Wine and Zoloft

Its the little things that get you through life

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Rachel LaBella is a reporter at EntertainmentNow covering all things reality TV and pop culture, with a particular focus on Bravo. She has worked as a freelance entertainment writer since 2019 and became a contributor for NewsBreak in 2024. Rachel earned her degree in Communications from the University of Connecticut and is based in Stamford, Connecticut.

  • Why I Decided to Get a Full Diagnostic Blood Panel After Cancer — and What I Learned

    When I was diagnosed with breast cancer at 30, “shocked” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

    I had no family history. No BRCA mutation. No known genetic predisposition. I’d never had any serious health issues before. I was in a steady relationship, generally pretty type-B about my health, and — if I’m being honest — I’d let routine care fall by the wayside. I hadn’t seen a gynecologist in years.

    As it turns out, that lapse was a huge mistake — one that could have cost me my life.

    My diagnosis came during a routine physical after I casually mentioned to my doctor that it had been a long time since my last gyno visit. She offered to do a quick breast exam. Spoiler alert: she found something.

    Fast forward five months post-treatment. I’m still processing what happened, but one thing is clear: the experience fundamentally changed how I think about my health. For the first time in my life, I developed real health anxiety — not in a spiraling way, but in a what else might be going on in my body that I don’t know about? way.

    I wanted information. Real information.

    The Rise of Preventative Health — and Why I Was Intrigued

    If you follow celebrities like Kim Kardashian — who once promoted a $2,500 full-body scan designed to detect disease early — you’ve probably noticed a growing cultural shift toward preventative, data-driven health. Early detection is suddenly very on trend.

    So, when I came across Superpower’s baseline diagnostic panel, which tests 100+ biomarkers including vitamin levels, cholesterol markers like ApoB, cortisol, inflammation indicators, and more, I was immediately intrigued.

    For context: biomarkers are measurable substances in your blood that provide insight into how your body is functioning. Think of it as an extremely detailed blood test — one that goes far beyond what you’d typically get at an annual physical. Instead of vague “everything looks fine” feedback, biomarker testing gives you precise, objective data that can support a more personalized and proactive approach to health.

    When I saw how extensive Superpower’s panel was — especially at $199, which is dramatically less than many comparable services — I decided to try it.

    Here’s my honest experience.

    How It Works

    The process was refreshingly straightforward. After signing up for Superpower’s premium health membership at superpower.com, I completed a brief intake questionnaire (about 10 minutes) that covered my health history, family background, and what I hoped to learn from the testing.

    From there, you can opt to either:

    • Schedule a concierge nurse to come to your home (for an additional fee), or
    • Book a blood draw at a nearby lab

    I opted for a Quest Diagnostics location five minutes from my office. There were plenty of appointment slots, and I was in and out in under five minutes during my lunch break.

    Within two to three days, my results were ready.

    The Results (and What Made Them Different)

    My Superpower Results

    The panel provided clear numerical values for each biomarker, alongside easy-to-understand reference ranges showing what’s low, normal, or elevated. I could download the results instantly and forward them directly to my doctor, which I did for a few markers that fell outside the optimal range.

    What stood out most, though, was what happened after the data came in.

    Once logged into the platform, I received:

    • Plain-language explanations of each result
    • A breakdown of which biomarkers were most important to address
    • A personalized action plan with practical next steps
    • Even an estimate of my biological age (which, thankfully, came in seven years younger than my actual age)

    Instead of being handed a stack of numbers and left to Google them, I felt guided. The platform explained why certain markers mattered, what might be contributing to them, and how to improve them in realistic, sustainable ways.

    What I Learned About My Own Health

    One of the most valuable insights was discovering that I have low vitamin B12 levels and a low red blood cell count, consistent with anemia. Interestingly, my iron levels were normal — meaning it wasn’t iron-deficiency anemia, something I likely wouldn’t have known without this level of testing.

    That information helped connect the dots. Instead of chalking my constant fatigue up to work stress or post-treatment exhaustion, I finally had a clearer picture of what was actually happening in my body — and a roadmap for addressing it.

    What I Liked Most

    • Far more comprehensive than standard blood work. Most primary care panels test 10–20 markers. This tests over 100.
    • Ideal for prevention and trend tracking. You can monitor how lifestyle changes affect your health over time and potentially catch issues early with an (relatively) inexpensive annual membership.
    • Transparency and data ownership. You see your raw numbers, not just a doctor’s summary. I found that incredibly empowering.
    • Actionable guidance, not just data. The personalized insights made the results feel usable rather than overwhelming.

    Above all, Superpower gave me something I didn’t realize I was craving after cancer: peace of mind. Knowing I’m taking proactive, informed steps when it comes to my health feels grounding in a way that’s hard to put into words.

    After everything I’ve been through, that sense of agency is invaluable.

  • Shitposting

    Goooood evening everyone! You may be thinking to yourselves, wow bitch I totally forgot you write these. Well, same. But, I had initially resolved yesterday to write a blog because I assumed that I would have a great surplus of free time once the alleged Tiktok ban went into effect.

    At first, I, like many dim-witted Americans, did not believe that Tiktok would ever actually “go dark” and was quite literally stunned when I received a notification at approx. 10:30 pm upon trying to open the app.

    “Sorry, TikTok isn’t available right now.

    A law banning TikTok has been enacted in the U.S. Unfortunately, that means you can’t use TikTok for now. We are fortunate that President Trump has indicated that he will work with us on a solution to reinstate TikTok once he takes office. Please stay tuned!”

    As I frantically began texting everyone I knew asking how the U.S. Government could possibly do this to us, – how they could take away something that provides such a communal sense of joy and levity during our time of need because.. what? Something, something, Chinese taking our data, something something, threat to national security? Do one of the Tween TikTokers doing Laniege Lip Mask tutorials hold the passwords to the nuclear codes? Give me a fucking break –  I slowly began to feel the liberal white woman leaving my body. Surely, Trump would handle this. And if/when he did, I’d be willing to overlook the whole attack on women’s rights and body autonomy or whatever.

    Then, lo and behold, before I even had the chance to awake from my 12-hour slumber, TikTok was up and running again. I opened my eyes and my phone at a crisp 1 pm and was met with yet another message from the TikTok Powers At Be.

    “Welcome back!

    Thanks for your patience and support. As a result of President Trump’s efforts, TikTok is back in the U.S.! You can continue to create, share, and discover all the things you love on TikTok.”

    ?????

    It had not even been 14 hours. And Trump had not yet been inaugurated. And while I had seen Papa T’s Tweet or TruthSocial post or whatever saying he had just spoken to “Chairman XI Jinping of China” (?????) and discussed extremely prevalent topics such as Fentanyl and TikTok (????????) I was left with more questions than answers.

    First and foremost, I’m deeeeeply unclear how exactly he was able to reverse the ban that had been voted on and passed by Congress and the House of Representatives. Just exactly what did Trump say to Chairman DXI Jinping? And more importantly, who the fuck is Chairman JinPing? And perhaps, most important of all, was this entire thing just a rouse or publicity stunt to make the younger masses feel confident that Trump is an ally and can get stuff done? And if so, why is China playing along with it? (Just realized I’m using TikTok and China interchangeably here which is unnecessary and inaccurate, but I digress)

    Annnyyywayyyy, Tiktok is back which means I can continue watching 3-minute snippets of Reno 911 and The Cosby Show at my own discretion. Sounds good to me. Let’s see what else I can rant about.

    I’m in my third month of unemployment and have decided to take this time to do something very meaningful and important, which is rewatch Girls on HBO. I, much like everyone else, decided long ago to unfollow Lena Dunham and pray that she went away. I think it was something to do with her writing about how she molested her younger sister when she was 7. Which is frankly just not something I could get onboard with, no matter how talented of a writer she is. However, there’s no denying that this show is absolute gold and Hannah Horvath truly was the voice of a generation.

    Her whiny self-importance and unwavering belief that she is entitled to make blind observations about other people’s lives in her writing is truly like looking in a mirror.  Case in point, this scene: Girls Show Marnie Break Up | TikTok

    “Marnie has to stop whining and break up with him already. Of course it’ll be painful, but she’s already in so much agony. Stuck in a prison of his kindness. Just because someone is kind, doesn’t mean that they’re right. Better to end it now, and cut off the limb, and let the stump heal. He’ll find someone else, someone that appreciates his kind of smothering love.”

    Felllllllllt. Also, Hannah’s UTI saga dragged me down memory lane to a particularly traumatic incident when I also had an insanely painful UTI that just wouldn’t quit.

    Circa 2014, I was visiting my friend during her freshman year at UConn and (back in the pre-TikTok days when practical advice wasn’t just a swipe away) I read online somewhere from some lunatic that if you took a bath in vinegar the symptoms would subside. However, living in a dorm, my friend did not actually have a bathtub readily available. So instead, we took a rideshare or a taxi or something to a nearby CVS and got a few gallons of pure vinegar and like, a children’s plastic sandbox and set it up in the middle of her dorm room.

    This proved to be a mistake on many levels, and not just hygienically. I sat naked in the sandbox for 20 minutes essentially pickling my vagina until her morbidly obese roommate who frequently dressed in Sailor Moon cosplay showed up. And, while I immediately apologized and made a haphazard attempt to hide my labia, it was apparently too little too late. And Sailor Moon reported it to their RA and my friend had to have a whole meeting about how her unhinged friend was exposing themselves and bathing in chemicals in their shared space or whatever.

    Well, I’ve managed to overshare and simultaneously discuss absolutely nothing of importance, so my work here is done. Happy scrolling, everyone.

  • The Return of Dr. Rachel

    Hi everyone! As many of you know, I am recently unemployed. Which, luckily for you, means I have plennnntttty of free time these days to give advice to those of you who are foolish enough to come to me for guidance. Let’s dive in.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I recently moved to Stamford from upstate CT and am going through a hard time adjusting. I’m a single woman in my early 30s and I didn’t realize how hard it is to make friends as an adult. Any advice?

    Sincerely,

    New in Town

    Dear Newbie,

    Whew! You are preachinggggg to the choir. After recently being plagued with unemployment, I too thought that it would be an excellent time to expand my social circle. And you are correct. The older you get, the harder it becomes to meet people organically. When you’re younger, you’re constantly forced into shared collective spaces with other people your age, like homeroom or gym class or the abandoned field you all meet up to drink Bacardi Raspberry in while your parents think you’re safe in bed at a sleepover.  Unfortunately, as you enter adulthood, these places tend to dwindle down until you’re left with just one: the office.

    According to certain studies, one third of your life is spent at work. This means that the people you spend the majority of your life with are your coworkers. That said, there are many reasons why working together does not necessarily = lifelong friendship. If you’re 30 or younger, there’s typically an age gap between you and the majority of your coworkers and listening to 48-year-old Janet’s hot takes on Americas Got Talent might just not be your jam. Orrr maybe you work with a group of cult-y horse girls that drink XL French Vanilla Light & Sweet Iced Coffees from Dunkin Donuts at an eye-popping 8 am and then have the AUDACITY to ask you through their caffeine tremors why you never smile in the morning which ends up making you feel like you’re Wednesday fucking Adams or something. (that one might have been just my own personal experience)

    Anyhoo, in my recent pursuit of a friend who is down to grab a drink on a rainy Tuesday or just simply is available go out to dinner on the weekend without requiring the codes to our nuclear weapons, the ability to coordinate schedules by longitude and latitude, and then still needing to be booked out four months in advance—I decided it might be worth downloading Bumble BFF.

    The app, which totes itself as being “a place for finding your kinda people”, seemed like a simple way to connect with other like-minded losers in need of a hobby such as myself. Unfortunately, in my brief experience, I found it to be incredibly tricky to DM other girls on what is primarily known as a dating app without feeling like you’re giving them the impression that you’re trying to munch on their box. Go figure.

    **Just a side anecdote, I did meet one girl who immediately added me on Instagram and seemed promising. She said she saw my BFF Bio, which read: “I’m recently unemployed and have been in a relationship for ten years and my friends are boring and this was a suggestion from my therapist please don’t tell anyone I’m on here. Insta: @rachellabellaa” and she was curious if me and my boyfriend were engaged because she was allegedly going through a breakup and she “so wanted what I have!” and I thought okayyyyy kind of a weird opener, but beggars can’t be choosers.

    After I told her I wasn’t engaged, it turned out she worked for Netflix and was actually just casting for a reality show called “The Ultimatum” where one partner is looking to get engaged and the other partner is dragging their feet and thought I would be an excellent candidate. So basically, Netflix just has casting agents scouring Bumble BFF looking for desperate losers under the guise of building lifelong friendships and she came across my profile and thought I was THE perfect desperate loser for the job**

    Sorry. That was longwinded. Back to your question. So, where does one meet friends organically? I’m going to say the words that if you’re allergic to all things exercise (like me) you probably won’t want to hear.  Exercise classes. Apparently, in addition to the 90s, the 80s are also having a comeback and exercise classes are once again on the rise. In fact, there’s some local run club that I keep seeing on Instagram (@stamford.runclub) with like 1,100 members that meets three times a week. And frankly, if you can’t find one person out of 1,100 that’s willing to knock back a couple Pinot Noirs with you once a month then you’re the problem. There’s also like, Zumba classes that take place all around the city (particularly in the warmer months) and are made up predominantly of women and fitness-minded gays which is even better.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I come from a very conservative family, and our differing political beliefs have always caused some friction, but lately it’s become unbearable. Every time I go on Facebook, they’re posting conspiracy theories and just generally inaccurate and racist things that are really embarrassing. The holidays are coming up (post-election) and I’m seriously dreading seeing them. How do I avoid getting into an inevitable argument?

    Sincerely,

    Depressed Dem

    Dear Depressed,

    Let me just tell you your first mistake. Going on Facebook. Facebook is a cesspool of people who never went to college and girls from your high school who refer to themselves as girl boss entrepreneurs, but are really just Assistant to the Regional Manager for a Multi-Level Marketing Pyramid Scheme.

    This might be off topic, but if you start a job at 8 a.m. on a Monday and by lunch time on Wednesday you’re the Senior Vice President District 12 Managing CFO of GURLBOSSINCORPORATED, it’s time to start asking some fucking questions. And the first question is who is watching little Braiden and Oakleigh while Mommy hocks skincare products from Tiwan that will inevitably give me a rash?

    Anyway, if staying off Facebook during this tumultuous time is too difficult, might I suggest simply unfollowing your racist relatives? Or, you could always go on the offensive and every time your Aunt posts about Biden having dementia you can comment and say you know who else has dementia, Aunt Brenda? Grandma. And you haven’t called her in six months. How about you hop off Marc Zuckerberg’s internet and give her a buzz before she drops dead.

    Back to your question. I’m sorry your family sucks. The truth of the matter is that as the election draws to a close, this is the last chance for ultra right-wing idiots to feel comfortable being outwardly ignorant and racist under the guise of supporting a presidential candidate. (Soon) gone are the days where white supremacists can drive down the road in their “Grave Digger” monster trucks with a confederate flag in the front and a MAGA 2024 sticker in the back. When Trump inevitably loses, (the whole Kill Tony “comedy” set at Trump’s MSG rally and that pro-Trump commentator who made a “joke” about a Muslim panelists “beeper” going off on live television reaallly sealed the deal) they’re going to be forced back into the shadows, and they’re pissed.

    Frankly, I’m genuinely concerned about what these people will do with their free time when there is no longer a dictator-like figure to cling to in order to provide a misguided sense of heroism to their bigotry. Stage another Jan 6 coup? If this is the case, then you might luck out and Uncle Buck might not make it to Thanksgiving this year because he’ll be in jail. And while we’re on the subject, where is this guy? Can we get a pulse check on the QAnon Shaman?

    Dear Dr Rachel,

    Every year on November 1st, my family insists on sending out their annual “Christmas Wish List” — an email packed with gift suggestions they fully expect the rest of us to buy for them. The list is usually filled with pricey, unnecessary items (last year’s even included requests for “vacation fund” donations) not just for their kids, but for themselves as well. AITA for thinking it’s completely inappropriate for grown adults to ask their relatives for specific Christmas gifts?

    Sincerely,

    Curious or Cheap?

    Dear Curious,

    Vacation fund? Vacation fund?! Here’s a gift idea. Get them a one-way ticket to Go Fuck Yourself Island. Kids fly for free.

    You’re not cheap. In my personal opinion, it is willlldly inappropriate and borderline nonsensical to ask other people to buy you things that you cannot afford to buy yourself. (And that extends beyond Christmas to include baby showers, wedding registry’s, etc.,) Like, if Cousin Chloe is blowing her child support on acrylic tips and a Forever 21 haul for her big night out at a Bridgeport Hookah Lounge, why do you expect me to buy baby TamiLynn an iPad? I barely like you and quite frankly, I barely like your kids. Tamilynn can have last season’s Bratz Doll and a farm handshake, and even that’s pushing it.

    I’d actually like to take this opportunity to link arguably my favorite TikTok of all time that I happen to listen to year-round. Please send this to your relatives once you receive their Christmas list and get back to me with their response. Video here: Don’t Ask For Nothing

    #AITA #REDDIT #SUBREDDIT #ADVICE #ADVICECOLUMN #CT #CHRISTMAS #HOLIDAYS #THANKSGIVING #ELECTION #ELECTION2024 #KAMALAHARRIS #DONALDTRUMP #VOTE #VOTE2024 #LIB #REPUBLICAN #FACEBOOK #TRENDING #NEWBLOG

  • Blood, Sweat, and Tears + Hot Topics

    Hi everyone! It’s been a while, and February flew by faster than five bitches in a Honda.  Let’s dive in.

    Ozempic

    As I’m sure many of you (none of you) are wondering, I’m doing about as well as can be expected (not well at all). Despite shedding approx. 30 pounds and inching closer to my target goal of weighing what I did when I was 11, the physical and subsequent mental effects are taking their toll. My right eye has been twitching for three days and sometimes at night, I can feel my heart rate slow to the point that I think every breath just might be my last. But, as Susan B. Anthony once said, beauty is pain.

    Work

    I am still employed and have been trudging along at work in absolute despair, which I suppose is to be expected for someone who simply does not want to have a job. As I have explained time and time again to anyone who will listen (again, no one) I simply was never meant to work a 9-5. I was not born to be another cog in the corporate machine, churning out emails and having to answer to “superiors”. Also, despite what I have put on all of my resumes, I shockingly do not take constructive criticism that well. And finally, as my elementary school principal once said, I have a problem with authority.

    That being said, I do have to admit that my job is cooler than most and much of my time is spent zipping around to luxury hotels and “conceptualizing”, which I have come to realize is just business jargon for “thinking.” I admit that it’s nothing to shake a stick at, except for a deeply unfortunate incident that happened recently. And lucky for all of you, I have decided to once again indulge my masochistic tendencies and share it publicly on this blog.

    Blood, Sweat, and Tears

    During a recent photoshoot at one of the hotels, I was asked to stand in as a model and pose on one of the beds in a robe whilst holding some spring florals. Naturally, I jumped at the chance to have professional photos taken that I could also exploit for attention on my own Instagram, so I promptly disrobed/ re-robed and got ready for my close-up. After about twenty minutes and 30 of the worst photos I have ever seen in my life, the shoot came to an end and I was left alone to get my clothes back on and get the show on the fucking road.

    Once everyone had left and the coast was clear, I was juuuust about to take some artistic shots of my own with azaleas covering each breast when I made the grave mistake of looking down. Much to my surprise, dismay, and HORROR, it appeared Aunt Flo had come to town early. The 1000-thread count Egyptian cotton (nananananananana, iykyk) robe was covered with blood, and I had a decision to make. And I had to make it fast.

    On the one hand, I had the option of shoving said robe into my Louis Vuitton Neverfull (yes, I know it’s tacky and yes, I am planning on riding it until the fucking wheels fall off) and escaping out the back door like a thief in the night. But, seeing as I was the last one in the room and subsequently the last one left with said robe, it would be obvious to everyone that I had taken it and then everyone would think that I was either a kleptomaniac or some type of impoverished vagabond in desperate need of free bath garments. So instead, in a “Sophies Choice”-esque moment, I kicked the robe off onto the floor and hightailed it out of there like my hair was on fire.

    I was just clearing my way across the lobby at the speed of Usain Bolt when the hotel’s Sales Director Britney started waving in my direction.

    “Hey! How did it go? I like your-“

    “Can’t talk now Britney, I’m late for a meeting!” I interjected. It was 4:53 p.m. What meeting that would be, neither of us knew. Regardless, I sped out the door as quickly as my legs could carry me and never looked back.

    Brief Hot Topics

    I know I have babbled on long enough, but there are 2 (or possibly 3) things that have been weighing heavily on my mind that I need to get off my chest.

    1. Khloe Kardashian’s Erratic Snapchat Posts

    I, like everyone else on the face of the planet, left Snapchat behind in 2019 and moved onto greater pastures. I only open it on rare occasion to check my “Snapchat Memories” so that I can be reminded of times when I was younger, prettier, and more full of life.

    That is why I cannot, for the LIFE OF ME, understand why or how Khloe Kardashian feels the need/finds the time to post on Snapchat approximately 476 times a day. At first, I thought it was some sort of imposter fan account and I said ok yeah that adds up this person is just deeply disturbed and has no life. But then upon further inspection, I realized that it is actually Khloe Kardashian’s verified account and that either she or her Social Media Manger are actively making the conscious choice to post 7874946546516518949843265148949841861 times every hour on the hour.  And the fact that the photos themselves are so personal and the captions are so specific honestly leads me to believe that she is posting them herself. This raises two questions, 1. How? How does she find the time or the strength to post THAT MANY motivational quotes and throwback photos while raising two children and running her Macy’s jeans empire? 2. (and most importantly) WHY? WHY? She must be getting paid for it, right? Like, it has to be some type of promotional partnership where Snapchat pays her to post excessively (ahem, psychotically) right? Someone please just tell me she’s getting paid for it so that I can sleep easier at night. Because the thought of her holed up in her mansion in Calabasas thinking “I’m really gonna WOW EM with this one” as she presses post now on another generic quote from R.M. Drake is just too much for me to bare.

    1. By now, unless you live under a rock, I’m sure you have heard about the Willy Wonka Shitshow in Glasgow (which I am just now finding out is in Scotland and not spelt GlasGLOW) that has gone viral because it was all around terrible and basically like a FyreFest for unsuspecting children. The event, put on by a company called House of Illuminati (which should truly have been a red flag in and of itself) has the internet in an uproar because a group of divorced dads thought it would be a good idea to use the one day a week they have custody to ignore several red flags and take their kids to an “immersive experience” in a parking lot. And to that I just have one thing to say. Inside me lives two wolves. And both of these wolves have been brought to life and can be found at the Glasgow Willy Wonka Immersive Experience. Photos below.

    3. Mea Culpa

    As a patron of the arts and African American Film (movies created by African American filmmakers consisting of a predominantly African American cast) I was excited to see that a new movie starring the second most talented Child of Destiny, miss motivation herself, Thee Kelly Rowland, available to stream on Netflix. I again have many many thoughts on the ummm.. shall we say ” creative direction” of this film, but for the sake of brevity I will get straight to the point. Although I was pleasantly surprised by Kelly’s acting ability, the source material left much to be desired and the movie itself was all-around terrible. But there was one thing that stuck out to me that was far more sinister than a flawed plotline with more holes than a block of Swiss cheese. And that is the fact that in one particular scene, Mea (why they couldn’t just spell her name Mia, I’ll never understand. But I guess it was for the sake of being able to use the humdingerrrr of a title “Mea Culpa”) gets mad at her husband for allegedly cheating on her and goes into the apartment of presumed murderer Zyair and hops RIGHT UP on his penis after kicking another girl off, without so much as a Lysol wipe or maybe even a spritz of Clorox disinfecting spray. To quote Whoopie Goldberg, Mea.. You in danger girl! At worst you can get murdered and at the very best, you have one hell of a yeast infection coming your way.

    #meaculpa #netflix #nowstreaming #willywonka #willywonkaimmersiveexperience #glasgow #khloekardashian #snapchat #corporate #9to5 #ozempic #usainbolt #kardashians #socialmedia #snapchat #ozempic #weightloss #trending #hottopics

  • Happy New Year

    Hello everyone. It’s me, your girl, coming to you live from having my head inside of the toilet for the past 45 minutes because of the Ozempic that I’m on.

    It’s the holiday season so as I’m sure you can imagine, tensions are HIGH and in the past 20 minutes I have :

    1. Looked up red wigs on Amazon because I’ve always secretly thought that brown hair was holding me back. Unfortunately I don’t know how I would be able to dispel the nervous breakdown rumors that would inevitably follow if I just started  showing up places with a red wig on, so, I decided to pump the brakes on that one.
    2. Considered (as a way to scare some sense into my boyfriend because he said he’d be home at five and it’s now a crisp 8 PM and he stayed at work watching a “soccer game”) perhaps dumping out a bottle of pills next to me and laying on the floor when I when I hear him coming and  just letting him garner from that what he may and maybe then we’d just all learn an important lesson about being on time.

    Anyway, let’s dive into what’s been new with your favorite basket case (me).

    Office Etiquette:

    Workplace etiquette is a dicey topic no matter which way you slice it, and I stand by the fact that it depends on where you work. For example, if you are working in perhaps a trauma center you don’t necessarily have the time to be chopping it up and shooting the shit over a matcha latte with oat milk. However, as I’ve had to remind many, many coworkers in the past, we work in PR not the ER so how about you take fucking 5 and relax Melissa.

    Anyway, I sit in the back of the office on what I guess one would refer to as an “island”. When I first started there was a lovely young Jewish boy named Dayne with a Y that sat next to me on said island and occasionally spoke to me, but unfortunately he got fired shortly into my tenure (which I I personally think is bordering on anti-semitic in this climate, but I’ll let it slide) After he left the building both figuratively and literally, I was left on the island with just one other lifeline, a deeply aggressive coworker named Borian. I believe Borian works on the construction side of my company as some sort of project manager (?) and he is constantly angry, constantly yelling at people on the phone in our 100% open office space, and just generally seems to be mad at the world for no particular reason. On the one hand it’s like, great, I’m glad you’re passionate about something (not to mention he’s kind of hot but in like an Eastern European way) but on the other hand do I need to hear you verbally BERATING some employee at Home Depot at 9 o’clock in the morning? No, I don’t.

    The point is, now that I’ve been working at my job for 3 1/2 months and he has not uttered so much as a single word, I’ve come to the realization that the balls in my court. So, as an icebreaker, I worked up every ounce of courage I could and made the grave mistake of asking to borrow his phone charger. After pretending not to hear me and after repeating the request thrice at escalating volume, Borian looked over at me absolutely AGHAST.

    He looked at the headphones and back towards me, giving me a once over as if I was branded with the fucking scarlet letter. Then, instead of replying with actual words, he begrudgingly handed me the headphones with a stiffness reminiscent of the Tinman.  Strike one for Borian.

    Later that day, emboldened by the futility of my own efforts and the fact that we would have to see each other later that very evening at the company Christmas party, I decided to try again.

    “Hey Borian..” Silence.

    “HEY BORIAN!!!!” I said at an alarmingly high pitch. “Are you going to the Christmas party tonight?” I continued.

    Without looking up from his phone, Borian replied flatly, “Yeah, it’s tonight.”

    “No, I know it’s tonight,” I said.  Then nothing. That was it. No eye contact, just continued on with what he was doing with the calmness of Hannibal Lecter. Strike two for Borian. And believe me when I say, there won’t be a strike three. Because I will not be making any future attempts at small talk.

    Still, a wise man once said, three words is better than none and a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush or something. And maybe Dorian’s on to something here. Maybe he’s realized that like the bird in the bush, it is better to be content with that you have than to risk losing everything. Maybe, he fears, that if he opens up the door and says hello once he’d be doomed for the rest of eternity with having to greet me when I cruise into the office 29 minutes late with six beverages and a bad attitude. And then who knows? He might even have to say goodbye too. The horror.

    Girls Just Wanna Have Fun:

    Occasionally, when I can feel the last glimmer of hope leaving my eyes, I decide that it’s time to recapture my youth and hit the town. Because I’m young, I’m spry, and frankly I’m a hot bitch with big tits looking for action.

    On such occasions I’ll go down to my boyfriend’s restaurant by day, bar by night, club by blunt force trauma, and I’ll typically go when there’s an event and things are really popping off. On this particular evening, I decided it was high time to reassert my dominance and arrived with a friend at a cool 1045 ready to kick it up for an hour before retreating back to my living room.

    As I made my way down the street I was forced into a dead stop, blocked in on all sides by a street brawl of no less than 40 people. I sat, absolutely dumbfounded, waving my arms back and forth trying to capture the attention of one of the participants. A fellow onlooker who was perched on top of a parked car looked over at me in dismay, and signaled for me to roll down my window.

    “You need to wait,” he said, clearly not wanting me to interrupt the live action WWE Smackdown RAW he was enjoying.

    I looked at him in disbelief, and turned my car engine off. Then I sat for another five minutes, while there were literal STREET YOUTHS diving over my windshield at each other. At one point, one individual picked up a large traffic cone and cascaded it through the air. Clearly not satisfied, he then began trying to pick up pieces of a brick wall that had been demolished during construction of the building next door. This apparently served as the last straw, and security intervened to break up the brawl.

    Once I was finally able to park, I went inside, got a LARGE drink, and went back outside to smoke my evening cigarette. I had barely so much as pulled a Camel Blue out of my bag when one of the gentlemen who was getting the absolute shit kicked out of him ten minutes prior returned back with five of his boyzz, two of which were wearing Pooh Shiesty masks.  And for a brief moment I respected him, because he really said you’re not about to clown me today and he proceeded to pick up where the altercation left off down the street past my purview.

    Over the course of the night, several other micro transgressions had broken out and I tried my best to steer clear of all of them. Finally, towards the end of the evening, a patron (or I suppose technically an aspiring patron) was denied access at the door by the bouncers. He did not take this well. What happened next I cannot even begin to describe, but let’s just say at one point one of the bouncers was being curb stopped on the cement pavement repeatedly.

    Upon seeing this, his brothers in arms attempted to intervene and from where I was standing it looked almost like a Latin American Renaissance painting. As if that were not enough, one of the bouncers family members who was apparently lying in wait nearby came charging out of the bushes like a Hispanic Avenger. (El Aventuro? Nope just Googled it, apparently its El Vengador which isn’t much better) As I watched him tear his shirt off with reckless abandon and beg literally anyone who would listen to fight him, I looked over at my friends and sighed.

    “We need to wrap it the fuck up,” I said. And they just stared on in disbelief as the final nail in the coffin of my youth hammered in along with the bouncers face.

    Well that’s all for now. And I apologize for not writing here more (if anyone cares) but I have been working on some exciting things (!!!!) that will be coming in 2024. Stay tuned xooxoxo

    #holidayseason #happynewyear #officeetiquette #girlsnight #party #newyearseve

  • Anxiety

    What’s up you fugly sluts. Happy Wednesday! I just wanted to hop on here because I miss yall and also because I have a lot of thoughts just buzzzzing around in my head with no one to share them with all day because I don’t talk to anyone in my office because I have what some may call a divisive personality and it typically takes a little time for people to warm up to me and vice versa. Whew, talk about a run on sentence.

    Now, I know what all of you are thinking to yourselves. But Rachel, you have such an incredible sense of humor and chutzpa for days, how could people NOT like you? Well Cheryl, I have been told that it’s because I have resting bitch face and some people may interpret my shyness as being rude and or standoff-ish. But really, I’m just insecure due to childhood trauma and I’m aware I have a distinct sense of humor that doesn’t necessarily gel with the general public, so it’s easier if I keep my mouth shut until I can  win them over with my huge tits and heart of gold.

    For example, today one of the girls in the office passed me and said “I love that color!” (in reference to the green jumpsuit that I’m wearing)  and for some reason I thought that she said I love that coat, despite the fact that I’m wearing a black fuzzy Patagonia I’ve had for over a decade now. So instead of just accepting the compliment regardless like a normal person, I responded back by going on a 5-minute-long tirade complete with theatrical hand gestures about how cold it is in the office and that I feel like my nipples could cut glass, so I have to walk around all day with the coat on like were in Siberian Russia. Aaaand then I randomly stopped mid-sentence once my brain registered what she actually said and I said “oh, you like the COLOR, yeah I LOVE GREEN” and by then the smile slowly but surely faded from her face and I just sort of side shimmied away while she stood there looking flabbergasted.

    N.e.wayyyy, there’s lots to discuss and unfortunately, lots going on in this world. And no, I am not going to comment on the Israel Palestine situation because unlike some of you who I have had the great misfortune of going to high school with, I do not suddenly think that I am an expert in foreign affairs and policy. And more importantly, I am not naïve enough to believe that anyone values my opinion on any topics that truly matter in the world. Like, AOC isn’t calling either one of us up for advice any time soon, so how about you take a second and log out of Twitter and clock into your hourly wage job so you can afford to keep your lights on this month. The only thing I will say about the whole issue is that what’s happening is serious and devastating and will require more than your social media performatism to reach a solution. It didn’t work with #STOPKONY2012. It’s not going to work here.

    Sooo putting that aside, and speaking like the true narcissist that I am,  let’s start with talking about me and then we can briefly segway to talking about things that matter less (not me). I just want to take a second to shoutout to all my girliepops out there struggling with anxiety because it certainly has been hitting me like a ton of bricks lately. 

     Anxiety has unfortunately become one of those psychology buzzwords that people insist on misusing and misdiagnosing on social media (for example, now all of a sudden everyone is autistic of has ADHD. And now we have to hear everyday nO oNe UnDeRstaNDS hOw hArD hAllOWeenN Is fOR pEOPle StrUggLIng wITHh AdHd. God, can’t you fucking people enjoy ANYTHING. And guess what? You’re not autistic because you don’t like loud noises, Amanda. Go take a long walk off a short pier.)

    Anyway, I have struggled with crippling anxiety for most of my life, as far back as I can remember. When I was around 6 or 7 years old, every single night for a year I would think my throat was closing (for reasons unspecified and unknown) and I would pace around back and forth with a handmirror examining my tonsils convinced that the end was near. Of course, Wine and Zoloft have done a great deal to combat the symptoms of my anxiety, but much like Mount Vesuvius and my sex drive, it still lies dormant waiting for its moment to strike.

                  Someone once told me that anxiety is your brain wanting to do something, and because you aren’t physically acting on whatever it is, it causes some sort of cognitive dissonance within you which creates a feeling of nervousness and general unease. Well, short of throwing myself off a fucking cliff I don’t particularly want to do anything at all, so I am just now realizing that person was wrong and also probably an idiot. Go figure. Anyway, I know that anxiety can feel very different for different people, so I am just going to try to explain how it feels to me in the best way that I can because once again, I cannot afford a therapist until my health insurance kicks in December 1.

                  So basically, I’m going to do what I hate when people do and that is speak in metaphors.

    Metaphor #1: My anxiety has always felt like when you’re in one of those school gymnasiums with the super shiny waxy floors (like the one from the ghetto middle school I went to because my parents didn’t care enough to invest in my education and future) and your aggressively masculine gym teacher gives you those flat scooters with four wheels to ride around on because she doesn’t feel like forcing you all to play dodgeball that day. So you get super excited and run as fast as you can for as long as you can while holding the scooter on both sides, and then you finally jump on top of the scooter and sit down on it criss cross applesauce ready for the ride of your life and then you realize two or more of the wheels are missing and you slam down so hard against the waxy floor almost severing the tips of your fingers, and then the remaining wheels start screeeetching like nails on a chalkboard and borderline sparking while you’re just trying to hold on for dear life and not spiral completely out of control.

    Metaphor #2: Anxiety for me also feels a lot like when you’re on one of those alien spaceship carnival rides that you come across at your towns local fair, where you walk on and the lights are down low and you have to lay against the wall next to a bunch of strangers and your friend Natalie. And then suddenly the door closes behind you and the spaceship starts whirling around at seemingly inhumna speed and you stick to the wall. And then you struggle with everything you can muster to lift your head so that you can look over at your friend Natalie and see if she’s finding this experience equally as terrifying as you do, but no matter what you do you just can’t seem to find the strength to lift it? And then when you finally are able to AT LEAST turn your head to the side, you’re suddenly consumed with overwhelming nausea and dizziness and you just want to get off the ride but you can’t because the fucking 16 year old carnie running it is fingering his anime girlfriend instead of paying attention?

