Today's Document
tannertan36
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ellievsbear
roma★
Kiana Khansmith
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Product Placement
Sade Olutola
sheepfilms
PR's Tumblrdome
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
almost home
Love Begins
Discoholic 🪩
cherry valley forever
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ojovivo
Peter Solarz
@theartofmadeline
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@writtalin
Every great captain needs a great first mate. Happy #nationaluglychristmassweaterday from my badass pirate crew. Thanks @captainmorganusa! #captainmorgan #uglysweater #puppy #christmas #captain #nationaluglysweaterday via Instagram http://ift.tt/2haRHPm
Every great captain needs a great first mate. Happy #nationaluglychristmassweaterday from my badass pirate crew. Thanks @captainmorganusa! #captainmorgan #uglysweater #puppy #christmas #captain #nationaluglysweaterday via Instagram http://ift.tt/2haXjsQ
Ladies and gentlemen, @my_car_land has a little #captain in him. @captainmorganusa #mostvaluablepartier #morgansmarch #fullcaptain via Instagram http://ift.tt/1nxgtMv
Reading Between the Lines: Employers & the Shitty Emails They Send
You know how sometimes you get text messages from friends that just kind of irritate you?
Maybe it’s a hostile “K” or a passive aggressive “:)” or maybe it’s just a “hahah.”
And you think, “Hahaha?” That’s not a response. Those aren’t words. Those are sounds. You sent me sounds. How am I supposed to respond to that?
Right, so texting has become this enigma of conversation where we laugh, but aren’t actually laughing and send smiles when no smiles are actually occurring and that’s all fine and well because at the end of the day, it’s just texting and it doesn’t really matter.
Lately, however, I’ve noticed this rise in uncomfortable emails being sent from the would-be professionals of the working world, where it DOES matter, and these employers are totally freaking me out.
I’m going to give these pant-suit wearing, Americano-drinking, crossword puzzle in pen doing posers the benefit of the doubt though, because maybe they don’t realize the panic they are inducing with these absurd email tactics.
So here are just a few real life examples from my inbox to your eyeballs.
The Rejection Without Causation
Recently, I’ve been applying to teach English abroad. For the most part, employers or recruiters have either not responded or did so with follow-up questions or materials they need from me.
The other day, however, I received a response to my resume/cover letter that simply said: “I’d say no!”
That was it. No “Dear” or “Sincerely” or signature of any kind. Just those three little words…
“I’d say no!”
Now it’s fine that he or she said no, but the thing is, they didn’t indicate a reason why they said no…or even WHO or WHAT said no, as the resume was sent to a general address for the company.
And let’s talk about that exclamation mark for a second. Because they didn’t just say no, they apparently EXCLAIMED no!
There’s hostility in that exclamation mark.
The response seemed absurd to me, but I decided to email back anyway with just a “Thanks for your time blah blah blah.” That way I seemed poised and grateful, but also so I could give them a chance to clarify in case the “I’d say no!” was some kind of obscene mistake.
They never wrote back.
The Acceptance and Rejection and Acceptance and Rejection
When I was finishing up my undergrad, I applied for a weekend-trip that would help fulfill service credits I needed to graduate. At the time, I was unaware that the trip wasn’t simply “sign-up & go” so I was surprised when I received an email that said, “Congratulations! Out of our many applicants, you have been selected…blah blah blah.”
I didn’t realize that there was a chance I wouldn’t be able to go, but I was happy to see that I got in.
A few minutes after receiving that “Congratulations” email, I received another.
“Sorry, due to the many qualified applicants, we were unable to accept everyone and that includes you…” Essentially, it was a “Thanks, but not thanks.”
I realized this one had been sent by mistake, so I waited a few minutes for another, “Whoops! Sorry! That email was meant for the scrubs that we rejected. Please disregard.”
But no such email came.
So I emailed them.
“Uh…this is awkward, but I received an acceptance letter and a few minutes later received a rejection letter, so I just wanted to get some clarification.”
To my surprise, they responded with something along the lines of, “Sorry! We accidentally sent them both out. It’s the first email. Unfortunately, we can’t take everyone.” It sounds like they’re rejecting me, right? But they said it was the FIRST email, which technically, said I was in.
So I emailed them again.
“Sorry, I don’t want to make this awkward again, but actually, the first email I received was the one that said I was accepted. So is that the right one? Or is it the one that says no?”
And they responded simply with: “It’s the one that says no.”
The Dot…Dot…Dot…
Earlier, I mentioned the hostility behind exclamation marks. (And don’t even get me started on emails or text messages that look ANYTHING LIKE THIS.)
And perhaps this comes from reading (and reading between the lines) too much, but I don’t think employers understand the little hairs that stand up on the back of your neck when you end a sentence like this…
Ending your sentence in an ellipsis indicates that not everything was said… It’s threatening and your inner-voice immediately changes to that low, guttural tone you hear in murder-mystery movies.
