Depression is Hilarious

When I finally admitted to myself that I was suffering from depression, I laughed hysterically. Then I cried so much, I had to do one of those “let me go look in the mirror so see how sad I look” moves, that only make sense in the movies.

I laughed because I could not believe I was amused at my own sadness. I laughed because at first, I did a self-diagnosis with an online quiz, which is NOWHERE near the “What Type of Princess Are You?” Facebook-variety. I laughed because I assumed I was being dramatic. I also laughed because I knew all the feelings you read about, all the symptoms people exhibit, was 100% happening to me, and I had no idea how to handle it.

No one wants to tell you they’re suffering from depression, for the same reason you don’t want to admit that you can’t fix a flat tire: you want everyone to think you know what you’re doing, but as soon as you admit that you don’t, they want to come in and fix it. I’ve known something was off a few years back when the thought of sitting in my car and eating McDonald’s while watching Grey’s Anatomy was more exciting than the prospect of going on a date. What was the point of going out with a handsome man when he was just going to realize I wasn’t worth the two drinks he bought? At least with Netflix and my car, there was comfort, plus the guarantee of french fries. The thought of going to sleep at night became the first thing on my mind when I woke up in the morning. I was becoming indifferent to dinner invites and pool parties, because I knew I would be the only unhappy person there. I knew something was really wrong when several of my closest friends noticed that I wasn’t “myself”. But I couldn’t tell them how I was really feeling. Even as a woman who prides herself on living a hot mess life, I could not come out and tell anyone “Hey, um guess what?  I don’t think there’s a point to anything I do and so why bother? And hey, are you ready for brunch?”

My first instinct after taking my sad quiz on was to see if I could get some help. As I mentioned before, I wasn’t ready to tell my friends, but I was a movie buff, and just knew there was a hot, English psychiatrist with a cushy chaise lounge for me to throw myself on, that would be the background for our eventual love affair, all sponsored by my employer’s fully funded EAP program.

What I got the on the first round was a lady from the JCC that made me sit in an office chair.  I saw her the proper amount of times before I had to pay her. She was nice enough, but I was new to this, and kept telling myself I couldn’t be properly healed unless I cried a lot and admitted some traumatic thing that happened in my childhood. Unfortunately, I left her with a new zest for to-do lists and the dumb decision to not do anything about my issues until the next time my insurance kicked in. Newsflash: you can’t pray depression and anxiety away, you can only pray you have good insurance with a flexible sliding scale.

This took me to Year 2 ( yes I waited a whole year), to a woman who specialized in EMDR, and she was NOT a DJ. This type of therapy involved rhythmic tapping, that has been successful in treating trauma. I was ready to give up on this fool until it actually worked. She revealed the source of my overeating to my insecurities about my body. See, I will admit that I had a pretty smoking body back in high school ( I know that sounds weird, but it’s true). During that time, I was sexually harassed by a staff member, which messed me up pretty bad. Through the therapy, I was able to piece together that I may be overeating because I no longer wanted anyone to bother me about my body, even though I still wanted to be seen as attractive. So thaaaaaaat’s why I go to Burger King in secret- sorry boys.

I tried therapy one last time, with a wonderful woman who specialized in eating disorders. I admitted that I knew exactly what I was doing, yet I could not fathom why I refused to stop. I told her I read too many inspirational Instagram quotes about treating yoself and eating the last piece of cake, and I found myself, 10 years later, fat, sad, and miserable. She was nice enough, but she could never get to the root of the problem, because that was my job. How do you explain to your loved ones that you’re doing damage to yourself, but you secretly don’t care? When I’ve casually brought up my insecurities to friends, they look at me like I’m crazy, saying that I don’t appear to have low-self esteem, as I’m always upbeat. But, that’s the thing with depression- I’m so frightened at the possibility that something is wrong, that I mask it with humor (as I’m sure many people do), because I don’t want to come to terms with the fact that I’m unhappy. But how in the world did I get here? How can someone who has such a blessed life be so unhappy? I have a roof over my head (with a killer view), a car to drive, employment, the ability to date dudes on the internet, and great friends and family who love me for some reason. But when your mind just isn’t in the right place, none of that matters. Instead of being positive about all the great things you have in life, you worry about trivial things that make no fucking sense. Did I really miss out on the love of my life?  Or does my gut tell me that would’ve been the biggest mistake I ever made since I cut my own bangs? Why in the world doesn’t my friend’s husband  like me, even though I have absolutely no reason to think that? Why does that keep me up at night? Why are all these people in the bar judging me because I’m eating this burger alone? How can I not of think of something else to keep me up at night, other than the constant worry that I’m going to get fired? Why do I insist on maintaining my bread box body with horrible eating habits, when my doctors say I could die? How am I ever going to admit to my loved ones that I often feel like my life means nothing, no matter how hard they try to make me feel that it is?