    Yeah. So Its Like that for me. Everyday. Are you all still with me? No? Okay, I’ll cut this one short for now because it’s getting late and I have a scooter to buy. Bye!

    #anxiety #depression #mentalhealth #israel #palestine #stopkony #kony2012 #socialmedia #gym #school #middleschool #highschool #newblog #girlblog #girlmath #trending #currentevents #middleeast #trauma #office #humor #style #awkward #friends #AOC #X

  • I’m Baaaaaaaaack

    Gooooood morning ladies! (And also, the like, one and a quarter gentlemen that reads this blog) I apologize that I have been missing for a while but as it turns out, struggling with crippling depression and anxiety causes you to lose interest in the things you once enjoyed. Who knew? (Literally everyone knew) It even got so bad that I missed touching base with y’all for my favorite season of all, Virgo Season! I hope you all celebrated the superior astrological sign accordingly. 

    Anyway, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I’m back and I’ve got an axe to grind. I’ll start by providing you with some brief life updates for any of you that actually care, and then we’ll just see where the wind blows us. Hopefully, it blows me into an early grave.

    Death, death, and more death!

    In addition to the death of my father AND the death of my hopes and dreams, my beloved cat Patches also kicked the proverbial bucket last week. Although he was 17 and it was high time that he went on to the big litter box in the sky, it doesn’t make it any less emotionally devastating.

    That being said, the last time one of my precious felines passed away and I mentioned it in a blog I was told that I was “acting like it was a family member” and “being super dramatic” so I guess, like with most things in life, I will just have to stifle the pain deeeeep down until it flairs up later and causes a huge issue.

    Employment

    For those of you who follow me on social media (which I’m assuming is the vast majority of you, because otherwise how else would you know about this blog) you may have noticed that I have reentered the corporate world. Yes, after almost a year of combatting PTSD from the absolute soul sucking nightmare that was my last job, I have been dragged kicking and screaming back into ofFicE LyFe. 

    Unfortunately, there is an addendum in the Employee Handbook I was given on my first day (that is literally the size of The Prophet of Mohammad) that we “are not allowed to address the company on any personal blogs” whiiich lowkey leads me to believe that they must’ve either saw me coming from a mile away, or are fans of Wine and Zoloft. Anyway, the tome also states that if we do mention working at the company (which of course I won’t do by name for, well, obvious reasons) we must clearly state that our own opinions do not align with or represent that of the company. Soooo, my own personal opinions do not align with or represent that of the company.

    I will say for those of you who are wondering what exactly my job is, I am a brand manager for a line of boutique hotels that operate under a large real estate development firm. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.

    Now, you may be asking yourselves, Rachel what exactly is a brand manager and what do they do? Well, I quite literally don’t know, Susan so mind your fucking business. It’s something to do with like marketing and like social media and sending emails that say things like “Aligned on messaging, although photo assets are not particularly symbiotic with desired brand aesthetic” and then slamming my laptop shut and going to the café downstairs. Other than that, I’ve basically just been packing up my Honda Civic and driving around to all the hotels we have in CT to do “fall content shoots”, which essentially consists of me lugging around oversized pumpkins and floral arrangements from Trader Joes. 

    Also, just as an aside, I know this is like an ongoing joke on Tiktok, but like the raw and rampant sexual energy exuded by Trader Joes employees should be case studied. Like, it’s almost as if they all get dropped off in the mornings in a van together coming from some of nudist colony or commune, and then they all get together after their shift and fuck in the produce section or near the artisanal cheeses. And I don’t think they engage in the act of lovemaking like normal people. Like, I bet the 67 year old male cashier with a gray ponytail and nose ring does some weird shit with his hands other than ringing up my .22 cent organic bananas.

    Annnywayyyy, returning to corporate life has been.. An adjustment to say the least. And not just mentally. Waking up at 8:30 a.m. to trapse into the office at a cool 9:15 with greasy hair and a bad attitude is causing my body to break down.

    I know that it will take time to train my body to snap out of going to bed at 3 a.m. and waking up at 2 p.m., but I just simply don’t think that it’s normal that I feel like I’ve been on the front lines of a war everyday by 5 p.m. I am quite literally sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. By 9 o’clock at night I can barely get my eyes to focus on the episode of Ugly Betty I’m watching and can’t even force down a glass of chilled Pinot Noir.

    But, other than the crippling exhaustion and nightly tears, the job itself has been fine so far, my boss actually is a normal human being (cough cough Ursula cough cough) and it’s nice to have a reprieve a few times a week from sitting behind a desk and going around to boutique hotels with little more than an iPhone and a vision. In fact, yesterday on my way back from one of the locations I was passing through a mystical land called “Montville” and even pulled into a rustic pop-up stand/ diner to sample some local good eats. Unfortunately, the sign that said they offer “burgers, burritos, and other” was enough to deter me and I suspected that they would not necessarily pass a health inspection so I peeled away like Mario Andretti and fucked off from wherest I came.

    Ozempic

    I realized I mentioned my foray into America’s Most Popular Injectable and overall MIRACLE DRUG and then never discussed it again, so I thought I would give y’all a quick update (I’m aware literally no one probably cares) — It was also brought to my attention after initially posting about it that instead of broadcasting my love for the Big O,  I should pretend that I’m losing weight naturally,  to which I say.. Who gives a fuck. 

    Anyway, I made the mistake of not initially weighing myself before starting the big O so I’m not entirely sure what my starting weight was or how much I’ve lost overall, but my clothes fit better and some of my problem areas (my stomach, my huge heaving breasts) have noticeably slimmed down. Unfortunately, one thing that has not slimmed down is my GIANT FUCKING PIE FACE, but I digress. All in good time.

    Anyway, (part deux) I’m not exactly being advised by a trusted team of medical professionals because, well, I purchased this essentially off the black market so I’m basically just freestyling with a syringe and a prayer. Buuut I have a goal of losing at least 20 more pounds and I am nothing if not goal driven. Hey Siri, has anyone ever overdosed on Ozempic? (the jury’s still out)

    Also, for those of you out there who have asked me if it’s worth trying, the answer is twofold.

    If your goal is to lose weight and you are unable to summon the will power to diet or exercise on your own, then this will do the trick. Not only will you physically be unable to eat without feeling violently full to the point of nausea or vomiting, but your desire for food pretty much goes away altogether.

    Most days, particularly in the first few after I SHOOT UP, I actually cannot think of a single thing that I would enjoy eating. I also have been forced to drink wayyy less due to feeling full and otherwise like a human garbage disposal, so all in all, yes. If you do the math, not being able to eat or consume alcohol + vomiting = weight loss.

    That being said, Ozempic is not meant for the weak. I considered sharing a sample dose with my big backed and bow legged sister, but it is just isn’t for the faint of heart. In addition to daily vomiting for the first few weeks while your body gets acclimated to the medication, you have to then permanently combat a delightful combo of violent nausea and severe acid reflux on a daily basis. Then typically, as there is nothing in your stomach, you will most likely just be throwing up putrid stomach bile that will leave you with second degree acid burns in your esophagus and mouth. And really, the list of symptoms goes on. But as Mother Theresa once said, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, and no suffering is too great to prepare you for bikini season.

    Engagement

    Just kidding! Obviously.

    Well, I’ve rambled on far too long. Talk soon loves! Send this around so I can quit my job xoxoxxo

    #ozempic #myozempicjourney #weightloss #corporate #officelife #9to5 #socialmedia #death #grief #engagement #wedding #wine #newblog #girlbloggger #trending

  • Brace Yourselves.

    Hey Yawl.

    I hope everyone had a blessed Fourth of July. And blessed Fifth of July for that matter. And alll the days that have followed.

    I know some of you out there are saying, But Rachel, the 4th of July was almost a week ago. And while that is true, unfortunately the residents of the urban hellscape in which I live have continued to light off fireworks every hour on the hour for the past seven days. So, to me, Independence Day is Everyday.

    Anyway, I haven’t been in the mood to blog recently due to the heart-wrenching pain that I’ve been going through, but I thought I’d hop on here and say a few words.

    Strong Battles, Weak Windows.

    In the seemingly never-ending viscous cycle that is God giving his toughest battles to his weakest soldier (me), I have once again been the target of a vehicle-related attack in my neighborhood. For those of you who are unaware, it was just a few months ago when my beloved Honda Civic was stolen from in front of my house (see: A Tale of Two Car Thefts: In Hot Pursuit – Wine and Zoloft) Fortunately, the car was found parked a mere five minutes away from my residence and was returned to me by Stamford PD relatively unscathed.

    Now, in a troubling turn of events, I have ONCE AGAIN fallen victim to what can only at this point be considered a hate crime. Because whoever it is out there that is doing this to me, must really hate me.

    Last Saturday morning I woke up feeling almmmooost optimistic. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the Ozempic was Ozempic-ing (more on that later). Once my knee-knocking sister came over I decided it would be a beautiful day for a hike with my two angel baby pit bulls, and she agreed. As I stepped out onto my porch clutching a leash in one hand and one of my breasts in the other, I took a deep breath of the midafternoon air and set off down the sidewalk. We had not walked more than fifteen feet before my sister stopped abruptly.

    “Rachel,” she said sounding confused and looking down on the ground.

    “What?”

    She bent over and picked something up off the ground. “Is this your wallet?” she asked.

    I looked at the small Louis Vuitton pouch from a distance, but already knew the answer. It was.

    But how? My car was parked considerably further down the street, there was no way I could’ve accidentally knocked it to the ground as I was exiting the car.

    I turned around and walked toward my car suspiciously, mainly because I am no stranger to expecting the worst and then something even worse happening. As usual, I was right.

    My rear side passenger window had been bashed in, and a pool of shattered glass laid on the pavement and in the backseat of the car. Even more alarmingly, my matching Louis Vuitton bag which retails for about 2k, (I didn’t buy it and could not possibly afford it myself, so I don’t think this counts as a “humblebrag”) my laptop, my credit card, and about $60 cash had all been left in the car. The only thing that had been taken was the wallet, which was dumped a yard away onto a sewer drain with my license and debit card still inside. 

    I sat down on the sidewalk dumbfounded as I prepared to call Stamford’s finest for the third time in three months. A little late night breaking and entering by some neighborhood street youths is one thing. In fact, it’s borderline understandable in this day and age. But , the fact that once again my car (which, by the way, is parked on the street next to FAR NICER CARS including my bf’s Mercedes) is being targeted repeatedly without anything ever actually being stolen out of it leads me to believe that the culprit may have far more sinister motives than we realize.

    HashTag My Ozempic Journey:

    In case any of you have been living under a goddamn rock for the past year or so, the latest diet/fitness craze that is sweeping the nation is one which shockingly does not require any diet or fitness. Made popular by (allegedly) celebs such as Kim Kardashian, Mindy Kaling, and every bravolebrity from DoLo Delores Catania to Kyle “You Stole My Goddamn House” Richards, Ozempic is a drug made originally to treat obesity in individuals struggling with Type 2 Diabetes.  Basically, you shoot yourself up once a week in the body part of your choosing, and the injection “imitates a hormone called glucagon-like peptide-1 that we naturally produce in our intestines, limiting appetite by signaling to our bodies that we feel full and prompting our stomachs to empty more slowly.”

    Now, as many of you know, I have tried every weight loss technique under the sun from the 12-3-30 method to the cabbage soup diet, to no avail. That was, until a friend of friend of a bridesmaid’s friend let slip to me at a wedding that she knew someone who was willing to part with a few “spare syringes” for FREE. After hearing this, I essentially turned into the Tasmanian Devil and was on this girl like white on rice. I immediately shipped medical grade coolers, originally intended for insulin, to her home so that she could send me the goods.

    I am relatively early on my Ozempic journey, but as I once heard on Tiktok, Hot Girls Don’t Gatekeep. So, I’ll give you the low down. After taking the first shot on a Sunday afternoon, I went to work and ate a fairly decent amount (although it was already less than I typically would eat.) I got home and followed my usual routine, drank some wine, and went to sleep. Much to my own surprise and dismay, I was awoken from my sleep at 4 a.m. and immediately projectile vomited like the EXORCIST onto the floor four of five times. I then somehow found the strength to make it to the bathroom, and continued vomiting every morsel of food and liquid I had consumed since the dawn of time.

    After that, I did not eat for two days straight. Not because I was traumatized from being on my hands and knees begging for my life in front of the toilet, but because I simply had no appetite whatsoever. Finally, I made my tried and true trailer trash meal, a can of Progresso Soup. I could only finish half.

    In the time that I have been on The Big O, my body has somewhat adjusted to the dark arts coursing through my veins, and I’ve been able to force myself to eat small quantities once or twice a day. I frequently feel nauseous (mainly at night) and unfortunately, I haven’t been able to drown my sorrows in Pinot Noir because my body simply will not allow it.  However, as I’ve already lost weight in my giant breasts and giant face, I will probably keep taking it at least until my supply runs out. As Vincent Van Gogh once said, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

    OCEANGATE- (Not to be confused with Watergate, or, for my OG followers, GucciGate)

    I wanted to cover one pop culture story in this post, simply because this one in particular had me on the edge of my seat for a 72 hour period. In fact, I’d venture to say that such a gruesome news story has not captivated our 50 States since the time Travis the Chimp ripped that ladies face off and then she hopped on Oprah’s talkshow wearing a beekeeper’s headdress and juicy tracksuit.

    Anyway, as I’m sure you all know, 5 billionaires paid $250,000 to take a submarine the size of a minivan 12,500 feet below sea level to view the remains of the Titanic. Well, you get what you pay for, and they got the real Titanic experience. That’s for sure.

    Although many believed that it was possible the vessel was trapped at the ocean floor in complete darkness, freezing temperatures, and slowly running out of oxygen whilst waiting to be rescued, we have now discovered this is not the case thanks to some debris that was found near the exploration site. Instead, it is being reported that approx. 100 minutes into their expedition the submarine, being steered by a $30 X-Box controller and jerry-rigged with some Walmart camping supplies, imploded and killed the passengers immediately. A tale as old as time.

    Now, it has been announced that although “OceanGate has temporarily suspended all exploration and commercial operations,” the company is still very much up and running and is already planning their next voyage for the year 2024. I, for one, cannot wait to see what the next episode of Rich White People Doing Dumb Shit: Ocean Floor Edition has in store for us.

    #ozempic #mounjaro #oceangate #titanic #cartheft #target #hate #xbox #weightloss #humor #blog #newblog #louisvuitton #sister #independenceday #rich #god #religion #soldiers #police #sisters #diet #fitness #kimkardashian #thekardashians #bravo #bravolebs #oprah #billionare

  • The Stages of Grief

    As a preface for those who don’t know, my father passed away about a month ago. I’ve struggled with finding the right words to say, because (as I’m sure anyone who has experienced something like this knows) no words really seem to be enough.

    But, unfortunately for you all, I don’t currently have a therapist to discuss these types of things with. So, I guess in its own way, this blog is essentially like my therapist. (Or would that make you guys my therapists? If that’s the case, you aren’t doing a very good job and should consider a change of profession.)

    Anyway, I’m sure this pretty much goes without saying, but this isn’t the funny type of blog post we usually aim for here at Wine and Zoloft. I just strung together some thoughts I’ve written down over the past month or so because I am, at my core, a masochist.  That being said, I would not blame you at all if you decided to skip this one. Kthxbyeeee.

    April 25–

    Today has been a month since I last saw my dad. Or will ever see him again. The thought that it has only been a month for some reason is almost kind of comforting. But knowing that each milestone, two months, six months, one year, twenty years, will serve as it’s own painful reminder of time passed carries a weight that has already begun to crush me.

    The Stages of Grief- Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

    Denial-

    The first stage of grief is supposed to be denial, which is when you initially lie to yourself and pretend that this horrible thing that happened didn’t happen. It’s weird, but I kind of feel like I’m experiencing these “stages” in reverse and I’m only just now entering the denial stage.

    Now that things have slowed down, and now that all the terrible logistical aspects of death that I was ill preparedfor are dealt with (re: I don’t know if y’all realize, but the burial process is EXPENSIVE. When I die, please just gracefully lower me into a hole in the backyard, so you all can let me down one last time. I don’t even care whose backyard it is.) I think part of me somewhere subconsciously expected things to go back to normal. As if I would reach the two-month mark, or maybe even the three-month mark, and my dad would be back like he never left.  And we’d be able to talk again, and laugh again, and I’d look down at my phone and see an incoming phone call from him, and I’d breathe a sigh of relief, and finally be able to come up for air. I know rationally that that isn’t going to happen, but it just isn’t connecting. And I’m not sure if I ever really want it to.

    Anger-

    One of the most aggravating things is knowing that I would give anything to see my dad again. To talk to him again, even if it was just one more time. It wouldn’t even have to be about anything important. The weather, the Giants sucking this year, some stupid commercial he saw on TV.

    I’ve always been afraid to really try at things my entire life because I’ve been afraid that I’d fail, so I can honestly say I almost never give anything 100%. But knowing that in this instance, even if I were to finally give my all, everything I have, it still wouldn’t be enough to change anything reaaally pisses me off.

    Bargaining-

    “During the bargaining stage of grief, an individual typically tries to negotiate with themselves, people around them, or with a higher power topostpone or undo the inevitable and/or lessen intense bereavement emotions.”

    It’s hard to explain but now, more than ever, I just feel like a sad clown. (I can’t for the life of me recall where I heard that reference but it’s always one that stuck with me.) The more pain I feel (or stifle) the better performance I give. I can hear myself saying words, but it’s almost like I’m listening to someone else talk.

    Even when I run into people and they offer their condolences, I just find myself reading off the same script that I have memorized. “I’m okay. Every day is different. It comes in waves. It was just such a shock, you know?” But the words just don’t feel right leaving my mouth. Maybe in its own way, this is my way of bargaining. Bargaining with myself that if I’m funnier, or louder, or more irreverent, I can stay in denial for just a little while longer (see stage 1)

    Fear-

    Fear is not one of the five stages of grief, but I clearly haven’t hit the “acceptance” stage yet and I think fear is something I’m struggling the most with.

    I’m afraid of a lot of things. I’m afraid of not remembering the sound of his voice. I’m afraid that I won’t see his face in my dreams anymore. And theres one thing that I’m most afraid of, which I guess I have every right to be. I am afraid that I will love him forever, and that we will never be in the same room again. Because we won’t.  

    Fear Part Deux-

    The aunt that I live with is known for having a flock of birds that she routinely feeds in her yard, similar to that of the bird lady from Home Alone, only not homeless and more frightening. Anyway, the morning that my father passed away an unprecedented red cardinal appeared in the yard and began chirping nonstop. That same afternoon, that same red cardinal was in front of her house, chirping so loudly you could hear it clearly with the windows still closed.

    According to Ask Jeeves, “The idea that cardinals — or a redbirds — are “messengers” from departed loved ones has been around for a long time, with many people believe seeing a cardinal is a “sign” that those who have passed are with us in spirit.”

    This sign, to some, would probably be interpreted positively and provide a sense of comfort. But for me, it only brings a pain in my chest and a lump in my throat. The thought that my dad is somewhere out there, calling out to one of his daughters, but unable to make contact is truly just fucking heart wrenching. What if he really is watching? Wishing he was still here, wishing things would have been different. And in my own way I’ve become so afraid that I’m missing his messages and his attempts to reach out that I haven’t wanted to hear them at all anymore. I’d rather keep the windows closed.

    Okay I’ve waxed and waned poetically for long enough. We’ll be back to regularly scheduled programming next week. Thanks.

    #grief #grieving #sadness #death #familydeath #deathofalovedone #dad #denial #anger #bargaining #fear #acceptance #psychology #cardinal #redbird #depression

  • A Tale of Two Car Thefts: In Hot Pursuit

    Hi everyone! In an unfortunate and unprecedented turn of events, my beloved Honda Civic was stolen by vagrant thieves this past Friday. In front of my own home. In the dead of the night. On Saint Patrick’s Day. Needless to say, the good ol’ Luck of the Irish has once again eluded me. Now, I’m sure many of you are saying to yourselves, Rachel, why is this unprecedented? People’s cars get stolen all the time. Well, I’ll tell you Karen. Because a car of mine has been stolen before.

    Theft #1

    Not too long ago, in a magical land far far away (downtown Stamford) I allowed an employee of the restaurant I was working at to use my newly leased Lexus for a food delivery. Upon arrival, he had decided that it would be a good idea to leave the car running with the keys inside and the driver’s door ajar, which essentially served as an invitation for any passerby with two eyes and an axe to grind to steal it. Before long, (literally maybe thirty seconds) a homeless man jumped into the car and took off on a joy ride that ended in disaster.

    After the police were notified, they were able to use the car’s GPS to track down the burglar and attempted to retrieve the vehicle. Where did he bring it? You may be asking yourselves. To a chop shop? To go pick up drugs? To an abandoned area where he and other likeminded homeless gentlemen could have an orgy on my newly refurbished red leather seats? Nope. This man had other plans, and instead took it to a local Wendy’s because apparently, he had a fucking hankering for a Baconator and a Vanilla Frosty.

    What happened next, I don’t believe our Brothers in Blue were particularly prepared for. After waiting (for a reason which still eludes me to this day) for our Friendly Neighborhood Homeless Man to reenter the vehicle (instead of just seizing it when they had the chance), the officers surrounded and attempted to apprehend him. Again, this man had other plans, and responded by gunning it full speed at the officers. Please see below for the details on what happened next, as well as a link to the news article recapping what exactly took place in case you have a few minutes of free time and think I’m lying to you.

    “The suspect, later identified as Carlos Frijole, 38, responded by throwing his car in reverse, slamming into an unmarked police cruiser — narrowly missing a few officers on foot who leaped out of the way — and driving off at a “high rate of speed.”

    Frijole reportedly lost his tail as he sped off down George Avenue. He remained off the police’s radar until a few hours later when an officer spotted the stolen vehicle in a driveway off Couch Street.

    Again, police said they attempted to spring a trap on Frijole, only to have him ram another cruiser, drive up onto the lawn of a home and re-enter traffic via the sidewalk in what police called a ‘dangerous, reckless manner.’

    This time, however, police were able to follow Frijole as he drove erratically toward Taylor Avenue. Police said after turning onto Taylor, Frijole left the roadway and attempted to drive on the sidewalk, where he sideswiped two parked cars and flipped his car.

    Even trapped inside of the car with the airbags deployed, police said, Frijole continued to resist arrest. Eventually, officers managed to cuff Frijole and take him to police headquarters.

    Frijole was charged with first-degree larceny of a motor vehicle, resisting arrest and two counts each of reckless driving, engaging police in a pursuit, second-degree reckless endangerment, assault of a public safety officer, operating a motor vehicle under suspension and evading responsibility.”

    Police: Norwalk man led police on ‘dangerous’ pursuits twice in one day (thehour.com)

    Well, he went down fighting, I’ll give him that much. I’m also displeased with the creative liberty taken by the journalist in repeatedly calling MY STOLEN VEHICLE “his car”, but I guess that’s neither here nor there.

    Regardless, the car, although eventually recovered, was completely totaled and I never received the apology from Mr. Frijole that I felt I was owed. Not even so much as a sympathy card sent from prison saying “Sorry I almost committed vehicular manslaughter in a car registered in your name. I’m a homeless addict and felt like cruising for a Crispy Chicken Combo.” Instead, my only form of solace is immediately declining every time I’m asked at CVS checkout to donate $1 to homeless recovering addict veterans with cataracts and one dislocated shoulder blade.

    So, you may be wondering, what happened this time around? Did Frijole get out of jail with some sort of misplaced vendetta against me and decide to come back for round two? Unlikely. But then again, as Justin Bieber once said, never say never. This time around, the thieves have not been caught. Cue the Law and Order *Dun Dun* sound effect.

    Theft #2

    It was the crack of dawn (ten a.m.) when I heard someone entering my apartment with gusto. I was still struggling to open both of my eyelids when I was met with the panicked voice of my aunt.

    “RACHEL WHERE’S YOUR CAR?” she shouted as I lay motionless.

    I rent the apartment upstairs from her, and I was fairly certain that this was part of a routine line of questioning as to “why I parked six miles off the curb the night before” or “was I aware that my car had yet another dent and was at this point virtually unrecognizable”.

    “What?”

    “Your car, it’s not parked outside. Did you drive it home last night?” She said ripping open the blinds and staring at the vacant spot on the street where I usually parked. I had.

    Maybe it was towed? I thought to myself, remembering that for some reason the City of Stamford is struggling financially to the point that they’re going around to random neighborhoods booting cars with a single parking ticket. Nope, shockingly, no recent tickets came to mind.

    Maybe it was repossessed? Nope. My boyfriend and I had just celebrated making the final payment on the car the VERY NIGHT before it was stolen. It was ours. Was being the operative word.

    I glanced at my phone and saw an incoming call from said boyfriend, and I already knew what was coming.

    “Hello?”

    “TELL ME YOU LEFT THE KEYS IN THE CAR. TELL ME. YOU LEFT THE CAR UNLOCKED WITH THE KEYS IN THE CAR AGAIN, RIGHT? HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT-“ he hung up midsentence. Then immediately called back.

    “WHY? JUST TELL ME WHY? WHY? WHY? WHY WOU-?” He hung up again midsentence. This pattern repeated itself for the entire duration of his ride home, before he finally arrived home and entered to find me lying in the fetal position gagging.

    “The police are here we have to go out and give a report,” he said more calmly, apparently noticing that I was mid panic attack.

    After I pulled myself together and made it outside, I was met by a lovely policewoman with the reassuring tone I needed to hear after the verbal assault I had just received.

    “Don’t worry, this type of thing happens all the time. It should be completely covered by insurance. Do you know how they might have been able to enter the vehicle?”

    “SHE LEFT THE KEYS IN THE CAR AND THE CAR UNLOCKED” my boyfriend interjected. I motioned with my hand for him to stop talking.

    “Do you think that they might just like, bring the car back?” I asked the officer. She looked at me for a long time with an all too familiar look of pity and confusion.

    “Um.. no, no I don’t think so. Well, alright I’m going to take a ride around and see if I see it anywhere. Have a good day!”

    After she had taken off, I sat on the sidewalk in a state of disbelief and despair. I had texted my friend Sean who worked in the police department asking for assistance, and his replies of “I’m not well versed in finding stolen cars” and “Was I expecting him to go out himself and search the streets for my Honda” were not particularly reassuring.

    Then, in a shocking turn of events, (and the span of thirty minutes) the kindhearted policewoman from earlier called and let us know that she had found my vehicle during a routine canvassing of “known areas”. She asked that we follow another officer to the scene to identify the vehicle, but that she had matched the license plates and was confident it was mine.

    “Wow, I guess Blue Lives really do matter,” I said to my bf, attempting to lighten the mood. He grimaced in a manner that suggested he was considering domestic violence, and I remained silent for the rest of the car ride.

    After we arrived to the scene of the crime, I could not believe it. I still can’t believe it. It’s unbelievable, that’s why. There was my car, parked and unlocked on a street merely five minutes from my own home.

    “Some kids probably broke into it last night, found the keys, and took it for a joy ride,” one of the cops said. “We should look inside and check if they left the keys. If not, we’ll have to have it towed.”

    I opened the passenger door and was met with the familiar chaos that was typical for the inside of my car. A mountain of clothes and makeup, approximately 407 half-finished water bottles, a discarded fork from a salad I had eaten a week prior. I looked over at the police officer and I could tell that he was thinking to himself “Why did I just waste the better part of my morning looking for this piece of shit car?”

    “Wow, they uh, really trashed it in here!” I said.

    The officer looked relieved, and then suspicious. He took a step back and looked all around in every direction.

    “You know, the thieves are probably watching us right now,” he said eerily.

    As we sat waiting for the tow truck, I wondered if the officer was right. I wondered if Frijole was somewhere hidden in plane sight, watching me while he chowed down on a 4 for 4.

    #cartheft #car #honda #lexus #thieves #robbery #city #stamford #police #pd #policedepartment #bluelivesmatter #wendys #baconator #4for4 #victim #domesticviolence #luck #badluck #saintpatricksday #newblog #girlblog #comedy

  • Welcome To Your Tape

    Hi everyone. It is January 24th, and in the past three weeks alone, I have had the honor and privilege of adding yet another reason my collection of Thirteen Reasons Why. (And no, unlike the Netflix show that had one good season and then took a steeeeep nosedive, one of my reasons isn’t that someone said I had a fat ass.) Also, spoiler alert, this was Reason #12. And we all know what happens when I get to Reason #13. Come February you should all be checking your mailboxes for cassette tapes, and I swear to God if any of you miss my funeral because you “don’t want to deal with the long lines” or “there’s never anywhere to park” I will HAUNT YOU FROM THE AFTERLIFE. I doubt there will be that many attendees anyway.

    Anyway, my newest reason for my impending su*c*de in many ways is almost an accomplishment. I now hold the distinction of being the only person I know, most likely the only person in the western hemisphere, who was let go from a job without ever actually getting the chance to start.

    To provide a brief prelude, shortly before Christmas I had the great misfortune of applying to a job listed on Indeed as a copyeditor for a “Stamford Publishing Company”. Although the name of the company was not actually listed, (and I did not bother to do any due diligence and check to see what publishing companies are even located in Stamford) I thought this seemed like a great opportunity since I had been angling to get into the publishing world for some time (because I saw the movie The Proposal and thought that it might be fun to serve Sandra Bullock realness. Also, I like books. I guess.)

    In one of the many instances lately that I’ve realized I’m far more delusional than I thought, I seemed to have completely ignored or mentally blocked out the sub header underneath the job posting that stated: “Publisher of New Age and metaphysical products seeks experienced, detail-oriented editor”.

    So, when I was selected for an interview, it was much to my own surprise and dismay to discover that the “Publisher” was actually a company which created “witchcraft and tarot-esque” materials. I don’t want to mention the company by name but here are a few titles of the “materials” they have under their belt-

    1. “Other Divination Systems for the Wiccan and Young at Heart”,
    2. “Fairies and Pagan Meditation”
    3. “Oracle of Novice Witches: Ferocious Grace and Supreme Protection with the Wild Divine Mother”.

    But, despite not being super psyched to make the foray into dark magic, I was desperate. And when I was contacted the next day by the employer and presented with a stable salary and benefits, I decided you know what? Why not right? What do I really have to lose? As it turned out, I had not much to lose and nothing at all to gain.

    After graciously accepting the offer and inquiring about a start date, my next two of my emails went entirely unresponded. I began to grow a little concerned, but I rationalized that we were coming out of the holiday season and there was probably a lot going on in the bustling world of witchcraft. Eventually, the woman, let’s call her Rosaline, reached out to me and let me know that she would like me to start in the office on Wednesday, January 18th so that she could “catch me up to speed”. Although she once again did not answer my follow-up email, I was excited to start and had assured myself it wouldn’t possibly be as bad as I thought.

    The night before at approx. 7:30 p.m., I had wanded my hair and was just picking out an outfit that said a business professional in the streets/wiccan fortune teller in the sheets when I received in email notification on my phone. It read:

    Hello Rachel,

    I am so sorry for the late notice however, I need to reschedule you for next Monday.

    I will touch base with you again at the end of the week.

    Thank you for your understanding.

    Once again struggling to ignore the abundance of red flags and look on the brightside like Tiktok told me to, I answered in less than one minute and said I understood. No worries! ****Worrying**** However, I was curious if she meant this coming Monday, or the following Monday. Again, no response.

    Then, a few days later, THREE DAYS INTO WHEN I WAS ALREADY SUPPOSED TO HAVE STARTED, I received yet another email.

    Hello Rachel,

    Thank you for your patience this week. 

    I have some unfortunate news regarding the position. We have decided to restructure the department and eliminated the position that you applied for. 

    We really appreciate your time and apologize for the news. We wish you the best of luck with your job search. 

    Best,

    Rosaline

    It was Friday. And I had been fired on my day off.

    Rather than replying to dear Rosaline and inquiring just what in the fuck was possibly going on in the Ministry of Magic that would cause them to hire someone for a job a month prior, and the, days after their planned start date let them know the position no longer existed, I decided not to. Instead, I simply replied:

    Welcome to your tape.

    #Friday #jobhunting #corporate #career #publishing #magic #ministry #harrypotter #tarot #psychic #darkmagic #13reasonswhy #netflix #welcome #welcometoyourtape #boss #linkedin #tiktok #haunt #lol

  • The Return of Dr. Rachel

    Hello all! We have officially entered our universal Jordan Year, and I, for one, can not be happier to leave 2022 behind. As I probably should have anticipated, the year is off to a real whirlwind of a start and we’re only a little over a week in.

    Here’s a few things that have happened in a mere 10 days.

    1. The Idaho State College Killer has been arrested and he looks just as horrifying as we all thought he would. What should come as a shocker to no one, the reasoning behind him brutally murdering four people is most likely that he was obsessed with one of the girls. And just like other incel cuck beta males before him, he probably couldn’t take the inevitable rejection and snapped. If I say it once I say it a thousand times – being rejected is not an excuse for men to attack or kill women. Get a fucking hobby.

    2. Prince Harry has let us all know (for reasons that are still eluding me) that he had frostbite on his little ginger knob during his brother’s wedding. Also, surprisingly, he’s circumcised. Although we are still amid a never ending press tour, it seems the only question left unanswered in “H”’s riveting memoir is: When is enough enough?

    3. Queen Icon Legend Barbara Wawa Walters went to the great beyond, a true beacon of hope for all those with a speech impediment, that we too , can have a career in broadcasting.

    4. After almost three years, season 2 of Ginny & Georgia has finally premiered to rave reviews (my own). Just when I was alllllmost finished writing hate mail to the CEO of Netflix.

    ^ literally me waiting for season 2.

    Anyway, rather than start off this year inducing a panic attack by listing out my own resolutions and recognizing that they have neither changed nor been accomplished over the past two years, I’ve decided to instead focus on all of your problems. Let’s dive in.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I’ve been with my boyfriend for almost two years, and I thought we were completely happy and fulfilled on both sides. Recently, he mentioned to me that he wanted to “spice up” our sex life. I guess it’s normal after being together for a while, but I’m afraid he’s going to ask me to do something I’m not comfortable with. What should I do?

    Sincerely,

    Vanilla?

    Dear Vanilla Ice,

    Ah. A tale as old as time. Man meets woman. They fall in love. They ride off into the sunset. And then, after watching one too many bukkake cream pie compilations on Pornhub, man gets bored of missionary and the occasional half-hearted blow job.

    Let me ask you this, what exactly is it that you’re afraid that he’s going to ask you to do? Sounds like you have more than an inkling of what his proclivities are and let me tell you, if it’s something along the lines of wanting you to lay in an ice bath until your body temp gets low enough that you feel like a corpse.. well then you need to move, change your number, your name, and your hair color bc the guys a real freak.

    Beyond that, if all your man is humbly requesting is some light roleplay or maybe reverse cowgirl on a Tuesday after taco night, just go for it. Life’s too short to stick with the vanilla. Sometimes, you gotta try 32 flavors and then some or whatever that song is.

    (It just occurred to me that some of you may not know the song so here you go: (222) Ani DiFranco – 32 Flavors (HQ) – YouTube It’s a fucking bop.)

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    My fiancé and I are getting married in a few months, and I’m getting cold feet for kind of a silly reason. He insists we split everything, from the rent to the groceries. When we go out to dinner it’s literally embarrassing because we always have to pay half and half, no matter how low the check is! I’ve mentioned it to him before and he claims that that’s how his parents were, but I just find kind of cringey.

    Sincerely,

    Dutch or Bust

    Dear Bust,

    Oooh. This is a trickkkyyy one. Although I’m far from a bra burning feminist, I follow the school of thought that it is not a man’s responsibility to pay for everything all the time. Unless there’s a huge disparity in income, I think women should pony up half the rent or pay for the occasional date without issue.