For approximately seven weeks, I had an employer, (who was a crazy psycho, hence the seven week employment) who wrote every email like this…
She would start it with, “Kelli…”
Are you addressing me or breaking up with me?
This employer would also throw random quotation marks around words, which would make me question the legitimacy of whatever it was she was quoting.
Kelli…
When you come in tomorrow… have my “tea” ready….
Thx…
(Yes…that is how she said, “Thanks.”)
She says “tea” as though that’s allegedly what it is. But fret not, I did indeed make her tea every…single… “day” and I would steep it with the hot tears I shed from crying over my wasted student loans.
It’s because of these people that I experience minor anxiety every time I open my gmail account.
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A Different Kind of Homesick
The holiday season is here, and, for many of us, that means going home to the places and the people that have been watching us grow up. Returning home means running into everyone I never wanted to see again at one of the five bars in my hometown and having to relearn how to drive a car after months of walking and taking the subway. It means getting to eat my mom’s bombass breakfasts and snuggle with my cat whenever he lets me. It means spending every second with my siblings and every other second fighting about something stupid like the correct lyrics to the final song in School of Rock and whose turn it is to get the Wheat Thins from the pantry. Going home reminds me that I’m still a kid because my apartment does not have a pantry, my apartment does not have a family, and my apartment is not my home.
When I return to Texas from New York, I will cry. A lot. I will tear up on the airplane. I will cry when I get picked up from the airport. I will cry when I hug each of my siblings and my mom for the first time seeing them. I will probably cry when I snuggle with my cat. I might even cry when I see my brother’s dog. I will definitely cry when my mom, sister, and I have our hot tub, wine-drunk night which is historical for the amount of tears shed.
I will cry because I have missed these people who know me better than anyone and who have loved me the longest, but I will also cry because I know and they know that our Christmases are not the same as they once were. We’re all homesick for a place, a feeling, and a person that won’t be there, and these people– my silly, obnoxious family– are the only people that know exactly what I’m missing. We will each try to make up for our dad’s absence in different ways. We’ll grill the steaks he would have made. We’ll wake up to loud Christmas music and fresh coffee, and march down the stairs as a team like he would have asked. We’ll revisit home videos and family photos, sharing memories both old and new. And in our holiday drunkenness we will “pour one out” for dad as we so often do.
Even though this is Christmas number five without him, it doesn’t get easier. We have new traditions now: Instead of a star or an angel on top of the tree, we put a picture of Deb (my mother) because she’s an angel for putting up with all of our shit; since I chose to attend a Christian university, I am now forced to say every prayer at every family get together (a job that once belonged to my dad); we live in a house that has never experienced the spontaneity and acapella dinner performances my dad was known for, and it makes me a little sad. It’s not that these new things are unwelcome; it’s just that I will always feel like someone didn’t show up even after rsvping yes.
Living far from home makes homesickness common- I’m constantly missing my family, my college friends, the Texas weather, and Chickfila, but it’s these times where everyone is on some kind of journey back to their past, to traditions they’ve held since they were babies, that I know part of what I miss and what I can’t wait to get home for won’t be where it’s supposed to be, where it fits perfectly in my memories. Thank God my dad taught us how to laugh and cry at the same time (while wearing a shirt with a golfing dog on it).
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Lunch Break Entry 1
Lunch Break
Blah Blah Blah Change.
I notice some loose conversation going on near me. I look up from my tuna salad sandwich that I brought with me for my short lunch break to a harsh realization – it’s almost 2015.
This is around the time people start to reflect on the year that they have just survived. It’s around the time where people begin to point out the failures of the past twelve months, usually while cradling a bottle of vodka and sobbing to the music of Marvin Gaye. Or is that just me? Either way, out of the dissatisfaction, inspiration and mental breakdowns; new goals and dreams of what the fruitful next year should bring begin to appear. Gyms, self-help bookstores, and hair salons begin to see a sharp rise in profit as people begin to equip themselves with the gear they need to battle their way to victory in the upcoming twelve months.
By March, the adrenaline subsides and life sucks once again.
“Why is this Keegan?” I keep asking myself.
I’m not sure about this but I have a hunch. Too much of the focus toward this change is being siphoned off in the wrong directions and toward the wrong things. Passions dwindle and switch as frequently as headlines and as newer things become important, past goals are forgotten and swept under the carpet.
“Ehh it never mattered anyway. Who cares about what I didn’t accomplish last year? Who cares that nothing has changed? I’ll just find something new to complain about. Plus, a new season of Workaholics is starting and if I miss that then I’ll have a bad year anyway,” says Joe the make believe character that I interviewed for the sake of trying to implant random silliness in serious messages so as to be a little subliminal. But I digress. Joe, is wrong and anyone who feels uncomfortably familiar with what he just said is wrong also.
