10 Things I Would Rather Be Cuffed To Than A Relationship This Cuffing Season

It’s cuffing season!!! Time to cuff yourself to a person who can be your significant other until summer when you recklessly abandon them for a slew of summer flings. Or not. Cuffing season is kind of stupid. Why do you need someone because baby it’s cold outside? Answer: BABY YA DON’T.

I can think of 10 things I would rather be cuffed to than a person my family will interrogate me about all Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas, New Years, and Valentine’s Day, long. It sounds so much more interesting to have to explain why I am chained to this Kettle Corn stand than to have to re-tell the story of how Joshua and I met on an app to my 87-year-old second cousin Ruth.

My Bathtub

Sounds amazing, tbh.

My Bed

Again, sounds incredible.

A Really Good Sushi Restaurant

After all of my money is gone from eating sushi, I would start an unlikely friendship with one of the sushi chefs who is actually experimenting with the menu and she would toss me some of her creations for me to try and give my opinion on. Yes, there would be some clunkers, but I’m sure most of it would be pretty good. This is a really good sushi restaurant after all. Plus, new friend. Yay!

A Mug of Tea

It’s not like a magical one or anything, I would have to replenish it. Could also come in handy if I need to beat off an attacker or throw hot liquid in someone’s face.

Ruth Bader Ginsberg

So I could protect her physically and also learn a lot of cool stuff, I’m sure.

Rihanna

Do I even need to explain this one.

Target’s Hair Care Aisle

This is the most exciting aisle in Target aside from the candle aisle. I wouldn’t want to be handcuffed to the candle aisle because it is too smelly. In the hair care aisle I could fix my dead ends, dry shampoo my roots, and experiment with headbands.

A Reusable Water Bottle

It would remind me to stay hydrated. No man has EVER done that for me.

A Cute Dog

I would LOVE to be cuffed to a cute dog. Me and my babe, forever! Let’s walk and talk and cuddle, you speechless hairy baby! Only downside is possibly fleas/potty time.

The Kettle Corn Stand At A Farmer’s Market

Kettle corn is fucking amazing and it always smells so good over there.

 

 

A Time I Felt Truly Attractive

Recently on Twitter, someone prompted the Twitterverse to tell them about a time “you felt truly attractive.” My response was “At my grandpa’s funeral.”

But let me explain.

My grandfather and I became very close towards the end of his life. It was just as much of a joy for me to see him as it was for him to see me, and in his usual Jewish grandfatherly way, would kvell (Yiddish for bursting with pride, to say something with pride) about how beautiful he thought I was. This was even when I would roll up to the Jewish Home For the Elderly in yoga pants with like, no eyebrows on and dirty hair.

The man had style before he was bed-ridden. There are photographs in my house of him in his younger years, wearing trendy outfits for the time and looking handsome. He appreciated the effort people put into looking good. He would tell me when he liked my coat or if he thought the color of a shoe or a bracelet was eye-catching. He was detail-oriented and happy to see every little thing that I wanted to show him, from my haircut to my toe polish to my new tattoo.

Towards the end, I tried to put some extra effort into how I looked when I saw him, because he had such little contact with the outside world. I wore colors and lipstick and fun jewelry.

It wouldn’t have mattered if I hadn’t. I could have come in Norts and a big sweater every day with no makeup on and he would have been just as ecstatic to see me. We would have talked about traveling (his favorite thing), eating (his second favorite thing), our family, paranormal things (I loved to ask him about ghosts), dying, god, the Russians, his Russian parents, or anything. The connection between us was never about how I looked on the outside, but it felt like a nicety he could never be afforded. He was too sick to be out of the home for long, to see many people, and the people he did see every day weren’t necessarily the most sparkly. So for him, I sparkled. I wanted to bring him the best version of me. Someone thriving, someone vibrant, someone pretty. Someone from the outside, because he was trapped in there.

When he died, I wanted to sparkle for him one last time. It felt like a do-over for how we said goodbye.

The last time I ever saw my grandfather in the flesh, I had a fever of 102 and almost didn’t come. I had to fight my family to let me go and see him. It was Christmas. I wore a yellow medical mask around my nose and mouth. “Get that sticker off your face. Let me see you,” he had said to me. I don’t know why he thought it was a sticker.

“You can’t,” I had answered. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

I couldn’t kiss him on the head when I said goodbye, so I held his hands. He was still glad to see me.

He died the next day.