    That being said, if he’s following a model set by his parents.. is that how his parents were or is that how his parents are?( Said in the silent or silenced Oprah voice) Like, is he only planning on keeping your funds separate prior to getting married? Or are you going to be receiving monthly invoices from him because you used his Chase Bank card to buy a carton of milk for the kids? These are things you should probably establish with your beau before taking that long walk down the aisle and toward inevitable divorce. As Hellen Keller once said, communication is key!

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    Since moving in together, my boyfriend’s mother has been driving me crazy! In addition to showing up unannounced constantly (multiple times a week) she calls him every day multiple times a day and wants to stay on the phone for hours. I know I should be happy that he has a good relationship with his mother, but I can’t help but feel like she’s getting in the way of our relationship. How do I tell her to back off?

    Sincerely,

    MommyIssues

    Dear Mommy Dearest,

    I’m going to level with you here. It sounds like you have yourself the makings of a monster-in-law. And if you’re still only dating and have not yet gotten married, it’s most likely going to be allllll down hill from here in that department. Do you forsee a future with this man without the probability of his mother scolding you for not separating his whites and colors the way she used to? And what about when you pop out a demon seed of your own? If she going to feel it’s her place to dictate how you raise little Braiden?

    One thing about overbearing mothers, they rarely change without a case of divine intervention. That being said, you are not the one who needs to stage such intervention. You know who does? Her pride and joy. Her reason for breathing. Her son. And if he’s too much of a momma’s boy to tell her that she’s interfering with the two of you building a life and a future of your own.. well, then, you have your answer. Bag him. Tag him. Take him to the dump.

    Well, it seems that’s all we have time for today because I need a drink. As always, let me know if you’ve enjoyed listening to me ramble on about nothing. Kisses!

    #hellenkeller #advice #dating #love #relationships #wedding #motherinlaw #mommy #princeharry #meghanmarkle #spare #ginnyandgeorgia #idaho #idahostatekiller #incel #beta #barbarawalters #walters #netflix #son #divineintervention

  • Rachel’s Hot Takes

    Hello everyone. I’m not sure about you, but as we delve further into the Holiday season, I have found myself at my wits end with everyone and anyone. And in the words of Carrie Bradshaw, a woman who fooled a far younger and more attractive version of myself into believing that you can survive on a freelance writer’s salary, I can’t help but wonder, why? Let’s touch base with some of the top pop culture stories trending this week that have made me want to play Marco Polo in a swimming pool with a toaster oven.

    CVS Has Been Scamming Us

    Well, let me just scrape my jaw off the floor. Much to the surprise of no one, (but, I guess, technically someone) CVS was recently hit with a lawsuit over misusing customer diabetes donations. So, what does it all mean, you ask? Apparently, the store is being sued for asking customers to donate to the American Diabetes Association, and then instead using it to reimburse their own company for a legally binding $10 mil promise they had made earlier.

    This story is very near and dear to my heart for many reasons. 1. Since the age of ten I would walk down the street from my house to my neighborhood CVS and spend allllll of the hard earned singles I had stolen out of my mothers purse on NYX lipgloss and Maybelline Dream Mousse foundation in a shade that if I wore today I would be cancelled for doing black face. I have spent more time in CVS’ across this once great nation than I have in Church, in class, and possibly even inebriated. 2. Since I was old enough to pay with a debt card of my very own, I have been borderline ACCOSTED by the front desk associates of CVS to donate to one out-of-left-field cause after the next (Aunts Against Drunk Driving of Migrant Workers Without Fair Wage, etc.,) until one day I said: enough. Enough! I simply cannot afford to donate to the less fortunate. I AM THE LESS FORTUNATE. And I can guarantee that if I started traipsing up and down the aisles at CVS with a tin can begging their customers for loose change to fund my BBL they’d have a thing or two to say about it.

    AI Generated Portraits

    I could write an epic saga rivaled only by the Iliad and the Odyssey on all of the things that are wrong with posting these AI Generated “portraits” of yourself to Instagram, but for times sake I’ll keep it short and narrow it down to one overarching reason. It doesn’t fucking look like you. Yes, it may bare some resemblance in the way that I believe I bare a resemblance to Aubrey Plaza if you squint one eye, close the other, and spin around 3 times in place, but enough is enough. Also, not to utilize one of my biggest pet peeves which is people misusing psychology terminology on the internet, but it just absolutely oooozes narcissism and shows us your grasp on reality is even looser than we all thought.

    Spotify Wrapped

    Sure, I’m unemployed, overweight, and many of the friends in my life are dropping like flies. But I think what truly pushed me over the edge, as insignificant as it may seem, was seeing everyone’s “Spotify Wrapped’s” plastered across social media. On the one hand, I do have to admit that I don’t particularly listen to music. I don’t exactly know what it is, and I’m sure the reasoning behind it has something to do with my serotonin levels since, but I haven’t reaaally listened to music for leisure since I was in middle school. And even then, it was the occasional Taking Back Sunday (YOURLIPSTICKHISCOLLARDONTBOTHERANGEL IKNOWEXACTLYWHATGOESON) while crying into my pillow at night about the hot eighth grader who played the drums and went to the Warped Tour. (Plot twist- always thought the reason he wasn’t into me was because he was gay, as it turns out straight as an arrow and is now married. Just another knife to the heart.)

    Anyway, the other reasoning behind my irrational annoyance is just the fact that the absolute mediocrity of your music selection is giving me heartburn. OooO, you were top 1% of Luke Bryant listeners AnD Post Malone? You fucking trailblazer, you! Keep giving your parents a reason to be proud.

    Meghan and Harry’s Netflix Documentary

    Despite having said (I believe in the 2021 Oprah Interview) that that would be his last time speaking out on the issues with his family publicly, former Prince Harry and current Princess of Montecito Meghan Markle’s Netflix Documentary dropped today to.. pretty mild buzz and media attention. Could it be that even the pro-Meghaners of the world are finally exhausted from hearing the same nonspecific  stories and insinuations about the Royal Family spun into different generic/innocuous statements for the 40th time? Probably. Is it possible that people are tired of listening to former actress and social climber Meghan cosplay as Princess Diana (the low, shy manner of speaking, the references to suicidal ideation, the outfit choices, etc) in a vain attempt to fill the beloved “People’s Princess’” shoes slash manipulate her husband? Maybe.

    One thing I will say is that I simply cannot knock their hustle. Sure, I thought that the endless parade of interviews, the podcast, the magazine exposes, the multi-episode Netflix arc, and Harry’s upcoming TELL ALL MEMOIR was not exactly conducive to the lifestyle of a couple who moved to the United States for privacy, but it all has become glaringly clear that there is one other motivation for all this (other than hanging on to their fleeting relevance/importance). Money.

    I had not previously realized that when they chose to leave their royal posts they were “cut-off financially” (which in retrospect makes total sense but I honestly never thought about it) and were left only with the $10 million dollar inheritance from Princess Diana and the $2 million Meghan had squandered away during her EGOT-award-winning performances on Deal or No Deal. Sure, they want to win favor in the court of public opinion and “tell their story”so we all shudder to think that this is the same woman who several members of the royal staff have accused of tear-induced bullying, but what it all comes down to is: they need the money.  Queue the completely unrelatable and borderline nausea inducing story Meghan told The Cut about not being able to afford their $14 million dollar mansion in California, “ “We didn’t have jobs, so we were just not going to come and see this house. It wasn’t possible. It’s like when I was younger and you’re window shopping – it’s like ‘I don’t want to go and look at all the things that I can’t afford, that doesn’t feel good’.” (She’s 41)

    Well, that’s all we have time for today. I’m sorry if I come across as more frighteningly unhinged than usual, but, well, I’m more frighteningly unhinged than usual.

    ALSO! The next blogpost I’m doing is going to be a Dr. Rachel segment so if you would like to have your life’s questions anonymously answered by someone with a very sad life of their own, feel free to leave a comment here or DM me on Instagram: @Rachellabellaa

    Arrivederci!

    #MeghanMarkle #PrinceHarry #RoyalFamily #CVS #lawsuit #sued #blogpost #newblog #girlblogger #AI #AIgeneratedportraits #Spotify #SpotifyWrapped #PostMalone #TaylorSwift #LukeBryant #Instagram #fromzerotohero #ADA #Netflix #Memoir #Humor

  • A Gift from Me to You

    Hiiiiiiii (Jill Zarin voice).

    As my unemployment proves to be unwavering (and I have grown further disillusioned with some people in my life) I have had an influx of time to focus on what matters the most to me: television.

    During this time, I’ve caught up on the latest “buzzworthy shows” across the 1,400 streaming services I subscribe to, (and have gone into debt because of) and I’ve decided to do the charitable thing and provide a list of my recommendations and condemnations below. You’re welcome!

    The Watcher

    The Watcher is best compared to a man in their 20’s that you meet on Hinge. At first, they’re interesting and super fun and every interaction with them leaves you wanting more. Then, you inevitably meet up and have sex and they blow their load all over you, totally negating the buildup of excitement and effectively ruining everything. That’s what The Watcher was, a proverbial blown load. I literally binged every single episode in 24 hours and then got to that wack ass finale and couldn’t believe it. And before anyone chimes in, I know, it’s based on a true story, and they never actually found out the identity of The Watcher and blahblahblah. Well, guess what? That didn’t stop Ryan Murphy taking several other creative fucking liberties such as inexplicably intertwining the John List family murders. And guess what? (part deux) Netflix renewed the show for a season 2. Excuse my French but what the fuck is going to be in season 2? Hard pass. Also, a little niche but the dad also played the guy that Samantha Jones blew in SATC with “funky tasting spunk”. Just thought I should share that with you all.

    Casey Anthony: Where the Truth Lies

    Ooof. This is a tricky one. On the one hand, I have recently become absolutely engulfed in everything true crime. In the words of Jamie Foxx, Blame It On Dahmer Of It All (which I would’ve included on this list but it’s clear that everyone and their great aunt has already seen it. Also, if anyone cares they renewed the series for 2 more seasons, but they’re not going to be about Dahmer since we sort of bled that whole storyline dry, so to speak. Instead, they’ll focus on a new serial killer per season, which is all fine and good and everything, but I just know they’re going to make one of them about Ted Bundy and I’m over it).

    Anyway, in a week’s span I watched all the Unsolved Mysteries and Cold Case Files they had on Netflix, and I still find myself hungry for more morbid television. That being said, am I super eager to support a show that undeniably gave “suspected” (“alleged”) child killer Casey Anthony a 6-figure (ATLEAST) check to participate in?  Not so much. Will I watch still watch every episode when it premieres tomorrow, Nov. 29? Probably. But I won’t be happy about it.

    The Crown

    I first began watching The Crown in 2020 during the pandemic because there was nothing else to do and, well, it seems old habits truly do die hard. Anyway, seasons 1-5 have spanned over a period of 45 years and almost each season has an entirely new cast, so for all intents and purposes I’m just going to focus on season 5.

    On the one hand, casting the mean lady from Harry Potter (Dolores Umbridge, if you’re into that sort of thing) as Queen Elizabeth was not on my bingo board for 2022. However, this season actually focused far less on the actual Queen and more on the Queen of our Hearts, Princess Diana, so it was fine. But, that was just about the only thing that was fine.

    I know not a lot of you have watched The Crown so I’ll spare you the absolute tirade I could go on about this season, but I just want to hit a few points.

    1. The side plots. The side stories. The side characters. We’re watching The Fucking Crown. Not The Everyone and Anyone But The Royal Family.  I did not need almost two full episodes dedicated to the Al- Fayed family. We get it. The son dated Diana for a short time and died in the car accident which also tragically took Diana’s life. IDCCCCCCCCCCCCccccccc. WHERE’S MY BITCH PRINCESS MARGRET?
    2. The director’s method of storytelling. It was a little too.. on the nose for me. We don’t need Diana drifting alone in a pool to get the symbolism that she’s adrift emotionally. We don’t need to see other British couples in divorce court launching into dialogues about their marriage trouble to get that in some ways Princess Diana and Prince Momma’s Boy are just like any other married couple.

    But, bonus points for that whole out of left field Romanov episode. I know it basically contradicts what I just said but I fucking love the Romanovs.

    Wednesday

    I’m torn! I have to admit that after watching the initial trailer I was less than impressed, especiallllllly since The Addams Family is one of my favorite franchises of all time. But, because it was directed by Tim Burton who also happens to be my favorite director (Corpse Bride, Nightmare Before Christmas, Beetle Juice, Beetle Juice, Beetle Juice!) I decided to give it a whirl. I’m five episodes in and it’s… okay. Some of the casting choices leave much to be desired (re: the actor they chose to play Gomez, why?) and I also am deeply unclear why they decided to go with the boarding school where all the students have magic powers route. It’s giving low budget Harry Potter. But, Jenna Ortega is a pretty good Wednesday and the teen love triangle plotline (I was initially alarmed that I wanted to have sex with Xavier, but I looked it up and he’s in his 20’s so it’s fine) has been warming the embers of my cold heart.

    RHOP

    I have four words for you all, and four words only. DON’T. SLEEP. ON. POTOMAC. I’ve realized that even the most seasoned of housewives’ fans do not watch Potomac and I simply cannot understand why. Each week they are DELIVERING on every level and this season is honestly already 10x better than Season 12 Total-Waste-Of-My-Time Beverly Hills. All that buildup and countless episodes of space filler for the Aspen trip and we didn’t even get to see what happened? Fuck off. Anyway, there’s actual drama every episode and the women say what’s on their minds to each other’s face rather than behind their back in a confessional. RHOP also has the light heartedness and comedic relief factor that other franchises are desperately missing (the past two seasons of RHONY were genuinely too dark for me to watch)  Alllllso, bonus points for Candiace tweeting at me and recognizing that I am, in fact, a real one.

    If you are not a fan of or have simply never watched any of the housewives, I absolutely IMPLORE you: run, don’t walk to Peacock and watch in the below order:

    1. Real Housewives of New York (best seasons 7-11, when the B is Back)
    2. Real Housewives of Potomac (you can skip seasons 1 and watch 2- present)
    3. Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (seasons 1, 2, and 3 were arguably the best seasons across ANY of the franchises)
    4. Real Housewives of New Jersey (start with season 3 episode 1- the baptism episode. It truly gives me chills every time)

    Honorable mentions because I’ve gone on long enough:

    1. Succession
    2. P Valley
    3. Unsolved Mysteries

    Perhaps I’ll delve into those in a future blog if you guys enjoyed this type of post. Allllso I finally after almost two years changed the format/layout because I couldn’t look at that fucking dollar store Gossip Girl stock image any longer. Let me know what you think!!

    #thecrown #rhop #cardib #cardi #thewatcher #succession #pvalley #unsolvedmysteries #dahmer #realhousewives #bravo #rhony #rhonj #rhobh #beverlyhills #wednesday #truecrime #timburton #netflix #hulu #hbo #caseyanthony #royalfamily #queenelizabeth #sexandthecity

  • Cashing Checks & Snapping Necks

    Hey ladies. As the days, weeks, and months pass and I have received nary a call back or even so much as a whisper of a phone interview for the roughly 700 jobs I’ve applied to, I have found myself to be at a bit of an impasse.

    On the one hand, am I growing cripplingly discouraged to the extent that I looked up a website which allows you to sell your used underwear to interested patrons, and only backed out when it required me to upload a photo of my driver’s license as proof of identity? Yes. Has my will to live begun fading like tinker bell’s wings when some four-eyed little brat says he doesn’t believe in fairies? Sure has. But, I suppose there are worse things than not hearing back form entry-level positions that you’re overqualified for.

     One example was roughly two winters ago when I also found myself on the job hunt. After applying to any and everything I could find, I was elated to come across a job that was advertised as a “work from home assistant” to a “prominent businessman”. Although the actual occupation of said businessman was not actually listed, and I was a bit unclear at how an assistant would be able to work from home full time, the pay range was right up my alley and I eagerly applied.

    After being reached out to by said businessman personally via a g-mail account with several random numbers and out of place capitalized letters in the handle (ex.- toMMJonEs11897652@gmail.com) , I had agreed to start as his assistant on the contingency that I could preform a trial task to “prove I had what it took”.

    My assignment was as follows: I was to purchase blank checks and write one to myself for approx. 2k. I was then given his express written permission to essentially forge his signature on the check, and then deposit into my own bank account. After this, I was asked to immediately wire the money which I deposited in my account to the bank account of one of his “clients”, which he provided me the account and routing number for.

    Now I have always recognized that my fatal flaw is that I believe myself to be smarter than most people I know (which honestly isn’t that off base because most people I know are fucking idiots) truth be told I’m not allllllwaysss the brightest bulb on the Hanukkah tree. Especially when it comes to things that require common sense. With that being said, I thought this assignment sounded easy enough, and I quickly ordered the blank checks off Amazon. The only problem was, the checks would not arrive for a few days.

    When I told my future boss this information, his tone changed entirely and he seemed to grow pretty.. impatient. At this point we had advanced beyond communicating via gmail and he was now texting me from a number which had an area code I did not recognize. I wish to God I still had the texts, but they went something like this:

    Me: Hi there! I have ordered the checks and they’ll be arriving on Sunday, so the task should be completed by Monday the latest- just wanted to give you the update!

    Prominent Businessman: What? That is too late!!!! Can you get the checks sooner?????

    Me: I apologize, I ordered them off Amazon and that’s the earliest they can arrive.

    Prominent Businessman: CAN YOU GO TO A NEARBY STATIONARY STORE???? THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT???

    That night, I had dinner with my cousin Sarah and was beginning to grow increasingly uncomfortable with the many many spelling mistakes in P.B.’s text messages, as well as his intense conveyed urgency that I receive the checks and wire the money ASAP.

     I had not yet told Sarah about my exciting new job and did not want to this pesky little detail to cast a shadow on what was meant to be a night of celebration. I began to tell her about my promising employment opportunity and the trial assignment before I noticed that she looked like she was going to choke to death on her rigatoni a la vodka.

     “So basically, I’m going to try and go to like Walmart or something tomorrow and get the checks so I can just get this over with. I know forging someone’s signature is usually illegal but he told me that since he’s going to be my employer and he gave me written consent that I had nothing to worry a-“

    Sarah remained silent and motioned with her hand for me to stop talking. I watched as she retrieved her phone out of her bag and called her boyfriend who I knew worked as some sort of cyber security expert. I assumed that she was merely going to ask him to run a cyber background check to make sure that I wasn’t having some sort of To Catch a Predator situation with my future boss, and continued sipping my glass of wine.

    After a few minutes, she paused and put him on speakerphone.

    “RACHEL. THIS IS A CLASSIC SCAM. IT’S A FAKE CHECK SCAM,” Kevin said through laughter.

    “What?” I asked bewildered.

    As it turns out, this scam is quite common and is one which seemingly everyone who I’ve ever told this story to has heard of. Except for me. For those who are equally as in the dark as I was, here is a warning featured on the U.S. Government’s Federal Trade Commission website:


    Followed by this description:

    Fake checks drive many types of scams – like those involving phony prize wins, fake jobs, mystery shoppers, online classified ad sales, and others. In a fake check scam, a person you don’t know asks you to deposit a check – sometimes for several thousand dollars and usually for more than what you are owed – and wire some of the money back to that person. The scammers always have a good story to explain the overpayment – they’re stuck out of the country, they need you to cover taxes or fees, you need to buy supplies, or something else. But by the time your bank discovers you’ve deposited a bad check, the scammer already has the money you sent, and you’re stuck paying the rest of the check back to the bank.

    In the words of Ja Rule after the whole Fyre Festival fiasco (which he somehow managed to get out of virtually unscathed, but that is a topic for another time) I had been hoodwinked, bamboozled, and led astray. To make matters worse, after having the whole thing explained to me by Kevin for several several minutes, I immediately attempted to call my fraudulent employer to give him a piece of my mind and he/she/they/it declined the call and immediately blocked me.

    Anyway, all in all the point is that while it is increasingly disheartening that I have not yet acquired my dream job, at least I am not once again being duped into joining some sort of money laundering by proxy scam. I also pledge to put my seemingly boundless amount of free time to good use by writing more, and plan to go back to writing once weekly blogs. Or maybe perhaps my manifesto.

    Arrivederci bitches!

    #scam #blankcheck #fraud #moneylaundering #job #employment #unemployed #scammer #cyber #cybersecurity #gmail #jobhunt #depression #fbi #linkedin #indeed #blog #JaRule #FyreFestival #FTC #manifesto #dreamjob #employer #employee #mentalhealth #bussiness

  • Of Mice and Men

    Hello all. I’m sorry it’s been a while, but in the words of Bethenny Frankel, #ThisIsACrisis.

    As I write this, I am currently standing on top of my kitchen table. And not for the reason which I always thought I’d be standing on my kitchen table, which would be to hang myself from the ceiling fan. Instead, I have been perched on this table that I bought for far too much money (I fooled myself into believing that it would be an “investment piece”) because it is the only place that I feel safe from the four-legged NIGHTMARES that have infiltrated my home.

    Approximately three weeks ago, I had the great misfortune of noticing a mouse slithering, seemingly carefree as if he paid some sort of rent here, across my kitchen floor. Because I like animals more than I like most (all) people, I decided that I was going order humane traps which would not kill the mouse, but instead contain it until I could set it free in a lovely meadow where it could live out the rest of its mouse days drinking water from a stream and snacking on blades of grass or whatever it is that mice do. However, after several days of waiting for the humane traps to arrive, and several sleepless nights waking up my boyfriend with my blood curdling screams because I had a dream that mice were crawling in my hair, I decided to fuck off to Target and purchase some standard run-of-the mill glue traps. This was mistake number one.

    The next evening, I returned home from dinner with a friend where I drank approximately 17 glasses of rose in an effort to garner the courage to check said glue trap. Much to my revulsion and dismay, a mouse approximately the size of a buffalo nickel was stuck in the trap. I must have blacked out from pure horror because the next thing I knew my boyfriend’s cousin (who had been staying with us) was shaking me from the fetal position I had fallen into on the floor.

    “QUE PASO? QUE PASO?!?” she shouted.

    Because I could not recall the Spanish word for mouse, I pointed to a few feet away to the office where the poor creature was struggling for its life and continued making a series of guttural screams. This may be a bit of a niche reference here, but if anyone has seen the bomb episode from Season 2 of Greys Anatomy when the wife found out that her husband had shot himself with a bazooka, it was something like that.

    What happened next was yet another step in the seemingly never-ending cycle of Murphy’s Law that is my fucking life. While it’s safe to assume that she has seen her fair share of field mice growing up in the dusty fields of Colombia, I was not anticipating for her to react so calmly. She began jajaja-ing to herself, and asked in Spanish for me to get her something to kill the mouse with. In what can only be described as a fight or flight response, I sprung into the kitchen like my hair was on fire and brought back a small cooking pot that could not have weighed more than one pound. She side eyed the pot, side eyed me, and gently took the pot from my hand like one would when dealing with a mental patient.

    “Stay.. back.. Go.. go over there! Don’t look!” she said.

    “NO PROBLEMO!” I cried while diving onto the couch.

    As she continued laughing and wandered into the office to murder said rodent, I believed the worst was over. I was wrong. With each presumed swing of the pot, I heard a thump, followed by a tiny squeak. This went on for several minutes. The 90 pound girl, who apparently must have moonlighted as a RUTHLESS ASSASIN during her time in Colombia, continued on in her efforts to beat the mouse to a pulp before coming out with the pot in her hand and said, “No is dying.. I don’t know!” followed by a series of giggles. From one look at the pain in my eyes, she could see that I was seconds away from skinning myself alive and silently went into the kitchen. She returned with a broom, and with one fell swoop, swept the concussed mouse into a dustpan and brought it outdoors to dispose of it.

    Flashforward to three weeks later, and seemingly unphased by the brutal slaying of their brother in fur, the remaining mice have grown only more intelligent and more brazen. Not only have they entirely ignored the humane traps which I took the TIME and ENERGY to fill with quality Trader Joe’s cheese, but they are outwitting me at every turn. Only last night, as I sat in abject horror on my couch chugging a chilled glass of Pinot Noir, I saw two mice actually run into each other and do a fucking back flip landing in full dismount before retreating back into the office.

    My mental health is on a steep and steady decline, and if you do not hear from me again, you know why.

    #mouse #Peta #animals #furry #mentalhealth #greysanatomy #greys #colombia #assassin #crying #wine #zoloft #ofmiceandmen #nightmare #horrorstory #october #killer #rodent #help #bethennyfrankel

  • Virgo Season, Not Blowjob Season

    Hi everyone! Hope you’re all doing well. Or, at the very least, better than me. As we enter my favorite season, Virgo season, we are on the precipice of the very date which I was dragged into this world kicking and screaming. And as my birthday looms around the corner, I’ve decided to give you all a special gift from me. The gift that keeps on giving. My commentary on some pop culture trending topics.

    Leonardo DiCaprio Won’t Date Anyone above 25

    In case you’ve been living under a rock for the past week and haven’t seen the approx. 40,000 memes that have been made, Leonardo DiCaprio refuses to date any woman above the age of 25. He recently broke up with Camilla-Whatever-Her-Name-Is shortly after her 25th birthday, and according to People Magazine, “Morrone is now the fourth woman to stop dating DiCaprio shortly after her 25th birthday. DiCaprio, 47, has never publicly dated anyone older than a quarter-century.” And in case you (for whatever reason) are invested enough in this story to bother to question its validity, please see the fucking bar graph below.

    Yawn. While it is amusing to picture Leo kicking these supermodels off of his private jet on their 26th birthday in the same manner which we’re kicked off our parent’s health insurance, I don’t actually think this is a conscious decision on his part. However, as Leo’s age continues to rise like water on the Titanic, it does beg the question- how much longer is he going to keep this up? How much can a 50-year-old man possibly have in common with someone who doesn’t remember where they were when Britney and Justin broke up?

    Gen Z’ers are “Choosing Sobriety”, apparently not “Choosing Blowjobs”

    For some very odd reason, videos of woke Gen Z’ers with pierced eyebrows, purple hair, and a bad attitude frequently end up on my For You page on Tiktok. I’m not sure who I have to blow at Tiktok Headquarters to have these excluded from my algorithm, but in the meantime, here are two very important (albeit perplexing) things that I’ve learned.

    1. The Gen Z generation are making a pledge to stay sober. And unlike the pledge of so many Disney Stars from generations before (remember when Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers wore purity rings and claimed they weren’t having sex until marriage? Because I do.) it looks like they’re actually following through with their promise.

    In one particular article, some fucking stick-in-the-mud dweeb was quoted saying, “OuR GenEratIoNNn hAs sOo mUcH mOrE to dO thAn juSt drInK anD tAke DrUgS.” Like fucking what? Send pictures to each other on BeReal? (which, despite having the catchphrase “Not just another social network” is LITERALLY just Snapchat) Unless you’re hopping aboard a submarine with Gretta Thunberg to fight climate change, I sincerely doubt you have many other pressing matters that are requiring your attention.

    Maybe I’m romanticizing things, but some of my best memories of high school were hanging out in a field with upperclassmen drinking Crystal Palace vodka and taking one pull of a parliament cigarette someone had stolen from their mother’s purse. Isn’t that like, the whole point of your teenage years?

    • I don’t know if this is a Gen Z thing or just some disgruntled young woman with an axe to grind, but I recently came across a Tiktok saying that it’s anti-feminist to give blowjobs and we shouldn’t be getting on our knees for men. And to that I say- have you tried giving head while laying on your stomach like a sniper? Because let me tell you, it’s a real game changer. Jk. I don’t want to get too in the weeds here and my mother occasionally reads this blog after she’s polished off a few ‘tinis but when is enough enough? What’s next? We outlaw reverse cowgirling? There’s a fine for 69?

    Don’t Worry Darling

    The film Don’t Worry Darling starring Harry “I’m Bisexual When It’s Convenient” Styles is premiering around the globe this week. Allow me to give you a brief breakdown of the ongoing whirlpool of drama surrounding the film, which is already receiving terrible reviews from audiences and critics alike.

    • Florence Pugh, who I’ve never even heard of before this week, apparently doesn’t get along with “Actress” turned “Director” Olivia Wilde (I’m using quotations here because I can’t for the life of me come up with something she’s starred in other than the show House like ten years ago) because she disapproves of Wilde cheating on ex-husband Jason Ted Lasso Sudeikis with Harry Styles.  I’m also not a huge fan of Olivia Wilde, particularly because she’s been giving interviews talking about “The Craft of Film Making” like she’s fucking Steven Spielberg on an episode of Inside the Actors Studio but like, who the fuck is Florence Pugh? But seriously. Who. IS. She.
    • Shia LeBouef also has beef with Ms. Wilde because in one of her many long-winded mind-numbing interviews she claimed that she fired Shia to “protect her actors”. Come to find out this couldn’t be further from the truth and Shia pulled up with the recieptsssss hunty, showing that in actuality he made the decision to drop out of the project.
    • Harry Styles spit on Chris Pratt at one of the film’s premiers. I’ve watched the video several times for, umm, research and let me just say there may be some truth behind the whole bisexual thing after all because the sexual tension was FLYING.

    Anyhoo, before I sign off I wanted to share with you all a quick story (in hopes that you can tell me a. if this is a normal interaction or something that truly only happens to me and b. as a subtle reminder to myself that not all advice or “tips” are always welcome) I stopped at a local fast food establishment that is very near and dear to many hearts here in Stamford. After dodging the homeless to get inside and order my Highschooler combo, I left a tip in the tip jar as I typically do to let the employees know 1. I am nothing if not a generous queen and 2. I am no stranger to the service industry. This was the interaction that followed.

    “Wow, thanks so much,” muttered the cashier.

    “No problem! You know, I’ve worked in restaurants for years and I know how difficult it can be at times. I was actually just saying the other day that-“

    “Well, since you gave me a tip how about I give you a tip,” he said interrupted. “You have a crumb on your face.”

    He stared at me with a menacing look in his eye as I scrambled to wipe the pringles dust off of my cheek and did not break eye contact as he handed me my food. And I can honestly say I have not stopped thinking about it since. Was he having a bad day? Was my four dollar tip an insult to his staunch professionalism? In the words of Cardi B, “WHAT WAS THE REASON?”

    Alright that’s all I have for you today as always let me know if you’ve enjoyed and I hope you all have a blessed and blowjob free week!

    #HarryStyles #OliviaWilde #FlorencePugh #LeonardoDicaprio #Virgo #VirgoSeason #GenZ #Tiktok #Sex #CamillaMorrone #DontWorryDarling #PopCulture #Bisexual #25 #September #Humor #Blog #69 #TedLasso #Actor #Movie #Server #ServiceIndustry #Trending #ForYou #Spit #Sobriety

  • Make It Through the Rain

    Hello my friends. As I lay here in a pool of my own sweat and tears, having contracted an unknown illness that may or may not be monkeypox, I’ve decided now is as perfect of time as any to check in with you all. Although this post initially started out as a Dr. Rachel segment where I planned to impart my wisdom to you all once again, I have grown increasingly contemptuous both with the people in my own life, and with the state of the world. And you know what? I’m not feeling particularly charitable at the moment. Each passing day the state of our once great nation and my once great body has caused me to enter a period of self-reflection and contemplate the age-old question (a question I personally think a lot of us would benefit from asking ourselves more often but that’s neither here nor there) Am I The Problem?

    As with any crisis of self, it is imperative that we take a reflective look inward, a road which often leads us back to our childhoods. One of my many therapists once told me that if there is a feeling you’re experiencing that causes you to become uncomfortable, upset, angry, etc., chances are you first experienced this as a child and were unable to deal with it properly, thus causing a negative ripple effect for similar emotional experiences in adulthood.  As I sit here, drowning myself in cough syrup and Pinot Noir while desperately hoping for a sizzurp-adjacent high, I have tried to recall back to a time when I first was left wondering: Is it me? Or is it really everyone else? One incident stands out in my mind more than any other.

    As a child, and frankly well into my adulthood, I have had a teeeensy bit of an issue with “authority”. The very definition of authority, “the power or right to give orders, make decisions, and enforce obedience”, has never really gelled well with me, and frankly taking orders from individuals that radiate sub-par mediocrity, simply because they’re in minute positions of power, just isn’t really the rhythm of my dance floor (i.e. my former boss who would begin harassing me with a series of inane questions on zoom at 9:01 every morning like she was The fucking Riddler)

    Annnnyway, growing up I attended an elementary school where I was routinely in trouble for one thing or the other, (another quick aside here- In the fifth grade, I was taken out of class for the day and my parents were called in and I wasn’t allowed to come back to school until I purchased a bra because my budding pubescent breasts were a distraction to fucking Thomas at recess. Where the fuck were all the keyboard Gloria Steinem Woman Warriors then? I could’ve been FRONT.PAGE. NEWS. #FREETHENIPPLE) and one of my “punishments” was that I was not allowed to be apart of any choirs or choreographed musical dance numbers that the rest of my grade participated in. Therefore, I was forced to enjoy the series of visual and audio assaults from the audience with the rest of the parents, faculty, and the janitor.

    One day, we were told that we had a very special assembly and that survivors of the Holocaust would be joining us to share their experiences spent in Nazi-occupied prison camps. Although I don’t remember much of what was said, I remember listening to their stories and being genuinely in awe of their bravery and their ability to have survived such trauma, pain, and loss. What happened after, however, I remember clearly.

    Following the survivors harrowing testimonies, a woman who was either a music teacher or choir director (I can’t remember her name but I do remember that she had an enlarged goiter hanging from her neck that I used to tell people was her twin sister that she ate in the womb) rushed to the stage and emphatically thanked (while extremely out of breath) the survivors for sharing their stories. It went something like this.

    “Thank you…..” …wheezing (prob due to the goiter/eaten twin). …. “So much…. For sharing with us today…. Your bravery…. Is so…. Inspiring ..” **coughing, sputtering into a dirty napkin ensues**

    “To thank you.. for your time…. Our students have prepared… a special song for you all…..”

    Based on the events that followed, I am still unclear how the administration of the school was not immediately prosecuted for a hate crime and forced to report to the powers at be with the Geneva Convention.

    The men and women (I believe it was 4 or 5 of them) who had just shared the harrowing details of how their families were brutally murdered and their lives as they knew it were destroyed. were seated in the front row main aisle. I was seated a few rows back in a side aisle with some teachers aid with chunky lowlights responsible for keeping an eye on the degenerate kids, but had a pretty good visual on them. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a red velvet curtain on stage was whipped back with gale force, and Turkey Neck had moved from her position center stage, and was now rapidly switching the spotlights on and off with such vigor, I could only assume that she picked it up at Studio 54.

    As I struggled to avert my gaze away from the gray-haired lunatic flashing strobes and giving little Timmy next to me an aneurism, I began to hear a deep romantic tempo. I looked on in abject horror as the fourth-grade choir began belting out an indisputably out of tune rendition of “Make it Through the Rain” by Mariah Carey, accompanied by extremely jarring choreography.

    I remember looking at the rest of the crowd, many of whom were dabbing tears from their eyes, and then quickly looking at the Holocaust survivors who looked wildly confused and uncomfortable, and just truly not being able to believe it. I still can’t believe it. It’s unbelievable, that’s why.

    Upon doing my research for this post (because I am nothing if not a professional) I thought it would be a good idea to rewatch the 2002 mid-tempo pop ballad featuring none other than our very own Meadow Soprano, Jamie-Lynn Sigler. I wanted to see if perhaps I had misread the situation and this was, in fact, a touching and poignant tribute. Please, if there is any doubt in your mind how intrinsically tone-deaf having a group of twenty 8-year-old kids screaming “When you’re distraught and in pain without anyone, when you keep crying out to be saved, but nobody comes” while doing jazz hands and a quick shuffle ball change as a thank you to woman who just showed us a tattoo she was forcibly marked with at Auschwitz, watch this fucking video:

    Mariah Carey – Through The Rain (Official Music Video) – YouTube

    Anyway, It is times like these, in these crucial moments of self-reflection, that I truly realize. It isn’t me. It’s everyone else.