People love to protest for change from behind the scenes; also known as complaining. I know that things can be better, I refuse to believe that our current justice system, school system, and the way we go about human relationships is the best we can do. In a generation already so flooded with over-excited hormones, insecurity, anxiety, sexual confusion, political corruption, premature ejaculation, drug abuse, racial tension, media propaganda and violence we could use a lot less complaining and a lot more understanding. And I believe that if we put our time into understanding some of things that we love to just complain about then we can maybe work toward being that change we all want to see. And who knows, maybe still have time left to catch that next episode of Law and Order after all. But where can we start?
I look over to my left and the guys hate the girls. I look over to my right and the girls hate the guys. What’s up with that? I thought we all came to party together. It seems that the group of guys who grew up exposed to cleavage a little too early and the group of girls who got introduced to John Stamos too young were put on a fast track to be lustfully attracted to each other but forgot to learn how to get along. In 2014, I lost count of how many girls got exposed, tormented, attacked and shamed on the internet for some reason or another. Female ridicule was trendy, so much so that it coined insensitive nicknames, marked events and even full length songs. Guys realized that the battle was not one sided when the internet bullying of a college student provoked a school shooting that resulted in 7 homicides and a suicide. The reason for being bullied, he had never been laid. It’s a vicious cycle, of clashing hormones and irrational teenage love-hate relationships. Where it started or who started it is unknown. Who exactly even killed chivalry? Embarrassing each other on the internet for fame has become way too cool and common and may have something to do with the current distaste for one another. Also, maybe we should step away from the “party with sluts” caps and the “bad bitch” attitude and just get to know each other instead. The middle of the dance floor is more fun than opposite ends anyway.
As I am writing this, the news above me continues to blare. The statement, “Black Lives Matter” is aggressively shouted and painted on banners and the crowds stretch for miles. In lieu of recent events, it is clear why the tensions would be higher than usual and the protests more passionate than usual. But it seems to me that it has become a bit repetitive. The state of racism in the current time is complicated, even more so to comment on it, everyone’s main agenda is to be politically correct and all that jazz. Everyone is pointing fingers and blaming but not many people are thinking or understanding. The media works in crazy ways. I’ve always failed to understand the public’s cluelessness when it comes to their interpretation of the media. Failing to notice trends in agenda, failing to consider motives etc. The media wages and magnifies civil unrest because a nervous and anxious public spends money. Popular headlines sell. The manipulation is endless, but also insultingly obvious. Stop believing everything you see on the news or take the top spot in popular culture. Don’t believe me? Ask yourself why Ebola disappeared just in time for Christmas shopping? Anyway, to my black brothers, white people are not the enemy and to my white brothers, black people are not the enemy. Stop making things about race. Stop listening to people who make things about race. Stop judging someone based on race. We are all black. We are all white. We are all everything in between. We are all human.
Oh shucks, it looks as though my lunch break is nearly over. I didn’t even get to finish my tuna.
In conclusion; stop making stupid people famous, start being a better friend, stop cursing the police, start supporting local businesses, stop spending money online shopping, start donating to a cause. We are not the scum generation that everyone seems to keep saying. We can be better, we can actually be that change we want to see.
Until next time, friends.
-KBY
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Let’s Get Drunk Off Apple Pie
The masterminds at Piehole Whiskey who brought us Apple Pie, Cherry Pie, and Pecan Pie whiskey have been busy concocting delicious recipes to help us party this holiday season. We owe them a big thank you, so show some love by treating yourself to these delectable drinks.
Just Like Ma’s
Ingredients:
1.25 oz Piehole Apple Pie
.25 oz Stirrings Ginger Flavored Liqueur
1 dash of angostura bitters
Splash of sour mix
Glassware:
Shotglass
Preparation:
Add ingredients to an ice-filled shaker.
Shake and strain into a shot glass.
Apple Pie Sour
Ingredients:
1.5 oz Piehole Apple Pie
1.25 oz sour mix
Splash of orange juice
Lemon wedges
Glassware:
Collins Glass
Preparation:
Add ingredients to an ice-filled mixing tin.
Squeeze a lemon wedge into the tin.
Shake and strain into an ice-filled Collins glass.
Garnish with a lemon wedge.
These recipes are courtesy of Piehole. Try them out, share them with friends, and check out more recipes here or create your own.
Drink responsibly and don’t be an idiot.
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The Cider and Spice Shot Featuring Piehole Whiskey
Like it or not, alcohol and pie are two staples of American gatherings, especially those involving family. Whiskey is often thought of as a “man’s drink,” and women who fraternize with such strong beverages are revered by less bold onlookers. The truth is, whiskey is an everyone drink, especially when it’s pie-flavored. That’s right, the geniuses at Piehole have blessed us with Apple Pie, Cherry Pie, and Pecan Pie flavored whiskey, and I have been lucky enough to try all three.
When challenged with creating my own recipe using Piehole Whiskey, I spent a few days experimenting with the pie flavored whiskeys and unconventional ingredients that were sent to me. Some of my creations were straight up vomitous, but most of them were delicious. The true challenge came in selecting the winner and giving it the perfect name. The final battle had been set: Cran-Cherry Icee vs. Cider and Spice shot. Ultimately, the Cider and Spice Shot was equally delicious and easy to make whereas its opponent was also delicious but required quite a bit of effort. When I want a drink, I want it instantly– I don’t want to pull out my blender and search for fifteen ingredients. Alas, the Cider and Spice Shot reigned supreme.