My depression is hilarious because it does borderline on the hysterical. I have to laugh at the fact that these thoughts are going through my head and taking over my life. I also but know this isn’t the end. In my case, Iaughter is the best medicine and along with my loved ones, 46 fans, and Cigna, I’m going to overcome this.

*I didn’t want to add some caveat to the beginning of this post, to cater to the people who might be up in arms about calling my depression “hilarious”. It’s a serious issue that many refuse to talk about in the open, but this is MY story. As I mentioned, everyone’s tale is not the same, but I know there’s someone out there who has some of the same weird-ass emotions that I do. And I hope you read this and realize that it’s going to be ok. Hit me up, and I’ll tell you about one of my awful dates, and you’ll feel better instantly (but if you need an objective ear, I’m here too, and I don’t charge). 





Hot Mess Resolutions, Version 2018

January 1st is the Holy Grail for procrastinators and optimists alike: it’s the biggest day to get your ultimate do-over; the perfect excuse to start all over again. Phrases like “New Year, New Me!” are scattered all across social media, under motivational pictures of waterfalls and women looking down at the ground in tight dresses. Plans are made to go to the gym, get in shape, create closer bonds to family and friends, and be open to love again. Sounds awesome, right?

Well now, it’s January 16th, and you ate a slice of pizza and said “fuck it”. You refuse a set up from a friend at work who “knows the perfect guy”. But you also keep getting up at 6am to go back to Lady Fitness of America. You’ve also grown closer to your cousin who used to beat you up when you were kids, and you make plans to go back home more often. Aaaah, good ‘ol New Year’s resolutions. I haven’t taken them seriously in recent years, because like a friend mentioned yesterday, there are still resolutions I’m trying to tackle that I made in 2005. At this point in my life, New Year’s resolutions are more of an opportunity to reflect on things I know I need to work on, should’ve done already, but can still be optimistic that I can accomplish, but not for another 24 hours.

This year, I thought I would switch it up a bit and let you all know what I will be leaving in 2017. I wouldn’t call these resolutions- they’re more like “things I’m too old to be dealing with for another year”. May you take inspiration from these proclamations, and create your own resolutions if you wish. Feel free to even write them in your brand-new notebook from the $3 bin at Target, with Live, Laugh, Love splayed across the cover:

What I’m Leaving in 2017

  1. All dating apps, along with the food-delivery service ones, too: Both impact my body and well-being in different ways, but they’re equally destructive for me. No more Tinder and China Food II.
  2. Additional “bless you” statements: After you sneeze once, I’m not saying anything else. Get yourself together and don’t make it weird.
  3. 32% of my current carbohydrate intake: Every little bit helps, right? I vow to eat more veggie pasta, and only the finest breads- whatever Oprah eats should be good.
  4. Body shaming: This applies only to myself, and a handful of animals (have you ever looked at someone’s cat and thought, what do they feed this poor child? Stop giving them bacon!).
  5. Turkey burgers: There’s no need for them in my life, or anyone else’s. Eat beef if you want girl, just not so much.
  6. 75% of my Fucks: No longer caring about nonsense feels so good, ya’ll.
  7. Fear of starting my own family: There’s a one-eyed, English bulldog out there that needs rescuing. My family will grow by the end of 2018…
  8. Terrible eyebrows: I will make it my life’s work to make sure there are two, even lines above my eyes, beginning tomorrow. I’ve been slacking since 2014.
  9. Not being famous: Me and Biggie Smalls ( my future dog baby) will be on someone’s magazine cover by the end of next year!
  10. Protection of your feelings: I’ve never been a mean person, but everyone knows I do not like confrontation. I like to keep the peace- like stopping fights between strangers and avoid telling someone I love they’re making a big mistake by doing that one thing. So if you ask me something in 2018, I’ll probably keep it extremely real. I just hope it doesn’t go too wrong.