    #MariahCarey #Therapy #SelfReflection #Therapist #Performance #MariahCarey #Rain #Terrifying #delusional #Mimi

  • Ursula’s Revenge

    Hello you filthy sluts! It’s me. Ya girl. It’s been a while and I have a lot on my mind and lots to share with you all and I, for one, am excited. Although it may only 3 p.m., I’m tempted to pour myself a glass of crisp Pinot Noir so I can kiki with you all the way the Good Lord intended it. As Jesus himself once said, isn’t happy hour anytime?

    Fun-employed

    After several months working in public relations for a bottom tier wine & spirits company who’s biggest claim to the liquor game is a wine which sells for $4.99 a bottle and I wouldn’t use to fucking gargle with, I am finally free and ready to let my freak flag fly for the summer.

    Although I am not ready emotionally to delve into what I was forced to endure working for a woman who for legal purposes I will not address by name – what can we call her? What’s the name of that plus sized sea monster from the little mermaid that sucks the life force out of unsuspecting young women? URSULA. Wow. Alexa- Cue “Poor Unfortunate Souls” – I will graze the surface for the purpose of this blog.

    Also as an aside, I will not be using the company’s name because although this blog may seem like small potatoes and you would think it would not even be a potential blip on the radar of a self-described “D1 Company” (quick side note- the employees of this company are by far and away the only people on the face of the planet which would describe this organization as “D1”) the lengths in which they have gone to spread the propaganda that they are an incredible place to work has reassured me time and time again they have nothing but time on their hands. Ex.– Ursula Facetimed me, forcibly shared my screen, and insisted she watch me while I put the “Best Places to Work” emblem in my auto signature.

    Anyhoo, what was the last straw, you dare ask? Was it the fact that Ursula would sit and watch my Teams icon to ensure that I logged on exactly at 9 a.m., and if the clock dare passed 9:01 without me being visibly available she would begin with a barrage of incessant emails, IMs, and phone calls? Nope.

    Was it that she would insist that I send her “drafts” of my emails before sending them out to INTERNAL MEMBERS OF OUR COMPANY, (many of whom were of no higher level in rank than I was) and she would then LINE EDIT said e-mails, have me make any and all miniscule microscopic changes she requested, then send the emails back to her for second/ third round line editing before sending out? Shockingly, no.

    So, what was it? Well, as anyone who knows me is well aware, mama didn’t raise no bitch and I have never and will never have any intention of being talked down to by someone who has worked for a company for eight years and has never advanced beyond their low ranking entry-level position, so they feel the need to wield whatever minute semblance of power they can cling to over their “inferiors” in the manner of a Russian prison officer working overtime at the fucking Gulag.

    Anyway, as you could imagine, our personality’s did not gel and we simply were not that into each other. And as time went on, this became glaringly glaringly obvious.

    And for those of you who may think that I am exaggerating or perhaps have some problem with authority, allow me to grace you with one shining example which I believe perfectly encapsulates what I had to endure on a daily basis before I was able to successfully escape from Ursula’s clutches.

    As part of Ursie’s plan to bombard me with an excessive amount of frivolous busy work so that I would become so overwhelmed I would fall behind and eventually either quit or get fired, she required me to type up detailed notes from each of our weekly team meetings to “distribute to the team”. I use quotations here because although we were only a team of four, she had me leave the only other member of our team off of the recap threads (other than our boss who was not by any shred of the imagination bothering to read them) so that we didn’t “overwhelm him”.

    She would then take time out of her day and away from her work tasks (which at this point I cannot fathom what they actually were since her only job seemed to be lording over me with inherent malice) to line edit the INTERNAL RECAPS THAT ONLY SHE WAS READING for me to then alter and send back to her.

    During one of our many, many interactions regarding a recap I had written, she informed me VERY AGGRESSIVELY that something I had written down was inaccurate. I dared to respond correcting her correction, and used the word verbatim, which sent Ursula into a frenzy reminiscent of the killer shark from Jaws. I have included the thread below.

    “

    Me: Hi!

    I believe I may have mentioned prior, but I have a tendency to write down verbatim the dialogue from our team meetings, then sift through the dialogue line by line and extract any pertinent information to include in the recap.

    I could be wrong on this and of course there is potential that I may have misheard, but I have written that Kyle stated the below-

    “The other thing slightly concerning coming out of the brand meeting is they already cut the budget overall, but there will probably need to be even further cuts on their side.”

    If I did in fact hear correctly, than I believe my bullet point per **redacted** is correct.

    Let me know!

    Rachel

    Ursula, Soul Sucking Sea Hag of the Deep:

    Hi Rachel – Thanks for the follow up! See below.

    Overall, I think your questions/callouts below go back to my note last week re: focusing on decisions, to-do’s, and significant outcomes. Writing notes verbatim is great if you are able to keep up with convo, but translating your verbatim notes into an actionable recap may require some additional thinking and organization.

    Per your message, not sure if there is a question here? Great that you were able to capture what was said verbatim. When translating your verbatim notes the recap, you should then use your judgment to summarize the key take away/action. This portion of the conversation was related to finalizing PR budgets and updating our PoaPs accordingly. My note is related to the way you’ve phrased the action time. Please reword phrasing in your verbatim notes for my viewing.

    In addition, correct in that we discussed the details you mention above, but per your verbatim notes, the notes in your recap, and my personal notes, there wasn’t a final determination on the next step/final details on this ask. If there was, then your recap does not reflect so accordingly – some additional notes on this piece below in BLUE. These aren’t questions you need to answer immediately, just some thoughts/items to consider as you revise your verbatim notes. The questions I have lead me to believe we likely need a follow up convo – “

    In addition to the above in which she bolded the word verbatim 7 separate times, she then sent me fourteen bullet points of follow-up questions which featured the word several more times. As I sat back in a state of awe and despair, confused as to what could have possibly triggered such a passive aggressive response, I wondered if at some point in her past perhaps a beloved family pet was kidnapped and sent back to her piece by piece, and the word VERBATIM was used in the ransom note. Short of this, there truly is no other acceptable excuse.

    Anyway, there was a lot of other far more important things going on in the world which I wanted to get into but I have rambled on long enough for one entry, so perhaps this week I’ll churn out 2 blogs instead of one. After all, now I have nothing but time on my hands. Case closed bring in the dancing lobsters.

    KISSES!

    #boss #nightmareboss #corporate #corporation #business #publicrelations #johnnydepp #amberheard #pet #verbatim #email #culture #littlemermaid #ursula #team #PR #wine #spirits #manager #passiveaggressive #work

  • To Waitress or Not to Waitress? / Hot Topics

    Gut Yontiff! Here’s an age old question for you all-

    What would you do, if your son (Pitbulls) was at home crying all alone on the bedroom floor bc they’re hungry? And the only way to feed them is to sleep with a man for a little bit of money (stay in a job that you absolutely fucking despise and is sucking the life force out of you with each passing day but you need the paycheck because you for some reason are in debt and you didn’t even get the seed money back from your taxes that you were expecting because you made too much money last year at a job that you loved but was ripped away from you at the hands of a new mayoral administration?)

    I’ll tell you what you do. In the words of Michael Buble “It’s beginning to look a lot like waitressing.”

    But, here’s the debacle I’m faced with. A crisis of social consciousness, if you will. Although the thought of reclaiming my throne as head waitress and head bitch in charge, all whilst flooding my pockets with quick and easy cash (without being incessantly micromanaged and harassed from the moment I open my eyes in the morning) sounds appealing, is it worth taking that step back and regressing to a place I fought hard to break free from? Is it worth seeing the condescending smirks from people that I went to high school with when I bump into them out in the wild (on Bedford st) and tell them that I am once again a waitress in my mid 20’s and still trying to “figure it out”? And then having them awkwardly shifting while clutching their bottom shelf vodka sodas and saying “You’ve always been so smart you’re going to be fine!” in a desperate attempt to mask the all-encompassing feeling of pity they have for me? Decisions, decisions.

    Anyway, in an attempt to escape the seemingly lose-lose situation I’ve once again found myself in, I have turned my attentions to the place where I feel most at peace: trending hot topics/ celebrity gossip. Let’s dive in.

    The Amber Heard/Johnny Depp of it all.

    Thanks to my Tiktok algorithm, I have been absolutely OVERHWELMED with every single detail/ testimony from this case and I could write an epic novel on all my thoughts and opinions. But, for the sake of brevity, let’s focus on some of the highlights.

    #MePoo- I just.. what can be said here? I just have so many questions. What could have possibly led up to this? What, if anything, could Johnny Depp have done that made Amber so mad that she decided to desecrate their marital bed by DEFECATING ON IT? And what are the logistics of that? Did she just have it like.. in the chamber ready to go? And also, in my opinion most importantly, what did she think the next steps were after that? Did she still genuinely think that they were going to be able to have a relationship moving forward? I’m sorry sweetie, but there truly is no coming back from that.

    #TheMilaniConcealer

    LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOOLOl. This was just.. poor research on behalf of her legal team. I mean come on. For those who don’t know what I’m referring to, Heard’s lawyer went out of her way  to launch into a dramatic monologue while clutching a Milani Concealer Palette (also like.. I’m sorry isn’t she an actress that starred in a billion dollar franchise? She can’t afford like Charlotte Tilbury?) “”This was what she used,” he said, holding the compact in his hand. “She became very adept at it. You’re going to hear the testimony from Amber about how she had to mix the different colors for the different days of the bruises as they developed in the different coloring and how she would use to touch those up to be able to cover those.” Then, the brand hopped on their Tiktok and was like actually kishe bitch that palette came out in 2017 an entire year after you and Depp filed for divorce. For anyone keeping score, that’s Depp – 2, Amber – 0 .

    My Hot Take

    I know you’re all dying to hear my opinion on the trial in its entirety so here it is: Amber Heard is a manipulative conniving liar who attempted to hijack the #MeToo movement that was rapidly gaining popularity shortly after her divorce, in an attempt to boost her star status and cement her place in the public eye after breaking up with Johnny Depp.

     Everything, from her forced/overacted downcast facial expressions in court to make people think she’s REALLLY HURTTING !!! to the testimony from an expert clinical psychologist stating that she faked the symptoms of PTSD and actually portrays clear cut symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder and Histrionic Personality Disorder screams that she is a calculating and overall terrible human being.

    Also I know that many of you have not had the classic psychology training that I was fortunate enough to receive at Norwalk Community College, so I’ve gone ahead and dropped the definitions to the above disorders below so you have a frame of reference.

    Borderline Personality Disorder

    1. a personality disorder characterized by severe mood swings, impulsive behavior, and difficulty forming stable personal relationships.

    Histrionic Personality Disorder

    1. a personality disorder characterized by superficial flirtatious, seductive, charming, manipulative, impulsive, and lively behavior.

    Elon Musk Buying Twitter

    This may come off as a wildly unpopular opinion and honestly if I do not have the correct background info on the whole thing I apologize and please don’t cancel me. But like, why is this such a bad thing? He’s a cool young (is he young? It actually like just occurred to me I have no idea how old he is) billionaire who believes that freedom of speech should be protected at all costs.  Sure, he could use that money to end world hunger or global poverty or honestly anything else and his motivation behind spending billions of dollars of his hard earned fortune remain unclear, but what exactly Is the problem here? He seems to be successful at pretty much everything he does (building electric cars and colonizing Mars or whatever) so maybe he can save the company which has seemingly been on a steady decline for years now.

    Anyway, that’s enough rambling for today. Love y’all!

    #AmberHeard #JohnnyDepp #MePoo #MeToo #ElonMusk #Twitter #Elon #Mars #Waitress #ServiceIndustry #Tesla #Milani #Cosmetics #Concealer #Pitbulls #Hottopics

  • My Villain Origin Story

    Hi friends. Family. Strangers who have come across this blog by accident. It’s been a while, so I decided to check in with you all. For your sake, I hope you’re doing better than me.

    I have found myself in a hole so low and so deep it would take a squad of firemen without collarbones to pull me out. Allow me to indulge you in a brief recap.

    In the past four months I have –

    1. Gotten laid off from my job (found out about said firing on Facetime with my father)
    2. Been effectively bullied out of my apartment building and had to move
    3. Had the Uhaul break down with all of my belongings inside mid move
    4. Contracted Covid-19 and spent the holidays isolated and alone
    5. Gotten my car towed on numerous occasions
    6. Started a job that is an absolute soul sucking gut wrenching nightmare
    7. Found a gray hair
    8. Gotten my book manuscript rejected by virtually every publisher in the eastern hemisphere
    9. Witnessed my dog get arrested and sent away to dog jail (which apparently, FYI, is the only jail that is not free of charge)
    10. Collapsed further into crippling debt

    Is this a case of murphy’s law? Is this karma for consistently refusing to round-up on any of my CVS purchases to donate to whatever god forsaken charity they’re hocking that week? Perhaps a bit of both. Plan B isn’t cheap. I don’t need to donate to motherless widows against drunk driving in impoverished countries on top of it. Regardless, I have decided to pause writing my manifesto and start back up writing this blog. My villain origin story can wait.

    So, what can we discuss?

    Before I dive in – this is not a pop culture topic but it is by all means a hot button issue for me. And that issue is grocery store etiquette. As someone on the tail end of my mid- twenties, I spend far too much of my time puttering around the aisles of Grade A searching for something that I can microwave for dinner that doesn’t contain the human growth hormone. I think I’ve said this before, but grocery store parking lots in and of themselves are absolute ANARCHY. It was only yesterday that I pulled into an unfamiliar grocery store parking lot (it’s nearby my new home so I figured I’d give it a shot. Big mistake. HUGE.) and I was aggressively accosted by an elderly Hispanic man with a bum leg. I was driving along plucking my eyebrows minding my business when I notice said male waving his arms around like an airplane Marshall and screaming. I rolled my window down a crack to try to make out what he was saying and I heard:

    “HEY. HEY. WHAT ARE YOU DOING. YOU GO IN THE WRONG WAY. BACK. GET BACK. BACK.” Again, much like a TSA agent, he was barking orders and making things as inconvenient for me as possible.

    “I’m sorry, do you work here?” I asked incredulously.

    “NO. I’M WALKING HERE. PEOPLE ARE WALKING HERE YOU STUPID BI-“

    At this point I had had enough, cut him off mid-sentence, and yelled back “OKAY THEN PLEASE MIND YOUR BUSINESS BYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.” I’ve always felt it’s important in these situations to match energies and show the person that is messing with you that you are, in fact, crazier than them.

    However, I apparently mis gauged the situation and when I began to drive away feeling proud of myself he started chasing my car and I had to leave the lot altogether out of fear for my personal safety. ANYWAY my point here is. Grocery store etiquette. No one in the grocery store is enjoying themselves (unless of course you’re in Whole Foods and exploring the 47 different organic paprika smoked brie options) so it is absolutely crucial to keep your head down, not interact with others (ESPECIALLY if you know the person. They don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t care if I went to high school with your younger sister and I got drunk once before homecoming and threw up in your bathroom) and stay out of everyone elses way. And please. PLEASE. For the love of god. If you’re on the phone keep the talking volume at a bare minimum and do not stand idly in front of the fucking assorted sliced melons that I’m trying to grab while you discuss your friend’s hideous baby.

    Moving on, the Will Smith slap heard round the world? Yawn. It seems that everyone and their mother has voiced their opinions on this and I, for one, am tired of hearing them. BUT I’m at a loss of content here so let me just say this. Will Smith leaping up and slapping a comedian at a formal ceremony and then breaking down weeping in front of the audience moments later is clearly indicative of some sort of internal struggle he’s got going on. I’m presuming he is tired of everyone making fun of him because his wife publicized their open marriage and he is angry that people correlate his wife’s lack of faithfulness as a blight to his masculinity. As someone with enough negative energy to create their own forcefield, I feel I can say with a certain level of confidence that Jada is not a good person and has some pretttttyyy bad vibes. Ditch her and find someone who doesn’t talk about their dead ex boyfriend for clout Every. Ten. Goddamn. Seconds.

    Can someone explain to me who Hasbulla is? And why he’s culturally relevant? I’ve seen memes with him before but I never really paid any attention until he did that YouTube interiew with that long haired podcaster I want to have sex with. (You know the one I’m talking about, I also can’t be bothered to look up his name. He was a former NFL player or something. There’s something about him that’s like oddly alluring) Whatever that’s neither here nor there, ANYWAY I was not emotionally prepared for how fucking adorable Hasbulla is, nor was I expecting his little voice to sound like that and I want to squeeze him until his eyes pop out.  

    Okay guys talk soon bye!!

  • Hot Topics ~~

    Happy International Women’s Day everyone! I can’t wait to see you all use the guise of gender empowerment as justification for posting a flattering photo of yourselves from 3 years ago. Come to think of it, maybe I’ll do the same.

    I haven’t posted in a while because I have been undergoing a very soul crushing series of unfortunate events which has involved my dog going to dog prison, moving from this absolute dumpster fire hellhole of a building that still manages to charge me over 3k a month despite the general lack of working utilities, and starting a new job that has instilled in me once and for all what the word “corporate” really means. Have you ever had a pre-meeting to discuss an upcoming meeting and then a post meeting to discuss the meeting which also simultaneously serves as the first of two pre meetings for the next meeting? Because I have.

    Anyhoo, because the aforementioned life events are enough to send me into cardiac arrest just thinking about them, I’ve decided to turn my attention elsewhere to some hot topics that have been keeping me up at night. Ladies and gentlemen, without further adieu, a woman unhinged:

    1. I know I’m about a week late and a dollar short to the party here, but I would like to cover the fucking travesty that was the season finale of Euphoria. I have watched every episode of this past season every Sunday promptly at 9 p.m. and this was no exception. I even hosted a viewing party, girded my loins, and waited for a cinematic masterpiece unlike one I have experienced before to grace my screen. (I still have chills form the final sequence of the finale of season 1 when Rue breaks into a song and dance number accompanied by the bone chilling tones of Labrintyh. Side side note- did you know that it’s actually none other than Zendaya HERSELF singing that song from that scene? Because I didn’t until like 3 days ago) Anyway, what I actually got this time around mirrored a common reoccurring theme for everything else  in my life- a big fat disappointment.

    Now I’m sure you’ve seen all the memes and all the Tiktoks and I don’t want to reiterate what we’ve all heard a thousand times before such as why the fuck did I spend 7 minutes of the episode listening to Elliot sing the same bars over and over again? Why do I care about Elliot singing? He hasn’t even been in the past three episodes. AND WHY. WHY. DIDN’T WE GET MORE FOOTAGE. OF MADDIE BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF CASSIE. I can honestly say without so much as a shred of exaggeration that watching her smash Cassies head against the wall was the most satisfying five seconds of the entire episode. Anyway, not to go off on too much of a tangent here but here are some of my unpopular opinions-

    • I don’t care about Lexi and Rue’s friendship. I’m sorry. I just don’t. I know she was like floating in the background all of season 1 whining about how they used to be such good friends and then Rue would occasionally take advantage of her or use her as a cover when she was out doing fentanyl but like… who cares lmao. Like did that need to be the ending scene of the entire season? Them hanging out? I just don’t care. I’ve livEDd OuT mOst Of mY lIfe In mY mInNd. Yeah, who hasn’t Lex. Stfu. And go check on Fez
    • What. Was the point. Of Nate driving to go see his dad with a loaded gun? Dramatic effect? Like spare me the theatrics. He pulled it out for one second after interrupting Cal’s homoerotic circle jerk and was like oh yeah actually the police are coming hehe gotcha bitch. Like ok. Cool. Then what was the point of you giving Jules the CD and telling her that she can do whatever she wants with it and it’s the only copy and you’ll never tell a soul and everything you said to her was the truth and blahblahblah. Like clearly, that was a fucking lie Nate. The only bonus points you get is because that scene where you’re kissing Maddie on the bed while holding a gun to your head is still making the hairs on my labia stand up.
    • We didn’t need two full episodes of Lexi’s play. We didn’t need to flash back to Rue’s dads funeral for the nineteenth fucking time while 25 year old Zendaya throws her hair in pigtail braids in desperate attempt to pass for 13. There was so much else that should have focused on. WHAT ABOUT LAURIE? Remember that whole arc where you lost a huge drug pins suit case of drugs worth like 15k and she attempted to kidnap you and sell yu into sex slavery? Did she just wake up the next morning and say meh whatever we’ll gettem next time? I didn’t think it worked like that or else a lot more people would be ripping off drug dealers.
    • Gas Prices. Let me start off by saying that I’ve literally been screamed at by people in my life for refusing to put more than $10 in gas at a time. I already pay for the fucking car. Now I need to pay for gas too? What’s next, I have to pay for the glassware my pinot noir is served in? But, to my dear, sweet, uneducated BOSSBABES who have taken to their Facebook with the condescending albeit entirely inaccurate status “YoU guYs VoTed For HiMm nOw DeAll WWiITth TheE CoNSequeNces”. Let me say it once, twice, thrice for the bitches in the back. The president. Of the United States. Does not control. Gas prices. the same way you can’t control your overbite, Katie. The cause behind the influx in gas pricing is twofold – 1. It is a rebound effect from the pandemic 2. Russia invading the Ukraine subsequently resulted in sanctions being put on Russia by the U.S. and European Union which hindered Russia’s ability to sell crude oil, one of the biggest determiners for gas prices. Why don’t you put down the Live Laugh Love wall decal and pick up a fucking book. I IMPLORE you.
    • Listen up, because despite the rant I just went on this next one is alllllmost enough to make me slap a MAGA hat on and hop on the back of a dirt bike. President Joe Biden announced this week that remote work should come to an end and employers should push for workers to return to the office full time. Aren’t we in the middle of some sort of employee shortage crisis because no one wanted to work after the pandemic? Do we truly think the way to resolve this issue is by requiring people to change out of their sweatpants and put on human clothes and schlep to the fucking office 5 days a week? THE ANSWER IS NO. WE CAN’T DO IT, JOE.

    Alright for the sake of my mental health I’m going to call it quits here before I work myself into a frenzy. Talk soon, xoxo gossip girl

  • The Return of Dr. Rachel

    Bon dia!

    Hope everyone’s having a blessed week. As I sit here pounding glass after glass of low-calorie rose, I have decided to bestow unto my loyal followers the gift that keeps on giving. My advice.

     Let’s dive in.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I have really reached a breaking point with a friend of mine, and I’m worried that she may need psychological help. For the past few years, whenever people in our town have passed away (and I’m talking STRANGERS she’s met only a handful of times- if at all) she has taken it has an opportunity to try and garner sympathy for herself on social media. She’ll post long-winded Instagram posts filled with “inside jokes” (that I’m pretty sure never existed) and paragraphs about how hurt she is by the loss, when in reality she barely knew the person. It’s gotten to the point where friends of mine who were actually close to the people who have passed away are getting upset and confronting me about her behavior. I wish I could understand why she feels the need to do this.

    Sincerely,

    Worried & Confused

    Dear Confused,

    Not to worry. I’ll clear up the confusion for you. So basically, this friend of yours is falsely claiming to have close personal friendships with people who she hasn’t spoken to since 9th grade biology and subsequently uses their untimely tragic deaths as a means to garner attention and sympathy for herself. To answer your initial question, yes, she does need psychological help. If there’s one thing that my intro to psych class at my local community college has qualified me to do, it’s diagnose everyone in my life with psychological disorders while blissfully ignoring my own. I believe that your friend has a morbid spin on Munchausen’s Syndrome, which is typically defined as someone who attempts to get attention and sympathy by falsifying, inducing, and/or exaggerating an illness. They lie about symptoms, sabotage medical tests, or even harm themselves for attention from others. HOWEVER, Munchausen Syndrome by Internet is characterized as someone who persistently claims to have something dramatic going on in their life, such as repeatedly being the victim of crime, suffering sorrow from a loved one’s death (despite lack of a pre-existing relationship), etc. Now that I’ve explained to you what it is, let’s talk about what you should do about it. On one hand, if I were you, I would take said friend by the hand, sit them down, and smack them very firmly across the face. However, as I have learned time and time again with individuals in my own life, there is no arguing with someone who is committed to their own delusion. They’re not living on this planet, and any threat to the false life they’ve built for themselves is a threat to their own self-worth. It sounds like everyone but her is well aware of what she’s doing, and it is most likely going to stay that way. Stop associating her, and let her continue embarrassing herself on her own. And block her on Instagram while you’re at it.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I recently broke up with my fiancé that I’ve been with for many years, and I’m getting back into the dating game. I haven’t had sex with another person in a long time, and I’m feeling kind of insecure about my body. I’m in my 30s and I feel like there’s so many things girls do these days (like waxing, laser, injections, fillers, bleaching, etc.,) that I’m not familiar with. Any recommendations?

    Sincerely,

    Single and Hairy

    Dear Hairy,

    How hairy are we talking here? If I stumbled across you in the dark, would I confuse you with a marsupial? And where is the hair located? Like, if I’m able to braid your leg hair it might be time to take a trip to the European Wax Salon, but if we’re talking vag then as Jesus himself once said To Thine Own Self Be True. It’s my understanding that some men, particularly those with a mommy complex, don’t mind a little bush action, but then again if you need a weed wacker down there idk maybe bust out a Gilette Venus Original? Also, I’m glad you mentioned bleaching because this has been a topic that has weighed on my mind for some time now. To bleach, or not to bleach? I assume we’re talking about your “brown-eye” or the skin around your anus that porn-stars and Kardashian’s alike typically bleach to get a lighter color for aesthetic purposes.  Because my mother occasionally reads this blog I’m going refrain from going into too much detail here, but how close to your asshole are these gentlemen getting? I guess I’ve never busted it wide open in front of a mirror before so I’m not certain how visible mine is in that position, but I didn’t exactly think it was like in their eyeline. At the end of the day, do whatever makes you feel comfortable. They say confident girls are the most attractive. Not too sure who “they” are, but someone said that once. It might’ve been “The Care and Keeping of You: The Body Book for Girls” guide that my mother threw at me in 5th grade when my breasts came in and I got sent home for not wearing a training bra and distracting the boys in my class. I’ll include a photo below for reference. Anyway, mazal tov.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I have been dating a guy who I met through a friend of a friend for about six months, and everything has been going great. The only problem is that he’s been in a long-term relationship with another girl for about 5 years. He was upfront with me from the beginning about the relationship but has made it clear that they aren’t happy and that he has wanted out of the relationship for a long time. There’s no doubt in my mind that he loves me, but I’m getting impatient waiting for him to break up with her so that we can move on with our lives together. Should I give him an ultimatum?

    Sincerely,

    Tired of Waiting

    Dear Tired,

    Because you are my loyal reader, I’m going to handle this one with kids gloves and be as kind as possible while refraining from words such as “pathetic” and “disgrace”. You’re going to be waiting for a long time. Now I’m going to back it up here for a second to address the route of your problems. Why are you okay with a man loving  another woman in public while only being willing to “love” you in private? If he truly loves you as you say, what’s stopping him from ending the relationship? It sounds to me that you have low self-esteem, and you deserve better. Even if he were to break up with his girlfriend, there’s an age old saying that always rings true- How you get them is how you lose them. What’s to say that a year or two after your ultimatum he won’t meet someone else and tell her how unhappy he is with you? I’m not going to start with the GiRl CoDeEe of it all, but being the other woman is truly not a good look. Love yourself enough not to be someone’s sloppy seconds.

    Anyway, that’s about all the advice I have in me today unfortunately. Also, before I go I just want to touch on two things that are deeply important to me.

    1. I don’t know how many of you out there are watching the Sex and the City reboot, and although I will continue to watch every episode I am devastated, DEVASTATED  by the Che Diaz of it all. First of all the entire storyline just doesn’t make any sense. Harvard graduate lawyer Miranda Hobbs who has spent the past 20 years married suddenly realizes that she’s down to clown with the ladies because a middle aged “comedian” (and I’m using that term VERY VERY VERY @!!!!!! Loosely. Their Netflix “comedy special” taping that was featured in one scene on the show was not filled with jokes but instead seemed like some sort of motivational speaking seminar? CHaNgE yOuR lIfEeeE. The only thing you’re doing is making me want to change the fucking channel.) with a half shaved faux-hawk reminiscent of a teenage barback offers her a hot shot of weed. Like come on.

    And what exactly does Che see in Miranda that they are suddenly also in love with her? I’m going to be fucking honest and say the thing that I’m not supposed to say, she hasn’t aged well. I’m also going to have to side with Charlotte on this one, she needs to dye that hair back to red. Anyway, I shouldn’t be waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat screaming WHO IS IT? WHO IS IT? Because the phrase “Hey it’s Che Diaz” is haunting my fucking nightmares. Also, JUSTICE FOR STEVE!!!!!! HE HAS FOUGHT FOR THIS RELATIONSHIP AND FOR YOUR UNGREATFUL ASS FOR OVER TWO DECADES, JUST FOR YOU TO TELL HIM THAT HE ISN’T ENOUGH FOR YOU OVER A BOWL OF ICECREAM AT AGE 55. THE AUDACITY OF IT ALL. 0/10

    2. On the other hand, the new season of Euphoria which I have been patiently waiting for has finally returned and just 5 stars all around. I don’t want to give any spoilers so I’m just going to say two things. First, I’m realllly finding myself increasingly attracted to Nate, so I’m not sure what that says about me but I’m sure it’s nothing good. I think that scene of him walking down the hall in a flannel and ignoring Cassie made me nostalgic for my own highschool experience in which I desperately tried to get the attention of a male in the hallways and was also ignored. Except, we weren’t secretly having sex he was just simply not interested. Also, do want to know another thing haunting my nightmares? Cassie’s breasts. They are absolutely phenomenal but do they need to be in every single scene? Like at one point something important was going on and her nipple was literally grazing Nate’s eyelid.

    #AndJustLikeThat #SexandTheCity #Advice #Parenting #Puberty #Euphoria #Nate #Cassie #BeautyRoutine #Munchausen #Socialmedia #Relationships #Highschool #Netflix #Breakups #Girlcode #Diet

  • Fired on Facetime

    Happy New Year my little Love Doves! I hope the start of your year has been far better than mine. To provide a brief brief update, my holiday season was absolutely fucking ruined because I, like the thousands upon thousands of others, got Covid right before Christmas. Apparently, this year baby Jesus decided to give us all the gift of isolation and suffering. All and all, not much different than any other day of my year. I got one begrudging Merry Christmas text from an aunt while I cried into my campbells soup and that was that. However, as I always say, every cloud has a silver lining, and my silver lining was that boyfriend decided to bestow onto me the gift that keeps on giving. Botox. Just like the Three Wise Men brought Mary.

    I woke up this morning, or I guess technically this afternoon, as I have so many other mornings. Hungover. Disoriented. Gasping for air. I launched myself out of bed in desperate search of an Essentia and ready to conquer the day. Unfortunately, my dog had other plans. He is, and I say this with love, as dumb as a doornail. So when I noticed him panting and shaking, which is completely out of the ordinary for a loveable pooch who has walks into walls on a daily basis, I launched into my own panic attack that not even the strongest of xannybars could fix. Unfortunately, Blue’s dad was otherwise indisposed from a night celebrating New Years Eve and not necessarily firing on all cylinders, so I had to pack both dogs and an unconscious 130 pound male into the car and drive at 100 mph to the nearest emergency vet taking patients (White Plains). In typical fashion that is mirrored with everything else in my life, after screetching up to the vet hospital like my hair was on fire Blue proceeded to hop out of the car with his tail wagging and tried to roll around in wet mud on the ground. I then spent another 30 minutes on the ride home stewing with rage while he stuck his whole head out the window.

    I thought that this would be the worst thing that happened to me today, the start of 2022. I was wrong. After being suckered into yet another soul crushing three way facetime with my father and sister, we were just about to hang up when my father said “I have a piece of mail here from the HR department at your job. I’ll save it for the next time you stop by.”

    Initially I thought it was nothing more than the new Covid-19 protocol stemming from Omarion running rampant in Stamford.

    “You can open it, if you read the word Omicron just throw it out.”

    The sentences which followed were delivered by my father with 0 hesitance and in the jubilant tone of a person reading Cat in the Hat to their toddler.

    “Dear Ms. LaBella,

    As you are aware, your time with the us was contingent upon Mayoral Administration. Although we were able to find a temporary position for you, we are afraid that we do not currently have any openings that adhere to your skillset. Your termination will go into effect at the close of business hours on Friday, January 7th.”

    And just like that, I was fired by my father on Facetime on New Years Day.

    In honor of the holiday, I also want to have a  brief moment of reflection by touching on my past blogpost from January 1, 2021. It reads as follows:

    “We have escaped the dumpster fire hell scape that was 2020 and have embarked on the new year a little fatter, a little drunker, and a little more depressed. My resolution’s, in no particular order, are as follows:

    • Lose weight
    • Drink less
    • Get a job that doesn’t require me to wear an apron
    • Write everyday
    • Think positive”

    Spoiler alert, the only thing that I have managed to accomplish is “get a job that doesn’t require me to wear an apron” and that was just torn from my early onset arthritis ridden hands exactly one year later. And to add insult to injury, by none other than my father.  Fucking phenominal.

    #fired #Newyear #resolution #father #sister #weightloss #wine #writing #jesus #christmas #positivethinking #Covid #omicron #blue #NYE #love #Christmas #facetime

  • L.K.W.C.A. (Hot Topics)

    Hello all. I have had a particularly trying two weeks and I can feel my already WAFER thin veil of sanity starting to slip, so I thought now might be as good of time as ever to check in with everyone before turning my attention to some hot topics.

    First and foremost, I am once again on the job hunt. As I have previously mentioned, my position doing public relations for this glorious city was apparently contingent upon the past Mayoral administration staying in office, a fact which I seemingly ignored until December 1st hit and I was being pried from my desk kicking and screaming.

    In laymen’s terms, in with the new, out with the .. me. And although the city has been kind enough to try and “repurpose my talent”, I don’t think I am going to last particularly long in the IT department. Steve Jobs, I am not. I barely know how to use Outlook.

    With that being said, I forgot how absolutely harrowing searching for a job actually is. Allow me to share a very real job description for an “associate editor” role in which the salary is listed as “Pay: $24,500.00 – $94,406.00 per year”. Quite a bit of a gap there, but I digress.

    Job Types: Full-time, Part-time

    We are not for everyone. This is not a “corporate” environment job nor is it a funky start up with bean bag chairs and pizza day (????). A candidate’s values, respect and loyalty are more important than having the perfect experience because everything you do in our business ultimately reflects on us. We are a multi-platform media company, but more importantly, we are one of America’s “bedrock” industries (?????) – those that form the backbone of our nation and are full of hard working people with values, honor and respect. We care about “output” more than the “window dressing” it’s packaged in. (????????)  If you share these traits, please keep reading!

    What does it all mean?

    Another job which I applied to as a Public Affairs Officer for one of the branches of U.S. Military which shall remain NAMELESS responded back to me asking if I was “of reasonable weight for my age and height”. I understand that this is the Armed Forces, but I was applying for a corporate position not to go fucking defend our country on the front lines.

    Anyway, enough about me. Let’s move on to some hot topics.

    Unfortunately, I have not yet seen “And Just Like That”, the new SATC reboot starring 3/4ths of our favorite ladies (sans Samantha Jones), because I SIMPLY CANNOT AFFORD YET ANOTHER STREAMING SERVICE. I’ve already been tricked into subscribing to Netflix, Hulu, Disney Plus, Amazon Prime, PeaCock, and even fucking DogTV for my ungrateful dogs who live in my house rent free. If one more subdivision of subdivision of a Television Network decides to go out on its own and create an independent streaming service to capitalize on our growing need for escapism, I’m genuinely going to have to start selling my own plasma to keep up. Also like, does anyone remember Quibi? I wonder what happened to the Disney Exec that started that whole colossal failure. They probably have him working the concession booth at one of the theme parks now. If you have no idea what I’m talking about, Google it. I can’t be bothered.