Cider and Spice Shot
Ingredients:
1 oz. Piehole Apple Pie Whiskey, chilled
.5 oz Apple Cider, chilled
1 dollop Whipped Cream
A pinch of Cinnamon
Directions:
Combine Piehole Apple Pie Whiskey and Apple Cider in a shot glass. Top it off with whipped cream. Sprinkle cinnamon on whipped cream. Take shot and enjoy!
Praise for the Cider and Spice Shot:
“I don’t know. Apples? It tastes like I stuck my face in an apple pie.” -Sous Chef/ Taste Tester/ Boyfriend
“I love it because it’s not one of those shots that makes you barf a little after you take it. It actually tastes good.” -Me
Drink responsibly and don’t be an idiot.
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An Open Letter to Shitty Parents Who Shop
Dear Shitty Parents,
I know this is not a polite way to start off a letter, but who the fuck do you think you are? There is not enough coffee in the world to protect me from your OC superiority complex. I know I smile a lot. And yes, I’m pretty damn good at making the Children’s Department look like Disneyland. However, I did not think it was endearing that you referred to me as a “super nanny.” I am a stressed out twenty-something trying to make some money while finishing school so I can get out of this suburban nightmare. So, no, I am not your super nanny. And I am most certainly not your bitch.
I think it’s time we get a few things straight, Mrs. Jones and friends. [It’s never the dads.]
1. Your child is not mine to watch. I don’t want one, and most certainly not yours. Even if I desired to have a child, yours would be the last one I wanted. Are we clear?
2. And second of all, your child is crying whilst slobbering on Goodnight Moon. There is not enough Purell in the universe to undo what your offspring just did to that board book.
3. I DON’T KNOW WHAT “SQUARE-SHAPED BOOK WITH A YELLOW COVER” YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT. SEE YA PREFERABLY NEVER.
4. It’s so unfortunate that you have three shitty kids to watch. Like, I totally feel for you, but you’re a terrible human being. Why are you letting your little assholes throw beanie babies all over my beautiful disaster of a department? Let me guess. You’re probably that lady who leaves her clothes on the floor in the Nordstrom fitting rooms. Who do you think picks that shit up when you don’t? Think. About. It. It’s customers like you that make me furiously scroll through Craigslist at 1 in the morning.
5. Please note that this store is set up for you to come in and purchase products. It is not a recreation center. Really. Are you going to buy that novelty sound book that your kid is playing over and over and over and over again? Your mini-me is super talented with that button and all, but have some respect. People come to our store hoping to buy an unused toy. This isn’t a thift store. This isn’t your home. Oh, and FYI: Toys stay in the box. Your child is literally taking them out in front of you. Are you kidding me with this shit?
6. “Um, do you work here?” is a question I get asked far too often. I’m holding a scanner and wearing a name tag at the same time. I just picked your child’s chewed up book off the floor. I work here. I mean, come on, the name tag should be the obvious giveaway. You just wasted 10 seconds of my life with your idiotic question. Speaking of which, it’s Elin. E-lynne. Not Ellen. Anyways, yeah, I work here. Unfortunately. What do you want?
Love or whatever,
Your Friendly Retail Slave
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Why the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show Motivates Me
It happened. The best night of the year, in my opinion – the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. I haven’t missed a show since I was 15 and now beautiful things such as DVR and smart phones allow me to watch the entirety of display of perfection at my own convenience. If my assumptions are correct, it would be safe to say that more girls are excited to watch 47 models display breathtaking beauty than most men. I’ll admit it. I’m more excited than most of my guy friends.
These women personify perfection and while many compare themselves to the Angels (it’s hard not to), I still find them empowering or at least an inspiration to get healthier. In past years, the models looked stunning yet a little skinny, if not frail. Their statuesque frames were clearly thinner than the average woman, and while that may still be true, the Victoria’s Secret Angels that came down from Heaven to walk the runway in London looked toned. It was very clear that the women put on lean muscle.
Instagram is filled with “fitspo” accounts that show women with amazing bodies that can only come from hours in the gym. I’m motivated to get off the couch and run (I used this term loosely) on the treadmill when I look at a few of these accounts, but this year’s Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show really put a fire under my ass. Now, instead of double tapping on the fitspo pages, I’ve had Taylor Swift’s performance of “Style” on repeat the past few days. Watching Taylor and Karlie walk down the aisle together is pretty easy on the eyes too.
We’ll all watch the Angels grace this earth with a different set of eyes and mindsets. Do I look like one of the Angels? No. Do I wish I looked like some of them? Fuck yes, but I don’t feel bad about it. I just decided to emulate their work ethic on my own body. We all reach our perfection at different points in our lives. The Victoria’s Secret Angels just seem like they arrived already. I’m still running to get there, but the Angels are helping me along the way.