Single Lives Matter

I was recently out in a group setting (because that’s what cool people do), where we began to discuss our hobbies. After everyone shared what one thing they were good at, the conversation turned to television shows. Netflix-this. Hulu-that. A jam session about current television could not end without mentioning NBC’s hit This Is Us, and naturally, everyone chimed in their opinion. One person said they couldn’t watch it because it made them cry, and I cut off someone else who started to gush about the latest episode, stating that I had yet to catch up. As we laughed and joked, the natural progression of the conversation should have turned to other hobbies like bird-watching, or scrapbooking, but it took a bit of an odd turn:

Person (turning to me, with head titled to the side in confusion): Michelle, do you like “This Is Us?”

Me (thinking that the previous conversation already established this): Um, yes?

Person: I just thought that you wouldn’t like it. Because it’s like, about families. And people in relationships, and marriage. And I know you’re not married, so I didn’t think you could relate. I mean, I remember when I was single, I couldn’t relate to stuff like that. But now that I have a husband, and a child, I. HAVE. AN. US.

Me: Um, no… I still like the show?

For those who are unaware, This Is Us centers around a family of three siblings, their parents, and a myriad of relationships that go along with BEING A HUMAN BEING. This show is not about a young unicorn, living in an alternate universe where everyone can reproduce on their own. I’m trying to tell you that it’s relatable to every single person on this Earth who breathes air. I never went to medical school, but Grey’s Anatomy is my favorite show. I don’t need to be a third-year resident to enjoy sex-crazed doctors on a weekly basis. For this person to suggest that I couldn’t enjoy a show about people who were in relationships because I was not in one, is part of a larger epidemic of people feeling sad for the “Single Person”.

Newsflash: We are not sad little souls, who need you to come check on us every couple of days. Well, there might be a few, but the majority of us don’t need to be handled like the ASPCA cats you see in those Sarah McLaughlin commercials. Let’s even reign in our demographic here- if you know someone over the age of 30 who is still single, you don’t need to feel sorry for them. We don’t need care packages and special parking spaces at the mall ( though that would be nice, since the kids get all the perks). I cannot even wrap my head around how many times I’ve relayed the fact that I’m single to people, and then the look on their faces turn from pleasant to sheer confusion: Why? Did you just get out of a relationship? Do you live in a bad neighborhood? Have you tried Match? Do you go to church? Do you ever go out? What about that one guy? Have you tried waking up in the morning, and going to bed at night? Do you have standards? Have you considered lowering them?

The sense of disdain and bewilderment put upon many a single person is quite surprising, but not shocking. Now, I’m just speaking of those who look at single people and demand an explanation as to why they are still on Tinder, or even worse, try to suggest what you might do differently to be in their shoes. My happily-ever committed lovebirds, here’s what single people are sick of hearing- we just can’t figure how to say it  without sounding like an asshole:

  • “Enjoy being single”: I have enjoyed it. For 37 years. It’s been super fun. I’d much rather be in a healthy, positive, and fun relationship. And question, are you NOT having fun? Are you enjoying yourself, committed person?? You are not selling this whole “relationship” thing very well. I wouldn’t say that being single or married is more fun than the other- who you are as a person dictates your happiness. All single people aren’t running around, riding mechanical bulls at happy hour, and all married people don’t sit in the house making to-do lists. Case in point, my best friend and her husband have two awesome kids, a great marriage, and still find time to be their “cool” selves. They don’t patronize their single friends- they understand that who you are as a person dictates your happiness, regardless of your relationship status.
  • “It’ll happen for you”: Thanks, Carol, I really appreciate it. I don’t think I could go on this quest for finding true love without your wonderful insight. But hey, what if “IT” doesn’t happen for me?  Or my friend? Or brother? We’ll be okay, right? We can still conduct ourselves as happy human beings, even if that elusive relationship never comes. Whenever someone tells a friend of mine “hey, if it could happen for me, it’ll happen for you”, I want to scream! Is that close to saying something along the lines of ” so easy, a caveman can do it”? Again, thanks for the vote of confidence, Carol.
  • “I wish I could trade places with you!”: So you want to break up with your boyfriend, or divorce your husband, and live my life of hoping I don’t get a questionable photograph via text from my latest date? I thought you were supposed to be hyping up this relationship concept- are you that miserable? You’re not doing a very good job, buddy.
  • “When you stop looking, that’s when it’ll happen”: This only works when I’m trying to find my keys. I stopped looking for a relationship 472 times. Hasn’t happened yet- stop lying to your friends…
  • “I never knew what life was, until I got married/had a kid/got boo’d up”: So you weren’t alive before you had little Jimmy? You’re telling me you weren’t “whole” until you met Tyrone? Being in a relationship, getting married, or having kids enhances and enriches your life, but you did have one before they came along. Does this mean my life means nothing if I don’t have any of these things? No it doesn’t, it just means WE’RE LEADING DIFFERENT LIVES.