    Aaaaaaaanyway, ***SPOILER ALERT***, I have not been hearing many positive things about the reboot. In fact, I have been hearing mainly negative things, and they all seem to revolve around the fact that Big drops dead after a spin on a Peloton. Yikes. I’d like to have a sit down with the writer that thought that it was a good idea to put us through six seasons, 2 movies, and 23 GOD DAMN YEARS of our lives to suddenly kill off John James Preston in the first episode of the spin-off. WHAT WAS THE POINT? To get Carrie back into the dating game? THE JIG IS UP. SHE’S FULL GRAY AND HOVERING AROUND 60. COULDN’T WE HAVE JUST STUCK WITH THE HAPPY EVER AFTER APPROACH?

    Also, and this is just a personal aside, I saw from the trailer they have Grey’s Anatomy alum Sara Ramirez moonlighting as a podcast host or something. Haaate that. Hated her on Greys. Hate her and that haircut now. To paraphrase the Grinch, hate, hate DOUBLE HATE.

    Moving on,

    Nancy Reagan apparently gave a good gluck gluck super-sucker 3000. Let’s all take a second to make peace with that before I continue. Ready?

    Basically Ben My-Wife’s-Vagina-Is-Drier-Than-The-Sahara-Desert– (Again, Google it) Shapiro’s conservative podcaster sister randomly tweeted a side by side of Madonna at age 63 and Nancy Regan at age 64 and captioned it “Trashy living vs. Classic living. Which version of yourself do you want to be?” And it subsequently backfired because people started tweeting back an excerpt from a 1994 autobiography which stated that Nancy Pants was “renowned in Hollywood” for giving that sloppy toppy. Love that for her. Long live a throat goat queen.

    Kanye really wants Kim back. And she’s just not having it. During Kanye and Drake’s semi out-of-left-field concert last week, Kanye was performing his song “Runaway”, and finished it by pleading “I need you to run right back to me, more specifically, Kimberly.” Nice play on words. Very cool, Kanye!

    AnywayzzZ, days after this seemingly unwarranted public display of affection, Kim filed to be declared “legally single”, drop the WEST from her last name, declared that “no counseling or reconciliation effort” can fix the marriage, and added that “irreconcilable differences” continue to exist between her and Kanye. Ouch. I guess it’s true what they say. Once you go Pete Davidson, you never go back, and honestly, I can’t say I blame her. She’s tired of pretending to like gospel music in a grey Yeezy monochromatic sweat suit. #L.K.W.C.A.. LET KIM WEAR COLOR AGAIN.

    Also lest we all forget that Kim fought hard for that marriage, showing up to Wyoming where he was hiding from her and having a public cryfest in the parking lot of a local Wendy’s.  Also ALSO, does anyone remember that Kanye was like trying to bone Irinia Shayk and the two were jet setting around Europe together only a few months ago? But now that Kim’s moved on, all of a sudden “God wants Kimye to be together”? Where exactly in the Ten Commandments does it say that? God doesn’t like crazy, Kanye.

    #JusticeforKim #KimKardashain #KanyeWest #PeteDavidson #BenShapiro #NancyReagan #OralSex #HotTopics #AndJustLikeThat #Big #SJP #JobHunt #God #Religion #Conservative #Drake #Peleton #Quibi #SteveJobs

  • Tiny Tim

    Hello all. It’s been one hell of a week, and I personally feel like I need a few days of recovery to recover from my holiday weekend. Let’s dive in.

    The holidays are a difficult time for many. We’re fatter, we’re lonelier, and the anguishing pangs of nostalgia for a time bygone is enough to make you want to throw yourself off a fucking bridge. Add into that my completely neurotic and unhinged family, and I was dangerously close to sitting in the garage with my car running and the windows rolled up. The only issue was that no one had a garage.

    Although I have delved into what an absolute neurotic basket case my mother is in the past, I don’t believe I’ve ever touched on my father. To call him a walking, talking, 300-pound toddler is an understatement. Not only does he bark out orders to my sister and I for any menial task that he is uninterested in performing himself, he has absolutely no filter, social cues, or semblance of an idea regarding what is appropriate Thanksgiving dinner conversation.

    Case in point:

    I sat at my grandmother’s dining room table staring at my father’s choice of attire in disdain. He had arrived two hours late wearing what can only be described as parachute ski pants with zippers by the ankles. The zippers were unzipped, and I had ignored his several requests to zip them for him. To really tie the look together, he was also wearing a seemingly size XXXXXXL pleather jacket that went down to his knees. I don’t know where one would even find a jacket that size.

    I had just finished my second glass of wine before 4 p.m. when I overheard him speaking to one of our distant relatives (let’s call him Peter) regarding his brother in law (Michael) that has passed away only a week prior.

    “Peter, I’m sorry to hear about Michael. You found the body right?” my father asked while shoving pumpkin pie down his throat despite the fact that dessert had not yet been served.

    “Yeah. Thanks Rob.” You could tell at this point that he had no interest in continuing this conversation.

    “How long was he lying there, do you think, before you found him?” My head jerked up and my eyes darted rapidly to Peter who had begun choking on his water.

    “I mean, was he cold?” he continued.

    “Dad-“

    “What? It’s Petey! I can ask Petey!” (No one calls him Petey)

    “Um.. well.. we think it happened on Monday.. and I found him Wednesday morning.. so about a day or so..” ‘Petey’ said cautiously.

    “Was he stinking?” This was the wording my father had chosen in regard to whether or not decomposition had set in.

    And I honestly think I blacked out from pure humiliation at that point because I can’t remember if there was ever a response. I might have fainted.

    Anyhoo, once my Thanksgiving nightmare had ended I embarked on an entirely new nightmare. As some of you know, I have still agreed to work Saturday nights at Bar Rosso for extra cash and also because I am a masochist. This past Saturday, I was presented with the option to bartend a private party for someone who I had known distantly in high school. From my own recollection she was nice enough, and the prospect of a spare $500 to spend on about two items of my choice from Zara was hard to pass up.

    As it turned out, all the embroidered shift dresses in the world would not have been worth the substantial blow to my self-esteem. While I was already used to many of the attendees (mostly male) behaving with a twinge of superiority presumably due to a perceived higher socioeconomic status, the looks of pity and sympathy from the party guests were frankly too much to bare.

    At one point as I was wrapping up the bar one of the gentlemen who I had actually hooked up with in high school approached me with a crest-fallen look on his face and let out a small sigh as he extended his hand.

    “Here you go Rach. I’m sorry, I wish I had more to give you,” he said in a somber tone as he handed me a $20 bill. As if I was Tiny fucking Tim.

    I thought about explaining that I only worked one night a week in a restaurant as a side hustle and I actually had a full time job and a THRIVING (not really) blog, but I just grimaced and took the 20.

    Anywayyyssssssssssssss I hope you all had a very merry Thanksgiving. I have to go hunt down a Christmas Tree as a last ditch attempt to try and inject some Christmas spirit into my veins.

    Also yall follow my Instagram @WineandZoloft Kthanxbye!

    #thanksgiving #family #dad #bartending #wine #zoloft

  • Happy Anniversary!

    Hi!!! Today is a special day. And do you know why? According to an annual bill I received this morning from the web provider I use, today is the one-year anniversary of Wine and Zoloft. Now, have I risen to international fame, received a book deal, or garnered anything bordering on critical acclaim as a result of this blog? No. But, my sisters coworkers friends sister came up to me at an event last week and told me she “loves my stories.. what is it called? Wine and Xanax?” And honestly, what more can a girl ask for?

    I have to warn you all that I am in an extremely vicious mood and I’m not entirely sure why, which means I’ll be taking it out on everyone else. So what have we learned in this past year? What has changed? Why, despite pledging to start a diet and exercise regime a year ago today, am I somehow five pounds heavier?

    First things first, last night I was watching the movie Ghost on Netflix, and became absolutely IRATE at the fact that people decades later still consider the whole clay spinning scene to be iconically sexy. I took ceramics in high school and let me tell you, the only thing that was getting my heart pumping was the thought of throwing myself in the fucking kiln. And why does everyone from 90s movies who are supposed to be in their 20s look like their 45? I thought the government didn’t start putting human growth hormones into our food until the mid 2000’s.

    Also, quick pop culture Segway here but it simply cannot go unignored. Kim Kardashian and Pete Davidson?! Don’t get me wrong, I’m obsessed with him and would def ride his face into the sunset but I just don’t know how that dynamic works. Doesn’t he like, live in his mom’s basement in Staten Island? Does she go over there, lay on his stained futon in her terrycloth SKIMS and Yeezys, and watch Family Guy reruns while he smokes weed? The math isn’t mathing here.

    Also (part duex) I know I’m a little late to this one but that whole Travis Scott Astroworld concert disaster. At first, I genuinely did not understand why people were holding him personally responsible for the rioting that resulted in the deaths of several people. However, after viewing several videos from the event in which people were pleading with him to stop performing so that the crowd would calm down and him outright refusing even as people were getting carried away in stretchers….meh. And then Kylie Jenner posting from the crowd (and by from the crowd I mean safely in VIP surrounded by iron-clad security) the ambulances trying (and failing) to make their way through to save people’s lives..and then taking it down later once she realized the severity of the situation.. only to put out a statement denying that she was aware of it. Come on honey I know Kris Jenner raised you to be smarter than that. ALSO, what REALLY pissed me off is when Travis got on Instagram live and started rubbing his head over and over like he was in a fucking migraine medication commercial and fake crying about the situation without even a semblance of a tear. If anyone knows what a lying man looks like, IT’S ME. Then, THEN !! he partners with TalkSpace or some other online therapy format to “promote mental health” for anyone who witnessed one of their friends or loved ones trampled to death at his concert. Mind you, by “partnering” he is being paid to promote the service and is accruing a profit from the death of his fans. So like, no. I think I last read that the total he was being sued for by an innumerous amount of people/organizations has reached nearly 2 billion dollars so I feel the most important thing to take away from this is that it looks like Stormis going to have to go to public school once all this is over. Rise and shine bitch.

    Anyway, more about me. After a few close calls and an appointment with a fertility specialist who informed me that contrary to my own belief I am not, in fact, infertile, I have decided to do what any rational woman in their mid-twenties would do. Go on birth control. I was once before on birth control for a very brief time when I first started having sex (many many moons ago) and I just wasn’t feeling it. First of all, anyone who knows me knows that I simply cannot afford any more hormonal mood swings than I already have. I don’t need something chemically altering my emotions because I’m already one hop jump and a skip away from climbing a clocktower in a fucking clown suit. Also, and perhaps most importantly, I do not, will not, and can not, gain any more weight. I know people say iTss a MyThH BiRtHcOntRooll doOESnT MakE yOu GaIn wEIgHT. Well, I beg to differ. And in the spirit of body positivity and not getting “cancelled” I’m going to leave it at that.

    So, what’s a girl to do? What are the other options? As it turns out, there are a bunch. There’s that thing that goes in your arm that Vanessa Hudgens is hocking in those god fucking awful commericals (I believe it’s called Nexplanon), which I will again be avoiding due to the aforementioned weight gain issue. There’s a chemical called ”spermicide” that you put in your hoo-ha which is a concept I still just cannot wrap my head around. Are you supposed to put it in before you have sex? After you have sex? How are you supposed to know when you’re about to have sex? Do these people have some sort of sex calendar? And even if you do know you’re about to have sex and you go to the bathroom and smear that genetically engineered carcinogen ridden substance up there, is it going to make your vagina taste like a chemical plant? Because that just doesn’t sound like a win for anybody. Anyway, I’ve landed on the IUD option which for those of you who are blissfully unaware is the little T thing they shove up in your uterus that basically temporarily sterilizes you. I think there are multiple types but the most appealing one (for me) is the copper one which has no hormones. Atleast, that’s what I thought, until I made the ill-fated decision of googling side effects and found out that it can cause extreme pain and cramping from the time of insertion and it can last about 3 months. Is this our fucking options here as women? Either be fat and moody or writhing in agony? WHERE’S THE JUSTICE? RUTH BADER GINSBURG DIDN’T DIE FOR THIS.

    And, while I’m at it, you know what else the Notorious RBG didn’t die for? For me to get a job offer from an online celeb news source that pays $10 per 400-500 word article with a .40 cents her 1000 views “bonus”. What in the Soviet Union Gulag bullshit is that? Looks like for now, I’ll be remaining in city government until I can get some offers that won’t require me to survive solely on government cheese and my tears.

    Hmm lets see… anything else? I know no one cares about this but I finallybit the bullet and coughed up the $4.99 for a peacock subscription to watch Real Housewives Ultimate Girls Trip and it’s genuinely A+  TV. It’s super well shot, the dynamics are INCREDIBLe, Ramona Singer is a MONSTER, I want Mauricio to do anything and everything you can possibly imagine to my body, and I’m super disappointed because I feel like the show’s not getting the hype it deserves. The cheese may stand alone on this one but I really can’t get into the whole Real Housewives of Salt Lake City thing. Other than Mary Cosby who’s clearly just off her rocker the whole cast seems a little try-hard and I cant with Meredith Marks throwing out therapy buzz words every 30 seconds. I know people who do that in real life and guess what? They need therapy more than anyone.

    #anniversary #petedavidson #kimkardashian #kyliejenner #travisscott #astroworld #realhousewives #RHOSLC #RHUGT #RamonaSinger #justice #birthcontrol #weightgain #hormonal #depression #ghost #IUD #sex

  • It’s Time to Lie Down

    Hey all you cool cats and kittens. Yikes. Hated that for me. Came off a
    little “chuegy” as the youths call it, bur I couldn’t think of an
    opener so I decided to throw it back to the golden age of quarantine because I
    hear that there is a Tiger King Part 2 coming out on Netflix. I haven’t
    bothered to actually watch the trailer, but I hear Joe Exotic has remained on
    brand in the fact that he’s blaming his life’s demise on Carole Baskin so
    that’s a nice bit of continuity in my life which has otherwise collapsed into chaos.
    For those of you who are unaware, I have served essentially as a publicist for
    the City under the current Mayor’s cabinet for the past 7ish months. As is true
    with all political organizations, when one administration comes in, the former
    administration goes out.

    Here’s my issue. When I initially took this job, I only took it after
    convincing myself that the current Mayor would certainly not get reelected and
    I could stick it out for a few months and have it on my resume in the case that
    my lofty creative aspirations failed. Flash forward a few months and one
    apartment later and guess what? I’m not yet ready to depart with the
    comfortable salary and flexible hours of city government. I have pitbulls to
    feed. Anyhoo, I have reached out to the incoming administration via several
    contacts I have at my disposal and have yet to hear from a response which is
    not a good sign. As Queen Heather Dubrow from the Real Housewives of Orange
    County once said, if everyone says you’re dead, it’s time to lie down.

    To that end, I have found myself in the place that I was earlier this year,
    shifting uncomfortably in my all too familiar seat at rock fucking bottom,
    scrolling Indeed for staff writer jobs that pay $15 an hour. That, combined
    with the fact that it is now pitch officially pitch black outside at 4:30 p.m.
    is enough for me to catapult myself off my balcony face first. (Lolz but srsly
    if someone, anyone out there has any job ideas for me throw them my fucking
    way)

    Anyway, I was going to do yet another Dr. Rachel segment but I’ve decided to
    put that on hold for the moment because I’m feeling particularly unhinged so
    let’s just bounce around and see where we land. Yet another thing adding to my
    perpetual state of despair is something which I’m sure that any other grown
    adult can relate to but has taken me by complete surprise: cleaning an
    apartment is hard. It’s more than hard, it’s devastating. First things first:
    the seemingly never ending amount of dishes that pile up on a daily basis.
    WHERE DO THEY COME FROM? BECAUSE AS OUR LORD AND SAVIOR KNOWS, I DON’T COOK.

    And what am I supposed to do with them? I thought I could take the easy way out
    by putting them in the dishwasher and literally/figuratively washing my hands
    of the situation, but I’m going to give you all a little peak behind the
    curtain here. I don’t know how to use a dishwasher. Besides the fact that I’m
    pretty sure mine is broken (when I open the door thing the whole machine falls
    out of the socket and hangs at a 90 degree angle) I literally just don’t know how
    to turn it on. And then, when I do figure out how to turn it on, I end up
    having to run it for several cycles because nothing ever comes out clean. Maybe
    the organic dishwasher soap from Trader Joes just isn’t cutting the mustard?
    Also, what. is. the. mildewy. shit. that. keeps. forming. around. my. bath.tub.
    IS IT BLACK MOLD? ABESTOS? And what do I do about it? Because as of now washing
    it away with my tears isn’t seeming to do the trick.

    Well, I’m tired, it’s late, and my wine supply is dwindling. I’ll follow this up tomorrow if I can find the strength to get out of bed. But, and I’ll leave you all with this image, if I see another one of your weddings I’m going to blow my head off.  When is enough enough? Space it out a little, give some of your friends/ former classmates some time to shine. Doesn’t it deplete the purpose of your special most important day of your life if someone elses special most important day of their life falls within a 12 hour window?

  • Racially Motivated Canine Vigilante

    Good morning,

    It’s 11:42 on a Wednesday and I am truly spiraling. Over the weekend, I was stalked, harassed, and verbally accosted by some Cadet Karen that lives in my building who appears to have some taken an issue with my ambiguous breed registered service dogs. After being followed down the street and unlawfully recorded by a woman who was smoking a Newport while dragging her ratty golden doodle closely behind on a leash, I sent the below email to my property manager.

    Hi again,

    I’m sending this e-mail as a follow up to the phone call you had with Diego regarding today’s deeply upsetting events in the case that we will need to proceed with legal action in the future. As he explained, the same female resident who has accosted me multiple times on the building’s property  regarding my dogs took it upon herself today to follow my boyfriend and I down the street (off of The Departs property) recording us as we walked our dogs. Initially, we ignored this woman until she proceeded to get extremely close to Diego and one of our pets while recording and kept repeating rude and provocative comments about our dogs over and over.

    When I informed this woman that her comments were uncalled for and unacceptable, she began shouting while refusing to back away from either of us or our dogs. If she were truly concerned for her or her pets safety, I can not possibly imagine why she would be comfortable to do such a thing. As she began walking away, I also heard this woman make racially motivated discriminatory comments under her breath. I was disgusted. 

    After we were able to get away from the woman who appeared to derive a strange pleasure from verbally accosting us us, Diego spoke with you on the phone and we continued on our walk. When we returned approximately 10-15 minutes later, the woman was waiting by the garage doors for us. I felt deeply uncomfortable and unsafe that a woman who appears to have mental health issues was stalking around the property waiting for us, so I suggested to Diego that we enter the building using an alternative entrance. She proceeded to race toward us again, and follow us in the direction we were going in. She was once again recording us, and due to the fact that this time she was without her highly excitable dog our dogs did not bark and were wagging their tails in her presence. She again continued to harass us, videotape us without our consent, and demand that we follow her into the leasing office.

    I’m sure that you have had your hands full with this woman, but I just want to make it clear that if we continue to be subjected to this level of unprovoked harassment, discrimination, and infringement on our privacy from this resident we will be forced to move forward with legal action and I’ll have to file a formal complaint with the Police Department. 

    It is my hope that you can speak with this resident and explain to her that her efforts as a racially motivated canine vigilante are deeply unacceptable, not condoned by the building, and violates community guidelines here at The Depart. To reiterate- our dogs have never. nor would they ever. hurt anyone. If they are being judged by the size or volume of their bark, that is unfair and discriminatory. We have enjoyed living here for over a month without incident, and simply wish to do so in peace. It is extremely unfair and emotionally distressing that we are being subjected to this treatment in the place we have made our home. Following today’s incident, I have experienced extreme anxiety worrying that if I leave my unit I will be harassed or stalked by this woman. 

    You also can feel free to mention to her that they’re registered service dogs and if there is no actual incident they cannot be evicted. However, if she continues to attempt to provoke an incident by repeating these actions (invading our personal space, shouting/verbally accosting us) we will not be held responsible. Again, under the ADA,

    A service dog may respond if provoked and is not deemed a disturbance if the barking was provoked. Examples of provoking include:

    1.     Aggressively staring at your dog

    2.     Touching your service dog without permission

    3.     Whistling and talking at your dog in a menacing way

    Thank you, and it is my hope I can stop bothering you with these emails and we can have a positive rapport going forward.

    Naturally, as with my host of other emails I have sent, it has gone unanswered. However, I have one thing to say: DONTBULLYMYBREED

    #pitbull #dontbullymybreed #karen #dog #emails #mentalhealth

  • LinkedIn Influencers & Tantric Night Terrors

    Hi. How’s it going with everyone? As for me, in the immortal words of Dorinda Medley, I’ll tell you how I’m doing. Not well bitch.

    In addition to my paralyzing battle with acid reflux, I’m currently struggling with the same cold/illness of unknown origin which I get every single year around this time. I’m weirdly enough one of those people who kind of enjoys being sick (the head high from congestion mixed with a crisp glass of wine is a nice reprieve from my usually hyperactive brain) but having people look at you like you’re carrying the bubonic plague takes a lot of the fun out of it. I can’t even blow my nose without some lady in line at CVS pulling out a crucifix and a clove of garlic.

    Anyway, I’ve been procrastinating a lot from writing lately because a. I’ve discovered a newfound love for the culinary arts ( a love that, unfortunately, does not love me back. I was cooking dinner with my bf the other night and I looked away for a mere moment and an entire dishtowel was eclipsed in flames)and b. because I haven’t been sure what to write about. As I have previously mentioned most of the people in my life have forbidden me from writing about them and I also feel as though you guys get sick of hearing me rant week after week about the laundry list of things that piss me off. With that being said, there is one thing I really want to mention that I simply cannot tolerate anymore and that is the recent trend I’ve noticed of “LinkedIn Influencers” who write pseudo inspiring posts day after day for the sake of likes. “I hIrEDDd a HiGhscHOol DrOPoUttt bECaUsee He GaVe meE A fIrmM HanDSHakEee aNd a RoUgH hAndJoBbb”. Like, no you didn’t. Give it a fucking rest. Or my personal favorites “AfTeR MoNthS Of HaRdwOrkkK Myy MiNDseT hASS tUrrneD iNToo a GrinNDset.” Like what are you, Jeff fucking Bezos? You’re the regional manager of an office supply store. Get out of my fucking face.

    Anyway, I guess for this post we can just bounce around and see where we land. I have been on an absolute Real Housewives of Beverly Hills BINGE for the past week because I’m trying to get all caught up so I can watch this new season that everyone has been raving about. From the clips I’ve seen and from the bravo STAN accounts I follow, it seems to be truly Emmy worthy because Erika Jaynes ex reanimated corpse of a husband robbed millions of dollars from orphans and windows and blahblahblah. I also cant wait to be introduced to Kathy Hilton because she seems like an absolute delight and a sister after my own heart. I, too, sleep fourteen hours a day on average with a fan on high.

    Anyway, I’m currently on either the 6th or 7th season (whichever season pantygate is) and I am just in absolute fucking awe of Dorit. How. Are. We. All. Allowing. Her. To. Speak. In. A. Fake. British. Accent. HOW????? SHE’S FROM CONNECTICUT. IT ISN’T EVEN CONSISTENT. Also, unpopular opinion, I fucking hate Lisa Rinna. I have never seen anyone on a reality show ooze such desperation and general instability and that is really saything something. (However, I did think the whole bag of pills thing was funny and I also ordered a gold plated pill tray for my bathroom with one of her quotes “Were People Doing Coke in Your Bathroom?” on it. Art. Fucking. Deco.)

    Another thing that I am in absolute fuccking awe of is Megan Fox and Machine Gun Kelly. At first, I loved every second of it. They’re hot. They have a dark punk rocker edge. They go on double dates with Kourtney K and Travis Barker. But this is now just fucking ridiculous. I’m going to take a moment to read you some ACTUAL QUOTES from the couple that were featured in the most recent issue of GQ.

    “It’s ecstasy and agony for sure .. I don’t want people to think anythings perfect with us. I didn’t say it was the darkest fairy tale for no reason. There’s also the demonic side.”

    “I’m still a motherfucking outlaw.”

    “I just remember this tall, blond, ghostly creature and I looked up and I was like ‘You smell like weed’ and he was like ‘I am weed,’ Then, I swear to god, he disappeared like a ninja in a smoke bomb.”

    Oh and my personal favorite, her recent Instagram caption promoting the magazine issue:

    “The tale of two outcasts and star crossed lovers caught in the throes of a torrid, solar flare of romance featuring:

    Feverish obsession

    Guns

    Addiction

    Shamans

    Lots of blood

    General mayhem

    Therapy

    Tantric Night Terrors

    Binding rituals

    Chakra sound baths

    Psychedelic hallucinations

    Organic smoothies

    And the kind of sex that would make Lucifer clutch his rosary”

    These people are both in their thirties. She has three young children. Tantric night terrors and chakra sound baths? What are you talking about? I’m just at a fucking loss. The whole thing sounds like some sort of teenage twilight fanfiction knockoff. It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted.

    Oh another thing for all you true crimers out there. The hunt is awnnnn and popping for alleged gf murderer Brian Laundrie. (Idk if I’m spelling that right and I’m too lazy to google it). For those of you living under a rock this couple went on a months long roadtrip together and then he showed up at his parents house in Florida out of the clear blue in their van minus the girlfriend and refused to tell anyone where she was or what happened to her. Cut to a few weeks later and they found her body and she was strangled to death and now he’s on the run and the youths on Tiktok are claiming that he’s hiding under his parents rosegarden in their backyard and breathing through a straw or something. I’m all for a good conspiracy theory (they had me CONVINCED that Wayfair was selling trafficked children a few months back) but there’s no way this kid is hiding underground Osama Bin Laden style. That being said, I do think the kid drove home to his parents, confessed, and they assisted him in escaping to locations unknown. Since everyone in the U.S. knows what he looks like, it’s my guess that he either a. left the country b. is hiding out in a relatives home or c. more likely than not has killed himself because that’s always how these things seem to end. Regardless, I’ve heard that Dog the Bounty Hunter has assigned himself to this mission to we should have answers within a few days.

    #RHOBH #KathyHilton #BrianLaundrie #Cold #GabbyPetito #TrueCrime #Tiktok #NewBlog #MeganFox #MGK #Twilight #LinkedIn #Love #Influencer #Reunion

  • Life’s Questions- I Need Answers.

    Goooood morning everyone. It’s 9:52 a.m. and I’m fucking spiraling. First things first. As anyone out there who takes melatonin to sleep is well aware,  it typically causes some prettttty vivid nightmares. However, the dreams that I had last night were so fucked up and graphic I think that it’s best if I lay off the gummies entirely going forward. Due to my lofty interior design aspirations, I truly can’t afford a hefty therapy bill right now.

    Anyway, after lying awake shaking with anxiety from traveling to seemingly the darkest corners of my mind, I decided to get up early and get a jump start on my work day. This was promptly interrupted from the moment I sat down by yet another call from my buildings leasing office saying the “maintenance crew” were at my door to make repairs. The conversation went like this:

    “I’m sorry, I wasn’t informed anyone would be coming today.”

    “Ummmmmm, are you saying you weren’t informed anyone would be coming today?”

    **Deep guttural sign** “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

    Silence.

    “I can be there in ten minutes to let them in.”

    “Ummmmmmm, sorry, they can’t really wait. They’ll start with other apartments and then go to yours.”

    “Okay, could you let me know when they’re going to my apartment so I can leave work?”

    “Ummmmmmm, no, sorry they don’t typically stop back at the office.”

    “Okay, could you give them my number so they can call me directly?”

    “Ummmmmmmm, no. I don’t think they can do that.”

    “Do they not have phones?”

    “Ummmmmmmmmm…..”

    This conversation went on for several minutes.

    Anyhoo, I’m sure we’re all tired of hearing me complain about my apartment woes (I certainly am), so I’m going to spend the remainder of this blog delving into the many questions that have been on my mind lately.

    1. Seasonal Depression

    Before anyone starts, I know that Seasonal Affective Disorder is a medically diagnosed condition and more than 3 million people suffer from it annually and blahblahblah.

    Over the past few weeks, I’ve had three of my friends say that they’re suffering from seveeeere seasonal depression and it’s really been effecting them. And I’m not bringing this up  to be insensitive, trust me, I get it. I’m S.A.D. all fucking yearlong no matter what the weather is.   

    My issue is, and this is probably the most basic thing about me, but I fucking love fall. I want it all. The pumpkin cinnamon candles that for some reason cost $19.99 at Homegoods. The crisp cold air and colorful leaves falling down around me while my pitbulls drag me into oncoming traffic during their evening walk. This time of year literally, and metaphorically, makes my nipples hard.  

    I did a light Google search on it because I’m nothing if not a professional journalist but I guess it’s something to do with the gradual decrease in daylight from the sun setting earlier which in turn “saps your energy” and makes you feel “moody”, which explains that episode of Broad City where Ilana wrapped herself in aluminum foil and stood in front of her “SAD” lamp and also why my friends have been acting extra cunty lately.

    2. “Big Girl Coochie”

    I consider Cardi B to be not just a rapper, but somewhat of a prophet. That’s why her repeated references to larger women and their sexual prowess ( “Teach me about big girl coochie-“ Rumors Lizzo Ft. Cardi B, “Pussy still wet like a big bitch” – Clout Offset Ft. Cardi B) makes me wonder if she’s on to something here. I think I remember a scene from Euphoria where one of the 28 year olds playing a 16 year old said “Fat girls give the best head”, but that’s the only other supporting evidence I have on the matter. Anyway, is it true? And if so, why?

    3. Water Brands- To Dasani, or not to Dasani?

    I’ve had this conversation with many people and there seems to be a general consensus that certain water brands are better than others. For instance, I was drinking a bottle of Poland Spring once at work and a coworker came up to me and said “Who’s drinking broke?” I also can attest to the fact that Bowl and Basket, the Grade A brand of water, is today’s equivalent of drinking lake water on the Oregon Trail. They both give you dysentery.

    My question is, what’s the best brand of water? I think if I personally had to choose it would be Smart Water. Many people I know would choose Essentia, but the greyish black label and the fact that I don’t know what the fuck alkaline means gives me anxiety and prohibits me from enjoying the water. There’s also Life Water, but again I think the enjoyability level is more based on the colorful labels than the actual quality of water.

    Also, and this apparently is super controversial to say, I happen to enjoy Dasani Water. I think Dasani get’s a bad wrap and people claim that it tastes like metal or dirt, but that hasn’t been my experience. And that’s that.

    Allllrighty that about wraps it up for today. I’m going to be writing more frequently now that I’m all moved in and the only other thing on my agenda for week nights is that 30 minute, speed 3, incline 12 treadmill workout that I keep hearing about on Tiktok.

    As always, let me know if you like the blog so I can boost my fragile ego.

    TATA!

    #seasonaldepression #fall #pumpkinspice #bodypositive #tiktok #water #apartment #melatonin #nightmares #anxiety #workout #cardib

  • Art Deco Interiors

    Hey yawl. It’s been a while. I haven’t had a second to myself in the last few weeks because for those of you who are unaware, I have been in the process of finding a place to live after being thrusted out of my childhood home on to the streets at the tender age of 26. Can anyone say child abuse?

    The steps leading up to the move have been highly stressful due to my keen eye for interior design and my lofty goal of creating a mid century modern art deco inspired gothic maximalist living space. I want PATTERNS. I want GLITZ. I want FUR. I want a BLUE VELVET TUFTED COUCH WITH EXOTIC ACCENT PILLOWS.

    Apparently, when moving in with a partner, you also have to take into account their opinions on how your home should look. With that being said, my plan for a solid gold lamp in the shape of a flamingo with a cluster of real feathers in place of a lamp shade was brutally rebuffed. ( Here’s the link if anyone’s feeling generous- https://www.wayfair.com/lighting/pdp/willa-arlo-interiors-josie-305-gold-table-lamp-w003321599.html)

    However, the arduous design process was merely a foreshadowing of what I would endure upon move in. I will leave you all with a copy of an email which I have sent to someone who works in my building whos title I am still wildly unclear of. I have not yet received a response.

    Good afternoon,

    I do not have a contact for the building manager and if there is someone more appropriate or more equipped to deal with these concerns please forward this email to them. I’ve attached the only other email contact I have, who I believe is an assistant property manager.

    It is not my intention to be difficult or unreasonable, and I hope that going forward we can have an amiable and positive experience. However, there are several things which I’ve been left wildly confused and disappointed by. 

    Renovations– First, I felt it was reasonable to assume that by our move in date (which was set by the building), the apartment would be ready. However, on our move in day when I was taken in to the apartment (not prior) I was informed that the two  bathroom floors would need to be torn out and replaced, the cabinets in each bathrooms would need to be refurbished, the deck would need to be stained, and the outside deck space would need to be painted. When this does occur (I was told this would be sometime over the next week, not actually given a date), we will need to find alternative boarding for our two dogs, who I predict will not respond well to men who they are unfamiliar with in their living space. To that end, I frequently work from home, and I imagine that will be difficult to do in the midst of construction work which will most likely span over the course of several days.

    Parking– I completely understand that I was initially given the wrong parking space number- mistakes happen. What I was not prepared for however, was that the alternative parking space that I was actually assigned would be between a cement pole and the wall and not actually big enough to fit my car. In attempting to fit in the space, I scratched the side of my car and caused considerable damage. I have attached photos, and would like the parking space changed and potentially have the damages covered by the building. Please let me know if there is a legal department associated with the building management that I should contact. 

    Maintenance– It is not my intention to get the maintenance team in trouble, and they were very kind. However, I’m not sure if this is the policy of the building, but on our first morning in our new apartment I awoke to two men standing in my living room. When I called out “Hello?” They replied “Maintenance”, (already inside) and proceeded to attempt to repair the closet lighting fixture. I think that by any stretch of the imagination it can be agreed upon that maintenance letting themselves into an apartment without notifying us of an appointment, or so much as knocking, is inappropriate, particularly as  I was in various states of undress at the time. Furthermore, my boyfriend left for work while they continued to work on the light and I was woken up several times further ( it approximately 8:30  a.m.) by one of the men knocking at my bedroom door to gain access to the electric box. While they haphazardly tinkered around in the electric box, on numerous occasions I was forced to stand in the bathroom. It is also important to once again mention that our two dogs, who were thankfully not in the apartment at the time, would not have responded well to the intrusion. 

    Damages? – There are currently several things that are damaged/broken in the apartment. As previously mentioned, there was the light in the closet of the master bedroom which has since been fixed. However, and I’m not sure if this is just common place for the building, the fans in each bedroom do not have lighting fixtures. At night, if it were not for the light from the street, the bedrooms would be pitch black. We haven’t had a chance in the first two days to go out and buy the lamps required to light the rooms, and we’ve found ourselves stumbling around in the dark lighting the way with our phones.

    1. The sink in the master bathroom does not drain unless I remove the drain piece entirely. I don’t know the technical terms for this, but the lever which typically allows you to push up the piece which blocks the drain doesn’t work.

    2. The handle to the door which opens the washer and dryer is broken and hanging off on one side.

    3.The cabinets underneath the sink in the kitchen do not close.

    4.This is more for the building’s knowledge- but there is a considerable raise in the wooden flooring in the kitchen which suggests a build up of water underneath. It also feels loose when stepping on it.

    5.We can not open the drawer for the utensils in the kitchen unless we push the stove back.

    6.The counters were were covered with grease upon move in, we’ve done our best to clean this up. 

    7. The wooden floors, which I was informed would also be changed out prior to move in as they look particularly dull, and for lack of better word, dingy, were not changed have several paint spatters.

    8. The burner of the front right corner stove falls off entirely. I found this out the hard way, as I was cooking dinner last night and very narrowly avoided third degree burns.

    9. Although I have previously mentioned the deck and I understand that it will be “stained” it appears that the planks may need to be replaced entirely as the distance between them is vast. I looked down yesterday morning to see someone staring up at me from the unit below and I was quite alarmed to say the least.

    In light of all of this, I think it would be reasonable to request a considerable discount on our rent for next month, if not that it be waived entirely. (as you know, I paid the prorated rent on move-in day). I would also, as previously mentioned, like my parking spot changed to a spot where my car can fit, and I would like a contact for someone I can discuss potentially having the damages covered. 

    I’m sorry for the lengthy e-mail. I don’t wish to be difficult, but I think we can all agree that many of the aforementioned issues are unacceptable.

