The John Mayer Problem

A while back ago the celebrity gossip world was abuzz that Katy Perry and John Mayer were a thing. Then, more recently, everyone was talking again, this time about how John dumped Katy.

I was less surprised that John Mayer dumped Katy Perry (isn’t that sort of his thing) than I was that she dated him in the first place. The guy's a jerk. And while I ‘m still not sure if sexual napalm is a compliment or an insult, I’m damn sure I don’t want any guy I’ve slept with to say it about me in a national magazine.

Though, in fairness, it might be nice to have a guy write a song comparing my body to a wonderland.

Still, as I do with almost all celebrity gossip I can quite fathom, I chalked it up to some anomaly inherent in the DNA of otherwise perfect people.

That is until I learned of a similar phenomenon plaguing a group of my friends.

Why Paul Ryan Lied – A Feminist’s Opinion

By now, even my parents know that Paul Ryan lied about his marathon time. What people don’t know is why he lied about it. Was it a simple mistake? No way. Was he just boasting? Maybe. Was he flat out lying because he didn’t want to admit a girl was faster than him? Well, that’s my theory.

Yes, as a recently reformed misogynist, I’m seeing misogyny everywhere. And sure, one could say I have developed this theory to get back on Gloria’s good side, but still, stay with me for a minute.

My Apologies to Women Everywhere (And Eli Manning)

 I have a confession to make. Sometimes I can be a bit of a misogynist. Now I don’t beat up women or call them stupid when they ask a question or suggest that they belong in the kitchen making me a sandwich. But on Sundays during football season I have been known to yell at my T.V. “What kind of bullsh*t arm tackle was that you effin’ p&ssy. Take your g.d. skirt off and man the eff up.”



One of my favorite t-shirts
now headed to the Goodwill pile.



The Games We Play

There is a game my mom and dad love to play with me. For lack of anything better, I call it the “Anything Else” game.


It dates back to middle school when guys were just starting to notice girls – and by that I mean guys were starting to notice other girls. I remained the girl they only noticed when they needed one more for a game of football.

Slip and Falls and Stranger’s Beds

I know I retired (killed) the cliché of single women dying alone a couple of posts back and I am not about to revive it here. But it would be disingenuous if I didn’t admit I do fear dying alone. However, my fear is a very specific one.

I’m afraid of slipping and falling and, unable to reach my mobile phone, I die a slow, painful death alone in my apartment. This fear has more to do with my steep stairs, hardwood floors, general lack of grace, the fact that I wear five-inch heels, that I like to drink a lot, sometimes leave my five-inch heels wherever I kicked them off the night before, and often forget to bring a towel with me to the shower thus requiring me to run across my hardwood floors, wet and naked and not paying attention, then it does with being single. 

Bridie once assured me that this was a silly and unnecessary fear: my friends would all start to worry after the second day passed with no Facebook status update.

Still, I get a warm and fuzzy feeling inside when I get a panicked call from a worried friend who hasn’t heard from me.

The One

A thousand years ago, my mom encouraged (made) me read The Secret. For those of you who have read it, you know will know how this relates, for those who didn't, basically, The Secret is everything you want you just need to think really hard about, and then the universe will deliver it to you.


For the most part, I think this is crap. But in the same way I don't necessarily believe in a god, but still sometimes worry I'm going to hell, at times when I am thinking about something and then it happens, I wonder if I made it happen with my powerful brain.

As I mentioned last week, I have been thinking a lot about my past, including past loves. And it wouldn't be a list of my greatest hits if it didn't include The One, because as the saying goes, you never forget your first.

Now, for clarification sake, The One wasn't my first in that sense (oh, god how I wish I could forget that first). He was the first guy for whom I had those feelings. You know those feelings. The shivers, the butterflies, the weak knees and the panties sliding to the floor. All which I mistook for love.

Back then all I knew about love came from romantic comedies, pop songs and novels.

A Little Self Reflection During My Last Full Week at 33

So this past week has been an interesting one for self-discovery – nothing all that unusual as I typically do a lot of reflecting on my life and what it all means in the weeks leading up to my birthday.

Around this time every year I start to get the itch to move to Chicago or San Francisco. I think about changing careers, or going to school or doing something so that I have a better plan than my current back-up plan (to retire as a nun) if I don’t make it as a writer. I also spend a lot of time wondering about exes – what they are up to but mostly what would be different about my life if they weren’t an ex.

It was in this mindset that I clicked on the Atlantic’s article “Is Facebook Making Us Lonely.”

I was most intrigued by this article because I have often thought that things like Facebook and Twitter actually make it easier for me to be alone. On Friday nights, when I’m not in the mood to go out (or my friends are all out on dates) I will sit home and watch TV, enjoy some wine, and check in on Facebook and Twitter obsessively. If I am watching the Phillies play (or this past week, the Olympics) reading my Twitter feed suddenly feels like I am watching the game with a dozen or so of my closest friends – even though I have never met most of these people.