If I ever get married, it’s going to be pretty dope. It’ll bring another element to my life that was never there, but that life is still nothing to be scoffed at. Not all single people are sad. Not all married people ask dumb questions like the person who questioned my television preferences. We all lead our own individual lives, and determine what makes us happy, whether it involves husbands, kids, or rolling around your king-size bed by yourself, for all of eternity. Now let me get back to watching This Is Us. Hopefully I can follow along…


“I Wasn’t Ready For That”

A friend mentioned recently that women must constantly walk on eggshells when it comes to men. Many ladies are in fear that if they say the wrong thing, he’ll recoil his feelings, won’t call back, and that they’ll be relegated to a life with cats. Just ponder how many times you’ve erased a text message and sent something “nicer” instead, to avoid an awkward moment. And we definitely cannot forget the 1, 657, 467, 345 times a man has asked you “what’s wrong?”, and you reply”nothing” through pursed lips. Well, fellas, everything ain’t fine.

With age comes experience and wisdom. It also solidifies your standards, lowers your tolerance for nonsense, and empties your soul of fucks to give. As a fabulous unicorn lady who still finds herself perpetually single, I’m at a point where the need to hold back my true feelings to avoid hurting a man’s is no longer there. In instances where I use to shrug my shoulders and eat my feelings if a guy didn’t call me back or decided to string me along, I now have an urgency to keep it real.

Do you remember Flashdance guy from a month ago? Who witnessed the avalanche of water pour over me on our date, then proceeded to ignore me and not call me again? After no real contact after the date, I customarily forgot about him, and chalked it up to lack of interest, which is fine. Because if you were interested in someone, boys and girls, you would, um, call them, right? Of course not! You would reach out to them 3 weeks later, like absolutely nothing happened…

What you are about to read is what happens when keeping it real goes wrong. The thing is, it’s really not wrong, because it was going to happen eventually, and Flashdance was the unfortunate recipient of the wrath of a fed up woman.

***PAUSE*** This is in no way grammatically correct, or the way one should write, even for a casual blog. Luckily, I never said I was a professional- I’m just trying to get famous enough to pay off student loans and get on “Dancing With the Stars.” If I’m going to finish this story, I need to make sure I call this fool by his real name and by real name, I mean the one I put in my phone. The man in this story will now be referred to as “LA Fitness”, and not “Flashdance.” He’s a trainer of trainers, or something odd like that. Ok, now let me finish…

As I mentioned earlier, I put this guy out of my mind, only for him to send me a random text 3 weeks later:

(Actual Text Message Evidence of Foolery)


(That’s what you came up with to garner my attention??? Not one to not be proper, I responded professional like a boss)

ME: Hello


(Again, this guy is really using his words)

ME: Getting ready to go out

LA FITNESS: Cool have a good time be safe

ME: Thank you

(I coud have left it there, but I decided to take it in another direction)

ME: What prompted you to text me out of the blue?


(Mr. Wow over here…)

ME: Okay…

LA FITNESS: Hot date?

ME: A date, yes lol do you even care?

LA FITNESS: Yes I do. You cheating on me

(I assume that this was his attempt at humor. Or flirting. It was neither, and was not working)

ME: Man, you’re a mess

(Then, I. just. kept. going)

ME: I’m going to be very clear, if you’re interested in dating, let me know. But if you’re unsure and want to send random, nonchalant texts every month and don’t really care either way, I’ll pass. Think about it. Goodnight 🙂

LA FITNESS: Lmao you a trip. Ok

ME: I’m serious. You know what you want or don’t want lol

LA FITNESS: Why all the aggression? I hit you up to say what’s up You way too serious

(This time, I was serious. Because this is my life and my time. And he didn’t text me because he wanted to “say what’s up”. He was bored, and wanted to see if I was still into him, because surely, that’s what I’ve been doing all this time, anxiously awaiting a “WYD” text after a month)

ME: How do you expect me to be if I haven’t talked to you in three weeks? Especially after I mentioned to you after our date that you didn’t seem interested at all? Come on now, if you consider that aggressive then I guess that’s it

LA FITNESS: Be like hi. You haven’t reached out either.