    Let me know how to proceed,

    Rachel LaBella

  • Do Anything for Klout.

    Heyy. How bout them Yankees? I hope you’re all doing well because for me, the hits just keep on coming.

    Yesterday I decided to go and view a condo in person against my better judgement. When I arrived to the location, which could only be described as “at the corner of rape and regret”, I was greeted by a woman wearing a SpongeBob tank top and shower cap, and was cradling her newborn son in a rather aggressive manner. She had also apparently been told by the relator to come check out the property, and gave me a look to suggest that she had been waiting there for quite some time. 

    I texted the relator who I had not had the privilege of meeting in person prior to let him know that I had arrived, and he texted me back immediately saying, “Yea. Coming.” As if I was burdening him in some way.  

    After ten minutes of awkward silence the relator pulled up in a Toyota Camry that, to put it mildly, looked like it had seen better days. He had a thick and indecipherable accent and introduced himself as Klous. I extended my hand for a handshake, which was met by an extremely uncomfortable glance, and then ignored altogether.

    “Vuuud you two mind if vee do theee tour together at the same time?” he asked after I put my hand back down at my side. I can say with some degree of certainty that this is not typical real estate practice, but based on the size and mammoth-like girth of Klous it seemed that asking him to provide two tours consecutively would be a matter of life and death. 

    As the three of us shuffled into a very narrow entrance that he referred to as a “hallway”, he turned around and barked, “Take of jourr shoes. No shoes in zee house!” 

    He slid off his sneakers to reveal that he was not wearing socks, and made several haphazard attempts to bend down and push them to the side before giving up altogether. As he was doing so he gave us several glimpses at his “plumbers crack”, or I guess in this case it would be a “realtors crack”, and I felt myself being consumed with the all too familiar feeling of despair. The other woman and I glanced at each other, down at Klous’s bare feet, and back at one another again.

    The despair deepened as the tour continued. It was not so much the overwhelming smell of weed, or even the fact that the washer and dryer were located in the kitchen next to what Klous described as a “potential breakfast nook” (an empty corner), but I drew the line after entering the bedroom and seeing that the windows were covered solely by Disney themed bedsheets. I know that this was simply a decorating choice by the previous owners and not necessarily conducive to the state of the apartment, but it struck me as a bad sign.

    “And zerr is a lot of storage space. Zisss is also zee storage,” he said while opening a small door to a crawl space next to the bed. As it opened a clock fell out and smashed on to the ground, which he made no attempt at picking back up. “Oh, ze watch fell.” he huffed before slamming the door shut. 

    As I drove home I began talking myself down off the ledge. I was confident enough in my decorating ability from the hours I’ve spent on pinterest in the past weeks searching “art deco midcentury modern interiors” that I could turn that house into a home. Also, I was really getting down to the wire time wise and running out of other options. 

    I texted Klous to inform him that I was interested in the property, which was met with the enthusiastic response, “Ok.” I then reminded him for the third time that I had two dogs. He requested photos of both dogs and I spent the next twenty minutes searching for pictures of my little angel babies smiling and looking as far from being pit bulls as humanly possible. After being left on read for quite some time, he answered back, “Sorry, no.”

    In short, I’m now being turned down from places that I’m not even remotely interested in.   

    Lets seeeee what else. Oh, I’ve also decided as a little passion project of mine and a way to make some extra cash I’m going to be selling off my current home’s furniture and valuables on EBay and Facebook market place. So, if you see me out on my front lawn hocking Madame Alexander dolls or porcelain ash trays in the shape of a Thanksgiving turkey please mind your business. 

    I also know no one seems to be interested in this topic but me, but they announced the new lineup for Real Housewives All-stars Season 2 and it’s just the boost of serotonin I needed because it’s only day one of this fast and I already feel a preeeettty severe bout of depression coming on. (I’ve read some things online that fasting can cause mood swings which believe me is the l a s t thing I need right now) Anyway, the cast includes Queen Dorinda Medley, Queen Taylor Armstrong, Jill Zarin, Brandi Glanville, Vicki Gunvalson, and Phaedra Parks. And, ANDDDDD, it is supposed to take place at the ICONIC Blue Stone Manor. I can truly hardly contain my excitement and I can literally hear the women screaming at each other already. 

    Well, I’m going to have to cut this short because I have very serious political duties to attend to but don’t be surprised if the next time you all hear from me I’m writing this blog from inside a storage space that I’ve moved into with whatever I couldn’t sell for profit.

    #realestate #bravo #househunting #interiordesign #decor #ebay #facebook #profit #allstars #dorinda

  • Crying and Starving

    I’m going to start this post on a somber note as I haven’t been able to stop openly weeping for Aprox 36 hours. My beloved beauty angel baby cat Sage passed away yesterday. I can’t discuss it, or even think about it, for more than a few seconds without hysterically crying. And if anyone thinks that the loss of a cat is any less of a source of pain than the loss of a dog I will fucking come for you.

    Anyway, my life appears to be on a prettttty steady downward spiral in all regards- not just my inability to stop Kim K ugly crying every five minutes.

     Let’s start with the most pressing issue, my weight. I have recently developed something of a cup of noodle addiction and have had to personally ask the woman who runs the café in my office building to no longer purchase them, as I appear to be the only one eating them on a daily basis. 

    She laughed, but in a way that suggested that she agreed I shouldn’t be devouring MSG ridden ramen at 9:30 a.m. on a Monday and would stop restocking them. I have definitely had cause to question her condescending tone before, particularly on my second week of work when she said, “You have such interesting outfits, where do you get your clothes?” I’m still wondering what exactly she meant by that.

     Also, are there any real hard hitting studies out there that support this conception that Cup of Noodles are unhealthy for you? Or is that just an unfair stereotype perpetuated by college freshman with poor nutrition and a new birth control subscription? I mean, one billion Asian people eat some form of ramen on a daily basis and most of them are thin as can be. What’s their big secret?

    Anyway, there is one mantra which I say to myself, and all my friends, whenever we find ourselves in the throes of heart ache, sadness, or despair. And that is the following: Keep your chin up, and may this heartbreak take the form of a diet. Amen. 

    It may seem insensitive, but one of the only benefits of depression and anxiety is the subsequent weight loss- particularly being able to cry out all of that pesky sodium bloat from your face. Try it sometime. Go through his phone while he’s sleeping sis.

    Fortunately, (or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it) the fast which I ordered a jaw dropping three weeks ago has also finally been delivered which, combined with my depression, should reaaally jumpstart Operation Skinny Arm. In a fit of desperation, I ordered something called the “Prolon Fasting Mimicking Diet” which is essentially a five day liquid fast consisting of powdered soups, teas, some sort of oil supplements, and a power bar you can shove down your throat if you feel like you’re going to faint. Yipee. However, because my two main food groups are already soup and iced tea, I figure that this should be relatively easy for me. 

    Some of the other  beneficial side effects of tricking your body into thinking it’s starving is it  can reduce the risk of getting cancer and other diseases , better regulate your blood sugar, drop cholesterol/glucose levels and blahblahblah- I don’t care. I’m doing this for one reason and one reason only, and given the state of my most recent company headshots which I received via e-mail on Sunday, I can’t start this weight loss journey soon enough.

    I was initially very excited when I got an e-mail along with a new corporate big wig here asking if we would like to have our photographs taken for professional or promotional purposes. I jumped at the chance, recognizing an opportunity for an Instagram picture with a clever caption letting people who I had gone to high school with know that I have moved on from waitressing and probably had a cooler job than them. 

    The night before my photo was to be taken, I decided to get a trim and blowdry. Also, Thanks to last years quarantine and the endless amount of hours o spent watching the youths on tiktok, I knew exactly how to do my makeup so that it looked good on camera. It was going to be my time to shine, I thought.

    When I walked in to the conference room the following morning the photographer, who looked like he most likely had attended preschool with one of the Three Wise Men and could not have been less than 479 years old, was already directing the Chief Director Deputy Officer of Something or Other to smooth out her hair. I sat down in a chair as he informed her he would “try to edit out her bald spots later”. She looked less than amused.

    After she had fled from the room like her hair was on fire, it was my turn. I had been waiting all week for this, and I didn’t even think to question it when he informed me that he would be focusing “predominantly on my face”, because it was my “best feature”.  I had never heard anyone say this before, and I liked the sound of it. Usually my best feature is considered to be a toss-up between my upbeat optimistic personality or my breasts.

    A few days later I received an e-mail from the photographer who sent me a few of the photos stating that they were “definitely the best of all we produced” and not to ask him for a preference because they were “all terrific”. 

    I want to preface this by saying this man was extremely kind in that he was willing to volunteer time out of his own day to take these photos free of charge. With that being said, and without one shred of exaggeration, these photos will haunt me for the rest of my life. Although he took the photos from a relatively normal distance (I’d estimate eight feet) I was blissfully unaware over the course of the photoshoot that he was zoomed so closely in that you could count each one of white heads on my nose individually, and that he would then superimpose only my head from the chin up onto a plain black background.

    On the one hand, I can’t place all of the blame on him. It is not entirely his fault that I look like a 45 year old bloated/obese Latina newscaster going through a divorce. Much of that is my own cross to bear. But come. The. Fuck. On. In addition to the bouffant hair and gaze which can only be described as menacing, he edited one side of my forehead with some sort of blur effect for reasons unknown. I believe during our session he said that my hair line was “distracting” and that he would fix it in post, but I did not realize it would result in what looks like the remains of a removed Siamese twin jutting out of the side of my head.

    I immediately emailed him expressing my confusion as politely as possible, and asked if he had any photos that were not taken from mere centimeters away from the tips of my false eyelashes. He replied back informing me that there were no such photos, and that he intentioned to get “quite literally, headshots”. 
    I’m getting hysterical just talking about this, but just know, I can’t catch a fucking break.

    #cat #sage #rip #job #fasting #diet #prolon #starving #mealprep #weightloss #sAd

  • Celeb Dating, the Delta Variant, & Dr. Rachel

    Heyyy. What’s poppin.  We’re gonna be a little all over the place today because I’m flying high on nine hours of sleep and my newest addiction which has taken the form of a medium iced tea with lemon and sugar from Donut Delight. I’ve probably mentioned this before, but any form of caffeine ordinarily sends me into a tailspin to the point where if I drank a cup of coffee I’d probably have to go to the hospital. I’m not exactly sure why, it’s probably a combination of my severe anxiety (which I keep suppressed with a daily dose of SSRI’s and whatever bottle of wine I can get my hands on), as well as what I think may or may not be early onset Parkinson’s Disease. I shake like a battered wife at all times, and it should probably be something that I look into in the near future.

    Can we take a moment to talk about the reuniting of BENNIFER? Let me start by saying this, they give me hope. Hope that at the age of 50, I too can be hot, in love, and boning a sexy former Batman from Boston. I mean seriously, ever since he hooked back up with JLo he’s got some life back in those deadeyes of his and he’s even lost his alcoholic face bloat (something I know about all too well). They remind me of simpler times when I would go home after school and turn on America’s Next Top Model and watch Tyra Banks verbally assault young aspiring models for sport. The glory days of media, when there were REAL power couples that commanded 24/7 media attention. Not like these so called “celebrity couples” these days. I mean, does anyone really give a shit about Camila Cabello and Shawn Mendes? Every time I see staged paparazzi photos of them on a “walk” I find myself with a deeeep sense of discomfort. And furthermore, is anyone really buying that relationship? I’ve never even heard him speak but I can bet one thing, he’s as gay as the day is long. One thing I will say is that I really pray to god that Ben and Jlo’s relationship isn’t staged for media attention or some sort of remake of the Jenny From the Block Video. I don’t want to believe it’s a publicity stunt, especially since they’re both A-list celebrities and don’t really have much reason to be vying for public attention, but those pictures the other day of the two on a yacht were an exact side by side replica from her music video 20 years prior. Hand placement on her ass and all.

    As for something else that’s been really stoking the embers of hope in my heart, let’s briefly touch upon the resurgence of Covid-19. Before anyone comes at me bringing up the deaths of approximately 4.16 million individuals worldwide as a result of this virus, as well as the millions of families whose lives were adversely effected- let me stop you right there. That’s obviously not what I’m referring to. What I am referring to is the possibility of returning to one of the happiest times of my life in recent memory- quarantine. There are very few things that I wouldn’t do for another lockdown. I honestly felt the overwhelming sense of comradery stemming from not being able to leave your house and not knowing what the hell was going on united the whole world.  

    Maybe it’s that I crave the uncertainty and the excitement of the unknown, which would accompany every day when I turned on the news. Would people be battling for the death for a package of Charmin Ultra Soft at my local Walmart? Would the poor circulation in my toes suddenly become the newest symptom attributed to the virus? It was truly a roll of the dice. One thing I do know however is I miss the days of it being socially acceptable to crack open a bottle of breakfast wine and get little to nothing accomplished on a daily basis. The pressure of achieving, of thriving in your twenties, was virtually obsolete because you couldn’t go anywhere or do anything. You could just make banana bread.

    One aspect which I find a little unnerving are these new guidelines that are being rolled out seemingly on a daily basis. One day I’m hearing that the CDC is going to revert back to requiring everyone to wear masks indoors regardless of vaccination status. The next day I’m hearing that you won’t actually be required to wear a mask as long as you carry around your vaccine card with proof that you’re fully vaccinated. Honestly, and I’m far from an anti-masker or an anti vaxxer, but the whole thing is sounding  littttttle bit unconstitutional and bordering on Nazi Germany-esque when Jewish persons were required to carry cards indicating their religion. Figure it out, Money Bagg Joe. And furthermore, where the hell is Dr. Fauci?

    Since I’m really on a roll today and I’ve received requests (two) to bring back my Dr. Rachel segment I decided to do one or two. So here you go.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    My boyfriend and I have been dating for three years and he’s showing no signs of making a commitment anytime soon. I’m not asking for a ring, but I would like to move in together like everyone else our age (he’ll be 30 next month). I don’t want to put any pressure on him, but I don’t think it makes sense for us to both have roommates and pay rent when we spend most nights together. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he always avoids the conversation or says he “isn’t sure if he’s ready” to move in together. Am I just wasting my time?

    Dear Time Waster,

    Umm yea probably. What exactly is it that he’s unsure of? Whether or not he likes you enough to move in with you? Whether he’s ready to make that commitment despite being a grown man pushing thirty in a long-term relationship with someone who has an impeccable taste in blogs? I know that 30 is supposed to be the new 20, especially for men, but at some point they’ve got to overcome their peter pan syndrome and grow the fuck up. Honestly, and I hate to be blunt about this, but it sounds like he’s either immature or just putting off committing to you because he’s waiting for something better to come along. If your three years in, there’s no reason that you need to be subjected to uncertainty from him about anything. I will say that the fear of commitment is something that seems to be prevalent in all men and not necessarily a reflection of his feelings for you, but do you really want to be with someone that you have to convince to move in with you? There are plenty of men out there who wont require you to beg for the bare minimum. Remember that.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    My boyfriend won’t stop liking other girls Instagram pictures. I know it’s really stupid and I don’t mind when it’s just IG models but it reallllllly bothers me when it’s someone he knows. I’ve confronted him about it before and it always ends in a fight, I just don’t know how to stop letting it bug me. I don’t want to seem like I’m insecure, help!

    Dear Insecure,

    OOooooh this is a tricky one. It never really bothered me when my boyfriend would like other girls photos, with the exception of a select few whores (you know who you are). I actually found it more embarrassing when he would like peoples pics like one of the Kardashians. Like, do you think that Kylie Jenner’s going to see your like and say wow I really love this kids confidence let me slide in his DMs? Hang it up. With that  being said, it is more concerning to me that when you say something to him it ends in a fight. I’m a firm believer that if something as silly and innocuous as an Instagram like is bothering your significant other, why simply not do it? What are you getting out of the situation that’s worth fighting with your girlfriend for the next three days? If it’s really that important for him to let his coworker at Chase know he thinks she looks hot in her bikini pic at Cove beach then guess what? He’s the problem and he’s also a loser. Honestly, I guess it is kind of embarrassing for everyone involved when someone who’s visibly in a relationship is going around liking other girls pictures. My favorite thing to do and something I actually suggest for you to do is when you see that he likes a certain girls photo, whether you know her or not, like the photo as well and comment heart eyes or the fire emoji. That’ll really throw everyone for a fucking loop and the girl will probably be left wondering if you guys are virtually trying to initiate some sort of threesome.

    #deltavariant #covid19 #dating #datingadvice #bennifer #jlo #popculture #newblogger #wine #zoloft

  • Crisis

    Yerrr. It’s me. Your girl. I haven’t written in a few weeks honestly because the majority of the people in my life have requested (demanded) that I not include them in my blog in any way, shape, or form and it makes it a little difficult for content purposes. You would think that people would loosen up a little and let me talk about their STD’s for the sake of my ART but some people are just selfish I guess. Anyway, I’ll see what I can come up with.

    In what was truly an eye opening experience for me, I discovered yesterday that there are, in fact, Americans that care about soccer. I always thought that soccer was sort of like football, baseball, and basketballs distant cousin with a wonky eye that no one wants in the family photo-op because they’re going to fuck up their likes-per-minute ratio on Insta. Or maybe that’s just me. 

    Anyway, Italy played England yesterday for the final in the EuroCup (???) and won with a final score that I truly can’t be bothered to google. Just talking about it is giving me PTSD war flashbacks because for some reason I agreed to bartend at an Italian restaurant during the game and people were hanging from the rafters. Literally. At one point, I looked up and someone was hanging off the mezzanine. I also heard rumblings that a fight broke out in the Board Room and that someone had taken off their belt and was snapping it together in the manner of a parent who was threatening to beat their child, but I decided not to involve myself in that one. I had just narrowly avoided my own fight with a busboy who can only be described as on some sort of spectrum. I walked back into the kitchen drenched in my own sweat, and saw him sitting down on his phone looking fatigued. After I screamed at the top of my lungs for him to get behind the bar because we were out of glasses, beer, and really anything that would have enabled us to serve 350 people he immediately sprung to his feet. Unfortunately, his version of rising to the challenge was running in and out of the bar at gale force speeds like a bull in a China shop swinging full baskets of glasses.

    Nevertheless, after the game I was able to dip out from the bar and leave my 19-year-old coworker to fend for herself with a busboy who may or may not have done a bit of crystal meth while I went to see what was going on outside. And I really wish I hadn’t. Every man, woman, and child who had any semblance of Italian heritage or had ever seen an episode of the Sopranos for that matter had taken to the streets to celebrate Italy’s win. There had been a makeshift moshpit formed in the middle of Bedford Street that inhibited any cars from passing through and that song We No Speak Americano was playing on repeat seemingly from nowhere. I drew the line when a young man who I knew was hanging out of a moving car at a full 90-degree angle screaming inaudibly draped in nothing but the Italian flag. 

    In other news that can be filed under my 13th Reason Why, I am soon to be homeless. My mother’s SURPRISE reasoning behind her SURPRISE visit is apparently that she is planning on selling our childhood home and casting my sister, our fleet of cats, and myself out onto the streets. Although my sister and I are rapidly approaching middle age and can probably be expected to fend for ourselves, this was far from a welcomed announcement. I’m only about a month in to the consistent SaLaRy LyFee and my savings can be described anywhere from bleak to entirely nonexistent. To that end, I am not entirely looking forward to apartment hunting on a budget in one of the priciest zip codes in the United States. I’m a simple girl with simple tastes, but some of these apartments in my price range I’ve seen on Zillow are enough to send a chill down my spine. I could always rent a room from a stranger on Craigslist, but being raped and murdered in an cocaine den in the Cove has begun to seem less and less appealing. I think I’ve surpassed the age where my tragic death would be national news, and it would instead probably be nothing more than little blurb on the second page of the Advocate next to that week’s bear sightings. Not worth it.

    I also have one final (ish) thing to say, and it involves an encounter I had the other night that’s been weighing on my mind. 

    I was sitting at the bar sucking down an Aperol Spritz when someone I had given an over the pants handjob to in highschool and had not had that much contact with since approached me. 

    “Heyyyyyyyyyy Rachel. So good to see you,” He said, visibly intoxicated. I hate when people say this. It isn’t good to see me. You know it. I know it. We all know it.

    “Hey,”I sighed. 

    “How are you?”

    “I’m good, how are you?”

    “Good, good. I’m glad to hear you’re doing good.” I nodded, thinking that this would be the end and I was going to be able to efficiently get out of this conversation in six words or less. It’s not that he wasn’t  a nice guy, I’ve just reached the point where my social bandwidth has a verrrrrry low threshold. I don’t even want to have conversations with myself.  

    That’s when he hit me with the following:

    “I really am glad to hear you’re doing good. You know, I said the other day to Matt (mutual friend) that judging by your Instagram posts . . .” his voice trailed off and I thought he was going to mention that he read my blog or something to that effect and I smiled preemptively. 

    “Look, I know a person in crisis when I see one,” he said.

    The smile dropped from my face. “In crisis? Do I seem in crisis?” 

    “I’m glad you’re doing good though , really. Anyway, it was nice seeing you!” he said ignoring my response completely and walking away.

    I sat there, dumbfounded. In crisis? What exactly is it about me that seems like someone who in crisis? On second thought, maybe he does read this blog.

    #italy #eurocup #soccer #england #fairfieldcounty #househunting #realestate #bartending #aperolspritz #aperol #homeless

  • Yelling Free Britney ’til I see Britney

    HeYyYYY youuu  GuYYyyysss (Goonies Monster Voice)

    My schedule’s just been jam packed lately what with my blooming political career and all the time I spend googling lists of federal holidays, Jury Duty volunteer forms, and really anything else that may enable me to take the day off. Fortunately, multi-tasking is actually one of the only skills I didn’t exaggerate (lie) about on my resume, so I’m used to having a lot of balls in the air and occasionally one or two in my mouth.

    With that being said, I’ve been able to better utilize the time I spend dodging phone calls from Government employees demanding press releases and get some writing done. Unfortunately, I’m not really sure which direction this week’s ramblings are going to take because I have a lot to say and no one to say it to, so just bear with me.

    Let’s kick it off with some negatives. Although I was essentially hogtied and forced against my will to go to Florida to see my mother just a few weeks ago, she decided that was not enough quality time for us and arrived yesterday for a “visit”. I’m not going to say that my propensity toward alcoholism stems from her, but I will say that upon her arrival she immediately demanded that I take her to the liquor store for “this cool new cinnamon flavored tequila” that she’s apparently a huge fan of. Then, before I had even pulled out of the Bevmax parking lot, she unscrewed the cap and began drinking straight from the bottle.

    “What are you doing?” I asked, looking at her appalled in my rearview mirror. I’m in no position to judge someone’s alcohol consumption, but I at least pour my Pino Noir in a spare empty water bottle if I don’t have access to a stemmed wine glass on the go. I’m a lady.

    “What?! I’m only having a sip!” She screeched. And then proceeded to have several large “sips” that I’m pretttty sure resulted in her being drunk by the time we made it back home. (It’s a seven minute drive)

    Upon returning back to our casa de los locos, my mother decided it would be a good time to pick up the phone and verbally accost her mother. I was sprawled out on the couch in the upstairs living room searching for the will to live when I had the pleasure of overhearing the conversation on speakerphone.

    “MA. WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

    “I’M WATCHING THE TV. WHAT YOU WANT?” This is the standard greeting my Nannie uses when answering the telephone. It’s worth mentioning that although she sailed over from Italy presumably around the time of the Great Depression, her English has remained abysmal.

    “MA. REMEMBER. THE DOCTOR SAID YOU NEED TO GET OFF THE UNISOM.” On the way home from the liquor store, in between slugs of tequila, my mother had informed me that she had the pleasure of taking my Nannie to her doctor’s appointment earlier in the day. At the appointment, Nannie launched into one of her frequent rants about how dead people come to her at night in her sleep and speak to her. Because she isn’t the kid from The Sixth Sense, her doctor was deeply unsettled by this proclamation and suggested she lay off the over the counter sleeping pills. Apparently, although not shockingly, my Nannie responded rather aggressively and informed her that she had been taking Unisom to help her sleep since her time working the night shift in a factory. This was 43 years prior.

    “FUCK-A YOU,” she shouted, and immediately hung up the phone.

    There is one thing that I honestly didn’t even want to delve into because it makes my fucking blood boil, but I truly can’t even put into words how shocked and disgusted I am with the ongoing Britney Spears conservatorship drama.

    For those of you who live under a rock, Britney finally addressed the court herself yesterday regarding her current ENSLAVEMENT at the hands of her father and demanded that her testimony be made public so people can really understand what’s going on. I literally cried listening to the audio, and some of the most shocking revelations are as follows:

    1.       After wanting to take a break from touring in 2018, she was forcibly institutionalized and “sat in a chair 10 hours a day, seven days a week”. She also was forced to go on the “mood stabilizer” lithium by her own therapist (who should have had nothing but Britney’s best interest in mind and sounds just as fucking corrupt as the rest of them)

    2.       She is unable to get married to her boyfriend or take out her IUD to try to conceive because “they” (her gremlin fucking father) don’t want her to have another baby.

    3.       She stated that the only thing that is possibly comparable to her own current situation is being sex trafficked because she’s been forced to work against her will, and all her possessions, including her credit cards, cash, phone, and passport have been taken from her.

    Hear me, and hear me good. So. HELP. ME. GOD. If this is not changed and changed FAST I will RIOT IN THE FUCKING STREETS. I will PERSONALLY fly down to Louisiana and find whatever crawfish fucking dive bar that alcoholic MONSTER spends his time in. Britney is being held against her will in a Gilead- from-The- Handmaids-Tale adjacent NIGHTMARE where she unconstitutionally does not have the right to procreate. Considering the fact that she was high functioning and performing nightly at her own Las Vegas residency only three years ago (which, mind you, SHE WAS NOT EVEN ABLE TO SEE THE REVENUE FROM BECAUSE SHE’S ONLY GIVEN AN ALLOWANCE OF 2K A WEEK DESPITE BEING WORTH 60 MILLION DOLLARS!!!!!!!!!) I can only assume that it is evident to anyone with TWO FUCKING EYES that she is being unlawfully exploited, demoralized, and broken for profit.

    I’m honestly going to have my own nervous breakdown so I think it’s best if I stop here. If there’s one thing you take away from this post today, it’s FREE BRITNEY.

    #freebritney #britneyspears #conservatorship #mom #grandma #alcohol #alcoholic #tequia #wine #money #constitution #abuse

  • Hired, But Tired

    Hello all,

    As I sit here at my desk in elastic waist “business casual” pants which I may or may not have purchased from the maternity section on amazon, I am once again starting to question whether or not office like is, in fact, for me. As I believe I mentioned in my previous blogpost, I have finally gotten a real job that doesn’t require me to sling blood orange margaritas and I’ve embarked on my journey into the corporate world. After an ill-fainted trip to Naples where I spent the majority of my time crafting the perfect blend of Pinor Noir, melatonin, and Xanax that would render me unconscious in 15 minutes or less, I returned well rested and ready to conquer the world. Naturally, as is a reoccurring theme in my life, there were many aspects of oFficE lYfEeeee which I was woefully unprepared for.

    Let’s start with some of the simpler things that have been putting a proverbial bee in my bonnet.

    1.       Office temperature. On my first days of beginning said job I was informed that the air-conditioning was “on the fritz”. This occurrence happened to coincide with some of the hottest days in recent memory, with temperatures reaching the low 90’s by midday. Considering the fact that my body’s reaction to even mild heat is similar to that of a middle aged woman in the throes of menopause, I decided to go on yet another amazon spree and purchase hundreds of dollars of short-sleeved office dresses and my own personal desk fan. As of last Friday, the air conditioning was ostensibly fixed and I can now say without much exaggeration that the temperature in here is on par with the Arctic Circle. I have goose bumps writing this and my nipples could cut glass.

    2.       Prior to this job I had never used Outlook, or anything more advanced that my G-mail account which I was forced to make in tenth grade for class and haven’t changed since. For some reason, the idea that I may not have been hearing back from employers because I had “xoxo” at the end of my email address (as a subtle nod to Gossip Girl) entirely eluded me during my years long job hunt, but I digress. Anyway, as I navigate the brave new world of company e-mailing, there is one aspect which I can immediately say that I am not a fan of. Being accosted via calendar e-vite for meetings (usually for reasons unspecified) is one thing, and I honestly prefer them to someone strolling by my desk unannounced while I’m cutting my cuticles. But the repetitive reminders at 15 minute intervals starting hours prior to the meeting is literally just kicking me while I’m down. The meeting itself is more than enough to send me into a full blown panic attack, but the by the minute reminders that its steadfastly approaching is tantamount to virtual waterboarding.

    3.       This one may not be entirely relatable and could possibly be something I need to speak to a licensed therapist about, but I am having a huge issue with office bathroom decorum. I try to drink about a gallon of water a day because in my mind that’s going to somehow cancel out the 3 aperol spritz, 1 glass of rose, and 42 glasses of red that I inevitably drank the night before. I also am pretty sure that my bladder is the size of a pea (no pun intended). To that end, I use the bathroom several times a day. Now this would be fine, if it were not for two things. 1. I have to walk past the entire office each time I go to the bathroom and I’m beginning to worry they might think I’m snorting cocaine and 2. I made the mistake on my second day of explaining to the armed guard outside of our office doors that I drink a large amount of water which is the reason behind my frequent trips, and he took that as license to make jokes about my bathroom use EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. I pass by him to get to the corridor the bathrooms located in. Not only does the incessant small talk fill me with crippling anxiety, but the idea that someone is monitoring the length and frequency of my trips to the women’s room has filled me with pure existential dread. I have looked into adult diapers, but I’m afraid that they might be visible in my stretchy slacks.

    This list could go on and on, but I think that I’ll give it a rest at the risk of sounding ungrateful for the opportunity that’s giving me full on imposter syndrome. Happy Flag Day.

    #work #office #officelife #2021 #hot #heatwave #anxiety #fear #amazon

  • Catch flights not feelings.

    Hello all. I’m currently flying down to nature’s resting home, otherwise known as Naples Florida. I’m actually writing this on my notes app on my cellphone in a last ditch attempt not to lose my fucking mind on the people sitting in front of me who have NOT SHUT THE HELL UP FOR ONE SINGULAR SECOND the ENTIRE DURATION of this flight. I have always felt that people who insist on making friends while traveling should probably look inward to figure out the root of their neediness and desperation. Probably some sort of abandonment from their childhood, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, from what I can deduce from their conversation which I’ve had the pleasure of listening to for the past hour and a half, shes  a rich old woman from Greenwich and her sons a writer (semi debating asking her to pass along a photo of me and my number. Judging by her whooping cough, that inheritance is going to be coming sooner rather than later) and the other COMPLETE STRANGER has a lot of important opinions he is compelled to share.  The overhead light is also glistening off his bald head directly into my eyes and I’ve just had enough at this point.

    I’m willing to admit that I’m a bitttt grouchier than usual for a number of reasons not having to do with the fucking dynamic duo sitting in front of me. First of all, last night (coincidentally on the eve of having to take a 6 am flight) I got drunker than I have been in quite some time. And that’s really Saying something. This was probably some subconscious form self sabotage, but Regardless I woke up at 4:55 still drunk and said you know what absolutely not. Naturally, I then had to get on the phone with the people at Jetblue and beg them to put me on a later flight and let me just tell you they’re not the sharpest knives in the drawer over there.
    To add insult to injury I then had to have my father drive me for fear of missing yet another flight, and he ALSO seemed to have the gift of gab. At one point he started blaring a rock song that repeated “jereeemmmyyy spokeeee in classs today” over and over and turned to me with a huge grin on his face.

    “This songs great. You know what it’s about?”

    “No idea,” I said while debating opening the car door and flinging myself onto the Meerut parkway.

    “It’s about a kid in school who went to the front of the class one day and put a gun in his mouth and shot himself.” And I honestly couldn’t find the words to respond at that point.

    I’m also not particularly thrilled about going to Florida to visit my mother, not only because she’s extremely high strung (that’s putting it mildly) but because the average age in Naples is about 87. And it’s not a youthful 87. Some of these people I’ve seen around the pool look like they have one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel.

    Anyway, I finally got a real job that doesn’t require me to meet my boss at a Sheraton hotel in the middle of the day for reasons that still remain unspecified , and it’s a shockingly good one. I don’t want to jinx it so I’m going to wait until I officially start before I tell people, but I went in for a training day on Wednesday and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Except, and this is a big except, the fact that I was accosted at the front desk at a CRISP nine a.m.

    “Three times in one week, wow you must love it here!” The front desk guy said at a decibel that can only be described as deafening.

    “Yeah, I’m gonna be working here.”

    “Okay before I let you up I just have to make a call.” What happened next I’m almost certain was some sort of comedic sketch he had been working on in his spare time. He picked up the phone and in a hushed voice, while remaining DIRECT eye contact, said “Shes here. I know. She needs to know. I’m going to have to warn her. I guess she’ll have get used to it.”

    After he hung up (presumably with no one) he said “ I just have to warn you about the elevator.”

    “What?”

    “You have to be careful.” My patience was already wearing thin at this point and if I was going to be mugged in an elevator I’d rather just get it over with.

    “Okay what is it?” I asked.

    He looked over both his shoulders, motioned for me to come closer, and said “Around the fourth floor… there’s ninjas. They can be pretty sneaky. Then.. as you get up to the ninth..” he took a long pause to really BUILD the anticipation and then said “poisonous gas. I’ve been here a while so I’ve built up an immunity. Maybe you will too. But the ninjas-“

    I was already half way in the elevator at this point and decided it would be better for both of us if I cut him off mid monologue. “Yeah nice to meet you, I’ll keep an eye out.” And that was how I started my first day.

    #flight #vacation #flying #jetblue #dating #diet #wine #hangover #tired #florida #naples #mom

  • 9 to 5

    Hey. Hope you’re all strapped in. It’s been a whirlwind.

    I realize that I haven’t been following through on yet another one of my goals for 2021 which was to post a blog every week. But, unlike the continuing expansion of my waist line, this one truly isn’t my fault.

    I believe I mentioned in my last blog post that I went on two promising interviews. The first, which was a contributor for Life and Style and Intouch magazine, didn’t work out. Shockingly enough, I think they deemed my particular writing style to be too off-brand for the wholesome celebrity news conglomerate that they’ve built. I also may have mentioned during the interview process that dedicating an entire article to Kylie Jenner’s “steamiest quarantine looks” was not “in- touch”, but was in fact out of touch with reality- which I’m sure did not help my position as an applicant.

    The second job, which I was offered and subsequently accepted, is an assistant to the CEO of a film company that is coming out with a documentary on the pandemic. It’s been quite the adjustment to say the least. Not only has that been eating up a lot of my otherwise boundless free-time, but it’s caused me to become increasingly concerned for my health. I find myself shooting awake at night in fear that I’ve missed yet another impromptu phone call from my boss, who can only be described as an Ari from entourage/Al Roker hybrid, and also I’m pretty sure clumps of my hair have been falling out more frequently in the shower. Some people just aren’t cut out for the business world.

    There is, unfortunately, another aspect of my life which has been encroaching on my leisurely schedule. And I’m sure many of you have heard about it. Without naming any names, a certain Nancy Drew wannabee thought they were on the fucking case and took to the most reputable news outfit they could find, Facebook, to make ceeeertainn outlandish claims about a Bar we all know and (kind of) love. For those of you who remain blissfully unaware, there have been rumors floating around that the bartenders of the establishment which I work for are spiking the drinks. As the person who actually bartends four nights of the week, let me just say this. If I had drugs, by no means, by no semblance of the imagination, would I waste them on the customers who have seemingly made it their PERSONAL MISSION to make my life a living hell during brunch. Sharing is caring, and trust and believe I don’t care about any one of you. Also news flash Karen, you’re blacked the fuck out because you had one and a half Bloody Mary’s, seven mimosas, and two Casamigos shots. Take it up with the fact that you probably never went to college and therefor never got the chance to build up your alcohol tolerance.