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An Open Letter to Brian Kilmeade, Fox News host
Hey Brian! How’s it going man? Still rocking that 8th grade haircut? So I was recently watching The Daily Show when I saw a brief clip of what you said to Jon Stewart (http://ift.tt/1BLkUHx), and boy, Jon is right. Giving you the benefit of the doubt, maybe it’s just the lying (http://ift.tt/1u1Xlaw), horrible news network you work for and their destructive culture that has got you saying things so petty. I mean, I can’t believe you really support eugenics (http://ift.tt/1BLkWiC). Maybe being on TV everyday and having to just keep talking like the maniac child of the Energizer Bunny and a Chatty-Kathy doll causes you to flub sometimes and say things that make you look like an ignorant bigot (http://ift.tt/1A8u90F). I mean, we should be giving one another the benefit of the doubt, otherwise we’d be no better than chimps, hurling feces at each other. I know you care about sports Brian. You’ve written several books on the subject, including some about sportsmanship. This is why I’m writing you, because taking low blows and obfuscating a serious and productive conversation about police overreach by insinuating that Jon Stewart, who began the discussion, doesn’t care about the police because he’s criticizing them for shooting unarmed black men is just bad sportsmanship. I know your haircut is from middle-school, but your behavior shouldn’t be. Sportsmanship can be called a kind of honor code – playing good and expecting others to as well. Like you say, “it’s how you play the game.” I won’t go too far into it, but the argument could be made that our entire legal system is based on an ancient concept of honor. People aren’t petty with one another; they respect each other, and that respect creates a community. It creates a space that allows us all to operate within and not fear opportunistic attacks by others. I feel like you broke that code, Brian. You broke it with the comments you made in response to Jon’s report about the prevalence of police killing black men in America. In ancient times, when a warrior broke his honor code, he had to do something to earn it back. So, I’m challenging you to a fistfight. Does that sound a bit extreme? I don’t think so. In the ancient past, a man had to stand behind his behavior: if he said or did something particularly lame and petty he could reasonably expect someone to call him out, and put his body on the line behind his words & actions. Dueling, it was called. Some think it’s part of the reason that hockey players are such down-to-earth people; the threat of a fight keeps them respectful and honest. “But wait Brendon,” I can hear you thinking, “Not only don’t I know you, but I don’t approve of violence being a solution.” (http://ift.tt/1A8u9gV) This makes sense, because you have taken this subject seriously in the past (http://ift.tt/1BLkWiF). But here’s what I think you’re missing: what you did, attacking the character of Jon Stewart, that was already a violent act. It was socially and morally violent. This act: putting on the gloves and throwing some fists, calls you to answer for the attack you’ve already made. I know you believe in sportsmanship, so maybe think about doing the good sportsmanlike thing and either defending your choices, or apologizing. I think we all, including myself, would rather see that outcome: an apology in which you admit that insinuating Jon Stewart callously didn’t care about cops killed in the line of duty after 9/11 was wrong. In this case, I think, a real apology would mean leaving your position at Fox News and showing the world that you don’t agree with the horrible culture that drove you to such a petty and sophomoric act. In closing, feel free to tweet at me or email me back about this. I’d be happy to set up something. I would be remiss not to mention that I know that fighting doesn’t sound like the most sophisticated way to deal with people, but then again neither does saying stupid shit on your TV program. So maybe set the bar a little higher to begin with. In the words of an actually great TV newsman, “fuck you,” -Brendon Lemon
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The Interpretation of Men and Their Undies
All men everywhere, I am certain, have wondered at least once what their underwear choice says about them. And let’s not disregard the neurotic women of the Millennial generation that Google-search this exact title moments after Paul, or Greg, or Jeff with the butt-chin has left her sexed sheets on a Sunday morning. Mark Twain insists that one should “write what you know.” After years of observations, demonstrations, and ruminations of friends, landlords, brothers, and a significant others of the straight and semi-straight variety and their chonies I feel confident in my analysis of a man and his underpants.
1. White (despite cut or kind)
This man either:
A. Has not done laundry in sixty-eight days and this is his last pair. Sixty-eight days is a significant amount of time to avoid dirty laundry and he is likely a procrastinator. Also known as: good luck getting an engagement ring before menopause.
B. Is mercifully unaware of his skid mark potential. He is oblivious. Ignorance may be bliss in some predicaments, but not where fecal remnants are concerned. Also known as: this man will not know that he likes you enough to put a ring on it.
C. Is confident in his skid mark-less life because he uses baby wipes. (You know what I mean). His ex-girlfriend of five years of nag and neglect pounded this hygienic bore into his commitment hungry and personal-growth-or-bust wired brain. Also known as: he is going to ask you to stop eating top ramen for the health of your womb and his future children.
2. Boxer Briefs (with worn elastic – slightly faded, slightly jaded and likely forest green)
He is a virgin with commitment issues. This was his first pair of boxer briefs…nine years ago. Also known as: You have some serious hours of “just the tip” ahead of you.