(Are you serious?  I was impressed that he used “either”, though…)

ME: I feel like a broken record LOL. We went through this before. You show no interest so what am I supposed to think? I’m going to reach out to someone who I know doesn’t want to go out with me?

LA FITNESS: I don’t have any expectations. I didn’t know all of this was coming. Just checking in seeing how you were doing

ME: You shouldn’t be surprised but it’s all good

(When someone uses the phrase “It’s all good”: It is , in fact, NOT all good)


ME: Ok well have a good one

LA FITNESS: You too sweetie

The last few texts were our attempts to out-do each other with a curt, short ending to the conversation. I think we both lost. Regardless, reading over this exchange, anyone should be able to see that he was not truly interested in pursuing anything with me, and was trying to see what he could get if I was dumb enough to give it to him. Luckily, I wasn’t. The real issue here is if I responded as a typical “crazy woman”. Hell-to-the-no. And let me tell you why…

For anyone who thinks I was too hard on him, take a good look at where we are today as a social and dating society. After you remove men from the equation who are in relationships and those who seek them out, you’re left with 50 million men that are either confused, bored, or their thumbs hurt from swiping right too much. Many could care less whether you call them back or not, but will throw out bait to see what they can catch. If he has all his teeth and a 401k, he knows there are about 20 other women out there that he can try reel in with minimal effort. I am completely aware that there are women out there who have the same mindset, and that’s fine. But to all those men who are carefree, noncommittal, and aren’t really interested, please hear me: If you go out with a woman and you’re not feeling it, we will not fall apart if you tell us the truth. If you decide to go the other route and completely ignore us, keep it that way. If you try to resurface because you realize we’re the best thing that will ever come into your life and you want to give this love thing more try, feel free and make sure you’re for real. But please don’t  think “WYD” and “Sup” text messages will get you anywhere. You may end up like LA Fitness did, encountering a woman who finally decided to get it all off her chest. Ladies, don’t let anyone make you think you’re crazy for expressing to them how unacceptable their behavior is towards you. Just be aggressive. B-E aggressive. B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E.










Hot Mess Things I’m Thankful For – 2017

This holiday season, I’m thankful for my family, that I love very much. I’m thankful for my friends, who allow me to be myself and love me unconditionally. I’m thankful for the life I live, and the blessings I’ve been awarded these 30-whatever years I’ve been on Earth. I’m also thankful that I can order tacos from my phone…

As we all get in our feelings this week, while family gets all up in our business ( “when are you getting married?”), please take the time to be thankful for the petty and superficial things that make your life great. Brunch, blowouts, season tickets to Broadway- whatever makes you happy and allows you to treat yoself. Happy Thanksgiving, ya’ll!

Things I’m Thankful For

  • My hair: Yes, I often feel like my body isn’t what I want it to be. I’m always on the verge of a bad breakout, and my mom still critiques my fashion sense. But my hair is GORGEOUS. Especially this time of year, where a blowout will last 32 days straight.
  • Knowing I still have a chance at love: See Lisa Bonet. See Jason Momoa. Lisa is married to Jason. Lisa is 50. Jason is 38. Lisa was on the Cosby Show. Jason is the hottest man on Erf. Somewhere, there’s a 25 year-old, finishing up his internship at a start-up in Silicon Valley. See you in a few years, after you get health insurance.
  • My ability to be on time, always: My timing is impeccable (get it?) Yes, I’m better than you.
  • Other people’s passwords: Without you, I would not be able to watch HBO Go, or anything on ESPN. You know who you are, you’re the real MVPs.
  • Football: My Miami Hurricanes are really doing it big this year. If this was last year, I would be crying.
  • Memes: I hate to admit this, but there are some good reasons that social media exists. One is the ability to be nosey without appearing obvious. The second is reading funny captions on random-ass photographs.
  • My vocabulary: I’m a snob. People are always asking me to spell words for them and will text me their grammar conundrums. I secretly judge all of you if you spell anything wrong, and wonder why you didn’t let me just write it for you in the first place.
  • The Turnover Chain: No need to explain, just Google it.
  • Tomorrow: Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow? Need to take the clothes out the dryer? Do it tomorrow. Want to catch up on Grey’s Anatomy? Just watch it tomorrow. Already messed up on your diet after only eight hours? You know how you can bounce back?  START AGAIN TOMORROW. Go ahead and eat that pizza.
  • Amazon: you can literally buy anything- anytime, anywhere. You can literally type in “Purple Sash with Unicorn Glitter-Embellished Trim”, and someone in China will send it to you- with Prime!
  • Men: You make me mad. You make me cry. You make me do a double-take. You confuse me. You stand me up. You also give people a reason to read what I have to say, since you’re the topic of 95% of this blog. Thank you all so much.