    While it may sound like I’m being harsh, being accused of being at the helm of a criminal enterprise is honestly exhausting. I’ve had to personally field several phone calls from concerned patrons, and was verbally attacked the other night by a rogue passerby with far too much time on his hands. He stormed in, demanded to see who was “BEHIND THE BAR GIVING PEOPLE BENZOS”, and when I politely told him to get the fuck out, he began screaming incoherently about date rape drugs in front of a nice family trying to enjoy their tuna tartare.

    Let’s see.. what else. I finally scheduled my real estate test just in time for the inevitable collapse of the market so that’ll be great. Honestly, I watched one season of Selling Sunset six months ago and decided it was my destiny to be a fucking real estate tycoon, so I have no one to blame but myself. Regardless, I’ve come this far so I might as well see it through to the end. I also needed to get a new phone and had to struggle with the people working at T-mobile in the mall, and it really did a number on my already fragile psyche. I can’t bare to go into the details of the actual encounter but just know that I first called the store to ask a simple question and an employee answered “Hello?” and I said “Hello?” and he said “Yeah?” and I said “I’m sorry, is this T-mobile?” and he said “Oh yeah sorry I was expecting a call what’s up?” On the corporate company phone. Honestly, I just don’t know how much more of this world I can take. I’m exhausted even typing this.

    #breakingpoint #health #exhaustion #9to5 #work #employee #employer #boss #bar #drugs #drink #drinks #benzo #scandal #style #writing #newblog

  • This Shits Fire

    Gooood (not really) evening everyone. After spending about fifteen minutes locked in the freezer hysterically crying at work yesterday, I decided it was time for a much needed vent sesh. As it turns out, I am not mentally or emotionally equipped to deal with 40+ persons attending a gender reveal screaming at me because their chicken and waffles were supposed to come with scrambled eggs. Go figure. Nonetheless, I figured I’d save myself the trauma of attempting to find another therapist (one tried to make me play with dolls to regress back to my childhood and my last one I am 99.999 % sure was using a shake weight out of camera frame during one of our Zoom sessions) and just let out some of my emotions on here.

    Last week I had two job interviews, each of which I was initially very excited about. However, much like my jean size, things change. I don’t want to go in to too much detail due to the risk of a potential employer reading this, but one of the two lunch interviews/meetings I went on occurred at a PF Changs inside of the Westchester Mall. I think that’s enough said.

    Just like former rapper and (alleged) con-artist Ja Rule, I too have been scammed, hoodwinked, and bamboozled by career opportunities in the past. A few years back, I accepted what I believed to be a genuine internship at a recording studio in New York City. When I arrived, I was led into a small room approximately the size of a broom closet by a man who I was under the (misguided) impression was a partner in the company. He informed me that I would not be performing typical intern duties in the office, but I was to work with him directly on a “special project”. After lighting up a joint and offering it to me several times during our first encounter at 9:30 in the morning, he explained the special project was a “cool hip Millennial NYC travel guide” called This Shits Fire. I hesitantly agreed, and worked with him for several weeks until I noticed that no one else in the office would so much as make eye contact with him. Also, in addition to everyone from clients to the janitor avoiding him like the plague, he began sending me a series of indecipherable two- word text messages late at night saying things like “FAR OUT” “BUZZ WORDS” “COOL TEENS” and “TREND SETTER”. And I would say “what?” And there would never be a follow up response. If you were wondering, all traces of the website, and him ever working for the company itself, have since been erased from the internet.

    Anyway, I needed a quick reprieve from my own sad, depleted existence and decided to browse the internet for some more hot topics and here are a few things I want to discuss.

    Real Housewives All-Stars. The cast has begun filming in the Turks and Caicos and it consists of Ramona Singer, Countess Luann, Teresa Giudice, Kenya Moore, Kyle Richards, and two other housewives I can’t be bothered to Google. I know, I know. These ladies wouldn’t particularly be my first choice for the show either. If I was going to put together my own dream cast, it would of course include Queen #1 housewife of all time Bethenny Frankel and at the very least ONE cast member from Potomac. I know Ashley Darby is busy after just having her second child with everyone’s favorite crocodile dundee/ to catch a predator hybrid but couldn’t we have at least gotten Karen Huger on there? We know she needs the check. Alas, watching Ramona interact with other human beings is one car crash I can never look away from, so I’ll be watching regardless.

    Demi Lovato vs Frozen Yogurt. I have had enouuuuughhh. I’ve been trying to bite my tongue here as long as I can but at a certain point you aren’t a “survivor” you’re a “whiner.” Not everything is a battle. Sugar free frozen yogurt options for diabetics is not a battle. And furthermore, not everything needs a documentary. I don’t need to open up Youtube to play the unreleased song “Twerkulator” by the City Girls and see a promo add for your TWLEFTH DOCUMENTARY about your mental health struggle, your eating disorder struggle, your substance abuse struggle. Pick a struggle and fucking stay with it.

    Kourtney Kardashian and Travis Barker. They’re hot, they’re older, and they’re giving us all hope that we can waste ten years in a toxic relationship and come out on the other side hotter and happier than ever. I’m all for it, but did Travis’ birthday tribute to mother of three Kourt need to include a video of her sucking on his thumb? Probably not. And while I’m honestly rooting for them you know what they say, the faster you rise the harder you fall.

    Well, that’s it for now. I feel better already and I haven’t even had my first glass of wine yet.

    #work #job #housewives #bravo #bravoallstars #kourtney #kardashian #romance #love #dating #demilovato #frozenyogurt #therapy #newblog #blogpost #travisbarker #millennial

  • License to Kill

    Hey all you cool cats and kittens. To kick off today’s aimless musings I’d like to make mention of the fact that merely a week after I called Prince Phillip a “reanimated corpse” and said it was time for the Royal Family to start digging a shallow grave out back, he has officially passed on. May he rest in peace. With that being said, I believe his death shortly after my last blog post is yet another shining example of my gift of foresight.

    Over the years, I have truly believed that I have a sixth sense, inspired partially by my unique ability of reading people and situations, and partially by a childhood infatuation with the show Charmed. Despite this, there has been several times in my life where my mystic abilities, and truly just the gift of common sense, have entirely eluded me. And for whatever reason, each of these instances have seemed to revolve around driving. Here are a few of my personal favorite examples.

    My parent’s attempted to avoid the possibility of me getting my license for as long as possible. While all of my friends were Tokyo drifting in the Donut Delight parking lot in their parent’s Volvos, I was still forced to rely on anyone I could trick into giving me a ride to school in the morning. Finally, shortly after my eighteenth birthday, my mother realized she could only hold off the inevitable for so long.

    1. It was a long and somber trip on my way to the Danbury DMV and I could feel the familiar twinge of my psychic ability warning me that this was a bad idea, but I shook it off. The only prior driving practice I had was with my father in a church parking lot two days prior, and let me tell you he isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer himself. Regardless, I arrived and was greeted by a man who I could only describe as Jabba the Hutt’s clipboard wielding doppelganger. While much of the session remains a panic induced blur, I remember the last five minutes pretty clearly. We pulled back into the lot of the DMV and I had my head held high. I hadn’t committed any major driving faux-paus during the test, and I was feeling overly confident.

    “Okay Rachel, have you ever backed and parked before?” Jabba asked in between deep breaths. Apparently, sitting in the passenger seat had left him winded.

    “Yep!” I lied.

    “Okay, pull up and back into that spot.”

    “No problem!” I lied again. There was a problem. As I backed into what I thought was an empty parking space without so much as a quick glance over my shoulder, I heard a large thump followed by a preeeettty intense scratching sound.

    “What was that?” I asked, somehow oblivious to the fact that the car I was driving was literally perched on top of another car in the lot.

    “ARE YOU JOKING? DID YOU EVEN LOOK? WE AREN’T RESPONSIBLE FOR COVERING THE DAMAGE TO OTHER CARS DURING ROAD TESTS. WHERE IS YOUR FATHER?” I could see he was reeaaaallly starting to work himself up now, and I thought it would be a good idea for me to try and relax him with my wit and charm before he had a full on coronary.

    “Well.. did I pass?” I said with a smile. He looked at me with an expression I would imagine one would give someone who had just run over their dog, and began practically foaming at the mouth.

    “Put.. the.. car.. in…” **deep gasping breaths** “Turn.. off.. the.. car.. and.. get.. out.”

    “I’ll take that as a no,” I said as I quickly unfastened my seat belt.

    After six long painful months and five shame inducing attempts, I finally passed. I’m still convinced they were holding some sort of grudge against me over there which is why I failed the subsequent four times, but I never had enough concrete proof. Shortly after, my parent’s graciously decided to bequeath to me a 2006 gold Toyota with two permanent hubcaps, and what turned out to be a pretty serious gas leak.

    2. I had been driving around the steel death trap for about a month and once again was ignoring all warning signs, supernatural or otherwise. Sure, the car would frequently die in the middle of the road for no reason, leaving me at the mercy of any unhinged passerby with jumper cables. Didn’t think much of it. Sure, sometimes I would put gas in the car, park it, and when I went to turn it on again the tank would somehow by on E. Maybe I just didn’t put enough, I thought. Then things got weird.

    About a week prior to the incident I had noticed that the floor of the backseat of the car would frequently be damp. Maybe it’s from the rain, I thought. Mind you, this car barely had power steering, much less a sunroof I could’ve possibly left open.

    One night after work that week I reached behind the passenger seat to grab my mascara which had rolled onto the floor. The carpeting was soaking wet, and I realized it hadn’t rained in days. Maybe I spilled something, I thought.

    As I drove home, I noticed that the front hood of the car was literally sparking every time I put my foot on the gas. I had cautioned my parents several times that I could sense the car would lead to my untimely death, but they ignored me, assuming this was nothing more than a ruse I was using to get a nicer car. They were wrong.

    As I pulled onto my street with the engine sparking I couldn’t wait until the morning when they were awake and I could finally prove to them that that the car was a literal ticking time bomb. My usual spot in front of my house was taken, so I decided it would be a good idea to park in the driveway of the house for sale across the street. It had been empty for months, and I didn’t see much of an issue in parking my smoking vehicle there for the night. What was the worst that could happen?

    After I went inside, I got into bed immediately and poured myself a glass of wine. I began thinking about what kind of new car I wanted, and how I was going to guilt my parent’s into getting me it. I had just settled on threatening to call DCF on them for child endangerment when I heard a loud boom. I sat still for a moment, wondering if it was a gun shot. Within seconds I heard my sister’s bedroom door open, and the sound of her racing down the stairs into the living room.

    “OH MY GOD. RACHEL! RACHEL!” She cried out. I sighed deeply, wondering how much someone getting shot in front of our house was going to change the trajectory of my evening. I got up and walked downstairs, only to see my sister Jessica looking at me in abject horror with tears in her eyes.

    “Oh my god I thought you were in the car!”

    “What car Jessica what the hell are you talking about?” And then, as I glanced out of the bay window, I saw. There it was. My car. Engulfed in flames on all sides about eight feet high. And slowly but surely spreading to the neighbors garage door.

    By this time my mother had also awoken and was doing zoomies like a Boston Terrier out on the front lawn in a blind panic, and slowly but surely, each of my neighbors came out onto the street to watch the events unfold. Fortunately within minutes the fire department had arrived and put out the blistering inferno that was my Toyota Camry, but not before the fire had singed the garage and left a gaping hole in the home’s freshly cemented driveway. Once the flames were out and she had finished accosting the firefighters, my mother returned to the house.

    “I can’t believe this. I really just can’t believe this.” She said shaking her head

    “Well, I told you that that car was a liability and you didn’t-” before I could even get the words out, she slammed her bedroom door.

    There are several other instances which I could delve into, but I think I’ll save them for another time a. because these memories are bringing up a lot of old wounds for me and b. because I have rambled on long enough. Have a blessed day everyone and remember to drive safe.

    #driving #drive #driverslicense #charmed #newblog #newpost #royalfamily #princephillip #death #fire #viral #magic #psychic

  • Doctor Rachel: Part Deux

    Hello everyone. I hope you’re having a truly blessed and bountiful week. As I fruitlessly scramble in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon for the missing charger to my favorite vibrator, I couldn’t help but feel my time would be better spent answering some more reader questions. I believe I promised a part 2 long ago, and much like Batman, when you needed me the most I disappeared. Again the names are redacted because some submissions are from friends, some from family, and some from strangers on the internet who inexplicably were desperate enough to seek my advice. Let’s dive in.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I have a two part question. I’ve been in a relationship with a guy for about a year and I love him a lot and can definitely see having a future with him. We really only have two problems, and they both have to do with our sex life. Lately he’s been complaining that we haven’t been having sex enough. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to, I just sometimes feel like it’s easier and more enjoyable to just.. take care of the job myself. Secondly, I recently told him that when I am “on the job” it’s mainly only to lesbian porn and I think it really freaked him out. He’s made a couple comments about it, including that he doesn’t think it’s normal. Is there something wrong with me?

    Sincerely,

    Asexual or Bisexual?

    Dear Sexual,

    I just want to start off by saying there is nothing wrong with you. However, it sounds like there might be something wrong with your boyfriend, who seems to have had his fragile grasp on masculinity threatened simply by you vibbbing out to two women going Downtown Charlie Brown on each other. Would he prefer you to masturbate solely to men with far bigger penises than his? Because if that’s the case, Google Johnny Sins and you both can thank me later. Anyway, you are by no means alone in this sentiment. The majority of girls I know prefer watching girl on girl action. I think I read somewhere that it’s because it’s more intimate and makes us feel safer than heteronormative porn or something, but personally having the veiny penis of a stranger accosting me via my computer screen couldn’t be further from my idea of a good time. Also to answer your first question, it is perfectly natural for you to rather fly solo from time to time. You know what you like, you can get in and out as quickly as you want, and don’t have to risk getting lockjaw. So my advice to you Sexual is dim the lights, put your bf’s texts on Do Not Disturb, and feel free to select the Pornhub category of your choosing.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    My boyfriend and I have been together for a long time and have even recently gone to look at rings. I’m excited about possibly getting engaged, but I’m worried because I’ve never really gotten along with his family. No matter how hard I’ve tried, his parent’s and sisters have always been standoffish toward me and treat me like an outsider. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve just been flat out refusing to go to their family’s home for holidays and birthdays, which has caused several fights with my boyfriend. I really love **name dedacted** but it just makes me wonder how we can have a future together long term when his family still treats me like a stranger after all these years?

    Sincerely,

    Family Feud

    Dear Family,

    Ah, a sister after my own heart. Here’s the deal. By no means. Ahem, let me say this louder for the people in the back, BY NO MEANS is it necessary for you to continue to put yourself in an environment that causes you to feel uncomfortable. I don’t care if it’s your family, your boyfriend’s family, or the Royal Family. In that same vein, it is no one’s responsibility other than your potential fiancée’s to ensure that you are comfortable and treated with respect by his cringeworthy clan. If he outright refuses to mitigate the situation in any way it speaks monuments not only about what kind of man he is, but what kind of life partner he would be. With that in mind, you can’t force people to like you no matter how great you are. So my advice to you is to follow the ancient (Chinese?) proverb and speak softly and carry a big stick. What it means is as follows: don’t argue. Don’t engage. Keep your head down until it’s time to play hardball and reaaaalllly law down the law. At the end of the day a person has two families. The one that they are born into, and the one that they choose to make for themselves. Guess which one lasts?

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I’ve been feeling a little stuck lately. I was furloughed during quarantine and haven’t been able to find another job in my field. I’ve also been single for a long time and haven’t been able to go out and meet people organically since all this started (I don’t like dating apps). I don’t want to make it sound like I’m blaming Covid for all of my problems, but this wasted year has made me feel completely behind in my life. I want to make up for lost time, but I don’t even know where to start.

    Sincerely,

    Quarter- Life Crisis

    Dear Quarter- Life,

    I can’t tell you how many people (myself included) feel this way. You’re not alone, and it also couldn’t be further from the truth. People tend to view their 20s as a competition, and drawing comparisons based on unrealistic depictions of other people’s lives on social media can be really damaging. I truly believe that everyone operates on their own timeline and, not to sound overly cliché, you’re exactly where you need to be in your life. Or maybe that’s just what I need to tell myself after drinking an entire bottle of wine and watching eight episodes of Ginny and Georgia in one sitting. Anyway, it sounds like this is the perfect time in your life to find out what you really want and what makes you happy. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume the office job that furloughed you wasn’t your dream career regardless, so why not find a passion and follow that? Just remember instead of feeling stuck, you can always start over.

    Alright that’s all the wisdom I have in me to impart on you bitches for today. As always please let me know if you like the blog or if you think I’m wasting my time and energy. And also more importantly if anyone out there reading this can find me a job so I don’t have to continue SLINGING MARTINIS UNTIL MY FINGERS BLEED feel free to slide into my DMs at your earliest convenience.

    #advice #dating #relationships #boyfriend #family #newblog #blog #friendship #fromzerotohero #martini #work #quarantine #covid

  • Hot Topics

    Happy Quarantine anniversary everyone! Exactly one year ago today was the last time I blacked out mask-less at my favorite bar amidst friends and strangers without a Covid care in the world. The following day much to surprise and dismay, our governor who’s name I can never remember issued an official shut down order for non essential businesses. And just like that, in the immortal words of Drake, Nothing Was the Same. While I remember feeling scammed, hoodwinked, and bamboozled into believing that it would be nothing more a brief 2 week shut down and reset, I can’t help but feel overly nostalgic about the initial months of quarantine. Discovering Tiktok. Taking up new artistic hobbies. The sheer panic inducing existential dread of the unknown. What I wouldn’t trade to go back.

    As the world prepares to open up in it’s entirety far earlier than I planned or am prepared for, I decided a great way for me to take my mind off things would be to focus on some buzz worthy news stories that effect my own life in no way. Let’s dive in.

    I acknowledge I’m a little late to the party here but I would be remiss if I didn’t at least touch upon the Oprah Winfrey Megan Markle interview which no one has been able to shut the hell up about since last Sunday. I have to admit that I did not actually watch the full two hour interview because I was somewhere at the bottom of a bottle at the time but I have seen a few of the clips and here’s all I’m going to say. My great great great grandfather did not (probably) fight in the revolutionary war for us to still have to give a shit about the royal family. And speaking of our ancestors, it’s honestly time for The Firm or The Institution or The Cat in The Hat or whoever the fuck it is to stop trotting out the reanimated corpse of Prince Phillip. The man is 99 years old, why are you still putting him through extensive heart surgeries? It’s time to let sleeping dogs lie.

    This one has also been taking over the airwaves this past week for reasons unbeknownst to me. According to something called “GlowUp University” which Google makes sure to highlight is shockingly NOT an accredited institution, GenZ has spoken. Skinnny jeans and side parts are out, middle parts and baggy bootcut jeans are in. May we all bow our heads in shame. Once again, I’m going to make my opinions on this matter swift and to the point. I don’t give a flying fuck what some 17 year old from Des Moines Iowa named Oaklynn or Journi thinks is cool. Wearing my hair with a center part makes me look like one of the founding fathers and I’m not doing it. Call me in a couple years when your curtain bangs go out of style and you’ve had the glow of youth stomped out of you.

    A-Rod and Jlo’s possible break-up. File this one under.. not surprised. I actually had no idea that the entire world was stannnning this couple so hard and the bombardment of memes calling her the Lord of the Rings or whatever because of her prior engagements seems a bit excessive. I’m actually a pretty big Jennifer Lopez fan and not just because I’ve dated someone who looks remarkably similar to Marc Anthony. Anyhoo, I’m preeeetty positive that he got caught red handed sneaky linking with some southern charm star not too long ago so I figured that relationship wouldn’t be long for this world. Can’t wait to see who she dates next. Maybe Kanye?

    Finally, thanks to “money bagg Joe”, our president who I find myself strangely becoming more and more sexually attracted to by the day, STIMcomeetax szn is upon us. So, if you see me in the streets acting brand new or trolling Groupon for a brazilian buttlift 360 lipo package discount just keep it moving.

    #hottopics #news #trending #Jlo #Arod #breakup #incometax #stimulus #joebiden #meganmarkle #oprah #harry #thequeen #monarchy #england #jenniferlopez #tiktok #genz #sidepart #middlepart #skinnyjeans #lipo #weightloss #quarantine #connecticut #wine

  • Brunch or Bust

    Hey. It’s me. Your girl. Writing from my familiar seat in rock bottom which last night took the form of running out of Pino Noir and drinking an old champagne split from my cousins wedding two years ago. The perfect end to a perfect weekend. For those who remain blissfully unaware, after many many years I have somehow managed to remain a waitress with a weight problem and wine dependency. Not moving forwards, not moving backwards, just stagnant. It’s time for a change.

    As I believe I’ve mentioned in past posts, I have fruitlessly attempted to apply to every job you can imagine and I am about one failed cover letter away from joining the employee roster at my local Boston Market. Honestly, if I got a discount on their Mac n Cheese and the title of head cashier I would do it in a heart beat at this point. I’m not quite sure what it is that results in every application I complete either being swiftly denied or ignored altogether because my resume is filled with.. well let’s say that they’re not so much exaggerations as they are complete and total lies, but I digress.

    Anyhoo, I have always wondered what my last straw would be. Would it be someone demanding something from me and justifying it by claiming they’re really close with the GM, despite the fact I dated him for 7 years and have never heard of them? Nope. Would it be being expected to simultaneously take a private party of 30 upstairs, bartend for a full dining room downstairs, and serve tables outside in a short sleeve polo in subarctic temperatures? Nope. Would it be me bussing my own tables, making my own cappuccinos, only to have the underaged busboy lifelessly look at me without response when I ask him to pour my table water? Close, but no cigar.

    As it turns out, my last straw being snapped in fucking half was a result of the ever elusive and calamitous Sunday brunch shift. I want you to understand one thing about me. I’m not a morning person. I have never been, and will never be a morning person. If someone so much as glances at me before the clock strikes noon, it could be the last thing they ever do. It’s called having the nocturnal schedule of a genius and entrepreneur. Look it up. That being said, imagine me having to go into work at the crack of dawn (otherwise known as 10 a.m.,) running on nothing but 7 glasses of red wine, 4 menthol free cigarettes, and 3 hits of a weed pen from the night before. Then imagine me being thrusted into a dining room filled with people demanding an eggs benedict with no meat, eggs scrambled instead of poached, with the bread on the side? It’s a recipe for disaster.

    This past Sunday, however, was far worse. In the perplexing albeit routine absence of a manager during the restaurants busiest shift, I was forced to personally deal with a host of complaints from customers. Sure, I could deal with a large gay man literally threatening my life if I didn’t get the DJ to turn the music down. I feel you boo, I don’t want my eggs with a side of house music either. But what I could not, would not, and WILL NOT deal with is being verbally assaulted because a girl with acrylics and a People’s Bank card could not seem to grasp how much a Casamigos Reposado costs.

    “This isn’t what I ordered! I showed you what I wanted on my phone. There are cameras here, aren’t there? Where are the cameras? I wanna look at the footage! This was supposed to be ten dollars. I’m only paying ten dollars!!!!!!” Mind you, at this point she was screaming so loud I thought she was either going to burst into tears or her head was going to start spinning around like the exorcist.

    “Okay, calm down. I’ll fix the price for you.” Alcohol was literally seeping out of my pores at this point, and I could not care less that the reason for the tantrum was most likely that her bank balance was $11.50. Apparently, I should have chose my words a little more wisely.

    “Don’t you EVER in your FUCKING life tell me to calm down. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

    “Ma’am, you’re screaming and everyone’s staring. If you just-” (It’s one of my favorite things to passive aggressively call customers ma’am)

    “I’ll TALK TO YOU ANY WAY THAT I WANT. YOU’RE A WAITER. YOU KNOW WHAT LET ME SPEAK TO YOUR SUPERVISOR.”

    When I calmly and rationally explained to her that this isn’t her local T-mobile and we don’t have “supervisors” she responded, “GO SUCK A DICK YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH”.

    I sighed deeply, wondering where exactly I had gone wrong in my life that allowed me to get to this point. And as I was telling her it was time for her to go, I realized. It wasn’t just time for her to go. It was time for me to go as well.

    #brunch #server #serverlife #waitress #restaurant #customer #customerservice #wine #weed #hungover #newblog #fromzerotohero #wedding #hashtag #whatisthepointofthesehashtags #unemployed #jobsearch #2021

  • Britney 911

    Aaaand we’re back. I just want to talk briefly about something that has been weighing heavily on my heart for some time now. Something that has caused me a pain which I have not felt since I finally got to make out with a guy I had a huge crush on in high school and he started prodding and twisting my nipples like he was tuning a car radio. (They were so sore I couldn’t wear a bra for a week and I pretty much had to put the kibosh on things when he tried to incorporate biting into the action but that’s a story for another time) The subject matter which I’m actually referring to is none other than queen icon legend Britney Jean Spears. I wont delve into too much detail because I don’t want to work myself up into hysterics but you need to all go watch the new Hulu documentary “Framing Britney Spears” immediately. It didn’t have a lot of information which I wasn’t already privy to because incase you can’t tell I am ALLLL over this shit, but basically she has been wronged her entire career by everyone from Di*ne S*wyer (my new enemy) to the ramen-headed douche bag that is Justin Timberlake. Anyway, her scum sucking dementor father has had complete control over her life for the past decade and when she refused to perform or make music until he relinquished power over her finances, career, and daily life (seriously the girl isn’t allowed to have unapproved visitors or DRIVE A CAR) she was forcefully institutionalized. I don’t know if I buy the whole “she’s sending secret messages through her Instagram” thing but I have heard through a friend of a friend of an insider that although she’s allowed to chose her own content, her posts and captions have to be approved first. So help me god, if there is not a day of reckoning for that backwoods hick dad-ager I’m going to lose it.

    Let’s see what else.. in the spirit of adulthood and independence I have decided to change my outlook on putting gas in my car – otherwise known as one of my most profound grievances in this world other than taxes being taken out of my paycheck without my consent. I already pay for the car. I pay for the insurance. I pay for the annual fees. DO I REALLY NEED TO PAY FOR GAS FUCKING WEEKLY ON TOP OF IT ALL? What kind of FASCIST NATION ARE WE LIVING IN?? I’m breaking into a sweat just typing this.

    Anyway, I’ve come to realize that only putting 10$ in my tank at a time isn’t “sticking it to the man” so much as it is sticking it to myself. So, as a last hoorah I thought it would be a phenomenal idea to let my gas tank run until it was completely empty before finally swallowing my pride and filling it up all the way. Well, another shocking plot twist which I was blissfully unaware of is that gas pumps stop at night, and when I stopped off after work literally running on fumes and despair I was in for a rude awakening. Why? What is the purpose of this? Are they really that many masked vagrants siphoning gas at a local Shell? It was a crisp 12:30 a.m. at a dimly lit gas station and I might as well have been holding a sign that said “Please sexually assault me”. Long story short, I’ll be writing a letter to my local senator about all of the aforementioned issues. Including Britney Spears.

    Well, in case it isn’t glaringly obvious from this post centered around Britney and putting gas in my car, my life as a single bachelorette has been far from exciting. It’s time for a change, if for no other reason than to have something to talk about in this fucking blog.

    #britney #freebritney #britneyspears #britney911 #hulu #documentary #netflix #government #facism #dianesawyer #single #relationships #newblog

  • Yas Qween.

    Hiiiiiiiiiii *Jill Zarin voice*. Another month of the all encompassing nightmare which has plagued us since last March is upon us. And to make matters worse, Valentine’s Day is hovering right around the corner. I always thought people who made a big deal about being alone on Valentine’s Day were as uncreative and generic as the holiday itself, but as I stare down the barrel of being single on Vday for the first time in seven years.. I’m less than thrilled. Like, if a single couple flaunts their happiness and mediocrity in my face I will end up on the news, less than thrilled. And to top it all off, it’s not even like I can partake in a pathetic “Galentines” gathering like certain horse girls with an overbite from my highschool WHO SHALL REMAIN NAMELESS because all of my friends are currently in a relationship. Toxic or otherwise.

    Since it’s been snowing for the past 18 hours I’ve had a lot of time to self reflect and decided that I would much rather focus on literally anything other than my own suffering. So, I’ve been watching a lot of TV. Here’s what I’ve been watching.

    Broad City (Hulu)- I acknowledge that I’m pretty late to the party here but I’ve watched three full seasons in three days and I’m obsessed. For anyone else who’s also been living under a rock it’s written, created, and stars hipster besties Abbi & Ilana and chronicles their lives as broke Jewish qweeeens living in Brooklyn. Ilana Wexler is honestly my spirit animal (every one of her outfits are going on my vision board), even though we have nothing in common other than the fact that I too have ignored my shellfish allergy to the point of anaphylactic shock.

    Nightstalker: The Hunt for a Serial Killer (Netflix)- I honestly can’t stand people (I’m using the word “people” in the name of feminism but we all know it’s women and we all know what type of women they are *coughs* horsegirls from my highschool *coughs*) who think that liking true crime is a personality trait. tRuE cRImEEe aNd WinEe aM I riiTE??! With that being said, I did dabble in this documentary originally because I saw the youths on TikTok saying that he (Richard Ramirez) was hot. Sure , the bone structure was above average and we all know I love a latino bad boy, but not enough to get past the whole horrific rape and murder thing. Anyway, the documentary was really well done, only four episodes, and cut right to the chase by focusing predominantly on the height of his viscous crime spree/ ultimate capture. I also wanted to give the chubby underdog Detective Gil a big hug. Just watch it, you’ll like it.

    American Horror Story: 1984 (Netflix)- I think I’ve previously spoken about my disillusionment with the AHS Franchise following Freakshow and I honestly couldn’t get past two episodes of the calamitous disaster that was Hotel. I also just read an article on Vulture about Ryan Murphy’s fall from grace and how he basically thinks he can get away with whatever he wants as long as he throws Sarah Paulson in the mix which is WHAT I’VE BEEN SAAAAYIIIINNNNGGG, but that’s neither here nor there. Anyway, I started this season because the whole Night Stalker thing was a subplot to a group of promiscuous twenty somethings being hunted in a cursed summer camp by (atleast) two separate serial killers. I know it sounds like there’s a lot going on there but it’s actually pretty good and yes, the actor who plays Ramirez is hot. God I’m lonely. Anyway despite there being no Jessica Lange or Evan Peter’s in sight I’d still recommend it, even though something about Matthew Morrison sickens me to my very core.

    The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Netflix)- I’ve seen this movie before but in what was most likely a wine induced haze I seemed to have forgotten the entire plot, sooooo I watched it again. Just so so good. It’s based off of a 2005 novel of the same name and follows reporter Mikael Bloomkvist and local resident psychopath/ computer hacker Lisbeth Salander, played by Rooney Mara. What, like, ever happened to Rooney Mara? She was in this movie and as far as I’m aware never heard from again other than the fact that she’s engaged to undeniably unstable Joaquin Pheonix. Rooney girl if you’re out there, we miss you. We need you. The sequel fucking sucked. Anyway, the unlikely duo team up to help solve the 40 year old disappearance of some rich guy’s niece. I’m still a little unclear on the ending, but def worth the watch if you’re into a good vigilante thriller.

    There’s some other show’s/movies I could delve into but I’m currently watching the Wendy Williams Lifetime documentary and I am truly at a loss for words. I love her, but the bitch is unhinged. She’s screaming, she’s crying, she appears to be on pills. And not the good kind.

    Also if you’re reading this and you like it whether I know you or not please feel free to message me because I’m starting to feel like a reeeeaaaaal loser. Bye!

    #WendyWilliams #AHS #Netflix #Hulu #Review #Nightstalker #RichardRamirez #RooneyMara #BroadCity #Lifetime #Moviereview #valentinesday #valentines #newblog #blog #dragon #tattoo #brooklyn #snow #snowstorm #galentines

  • To Bumble or Not to Bumble?

    Hey pals. I’ve been a little quiet lately because I haven’t found the inspiration to write much but people have been super receptive to my weekly rantings so I decided to pause rewatching Schitts Creek for the fifth time and pick up the computer. I wanted to quickly dive into some pop culture stories of the week before discussing my own sad life.

    Armie Hammer- Is it Armie? Or Arnie? Ok I just googled it’s Armie. I’m honestly really confused about this whole thing and I haven’t cared enough to look up the details but apparently he’s like a cannibal? And he messages women on Instagram telling them that he wants to own them as slaves and cut off their body parts and eat them? Yikes. The whole thing sounds like Christian Grey meets Jeffrey Dahmer and I would normally be kind of into it but I think these girls are saying they were branded with knives and now they’re traumatized so I’m not really down with that dipset. But isn’t it like, illegal to kink shame in 2021? Isn’t that what the youths with purple hair and nose rings say on Twitter? I don’t know. On one hand, I’m like how traumatized are you if you’re flying out to a luxury villa in the Turks and Caicos after receiving these messages, but obviously I know victim bashing is no beuno so I’m gonna leave this one alone.

    Kristin Cavallari- I have always loved Kristin Cavallari. I have also never understood the appeal of Lauren Conrad who is literally the human equivalent of watching paint dry. We get it, you’re a “girl’s girl”. I have met more interesting people standing in line at a Stamford HomeGoods eyeing the discount candles. Put down the vintage Polaroid camera and stop Instagramming the colorful macarons. Hang it up. Anyway, I have naturally stopped following Kristin’s life in the decade that’s passed since she made the ill fated decision to join the failing franchise of The Hills. (I couldn’t bring myself to watch the overly curated E network space filler that was Very Cavallari) However, I kept seeing amongst the multiple Bravo accounts I shame follow on Instagram that her and her big dick daddy ex husband Jay Cutler posted a picture with eachother with the same ominous caption “The world is full of users. 10 years. Can’t break that.” Everyone was freaking out so yet again, I did a light google search and discovered they were referring to some Southern Charm “star” named Madison who I guess slept with Jay and attempted to use the ten minutes of sex to jumpstart her fifteen minutes of fame. Yawn. The only part of this that even remotely interests me is everyone who knows Kristin knows she’s a bitch you don’t come for unless she sent for you so I’m looking forward to her ripping everyone to shreds. I also hope her and Jay get back together because they’re both so hottttt.

    As for for me, I’m newly single and looking for any way to claw myself out of the pit of despair I’m currently residing in. This has included several hapless attempts at working out, getting robbed blind at a local Whole Foods on “healthy” diet items, and scheduling a Botox/filler consultation. I’ve also decided to switch to vodka as a way to shave off some calories so I’m eager to see how that journey goes for me. Anyway, as I bask in the effervescent glow of heart ache and pain I find myself asking the age old question: to Bumble or not to Bumble? Or is Hinge the one the cool kids are using? I really just want to use whichever one makes me look less pathetic and desperate. I haven’t actually used a dating app since the last time I was single i.e. 7 years ago and that was Tinder (enough said), but I did download Hinge once when my boyfriend and I were fighting and it was .. not great. I got a bunch of matches (humble brag) but there was about a five minute gestation period between the initial message and them inviting me to their apartment/parents basement/ dungeon. Don’t people go on dates anymore? Or can’t they at least pretend they want to meet up for a cocktail before asking me if I’m on birth control? Also, if you do meet up with someone, do people still just make out anymore? Like, can I get away with an over the pants handy and call it a night, or am I too old for that? I’m presuming the ladder. Anyway, if anyone has any tips for me on how to navigate the single life I’m all ears. It truly is a brave new world, and I don’t think I’m everyones cup of tea.

    #dating #single #bumble #hinge #southerncharm #kristincavallari #madison #drama #popculture #news #love #apps #datingapps #newblog

  • Dr. Rachel

    Happy inauguration day everyone! As we stand on the precipice of what will hopefully be a more united and harmonious four year term, I can’t help but feel swept up in all the positivity and hope that’s been radiating on my time line all morning. That being said, I’m feeling more generous (delusional) than usual and decided to grace my reader(s) with some advice to life questions they have. Because if there’s one person who should be giving out life advice, it’s a 26 year old waitress with a drinking problem. Some were posed by strangers on the internet and some by friends of mine so for the sake of anonymity, I won’t be including names. I also took a little creative liberty and decided to start each question referring to myself as Dr. Rachel as an homage to queen icon legend/ overall bitch Dr. Laura Schlessinger. Let’s dive on in.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I’m in my late 20’s and I’ve been with my boyfriend for a little over two years. He’s older than me and way more established in his life/career and I’m pretty sure he’s going to want to settle down soon. He says he doesn’t want to put any pressure on me, but thinks we should start trying for a family by the time I’m 30 because “pregnancy complications are common in women over 30”. I’m still a few years away, but I don’t know if I’d be ready by then to care for another human being for the rest of my life. Are we seriously supposed to still be having babies in our 20’s in 2021?