3. Quite Tight, Bright, Brief and Leaf Sized
This man is the wild card. Does he have a sassy, drunk and cross-dressing alter ego? Would he wipe blood on your face if he has cut his hand because he thinks it’s funny? Would he flash his genitalia to a stranger in your grandmother’s nursing home? Is he the kindest and most compassionate man in existence? Perhaps, all of the above. Also known as: you will never know what you’re going to get.
4. Boxers
Do your shorts hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? There is not a plethora of support in this cut for the big “S”(scrotum or semen dispenser, your choice). This man is free-spirited and less concerned with physical appearance since his balls will sag significantly after decades of dangling. Also known as: burn your bras and bring on the burgers (and curly fries).
5. The Same as You
This man is confident enough to uniform himself in undies that leave little foreskin to the imagination. He may be European or wear very tight pants, but either way he is the man want present in the crisis of your lost airport luggage. Also known as: you can share underwear (he is your soul mate).
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#WCW: Candice Swanpoel
-Candice Swanpoel-
Twitter: @angelcandice
Instagram: angelcandices
Known for: Being the hottest of all the Victoria’s Secret angels.
-In case you missed it, the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show was aired last night. And because you probably didn’t miss it, chances are you noticed the blonde bombshell that stole the entire show – Candice Swanpoel. This South African beauty doesn’t need me to gush about her here, her looks do it all on their own.
http://ift.tt/11WlLE2
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WHY YOU SHOULD STOP BEING SO HARD ON YOURSELF
Remember when you placed second on that declamation contest back in sixth grade? That supporting role you played during a school event? Or that masterpiece you worked hard day and night for but wasn’t published? You know you won’t let yourself forget all those so-called mediocrities, so you just sulk in your nook and cringe your way through the day trying to convince yourself you’ll never be good enough for anything, for anyone.
You get so shell-shocked with all that has been going inside your brain, thinking every possible thing that could go wrong. Why is it that no matter how hard I try and try and try, nothing ever seems to work for me? Why is that whatever I do, I feel like I will never be enough? I’m absolutely certain that everyone has, one way or another, asked these questions to their selves. Whether flunking in a test where you studied your butt off, or placing second on a contest you absolutely practiced for like it was the only thing you know your entire life, or maybe simply being lost and unsure of what makes your heart happy.
Accept that some things just aren’t meant for you, that there will be better things you will discover soon. What people fail to realize is that it’s OK to fail, to lose, to not get what you want, to not be what you desire to be. People need to know that only under these circumstances will you be able to realize that you are not defined by some award you get at some competition, by another person in a relationship you’re not even sure of, by a career you may even lose at some point. Do not let earthly acquisitions define you. A prize is just a prize; you may have have all the bragging rights in the world but more than that, a sense of fulfillment isn’t really guaranteed.
Go easy on yourself, let loose. We all have our fair share of good and bad days. There are mornings when you decide to sing in the shower despite having to endure cold baths and there are also those mornings when you just don’t want to wake up, peel out of bed and face a whole day of bad vibes. It’s totally fine not having anything to say, not being in the mood to write, not being in the zone for a game of basketball. You don’t need to push yourself to do something you don’t feel good about. Sometimes, a person just needs a day off from all the work and all the pressure being put on one’s achy back.
Let go of all the things that are making your heavy heart sink. You failed that test? Let it go, study harder, reap better results. You don’t have to burden yourself with things that are already far beyond your control. What’s done is done and the only thing that’s left to do is be better. Letting yourself stroll in the past is as useless as killing your precious time on a rocking chair, it may give you something to do but it will surely get you nowhere, so just shrug off all the bad things. That way, you’ll be helping your heart unload all the unnecessary weight that’s keeping you from being a better version of yourself.
So stop being so hard on yourself. Accept, let loose, let go and carpe the hell out of your diem.
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Restaurant Employees Yelp Review Customers
I used to go on Yelp to help me decide where to go to eat or get takeout.
I don’t really do that anymore.
Why?
Because despite the assertion that Yelp exists ostensibly for this purpose, I’ve found that it skews largely negative, at least where I live. I suppose this makes sense in some way. People are more likely to be moved to write a review of a restaurant if they’ve had a bad experience there. (People fucking LOVE bitching about stuff.) Otherwise they’re too busy stuffing their faces and then being content and lazy afterward. I know that after I face 20 delicious fried wontons in 10 minutes, I’m not doing anything except sitting on the couch and loving life.
This often results in an unbalanced impression of most restaurants.
This got me to thinking about what it would be like if the people of the restaurant had a forum in which to review the people who dined at their establishment or ordered takeout/delivery.
It might look a little something like this:
A dude came in here the other night and ordered enough nosh for probably three people. Then he told me that the last time he had come here, he was pretty sure he’d gotten food poisoning shortly after. But he had to come back, he said, because nobody could make naan as delicious as ours, unless he was willing to venture into New Jersey, where the Indian food is fantastic, apparently. 4 STARS.