Pour Some Water On Me

I’ve been stood up about a dozen times in my life. I was almost arrested on a first date for trespassing, and once a man tried to prove to me that his roommate was NOT actually his girlfriend. One man invited me out to dinner… then proceeded to ask me if would make a “film” with his girlfriend. Over the years, I’ve had some strange encounters when first meeting a potential new boo, but I’ve managed to stay calm, cool, and non-clumsy. I usually save the personal embarrassments for all the other aspects of my life. Well, that streak is finally over at the ripe age of 30-whatever. On the latest episode of “Shit that Only Happens To Me”

Because I am glutton for punishment, I got back on Tinder (oh no worries, it’s already been deleted again because hey, it’s my life) and had the usual barrage of inquiries into my sexual availability and one-word messages. So it was to my pleasant surprise that I met a guy who wasn’t fond of texting and sought out substantial conversation. We built up a 3-week resume of honest discussions and refreshing banter before we were able to finally go out. A local sports bar  was the opportune place to meet, as we’re both football fans, and had an affinity for chicken wings. I was on a roll that day, still wearing work clothes and had shaved all the way up my leg. Needless to say, I thought I was cute. When I arrived at the bar, I was met by someone who was even cuter in person- what luck! We headed into the establishment and headed towards the outdoor seating in the rear of the restaurant. We settled on the bar area, which was covered by a lovely canopy…

Well, a small hurricane must’ve blown through North Miami Beach earlier that evening because the moment I decided to step under the bar, the canopy decides to buckle and dump at least 3 gallons of water on top of my business casual attire. I stood still as everyone, including my date, watched in horror. He fled the scene, while a troupe of women looked on, completely mortified. I think everyone else was in shock because I was still motionless, and laughing my ass off. It may have been due to the fact that I had consumed a copious amount of Rose earlier that day, making everything hilarious. Plus, I thought I was dreaming. My date who I had thought was so embarrassed that he ran away, had actually gone to get several dinner napkins to clean me up. A handful of managers swooped in, apologizing profusely, while I cut them short, telling them it wasn’t their fault. There was no way they could have foreseen that I was going to get waterboarded in front of a large LCD screen showing Thursday Night Football.

After refusing several t-shirts to change into, my date and I tried to laugh it off and have a normal encounter. The fact that our entire meal was being comped was sure to make this a fun night of excessive amounts of cheese and whatever else we managed to consume for free. Unfortunately, our normal encounter proceeded to turn out as the most awkward hour and a half imaginable. I wish I could blame it on the fact that I had just been engaged in Chinese water torture in front of my date, but I couldn’t use that as an excuse for current lack of connection. The interactions we had were relegated to a handful of ice-cold sports takes and minimal eye contact. At one point, I used the cliché “Why are you so quiet?” line, and he said he didn’t want to interrupt me while I was eating. Once the conversation was as dry as my skirt, I knew it was time to go. We walked out to my car, turned to each other, and both said we had a nice time. Then I got hit with the church hug, and a quick ” It was nice to meet you”- KISS OF DEEEEATH.

No one ever comes back from that. When people say that it was nice to meet you, it usually does not mean it was nice to meet me, because you will never meet again. By the time I got home and texted a courtesy ” I am home and am still alive” text, I was hit with another “It was nice to meet you”, but this time it was accompanied by an “A-OK” emoji. Only time will tell if something comes from this, but I don’t think that he was impressed by my accidental Flashdance reenactment…


Keep It To Your Selfie

This is a plea on behalf of all my sisters in singledom: don’t send me a personal photograph of yourself, unless a formal request is made.

