency Program Because You're Not In Medical School

by Lori Goldman

WHO YA GONNA CALL, HUH??   Top pick is obviously Bill Murray with a side of Leslie Jones, but I'll even take a solo Rick Moranis.  WE NEED ALL HANDS ON DECK BECAUSE if you are anything like me (a Jew that grew up in the suburbs) your Facebook newsfeed is straight up haunted.  By GHOSTS!!  From High School!!!

We all thought that nothing was worse than white kids who post too many articles about race that are really only directed towards other white kids (s/o Beyonce's Reformation is bae) but here we are.  Gone are the times when we could all have a chuckle about Sally Jewserstein pretending that she knew Trump supporters IRL because WAKE UP BITCHES, it's engagement season.  

For the amount of money that floods suburbia, you'd think that boys taking over their fathers' businesses could think of something more creative than spelling out "Marry Me?" in rose petals.  Newsflash: this is high stakes prom and no trite drivel is off limits if you are offering a diamond that could pay off you're students loans (that do not exist.)

For the career oriented, this is also the time that 4th year med students announce to the world that they MATCHED with their residency program of choice.  You've seen it all.  Photos holding the email.  Photos of the email next to celebratory champagne and cheesecake (which PS you're about to be a guide into the world of good health, lay off that refined sugar, fam!) Photos of the email that have been soaked in snapchat emojis that say "Hey I may be a member of the medical elite but I am JUST LIKE YOU."  DOCTORS ARE JUST LIKE US, YOU GUYS!!!! THEY USE SNAPCHAT AND ONE TIME WORE A REALLY SLUTTY DRESS TO HOMECOMING AND EVERYONE ALL SAW BOTH THIER PUSSY AND THEIR ATTEMPTS TO UNDERSTAND BLOSSOMING SEXUALITY!!!!! YAY MEDICINE!!!! Now someone get me an antibiotic because I am SICK of it. 

Here are some of my recent accomplishments that I believe deserve a metric of 3.5 likes per minute: 
 

1. I bought a pair of sunglasses that really suit the shape of my face.

Look, I've been pretending that I have a heart shaped face ever since Reese Witherspoon graced us with her personal resurrection of June Carter Cash.  But guess what?? Years of therapy and a Xanax prescription that I save for "special occasions when I feel like I'm dying or am in the mood for a vodka tonic" have made it clear that I have a round. shaped. face.  THAT IS MY TRUTH.  Armed with the weapon that is knowledge, I bought a reasonable pair of sunglasses.  These glasses pay homage to my cheek bones, while making my double chin look purposeful.  This is 2016 and fuck yeah I am riding the body positivity train.  BOW DOWN TO THE GLASSES BECAUSE I AM YOUR TUMBLR QUEEN.  I'd post a picture but I am in no mood to be judged. 

2. I found the vaginal anti-itch cream that is right for me. 

This is so true and so worthy of praise that I tweeted about it, texted it to a few close friends, and used it as vulnerability leverage in a recent heart-2-heart.  Women grow up knowing about one vaginal anti-itch cream: Vagisil.  RING RING pick up the phone because the patriarchy is calling and you may have some choice words for him after you doused your labia with the only lotion that has a more distinct smell than Nair.  Vagisil is not the answer.  Vagisil is what fuq boys pedal to smart women who don't have the courage to say "HEY anal sex makes me feel weirdly powerful after the fact, but very yucky in the moment, and Monistat is MY vaginal anti-itch cream of choice."  Basically, I've come into myself as a woman and I have the power to apply an enjoyably cooling anti-itch salve before I allow anyone else to come into myself.

3. I got pretty drunk and my dog did not judge me for it. 

Don't act like you don't know what I am talking about.  I come from a household where my father would give me a very deliberate hug whenever I came back from being *~*out*~* to make sure that I had not been hanging out in a whore house with my slutty doctor friend, Mary Jane.  I am used to being under psychological attack.  I believe I mentioned that I am Jewish, single, and not in medical school.  HOWEVER, there is no guilt gravy more heavy than that which is slathered on by my dog.  One time I ordered two entrees from the Chinese takeout down the street, ate them both in front of him, and he refused to sleep in the same bed as me.  He literally chose the floor over my grease-pit haven!!! The shade of it all!!!! He hates when I self-sabotage which tbh is a little heart-warming because like he CARES, you know? But it also can really harsh my vibe.  Here is the success story:  I came home on a Tuesday, very wasted, and yet I had my shit TOGETHER, people.  So much so that he did not suspect a single fucking thing.  He lay proudly by my side even as I had to wake up in the middle of the night to chug the week-old seltzer sitting on my dresser.  Calm down, it was pamplemousse, okay???? I'm fine.

4. I stole a beer from my roommate.

Yes!  That is right!  I am in a loving domestic partnership with my roommate and it doesn't matter that I took something that doesn't belong to me.  She knows what it is like to be alive in this god forsaken world and she would want me to be happy.  Literally I didn't ask her for this beer and so she didn't "say yes!!!!!!!!" but I don't need an instagram to validate my chosen lifestyle.

5. GUESS WHAT I DON'T HAVE A FIFTH. 

But that doesn't matter because I am a strong, independent woman who has chosen a life that is in the exact middle of saying "fuck it, I'm quitting my job to work on a weed farm and travel the world" and saying "fuck it, I am going to live the exact same life as my parents."  

I don't need a fiancé or a medical residency.  And neither do you, dear reader.   In the words of the Dixie Chicks, we have taken the road less traveled and that has made all the difference.  Just kidding that is Robert Frost, the most basic of basic bitches.  Like someone get ol' Bobby a pumpkin spice because he is tripping.  But, back to us.  We are taking the long way around.

I know it's not my place and this is not keeping my chill, but I really hope that you clicked that link and had a good jam because you deserve it.