This woman got irate with me because her gazpacho was too cold. When I explained to her that gazpacho is a dish best and always served cold, she told me that she had gone to college and that she’d be damned if some waitress was going to lecture her about soup. 3 STARS for unexpected and unintentional comedic value.
This fucking fat guy (can I say fat or does it have to be “obese” now?) came in the other day with a bunch of his friends and I jumped at the chance to wait on them because they were all morbidly obese and we specialize in unhealthy fried stuff that fat people love to order in triplicate. Which generally means a large bill and a long stay at the restaurant, which usually yields a large tip. I attempted to be colloquial with these fellas by saying things like “Want 10 more orders of mozzarella sticks, boys?” and “Should I refill that pitcher of Bud Light for you boys?” I wanted to make them feel welcome. But then when I picked up the signed check at the end, I was flabbergasted by a large zero in the tip bracket, accompanied with a handwritten message that read “Boys don’t tip.” Apparently he thought I was calling them “boys” in the way that slave masters used to use the word, which is a comically insane inference to make on account that it is 2014 and I make my living serving people as basically an indentured servant. A colleague told me later that I had been waiting on Warren Sapp. Apparently he is somebody who used to be relevant for being overweight and tackling people for a living or whatever. ZERO STARS.
This guy kept telling me to “put the bread in the basket” in this strange Buffalo Bill voice. 4 STARS. Because his Buffalo Bill impression was scary good.
I have some sincerely conflicted feelings about Mary. I mean, on the one hand, she is the fiercest individual bar trivia participant I have ever come across in my life—she’s like the Bobby Fischer of 90s sitcom knowledge, and I find myself wanting—no, needing—to cheer for her success. But on the other hand, Mary always orders a bottomless iced tea and then takes up a booth made for four for at least four hours while she cuts down any trivial adversaries who stand in the way of the gift card that will buy her dinner the next time she comes in for trivia. And she tips almost nothing at all. But at least she isn’t mean to me… 3 STARS.
This potential couple came in on what seemed like a first date. The guy ordered steaks for the two of them and the girl had to interject to say that she did not eat meat, and hadn’t since she was 10 years old, and that she had told him about this on their first two dates, and asked if it was so hard to remember. In an effort to save some semblance of dignity, the guy tipped super heavily. As a waiter, you dream of something like this happening to you. Something super heavy on the awkwardness, but also yields a very large tip. 5 STARS.
I was really stoked to wait on this crew because there were 16 of them and they hadn’t asked me to split the bill up at the beginning of their dining adventure, which is cool because it’s super inconvenient for me to split a bill so many ways. But then they asked me to split the bill. When I brought the one all-encapsulating bill. How difficult would it have been to tell me to do this at the very beginning? 1 STAR.
This guy comes in here like twice a week on dates. I think we must be his go-to for OkCupid and Tinder meet-ups. And every time, without fail, he orders champagne. When he knows damn well we don’t serve champagne—that we only have sparkling wine, which is the same as champagne but you can’t call it champagne unless it was made in a certain part of the world. It’s this whole thing. When we explain this to him, he gets all huffy, like he would never take a girl to a place that doesn’t even serve champagne that they can use to toast their fortunate in-real-life meeting. 0 STARS.
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Why Everyone Should Care About Michael Brown, Eric Garner, and Civil Unrest in America
You’ve seen it everywhere lately. Unless you’ve been hiding under an incredibly immense boulder, you’re aware what’s going on in Ferguson, Missouri. You’re aware what’s going on in New York City. You’re aware that widespread protests, riots, and general civil unrest are permeating the streets of American cities and towns from coast to coast.
You know the material facts – that two unarmed black men are dead, killed by police officers. You know that there are two sides to the issue – one side defending the police officers’ actions as justifiable, and the other side condemning the men in uniforms for committing what amounts to homicide.
No matter, which side of the issue you land on, I think we can all agree that it’s a topic which requires further discussion. The media may be blasting the stories through your television and filling the pages of your newspapers 24/7, but this time it is not overkill. There are major problems in America, and we need solutions.
These two tragic events give rise to a myriad of topics that warrant discussion. It’s about race relations in America. It’s about equality and civil rights. It’s about the abject failure of the American “justice” system, and how far we’ve deviated from the ideals upon which this country was founded. It’s about the American military complex and propensity for violence that permeates the lives of those stateside and abroad. There is so much broken that we have never really attempted to fix. The time to change that is now.
This is an issue of race because two unarmed black men were killed by white police offers. This is an issue of race because black people are 30% more likely than white people to be imprisoned for committing the exact same crimes. This is an issue of race because black people are more than three times as likely to be killed by police officers than white people. One can argue that these facts are hogwash because black people commit crimes much more frequently than whites, but this is merely an argument of the chicken versus the egg. When such a disproportionate number of black men and women are imprisoned, killed, and kept living in poverty, it creates a self-fulfilling prophecy of broken families and tragic, hopeless situations. We are not removed from the age of racism. American xenophobia and biases are as prevalent as ever, even if they are expressed in markedly different ways than the dark ages of slavery and segregation. All people should be treated equally in this county, something which we are still struggling to achieve.