I’m not even talking about those “other pics” men think women really want to see ( trust me, we don’t). I’m talking about the unsolicited photograph of yourself that you send, assuming it’s going to conjure up some urge for us to pounce at the mere sight of your abs. Again, trust me- it won’t. We hate to say that certain double standards exist, but this is one of them. If a woman voluntarily sends you a picture of herself with the caption “just got home from working out!”, or “oh man, I am so tiiiiiired” and she still looks hot, this is a good thing. First of all, she’s into you. She’s taken 35 pictures of the same face and sent the one she could filter the most. She’s into you and you are lucky. Again, never ASK her for a pic, because it’s creepy, and if you send one yourself, she’s going to make fun of you with her friends. I didn’t make these rules up, society did.

A friend of mine asked me to touch on this topic because she received one too many selfies from a man, who was obviously clinically insane. And she wasn’t being “mean” or “super sensitive:”, because I’ve heard this argument come from many women in my life. Friends, coworkers, random women in the bathroom- all complaining that a guy was sending them weird selfies, which turned them off rather than on.

Married friends: please stop laughing and listen to my plea. Friends in relationships before this era of social media narcissism, understand what I’m saying: these are the issues that are plaguing the dating world now. I’m guilty of it as well, but we all have this need to take a photo of our face ( or a sandwich we bought) and send it to someone we want to smooch. It’s just that when men do it, it’s plain ‘ol weird. So everyone, you need to tell your single man friends that if they want to get anywhere with a woman, they’ll stop sending pictures of their faces. Oh, and all the other body parts we’ll see when we want to. Below are several violations that need to be brought to the attention of all MANkind, if they want to avoid having their selfie on “Read” with no further responses:

BATHROOM SELFIES: Why do men think if they send a pic in front of a toilet, it’s a good thing? I’m not going to think about how cute your face is- I’m going to think about poop. I think it’s weird when women do it too, but I also understand that we’re often working with fabulous lighting. But again, we’re talking about dudes in the mirror. And while we’re on the subject of mirrors, my friend received what is, by far, the worst selfie in the history of the universe. The guy sent her a picture, along with his reflection in the mirror, complete with proper hand placement on the counter for dramatic effect. He sent her a high school graduation photo y’all! Luckily he wasn’t staring at his own reflection, although it was unclear what he was looking at because he used the COUNTDOWN TIMER ON HIS CAMERA. He took this photo too seriously, and all for nothing. If you thought that this ends as people get older, you’re wrong. She wasn’t dealing with a young guy, fresh out of college- he was an established anesthesiologist. Get your shit together, Dave.

THE “SNARL” LOOK: I’ve been sent photos of men who appear as if they have smelled something putrid, but it is actually supposed to be an arousing look of wonderment and machismo. Oh, and sometimes they cover half their forehead with their hand- um, WTF?  I’ve seen my niece and her friends do this, and I still don’t get it. The only person who can contort their face and make it look sexy is Dwayne Johnson- not you, Devin.

THE GYM SELFIE: All my girls have told me that they loathe gym selfies, so guys, DO NOT SEND THEM. Regardless of how attractive or buff you think are, you don’t need to volunteer this information. Forget everyone staring at you as you whip out your iPhone to snap a pic in front of the weights- they’re all laughing at you and so are we. We’ll figure it out eventually, and if it happens organically, you’ll be better off- TRUST ME.

THE “I’M SURPRISED TO BE IN THE CAR”: Taking a selfie in your car to show me how cool you are is lame. Sending one while you fight to keep the Porsche logo in the frame is worse. Doing dead sexy in your Honda, just… don’t.

IN-BED SELFIES: Am I really supposed to believe that you can take a photograph in your sleep? I can’t even do that, and women can do anything! And you’re not enticing anyone, by taking a picture amongst your ruffled sheets, biting your lip. You’re doing too much and you need to stop.

AT-WORK: We know you work at Innatech, Carl. No need to send us a pic of you in your cube, doing the male version of a duck face. It may seem to be a good idea to show a woman that you have a job, but trying to be sexy in front of your double monitors is a no-no.