So, to honor him, I wanted to go all out. I wanted to look amazing. I wanted not only to be sparkly, I wanted to look hot. I wanted elderly Jewish family members and distant relatives alike to see me and be like “Woah, that’s Hillard’s grand daughter?” Hell yea, it is bitches. Progeny, but make it sexi.

I bought a funeral-appropriate but still cocktail party-esque black dress from Nordstrom, Spanx with butt pads (accidentally), this deep-berry stain lipstick from NYX, opaque tights, heeled boots, and an itty bitty purse that was black and cheetah print and could only fit my cellphone and a handful of Ativan.

I had my lashes done. I got my hair blown out. I arrived in San Francisco for the funeral and completely fell apart.

I remember looking at my face in the mirror as I got ready (I am a makeup before outfit girl) and feeling like an alien. I was blotchy and booger-y and had massive dark circles. I put heavy-duty primer on, followed by a heavy application of foundation. I concealed. I contoured. I didn’t bronze because it was January and who would have believed me. My eyebrows were arched and full. My lips looked kissed by berries. The routine of applying a full and detailed face with a shit ton of products actually calmed me down. Spritzing myself with setting spray felt therapeutic.

It was only until after I opened my package of Spanx that I realized they included butt pads. I called my sister in to laugh at them. They were incredible and unnecessary and looked amazingly subtle under my dress followed by a pair of tights. I did up my dress. I put on my shoes. I grabbed my purse. I was wearing butt pads!

If you didn’t know that I was headed to a funeral, I looked HOT. I looked vampy and leggy and like I had a perfectly circular and pert butt. If you didn’t know better you might have thought I was on my way to a date or a very sexy business meeting at 10 a.m.

In the words of my least favorite Bachelorette, I “did the damn thing.” I greeted his former co-workers, his friends, our family members I had never met, our family members I knew. I smiled. I stood up straight. I shook hands. Then it came time for the service.

God bless Too Faced Cosmetics and the power of waterproof mascara. No matter how hard I cried, how much snot I wiped on my sleeve, or the amount of wine I drank after the service–it all held together. While my eyes were red (crying and drunk) my lashes looked luscious. The makeup on my nose stayed on even after honking it into a tissue 1000000 times. My hair was shiny and curled at the bottom thanks to Dry Bar and it photographed well in the photos I took in the Columbarium bathroom for the guy I was dating at the time. Yes, I even took a photo of my butt. You couldn’t see the pads under the tights. I was hot!!

(P.S. Zayde, I’m sorry for taking a picture of my butt at your funeral. I blame the grief and the wine.)

Did I feel beautiful? No. I felt like throwing up and crying some more. But did I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt that I looked good? Hell yeah brother. Hell yea. I don’t think I have put so much careful love and attention into looking that good, again. Not even for a date.

But even though I sparkled and shone with lipgloss and nice hair, I showed up. That’s what was important. I was there with my family, and I got to say goodbye, without a face sticker or a mask or a fever. I was there because I loved him. That’s all he would have really wanted anyway.

 

 

 

The New 5 Love Languages

“Likes” & Comments Of Affirmation

For this person, nothing means more to them than a like or a comment on the ‘gram. Compliments, especially of the heart-eye emoji variety are the very definition of love. “Babe you look *kissy emoji* *kissy emoji* *100 emoji* *fire emoji* is akin to  being kissed deeply on their soul. If you’re not #teamfollowback, you won’t last long.

Acts Of Postmates Service

Can having a stranger deliver a bean and cheese burrito to your house at 9pm on a Wednesday be an act of love? Absolutely! The words this person wants to hear most are, “what’s the address?” but they don’t want YOU to deliver it yourself. Part of the act of this service is the service of not forcing them to see anybody they know while they’re not wearing any makeup, have worn the same pajamas for three days, or have a life shattering pimple. How is this different from gifts? It’s not. “Thank you so much for taking care of me baby xxx”

Quality FaceTime

Say, “I love you,” with your semi-divided attention, all the damn time. You’re not just there for the person with Quality FaceTime as their love language, you’re there for them when you’re in the shower, on the toilet, eating dinner, at the club, in the car…seeing your face 24/7 even in bad lighting lets this person feel special and loved. Watch out for poor signal and areas without wifi.

Butt Touch

They just want you to touch their butt. They want a booty rub. They want a butt slap. They want your hand in their pocket Peter Kavinsky style. Whether you’re laying at home in bed or walking down the street–your hand had better find its way to that tush even if it’s flat, bubble, wide, little, dimpled, stretch marked, tattooed, or what. “Butt touch” is the 2018 hand hold.

Gifts

Yeah, gifts are still gifts. Gimme.