This is an issue of our justice system failing to do its most basic duties – namely, protecting the inalienable rights granted to all United States citizens in our much-venerated Constitution. Being an American gives you the luxury of having your fate decided by a jury of your peers, in a court of law. There is no subsection in the Bill of Rights that grants police officers the right to play judge, jury, and executioner in the court of city streets. There is no provision instructing judges and DAs to sentence those with more melanin in their skin to harsher prison sentences. We need to trust our justice system, not fear it. And truth be told, we’re a long way from this happening.
This is an issue of the American tendencies toward violence and hate. Our country has a long history of using bloodshed and and aggression in places where more peaceful, diplomatic measures could easily suffice. This extends to the furthest corners of our borders any beyond; the trigger-happy, militant police officers that make the news for all the wrongs reasons are symptoms of the same disease that allows us to bomb buildings full of civilians overseas. We need to focus more on love and acceptance instead of hate and fear.
Because, that’s what all this boils down to – longstanding inequities etched into the very fabric of this wonderful country. America is still the greatest country on earth, but we can always be better. No matter where you land on these current issues, be part of the conversation.
If your voice is never heard, if you never contemplate these issues and do your duty to be a part of the remedy to our society’s ills, you may just be the next person being zipped up in a body bag, or the person holding the smoking gun and facing the scorn of the masses.
Let’s all work on becoming an example for the rest of the world again. If you’re not a part of the solution, you are part of the problem.
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Look in the Mirror; Now Tell Yourself You’re Pretty
We’ve all heard Meghan Trainor’s song called “All About That Bass” which is essentially about learning to love yourself the way you are, regardless of your size, and to kick guys to the curb if they don’ t love your curves. You have to admit, this is a great song promoting healthy body image and self confidence for young girls and women everywhere.
I recently watched a short interview between Trainor and Editor Amy Odell at Cosmopolitan, where Megan was asked, “Have you always loved your body?”
Trainor answers right away: “No.” She continues to say, “When I wrote the song I didn’t.”
I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve never been all about my bass, especially as of late. Unfortunately, I was dating someone who didn’t embrace my curves or like my body type, and actually wanted me to lose a decent amount of weight. It became a recurring issue in our relationship, especially because he vocalized on a daily basis how badly he wanted me to be skinnier. Ever since then, it has been nearly impossible for me to be all about my bass.
I used to feel confident and I embraced my own curves, realizing they were a part of me, and they were here to stay. I’m sure not many females out there can that they happily embraced their curves. Believe me, mine was a slow, awkward, does-this-really-have-to-happen embrace. But still, I did.
But the problem now, is that any self-confidence and self-esteem I had about my current weight and the way I looked has been depleted due to my ex-boyfriend. After this incident happened to me, I started to wonder if I was the only one. Surely I couldn’t be the only girl in the world who dated an asshole who wanted them to lose weight, right?
What’s more, surely I couldn’t be the only girl in the world to look in the mirror and struggle to tell myself I’m pretty and actually believe it, right?
Upon further research, I discovered that I was correct: between 80 and 90 percent of women and girls in Canada are unhappy with the way they look.
But I wanted my investigation to go further. I wanted to know if girls had been influenced by a significant other to lose weight and to look differently like I had.
One major aspect of abusive relationships is the element of control. Abusers control their partners through shame, guilt, intimidation and fear. My partner at the time used guilt to force me to lose weight, and he also shamed me if I were to eat poorly or miss a workout.
Reading through the long-term effects of an abusive relationship, I found more information that I could relate to. James Patterson, someone who specializes in health and wellness topics states: “Abusers frequently focus in on areas where the abused person already has self-esteem issues such as physical appearance, weight, intelligence, and so forth. This only perpetuates the abuse person’s issues with self confidence.”
So what is the solution here? How do we help 90% of the female population feel good about ourselves? How do I help myself to feel good about the way I look?
More than that, how do we stop abusers from being abusers?
I chose my words carefully because abusive relationships do not always consist of the men as the abuser. Women can and are the abusers too. Having recently joined Tinder and spoken to a great deal of men, I have discovered that a lot of them were dating women who were cheating on them, lying to them and yes, even abusing them. Now, I know what you’re thinking: these could all very well be pickup lines to get into girls’ pants, particularly mine, but I don’t quite believe it. When a guy on Tinder asks me what happened with my latest ex-boyfriend, I don’t create an elaborate story so that he will tell me how pretty I am, and what an idiot that guy was. I tell the truth about what happened and how I was treated in hopes that I receive the same honesty in return.
As most of you have already figured out, I don’t have the answers to the questions I am asking, I don’t think anyone has the answers right now. But one piece of advice I will give to you (and I promise I will try it too) is: listen to “All About That Bass,” look in the mirror, and tell yourself you’re pretty—because you are.
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