    Sincerely,

    Carefree and Childless

    Dear Childless,

    I have a question for you. Is your boyfriend a doctor in the reproductive/ fertility field? If he isn’t, he sounds like a huge fucking creep. I can’t fathom why he is even aware of pregnancy statistics, much less dropping them in casual conversation as a way to scare you into carrying his demon spawn for 9 months. Sounds like he’s controlling, antiquated, and has a small penis. Break up with him before he turns into Christian Bale in American Psycho. As you pointed out, it’s 2021 and we aren’t being oppressed by men or “societal norms” any longer. The fact that conceiving over the age of 35 is considered a “geriatric pregnancy” is insane to me and women in their 40’s are still perfectly capable of having a healthy and happy child. Sure, some of the ones I’ve seen are a little unfortunate looking and give off some serious “give us the ring my precious” vibes but let’s face it, it’s a roll of the dice no matter what age you are. I truly believe having a baby is one of those things that you’ll know when you’re ready and the time is right. Unless you get knocked up by accident, in which case Mazel Tov.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I have a friend who I’ve been close with for years who’s recently become harder and harder to deal with. She only seems to want to engage in conversation when we’re talking about her, and rarely asks me what’s going on in my life. I also feel like anytime I open up to her about thing’s I’m going through she’s either really harsh and critical, or super short and uninterested. She’s one of my best friends, but talking to her has just been impossible lately. I’m not sure if she’s always been like this and I never realized, or if we just outgrew each other.

    Sincerely,

    Friend or Foe?

    Dear Friend,

    It sounds like you have a Foe. We’ve all been there, frenemies are a dime a dozen these days and can sometimes be hard to spot. I’ve definitely had my fair share of friends who have been overly harsh and critical under the guise of “caring about me” and “wanting me to be happy”, while simultaneously making me feel like a huge fucking loser. On one hand, I totally agree that you should be able to give your honest opinion to your friends, and certain friends who refuse to get a therapist might need a little tough love. But here’s the deal. Your job as a friend isn’t to criticize or judge, and if it gets to the point that your close friends feel the need to hide things about their personal lives from you then guess what? You’re the problem. As for you friend, here’s what I would do. Just be honest with her and tell her you feel like you can’t talk to her about anything for fear of being put in front of the firing squad for still having sex with your ex boyfriend who has a current girlfriend who was your former cowoker or whatever it is. Hopefully you guys can have an open and honest conversation about the kind of support you need from your pal, and if she turns the conversation back to herself, just ditch her. She sucks.

    Dear Dr. Rachel,

    I come from a super conservative family and we’ve always had a little friction between us because of our differing beliefs, but lately it’s become unbearable. Every time I go on Facebook they’re posting conspiracy theories about how the election was stolen from Trump and just generally inaccurate/ racist things that are really embarrassing. I don’t want to be associated with them, and it honestly has been making me depressed to see how out of touch from reality they are. What should I do?

    Sincerely,

    Depressed Dem

    Dear Depressed,

    Let me just tell you your first mistake. Going on Facebook. Facebook is a cesspool of people who never went to college and girls from your high school who refer to themselves as a “girl boss”, but are really just assistant to the regional manager of a multi level marketing pyramid scheme. This might be off topic, but if you start a job at 8 a.m. on a Monday and by lunch time on Tuesday you’re the Senior Vice President District 12 Managing CFO of Avon, it’s time to start asking some fucking questions. Anyway, I’m sorry your family sucks. The truth of the matter is that this is the last chance for Trumpers to feel comfortable with being outwardly racist idiots under the protection of the president for at least the next four years. (Soon) gone are the days where white supremacists can feel comfortable driving down the road in their “Grave Digger” monster trucks with a confederate flag in the back and a Trump 2020 sticker in the front. Their time is over, they’re going to be forced back into the shadows, and they’re pissed. If staying off Facebook during this tumultuous transitional period back to reality is too difficult for you (if this is the case maybe you have your own demons you need to tackle) might I suggest simply unfollowing your racist relatives? Or you could always go on the offensive and every time your Aunt posts about Biden having dementia you could comment and say you know who else has dementia Aunt Brenda? Grandma. And you haven’t called her in six months.

    Anyhoo, I have a few more but maybe I’ll save them for another post. Or maybe I’ll just keep my mouth shut. Stay tuned!

    #democrat #republican #election #biden #trump #friend #love #pregnancy #dating #relationship #innauguration #vote #advice #advicecolumn #women

  • Diary of a (Beauty) Addict

    I can’t help but feel that my posts have become a little insular and mildly depressing so I decided to switch gears and write about something I’m passionate about almost as much as wine and self-loathing: makeup. I have loved makeup since the days of the Maybelline Dream Matte Mousse Foundation (always worn about six shades darker than needed) and the ICONIC Lancôme Juicy Tube Lip-gloss. I’m by no means an expert but I have wasted thousands of dollars trying almost every new product any “beauty influencer” recommends in desperate attempt to hide my perpetual undereye bags and rosacea. Here are a few of my favs.

    Foundation-

    This isn’t relatale to say in a time where people are literally depending on stimulus checks from the government for survival but my personal holy grail foundation, and I’ve tried about 50, is the Dior Airflash Spray Foundation. The price tag, combined with the (necessary) additional cost of the accompanying Dior Buffing Foundation Brush is admittedly lavish for the time we’re living in. But I promise, it’s fucking worth it. It provides a medium to full coverage and glides on so evenly and effortlessly it makes anyone feel like a pro. Not to mention, the brush is so amazing and soft that I’ve come danggggeeerously close to orgasming while using it. Also here’s a little piece of trivia for you- this is the foundation that they use on the models at all of the Dior shows, so honestly $111.50 not including tax is a relatively small price to pay for looking like a supermodel. Just go get it. You’ll thank me.

    Concealer(s) –

    These bags aren’t designer, they’re fucking tragic. I’ve tried almost as many concealers as I have foundations and I will admit that there are many less expensive drug store dupes which work almost as well. (See: Maybelline Instant Age Rewind Eraser) But I have to live my truth, and these two are the best of the best

    1. Tarte Colored Clay CC Undereye Corrector. I’ve had dark under eye circles pretty much since I left the womb and this was the first corrector I found that truly gave the illusion being well rested, no matter how many glasses of wine I had the night before. I honestly don’t know why this product doesn’t get more hype amongst beauty gurus, but it provides more coverage than your average concealer without looking chalky or caked on.

    2. Tarte Shape Tape Contour Concealer. Speaking of hype, there’s a reason this product is so popular. It’s my favorite concealer by far, and definitely worth hunting down a nearby Ulta (it isn’t available at Sephora for reasons unknown). It’s brightening capability is unmatched and always makes manages to make me look less dead inside which believe me, is not a simple task.

    Mascara-

    I have tried it all. I have tried Too Faced “Better Than Sex”. I have tried Buxom’s Lash Volumizing Mascara. I have even tried Lancôme’s Monsieur Big Volumizing Mascara, a personal favorite of soon to be single and thriving Kim Kardashian. Don’t ask me why, but I’ve found the L’Oreal Voluminous Lash Paradise Mascara to be the best of the best. Located at any local drug store for a whopping 11$, it is the only product that keeps my eyelids from looking completely bald after an ill fated lash extension encounter. Seriously, it’s been like two years and they never grew back. Don’t do it. I’m looking at you Amazing Lash Studio.

    Primer/Setting Spray/ Fountain of Youth

    I have asked for Too Faced Hangover 3-in-1 Replenishing Primer and Setting Spray in almost every Secret Santa I’ve taken part in because it’s just. that. good. This Nectar of the Gods is a cult favorite that will leave your skin looking replenished and dewy with just one or two sprays. You can apply it before makeup, after makeup, or without any makeup and it’ll get the job done.

    I have tons more products but I’m mentally exhausted from a long day of doing absolutely nothing and the bottle of Pino Noir on my nightstand has been calling my name for the past hour. Sooo maybe if people like this I’ll do a part 2. Goodnight and don’t forget to wash that makeup off your face before bed. You’re getting old and your pores are screaming.

    #makeup #sephora #makeuphacks #drugstore #drugstorebeauty #ulta #dior #tarte #shapetape #beauty #brands #tiktok #foundation #maybelline #influencer #concealer #mascara #settingspray

  • Cabbage Soup & Military Coups

    Well, get your boots and your coat and get ready for a shitstorm of all the random thoughts filling my mind today. Today is the official start to my new year and I’m writing off the first week(ish) as a much needed adjustment period. I have yet to make my vision board due to pure laziness and have considered instead making a virtual vision board but I’m not quite sure if it’ll have the same effect. I’m also restarting the cabbage soup diet for the third time in a desperate attempt to either jumpstart my metabolism or trick my body into thinking it’s starving to death until it starts eating itself a la the movie Bring it On. Is that how it works? Probably not. And if anyone is feeling overwhelmed with the urge to message me and say that there are no quick fixes and I need to cUt OuT ThE dRInkInG aNd WoRkOuT, save your breath. You’re tacky and I hate you. A friend of mine also suggested we try out something called “colonbroom” which promises you’ll loose 8-12 pounds in two weeks. Unfortunately, I made the grave mistake of signing up for their mailing list prior to ordering the product and if I get another email with the header “Having a shitload of problems?” or “We have a shituation here” I’m going to call the fucking police.

    It is worth saying that I went on an 8 mile uphill hike yesterday and I am feeling like a true beacon of health and wellness, despite essentially being forced. It wasn’t totally terrible, but I didn’t particularly feel any of those endorphins the 16 year old fitness gurus on Tiktok are always going on about. Like yeah, I felt invigorated and energized before I had the glow of youth stomped out of me too, JENNIFER. That being said one of my goals is to actually use the treadmill I bought in the height of quarantine, which is now in the corner of my boyfriend’s bedroom collecting dust. I read an article (saw on Tiktok) that if you use it 30 minutes a day on speed 3 incline 12 or something the pounds just fall off. But the jury’s still out on that one.

    Speaking of jury’s, (wow do you see that seamless transition, Jane Austin could NEVER) I realize that in my tone deaf attempt to wrap up Gucci Gate I never touched upon the whole cataclysmic domestic terrorism that went down at our once Great Nation’s capitol the other day. I’ve never understood why people say that they don’t “like to get political” or outright refuse to discuss politics. Why? Do you really have anything else that’s more interesting to say? Judging from the (admittedly small) wave pool of of people I’ve had the pleasure of coming across in my 26 years, the answer is no.

    Anyway, I honestly found myself emotional watching a group of camo laden white supremacists storm the Capitol building. The fact that a paramilitary coup was able to advance to such an extent in the United States, juxtaposed with the very grave reality of what would have happened if they were Black Lives Matter or Black activists in general is harrowing. I also don’t know if you happen to have seen photos of some of these Ivy Leaguers that defaced federal property and posed a national security threat, but it’s safe to say if the rest of the world wasn’t laughing at us before they are now. Just keep in mind, this civic disgrace is going to be immortalized in school textbooks for years to come. Kiiiiind of a tough pill to swallow. Also final thought, how is it that the FBI was able to identify and halt the ill-fated “Storm Area 51, They Can’t Stop All of Us” movement from last year but they had absolutely no fucking idea that this was coming? Do I smell a conspiracy theory?

    Well I need to wrap this up and make some much needed doctor’s appointments before 5 p.m to start my new year on a proactive note. Not only am I feeling under the weather, but I think it’s finally time to tackle the fact that I have four fully grown wisdom teeth which should have been removed long ago. I also should probably make an appointment with another fertility specialist, as I’m preeeeetttttyyy sure I have one good egg left (if that). Wish me luck!

    #capitalhill #coup #terrorism #whitehouse #washington #dc #newyear #newme #diet #health #excercise #fitness #fitnessroutine #tiktok #cleanse #unitedstates #politics #conspiracy #conspiracytheory #republican #democrat #newblog #blog #fromzerotohero

  • A Bleak New Year

    Today was truly a day bleaker than most. And believe me, that’s saying something. But I promised myself that I would try to write everyday to keep the creative juices flowing, so I figured this would be a productive way kill some time. I probably wont publish this post because let’s face it, just like in life, they can’t all be winners.

    Last night I decided it would be a good idea to watch the new Pixar movie “Soul” that everyone keeps going on and on about. A friend of mine told me that watching the movie made her want to “go out and live” and honestly I figured I need to drink a biiiiiig cup of that Kool-Aid, so I decided to watch. I think the combination of my overly high expectations and the fact that I was guzzling Pino Noir until my vision blurred left me a little underwhelmed. The animation was incredible and the movie will definitely win a shit ton of awards for the graphics alone. But meh. So he (I legit can’t remember the main characters name I think it was Paul or something) spent his whole life and part of his afterlife dreaming of becoming a professional musician and then after one 30 minute set in a half vacant piano bar he’s like “Nah. Not for me actually. Guess I’m ready to go to the Great Beyond.” Like what? It’s not like he was playing sold out shows at the Apollo, I wouldn’t have been jumping for joy either. Maybe he could have stuck it out for another performance that didn’t most likely require a two drink minimum?

    And then those blue stick figures sent him back to Earth and he’s like welp, I may be 50, alone, unemployed, and technically responsible for the death of a cat but we’ll see what happens. Talk about depressing. I’ll tell you one thing if I was a kid and my parents brought me to see this movie I would’ve probably started therapy a looot earlier. Maybe that would’ve been beneficial actually. And also like, why was everyone Australian?

    I continued to drink myself into a stupor while watching AHS Freakshow (my least favorite of the franchise so far if anyone cares. At some point, someone needs to say yes Ryan Murphy, you may be a genius but calm the fuck down. Some artistic choices just don’t need to be made. Half the time I feel like I’m fighting off a seizure) which probably contributed to me waking up with violent anxiety at 8 a.m. Spoiler alert, I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety for most of my life hence my award winning sense of humor. Anyway, periods of pretty extreme anxiety come in waves for me, and I think the root of a lot of it is when life slows down and I don’t have much going on so I have too much time to overthink. Def not looking forward to a period of that again, but that’s enough of my pity party of one. Moving on.

    I took half a .25 Xanax which one of my best friends Caela lovingly reminds me is essentially a placebo, but it lulled me back to sleep until about 30 minutes prior to my job interview. Luckily, it was a Zoom interview so all I needed to do is slap on some foundation and a cardigan from H&M to hide my huge tits. It went pretty well, although I’m like 99.9999% sure the girl who interviewed me was several years younger than I am. I’m sure other people have experienced this, but isn’t it kind of belittling to have to sit there and convince someone who was a freshman when you were a senior that you’re a detail oriented hard working team player?

    My day wrapped up by some light (not light at all) arguing with my boyfriend before we decided to “try something new” and cook dinner together. It pretty much goes without saying that when you have dated someone for seven years its hard to keep that spark alive, and believe me we are no exception. He insisted we cook halibut and rice because he “can not have a meal without rice” which I believe I lovingly mentioned in one of my previous posts. I wouldn’t exactly call myself the biggest fan of rice, and I’m pretty sure that he was secretly texting his mother for her famous arroz recipe while I wasn’t looking.

    The meal actually turned out really well with no thanks to me because he didn’t actually allow me to do much. I asked him why he feels the need to micromanage every aspect of life and he just laughed, but I don’t think he really understood what I was talking about. Sometimes I think the language barrier might be what’s keeping us going. Or atleast keeping us from killing each other. Anyhoooo about 4.5 seconds after he finished eating he retired to my couch where he has been sleeping coocooned in a heated blanket. I’m sitting on the floor, again running the blow dryer on myself for warmth. It’s time to start drinking.

    #drinking #alcohol #soul #pixar #disney #wine #boyfriend #datenight #friends #healthy #healthyeating #diet #cooking #AHS #anxiety #depression #mentalhealth #lmfaothesehashtagsaresoembarrrrrasssinnngggg

  • Should Auld Acquaintance Be Forgot?

    It’s official. We have escaped the dumpster fire hell scape that was 2020 and have embarked on the new year a little fatter, a little drunker, and a little more depressed. My resolution’s, in no particular order, are as follows:

    • Lose weight
    • Drink less
    • Get a job that doesn’t require me to wear an apron
    • Write everyday
    • Think positive

    It is day 3 of the new year and I have already broken each one of these resolutions. Podcast host Jackie Schimmel (one of my personal favs) recently said that maybe we should all accept that this is the best we’re going to get. She said we should stop setting ourselves up for failure by mounting grand goals that we can’t possibly reach. Let me tell you one thing. If this is the best version of myself and as good as my life is going to get, there’s nothing stopping me from hurling myself in front of a bus. So I beg to differ.

    In that spirit I have been begging anyone who will listen to make vision boards of exactly what we want in the New Year. For anyone who’s unaware, vision board’s are basically a collage of images you put together as a way to manifest or put out into the universe your desires so they come true. Basically, you speak things into existence via a glue stick and old 17 magazines. Anyway, all of my friends have more or less refused, so I guess I’ll have to fuck off to Michaels Arts & Crafts by myself.

    I realize that I had more or less recapped the first two reunions of RHOP and completely missed the third “supersized” episode. It was partially because it wasn’t as good as I was expecting and again partially because I’m disgusted by Andy’s biased behavior, but I do have a few notes.

    1. I can’t fathom why Andy has chosen Candaice’s side. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want Bravo to be considered liable or accepting of physical violence? Regardless, he kept coming for Monique and would not let up. That whole “are you a recording artist?” remark wasn’t cute. It was downright rude and belittling, and he knows damn well she stated in her first season several times that she used to rap.
    2. I AM SO GLAD THAT JUAN DIXON IS NOT HERE RIGHT NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. What??? Can you relax, Robyn? I literally hopped on Twitter to see if other people were as confused and blindsided by Robyn’s outburst as I was. They were.
    3. Monique delivered a heartfelt apology complete with the tears and outward display of emotion Andy was looking for and it still wasn’t deemed good enough by Candeegal. Clearly, it was good enough for me.

    That’s it. That’s all I have. For once in my entire life I actually found myself wishing that our favorite Australian sexual predator Michael Darby was there. He would’ve at least provided some entertainment.

    I’m also devastated to have found out that Monique will not return next season. She was aparently offerred a contract for season six, but declined to return. T’Challa Forever.

    Let’s see what else can I write to procrastinate from preparing for what is bound to be an ill-fated Zoom job interview tomorrow. I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but I personally think the masterminds behind this entire pandemic are the creators of Zoom. They have only benefitted from Covid-19 and have some how become a tool society revolves around in the span of 9 months. I would delve into the job but I signed a NDA. Are you allowed to say that you signed an NDA? Or is that in itself breaking the NDA?

    Anyway, a lot of people reached out to me following me posting about Gucci Gate which was super nice. However, it’s still very much ongoing and we have yet to reach a resolution so I’ll wait until I either have the belt or am in jail to give you an update. Until then, feliz ano nuevo!

    #newyear #newblog #newbitch #bravo #housewives #RHOP #Gucci #Covid #zoom #resolution #visionboard #art #craft #friend

  • A Christmas Miracle

    Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas Eve. I just wanted to further spread my holiday cheer and let my very few readers know that I did, in fact, witness a death the other day. It was in the paper and I’m now considering some sort of counseling for PTSD. Apparently, he was pronounced dead at the scene and hasn’t been able to be identified. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

    I was going to recap the second part of the RHOP reunion but I’m so livid at the way Andy handled the whole Monique v Candaice feud I honestly don’t want to aggrivate myself by reliving it. As I just mentioned, I’m dealing with enough trauma right now. What I will say is he came off as completely biased towards Monique and like, that wasn’t cool. He said “Monique, you’ve had a year to process your emotions, you knew you were coming here and Canadice is sitting here crying and upset. You seem very unemotional about everything.”( I’m paraphrasing here because I didn’t bother to take notes but that was basically the gist. ) But yeeah, Andy, she’s crying for screen time. And you know that. She knows that. We all know that.

    And why would she still be that upset to the point of uncontrollable tears and a dramatic walk off to recollect herself A YEAR AFTER THE FACT? I find it hard to believe that this is the first time she got her ass kicked. Doesn’t her mom beat her? You lost. It was embarrassing. At least you held onto your wig. Time to move on.

    Honestly, I just can’t believe that all of the women are acting like Monique committed some sort of dire transgression. I want to fist fight my friends all the time and the only thing that stops me is knowing I’d probably lose. Anyways, the editors were totally on Monique’s side despite Andy’s blatant unprofessionalism which I was LIIIVVVINNNGGG FORRRRRRR HONNEEYYYYY. Every time Monique recounted her side of the story and it was disputed by the other women, they cut to clips which proved everything she was saying to be factual. Giselle pushed her shoulder (she thought it was Candaice), Candeegirl was waving her hands in her face, and she snapped. End of story.

    Other thoughts about the reunion which I just said I wasn’t going to recap but have somehow ended up recapping.. meh. I have to say I do love the behind the scenes production fourth wall breaking they’re doing. During the break a production cam followed them into their dressing rooms and captured Giselle and Robyn- a friendship which I no longer find to be even marginally amusing. It’s giving bitter, desperate, and mean.

    “You’re a binder loser.. you have copied things and put it in a binder.” Wow. The prose. Robert Frost could never.

    My dad wandered in during Ashley’s monologue and said “Why are they all wearing yellow?” That’s a good question. A gooooood question. I will say I did appreciate Andy’s soft spot for Ashley when he said he rooted for her. I root for you too Ashcakes! Although she kind of lost me when she tried to justify Michael’s multiple cheating scandals by saying that he forgave her when they were separated and she “had some fun”. To quote Ross Gellar, YOUU WERE ONN A BREAAAAAAAAAKKKK. It’s not the same thing.

    Let’s see.. what am I missing. Rising Karen vs Giz tensions, me falling asleep when Robyn or Wendy talk, OH yes a forgotten queen icon legend Katie Rost mention! She apparently said she had a sexual encounter with a former castmate?!?! WHOOOOO? I need to know. Also, I think I’ve said this before but Justice for Katie. I’m pretty sure she was taken off the show because she kept calling out Bravo on twitter but I also think its because she has mental health issues which made her a liablity for Bravo, but I digress.

    Anyway, I’m going to go finish wrapping presents which I can’t afford for people in my boyfriends family who don’t like me while I force myself to watch Christmas movies so I can at least pretend I’m enjoying the holiday. People usually measure their fleeting youth in how many “good Summers” they have left. I, on the other hand, measure it by how many good Christmas’ I have left. And seeing as I haven’t had a good Christmas since about 2014, it’s safe to say my time is running out. Feliz Navidad!

    #bravo #christmas #holidays #death #recap #joy #christmaseve #death wrapping #cheer #andycohen #RHOP #newblogger #blog #fromzerotohero

  • Witnessing a Death and Other Christmas fun

    Welcome back to the manic rantings of someone past their prime. I want to take a second to shout out the whopping 43 viewers of my previous blog post. It was about 42 more than I expected. My one other viewer was anticipated because I foolishly sent it to my mother who called it “interesting” and “long-winded”. Hopefully this New Year I’ll finally learn from my mistakes. Anyway, I actually had a few things I wanted to get off my chest before recapping the second part of the RHOP reunion but, I’m fairly certain I just witnessed a death on the brisk walk from my boyfriends house to my own.

    For the one person who also subscribed to my blog (i see you girlllll!) and is interested in following my weight loss journey a la the aforementioned cabbage soup diet, buckle up. I got my period, the cabbage soup slowly but surely began to repulse me, and I just shared pizza bagels for lunch with my cat. Anyway, I thought it might jumpstart somewhat of a fitness regime if I went for a nice leisurely walk and apparently, I could not have been more wrong. In between believing that every passing car was either falling in love with my effortless mysterious beauty or planning to kidnap me in broad daylight, I noticed a young ish guy slouched over at the drivers wheel in the middle of a busy intersection. I watched him for a second, but I saw his car begin to move so I assumed maybe he had his head down and was looking for something. Then, as I was churning out ideas for this blog and began walking again, I heard a loud crash.

    I turned around and of course it was the beanie clad guy in a run down ford explorer who had veered over into the other lane and crashed into a fed-ex van. Quick interlude here, this is the first time I’ve actually ever seen a fed-ex van. I’ve seen fed-ex trucks, sure. But a van? Jeff Bezos has amazon employees racing around the streets in custom Amazon G-Wagons and you guys couldn’t shell out a couple extra bucks to update your transportation model? Step your game up fed-ex.

    Anyway I turned around because I thought maybe no one else had seen that he clearly fainted or was rendered unconscious somehow and as the good Samaritan I am, I figured I should probably speak up. That was until some girl with maybe a liiiiittle too much time on her hands jumped out of her car and proceeded to run down the street at full speed and pry open his car door. This was clearly her time to shine. I stood there from a distance and watched her shake the guy repeatedly (probs not the best idea for someone who was just in an accident). She was inaudibly screaming and collapsed her head in her hands as the aforementioned Fed-ex driver emerged from his own vehicle looking pissed and waving his hands around. Like buddy, read the room. There’s some serious shit going down and your packages would’ve probably been late anyway.

    I stood there for another five minutes as other people began pulling over and leaving their own cars to help and I thought to myself should I go over there and offer some assistance? As I heard what sounded like several ambulances and cop cars approaching I thought.. mmm better not. I have Christmas shopping to do and do I really have the time to hang around giving my eye witness testimony? The answer was no.

    Anyhhoooooo I do have other thoughts to share with yall but I think I’d better put them on another post so as to not appear insensitive. I say that as I am about to use some suuuuper insensitive hashtags to hopefully get this blog viewed such as #crash and #death. Times are tough out here for a bitch and who knows he might not even be dead. I’ll probably give it like a light google tomorrow and report back.

    #Crash #christmas #newblog #zerotohero #murder #fitness #excercise #diet #death

  • RHOP Reunion Part 1

    As I embark on day 2 of the cabbage soup diet I have very very few things bringing me pleasure right now. One, or possibly the only, thing giving me even a crumb of serotonin currently is The Real Housewives of Potomac. I’m going to give my reader(s) the advice that I give my friends, my family, the teenage cashier with the wonky eye at Grade A. Don’t. Sleep. On. Potomac. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times. It’s five star television deserving an Emmy, a SAG award, and a Nobel Peace Prize.

    Once a die hard RHONY fan, I too slept on Potomac. But as we entered season 12 we lost our queen, icon, legend / overall pillar of the community Bethenny Robyn Frankel and from there, it was Murphys Law in it’s purest form. Rising star and personal favorite Tinsley Mortimer left New York (and the show) to move to Chicago with her bloated prince charming Scott. It seems all upper east side princesses get their fairytale ending after all. Then, we slowly but surely watched Dorinda Medley transform from making it nice to making it unbearable to watch. As we moved further along into the season Dorinda appeared to embark on a rage spiral reminiscent of my own when I discovered the calories in a single glass of Pino Noir. Not to mention Sonja, also known as the single greatest housewife of all time (this is not up for debate, argue with your momma) Morgan’s lifestyle of mixing booze and certain unidentified prescription pills has appeared to catch up with her both mentally and physically. Anyway, a combination of all of the aforementioned things left a hole in my heart desperate to be filled. Enter Potomac.

    I wont give you a long detailed account of the events which has transpired over the past five seasons that has gotten us to this point (perfection), you’ll just have to go back and watch. I personally recommend starting with Season 3 and skipping over the first two. Season 2 is decent but Season 1 was definitely struggling to find it’s rhythm. Anyway, if you have watched RHOP and are wondering my thoughts on it here you go. Also before I begin just know three things I stand by. 1. I’m team Monique. 2. Michael Darby is a balding aussie sociopath. 3. Justice for Katie Rost. What the fuck happened to her?

    And so we begin. The reunion got off to a slow start. My notes for the first five minutes consisted of this-

    “How do you look good at 7 a.m” asked Karen while looking FLAWLESS

    “Full of anxiety but that’s notcovid related” Candiace already draaaaggggggggiiinnngg it for sympathy

    I like Ashleys red tinted hair

    STOP TRYING TO MAKE PONCHA HAPPEN THAT TRIP TO PORTUGAL WAS ONE OF THE MOST BORING HOUSEWIVES TRIPS OF ALL TIME. — I can’t emphasize this enough. We had to suffer through a multi episode arc already. Enough.

    I will say that I think Candiace was the best dressed at the reunion and I loved her canary fan. As for Robyn.. the wig. It looks as though it flew out of the window on the car ride over to the sound stage and was run over by an eighteen wheeler.

    Anyhoo we started off from the jump with some amazing Gizelle v Karen banter which has always been my favorite. I will say I had no idea there was this much contention between the two of them prior to this. They always had their problems but I thought there was a genuine friendship beneath all that shade. Guess I was wrong.

    “Your style sucks”

    “That’s your opinion, Karen.” No, that’s everyone’s opinion Gizelle. Hire a stylist.

    Another honorable mention of this convo was Gizelle, “IT SAID ENDIIIIIIIIIIIIII”. Not much of what my former favorite Gizelle says these days amuses me but this absolutely did. Also, the whole blaming her style on “Pretty girl syndrome”? Yes, I agree Gizelle is flawlessly gorgeous, but Monique is easily the most beautiful on the stage lets stop paying her dust and pay her the respect she deserves.

    Moving on to the next segment, I’m just going to come out and say it. I Dooonnntttt like Wendy on the show. I’m sure she’s a great person and I listened to her on one of my favorite podcasts Everything Iconic with Danny Pellegrino and she was definitely so likeable and sweet. But honestly I don’t care about her plotlines and I want to take a bathroom break whenever its one of her solo scenes. And it goes without saying I cant hear about the degrees anymore. No one is “putting you in the position” to defend your degrees, you continuously bring it up because it’s your only narrative on the show.  I don’t like how quick she was to choose up and pick sides to gang up on Monique. You don’t know her, it was just beneficial to you. I will say when she said “Now we’ve said it” it was an amazing call back to early season RHOB Camille and I luuved it.

    We moved on to Candiace and I drew in a deep guttural sigh. I like Candiace. I truly do. I lie awake at night trying to decide who I like least of the cast and she is nowhere near my bottom two. But when they started discussing her “music” the hairs I missed in the shower on my labia stood up. I dooont knooow whaaaat heaaaaaaaaaaaaaallls a heaaaarrt. That song is just. Its just not good. Stop trying to make it happen its not going to happen.

    I also want to take a moment to say that I love Ashley. I think she’s my favorite cast member, and no Ashley slander will be tolerated. It’s not her fault she’s married to a rapey crocodile dundee. But, when she said she performed her hit (in my mind) Coffee and Love “live without issue”. Hmmmmmm, that’s one way to look at it. I wont say anything else but If you haven’t listened to the unhinged ADarbs single I urge you to drop what you’re doing and go listen. Also my single handed favorite line from the entire reunion is when Ashley said, “Shut the fuck up talking about my husband itching”. I really love when Ashley gets a little hood. Ugh. A sister after my own heart.

    Also, the face Robyn made when Ashley implied it was rude to say the baby looked like Michael was hilarious and the only thing she has contributed to this entire reunion. We don’t say that, but now we’ve said it. I also don’t like how Monique was excluded from the colorism conversation and it was aimed at Wendy and Candiace. She is also a black woman not traditionally considered to be “lightskinned” and wasn’t given a chance to talk about how she felt about it, despite also being called aggressive amongst other (worse) things. by viewers Also they’ve ALLLLL definitely been called aggressive at one time or another with the exception of probably Robyn who’s asleep half the time.

    “So you can use ghetto or hoodrat but you’re not supposed to use aggressive” EXACTLY MONIQUE. EXACTLY.

    Then. We get. To. The. Binder. The last five minutes of this reunion were honestly my favorite five minutes of television in recent history. I could not pick my jaw up off the floor, and I honestly found myself feeling bad for Gizelle. First of all, was I the only one completely blindsided by the whole Jamal thing being a fake plotline? Like I had no idea. Why would he ever agree to that? What does he possibly get out of that? He’s a pastor.

    Monique starts reading her receipts – despite several attempted interruptions- to Andy who was clearly struggling to hide his delight. At one point Monique turns to him and says something along the lines of do you want to see this and he goes yeah I wanna see it. DON’T WE ALLLLLL. Basically the conversations were between Jamal Bryant skeevy perve scum bag pastor extraordinaire and his side chick/ possible actual girlfriend during a time period which he was believed to be with Gizelle. Candiace’s little side comments throughout this entire reveal really killed me. First she commented to Wendy that Monique has been “waiting to drop these receipts for a while” which leads me to believe she’s had this information for some time and has been sitting on it until she felt attacked enough to bring it to light. ASSSS YOUUUU SHOOOUUUUULLLLLLLLLLDDDDDD. Then, after Gizelle confirming that it is in fact Jamal’s phone number and subsequently he is the sender behind these illicit messages, Candaice remarks, “Thats unfortunate”. Yes Candeegal. It is.

    Giz kept a stoic face throughout all of this which I take to mean she either knew of this all along and was, in fact, fabricating a relationship with her ex husband for a television plotline OR was genuinely hurt and startled by this information and just trying to save face. Hopefully, we’ll find out more on the second part of the reunion because I hear she gets visibly upset and it would be nice for some genuine show of emotion from her. Anyway, we end the episode on a zoom in of the binder and ugh. **chefs kiss**. I also saw an episode of WWHL where Andy says that the binders going in the Housewives Museum. Is there really a housewives Museum? Where is it? Where can I purchase a ticket? CAN I LOOK IN THE BINDER?

    #RHOP #potomac #housewives #RHONY #bravo #skinnygirl #teammonique #girls #fromzerotohero #ashleydarby

  • Introduce Yourself

    Well here we are. 4:43 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon, wearing one of my many
    house robes, running a blow dryer on myself for warmth. Or, what it’s otherwise
    known as, rock fucking bottom. Actually, I think rock bottom was when I
    hesitated at the thought of spending the $48 that is apparently required to
    start a blog. Shouldn’t it be free? It’s called FREEdom of speech. Wow that was
    terrible.

    Anyway, by hesitated I mean I stared at the screen trying desperately
    to figure out if I had $48 dollars to spare (I don’t) before unsuccessfully
    trying to charge it on my maxxed out credit card (it declined). Anyway,
    WordPress recommends the first post when starting a blog should be introductory
    and you should tell a little bit about yourself. In case you haven’t deduced it
    from the first paragraph alone, I’m a hot fucking mess.

     

    I’m a 25(and 15 months) year old waitress who despite having a college
    degree has been unable to get a job that doesn’t require slinging craft
    cocktails. Sure, we could blame the pandemic. But actually, I think it has more
    to do with my seemingly inherent unwillingness to write new cover letters for
    every job I want to apply to. The EasyApply feature on LinkedIn has become my
    best friend, and frankly I’m not embarrassed to admit that. It’s kind of a one
    sided friendship though because none of the jobs ever get back to me. But
    honestly, who has the time?

    Anyhoooooo, I decided to start a blog as the ultimate form of
    procrastination because I’m about 99.9999 percent sure that no one will ever
    read this and if they do it’s because I’m planning on putting the link in my
    instagram bio and it’s going to be people I knew from highschool going wow,
    what a fucking loser. But hey, its 2020 and no one will hire me and I have
    nothing better to do and the other option was start a podcast and then people
    would really make fun of me. But who knows, that might be fucking next. I also
    named this site Wine and Zoloft because those are the two main pillars to the
    foundation of who I am as a human being.

    Anyhoooo (part duex) I don’t really know what this blog is going to consist
    of but my first post is going to be about one of the most important things in
    my life right now. The Real Housewives of Potomac Reunion.

    #fromzerotohero #potomac #realhousewives #bravo #wine #pinonoir #zoloft #2020 #pandemic