The Real Different Kinds Of Guys You Date In Your Twenties

This may be some Carrie Bradshaw shit, but we’re so tired of those trope-laden listicles about the kind of men you date in your twenties. They’re not good and they’re not accurate!! So we’ve created our own listicle about the real men you date in your twenties– if you’re dating men. The absolute monsters, the duds, the creeps, and the sort of good ones.

We would say “beware the following,” but this is the kind of bullshit you’ll put up with from 20 to 29. Hopefully when you’re 30 you’ll know better (you won’t!)

The Former Film Student

It doesn’t matter if he studied at NYU, USC, or Emerson. This guy thinks he’s PTA (that’s Paul Thomas Anderson. Can you even name three of his films?) and he’s working on a screenplay with his friend Josh that no one is allowed to see until it’s done. They went to Columbia together–that’s Columbia College, Chicago. He wants to take you to a movie in the park so he can lean over every ten minutes and explain it to you. He wears the same shirt every day and willfully ignores significant pop culture moments. Somehow you’re charmed???

The Bartender

He doesn’t get off until like 11 p.m. at the earliest so most of your dates are late night. It’s pretty cool at first until you realize you’re fucking exhausted and drunk all the time. He sleeps all day. He introduces you to new and exciting cocktails that you will order on subsequent dates to impress them. You never see him in daylight. He’s sad all the time because his days consist of sleeping and then going to work for long hours in a dark bar with drunk people. You end it with a text.

The Friend Of A Friend

You met him at your college best friend’s party. They’ve known each other since they were 12. You thought he was totally hot. You hook up for a few nights before realizing that it’s making your college friend uncomfortable. He moves states anyway.

The Ex Boyfriend You Can’t Seem To Quit

You dated for 4 months and then you broke up. You got back together and dated for almost a year. Then you broke up. Then you got back together, broke up, and got back together again. You might be broken up right now, but you’re totally getting back together later. Unless he’s fucking that girl you broke up with him for last time. Then you are never getting back together, like ever.

The Guy You Met On Tinder You Just Realized Was Racist

The date is going really well. He looks like his pictures, he has a cool job, and the conversation is interesting. You’re thinking this could really be going somewhere until he says something fishy about the Asian community in your area. You ask him to elaborate. It only gets worse. Check, please!

The Guy Who Introduced You To His Work Friends As His “Cousin”

He took you on a date to his WeWork space for wine and cheese night. You like a casual date, but this feels perhaps a little too casual. He introduces you to his co-workers as his “cousin.” Game over. He answers a phone call from his mother in front of you and puts it on speaker while they fight for 15 minutes. Game Over.

The Guy You Went To Middle School With Only You’re Hooking Up Now

You weren’t really friends in middle school (he was cool and you weren’t), but you were home in the suburbs and swiped right on each other. He grabs your boob in your mom’s car and fucks you in his childhood bedroom when his parents aren’t home. It’s a little nostalgic but mostly depressing.

The Guy You’re Never Going To Meet But You’re Emotionally Invested In

You met on an app when you were on vacation/in another state/west of the 405 and he is probably your soulmate. You talk for hours and have sizzling chemistry. You get jealous when you think he’s going on dates or if a girl comments on his Instagram. You’re probably never meeting in real life, but he’s YOURS damnit!

The Guy Who Won’t Have Sex With You On Your Period

He has no problem with you whacking him off in his bed, in the car, at the bar, in a house, on a mouse, anywhere. But blood is his kryptonite. You’re bleeding?? Sorry his penis is terrified. His fingers can’t even go down there! It doesn’t matter that you’re wearing a Diva Cup! This wittle baybee is scawed. Also, he still wants you to suck his dick.

The Guy Who Won’t Open Your Insta DM But Tagged You In A Photo Like A Monster

You went on a few dates around town, but conversation has fizzled. One day you look at your phone and realize there’s a notification. He’s tagged you in a photo from when you went to a sports game together, like a psychopath. WHO DOES THAT?? You DM him to say hey and mention that you saw it, but he doesn’t open it for days. He doesn’t open it at all. What the fuck?

The Good Guy You’re Not Attracted To

He listens, he laughs, he pays for your dates. He thinks you’re pretty even when you have no makeup on and a lot of hormonal acne. He’s genuinely interested in your mind, body, and soul. But he’s not doing it for you. You’re just not that into him. Never mind that he would probably Postmates you hungover Chick-fil-A or listen to you complain about your mom. He’s not unattractive, he’s just not….an asshole 😦