Wednesday, May 25, 2016

The Chicken, Or...?

Author's note:  this story came to me, in full, in a dream.  I have no idea what it means, or if it means anything.  I woke up remembering few details, but felt the punchline was worthy of being shared.  The moral, I think, is that women cannot embrace a liberated attitude towards sex as long as men dominate the conversation about female sexuality.  Partners, parents, and peers.  All characters and events are fictional.


"Things are getting pretty serious with Piglette," Pig shared, tipping back a beer.

"Piglette?  Like, Piglette?"  Chicken balked.  

"Well, yeah, I think so," Pig mumbled into his Coors.

"You can't hit that, dude!"  Chicken shrieked.  "Dude, she's a pig."

"I'm a pig!"

"Yeah, but, you know, there's double standards about these things," Chicken squawked.  Chicken was a dick.  To be accurate, he was a cock — as in, a male chicken.  But mainly, he was a dick.

"You're saying I shouldn't?" Pig wasn't sure if he should listen to Chicken or not, but he knew enough to put up a front.

"Well, I'm saying, I wouldn't," Chicken clucked admonishingly.  


Piglette patted the couch next to her, swirling her glass.  Pig sat down, a respectful distance away.

"You know, I really like you," she chortled.  "And I think you like me, too."

Pig blushed into his glass of rosé.  

Piglette continued: "I think we should go all the way tonight."

Pig choked on his wine.  "You do?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?"  Piglette asked.  "I want to. Do you want to?"

"Yeah...yeah!"  Pig stammered, carefully putting the fragile wine glass on the side table and awkwardly leaning in for a kiss.  Piglette accepted the kiss, then shoved him backwards onto the couch roughly.

"Let's do this!"  she squealed.


Pig woke up to pounding.  The pounding in his head, from drinking too much sweet white wine, and the pounding on his door, which he only realized was not in his head as well when the shouting began.

"Get out here, you pig!" came a throaty yell from outside.  "I'm gonna kill you!"

Chicken was the only cock with the balls to pull a prank like this, Pig thought to himself as he shuffled to the door.  But it wasn't Chicken.  It was an older pig, with a fisherman's hat and grey mustache.

"Uhhhh..." Pig moaned inquisitively.

"You knocked up my daughter!" Mr. Pig foamed at the mouth.  "Now you're dead!"

"Whose daughter?" Pig was fuzzy, trying to put the pieces together.

"My daughter!  Piglette!  I know what you did, and now you're going to take responsibility!" Mr. Pig spat.  "I'm gonna make you PAY for —"

A piercing scream echoed across the barnyard.  It was Piglette.  She was in labor. 


Everyone in the barnyard circled around Piglette, wailing in the straw of the barnyard.  Pig began to sweat.  He saw Chicken, over his shoulder, barely concealing his amusement at the proceedings.  Mr. Pig rushed to her side, and Pig followed, unsure of what he should do as she screamed and kicked.

Piglette push push push push pushed and out popped - an egg.

The barnyard fell silent.  Even Piglette.  They stared at the egg.  Mr. Pig coughed — once.

"Well," he grumbled to himself. "I guess now we know which came first."

Sunday, May 22, 2016

5 Disney Movies That Ruined Your Chances Of Having A Healthy Love Life Forever

1.  The Little Mermaid:

Is there anything more tragic than first love?  If you learned anything from The Little Mermaid, it's that your first boyfriend is worth betraying your family, leaving your home, and selling your voice to an octopus lady for.  Yep, that guy you think is so cute when you're sixteen is definitely going to marry you and make you a princess.  Thanks, Ariel, for making us a generation of young women who believed that we could all be teenage brides and live happily ever after.  Fuck off.

2.  Lady and the Tramp:  

He's a bad boy, but he's not THAT bad!  Everyone said he was no good, but you trust him more than your own family!  What happens in the end?  You get in trouble!  Let's hope your Tramp had a Pound Posse to rescue you from getting locked up when you found yourself in a jam.  

3.  Snow White:  

What do you do when you see a man who can't handle his own life shit?  You clean his house!  Multiply that times seven.  Is it any coincidence that none of those seven men could take care of her needs?  Nah, they can't wake her up.  But by all means, spend all your time taking care of those other dudes.  NEXT!

4.  Peter Pan:  

Oooh the whimsical man-child!  He'll sweep you off your feet with his talk of magic and fairies, but where is this guy when you're on the plank?  And what's up with that jealous Tinkerbell?  This dude is double-dipping.  Danger, danger!  Run, don't fly, away!

5.  Aladdin:  

Yeah, I want to trust you.  I've got all this baggage, though, isn't that gonna weigh down this magic carpet?  Okay, I believe you, I'm falling for you, turns out you weren't who you said you were.  HAHA!  That's fine!  I'll settle for a two-faced liar!  He's the lesser of all the evils, after all!

Saturday, May 14, 2016


OH my gosh y'all I have been neglecting this blog.  I think I've just been writing so damn much for everyone else (ha!) that I forgot to make space to write for myself.  On that note, I'm particularly proud of a couple of my pieces, and I'd love to share them with you (also as proof of how busy I am?):

Over at BUST, there's been a lot going on:

Need a new period tracking app? We Tried 8 Period Tracking Apps — Here's How They Held Up.  By "we" they mean "I".  Also click for Monty Python references.

I can't get over this "bathroom bill" issue, y'all, it's totally GARBAGE.  Let's get up to date on everything that's happened since HB2 passed — with Shirley Manson and GIFs: We Need To Have A Potty Talk: What's The Deal With Bathroom Bills?

I have been so fortunate that my internship has allowed me to force cool people to talk to me meet so many interesting people and no more so than the 6 artists who were kind enough to let me share their artwork in my list of 6 Body Positive Illustrators You Need To Know About, and Madeleine Holden of 'Critique My Dick Pic' Is A Body-Positive Approach To Sexting: BUST Interview (NSFW).

remember when I shared this #tbt photo of my in 2008 on BUST? I'll never forget.

Okay and finally, my favorite listicle is still my first listicle, 16 Nostalgic Hair Accessories From The 90's And Where Are They Now.  If you like 90s listicles, period talk, and political rants with GIFs, stay up to date by liking BUST's Facebook page (I'd be personally chuffed if you did, since 3/5 days of the week I'm the one manning the page and fielding all the comments, so drop something nice when you get the chance)!!!

Ooooookay now over on Femnasty, I've been keeping up a weekly posting schedule on Thursdays and I'm so proud to say I haven't missed a Thursday yet!  Which is monumental, because of how fucking busy I've been!  

Researching Free the Maxi Pads! was a huge eye-opener for me, I had no idea it was so hard to get a fuckin' tampon in this world.  It's mostly sarcastic (what? sarcastic? me?), but this is an issue I care pretty deeply about, so check it out if you bleed!

I love discussing Cultural Appropriation: What Is It? with people because like...nobody knows.  Not even the wokest motherfuckers can give me a straight answer.  Maybe that's okay.  Let's discuss why it's so hard to define and keep talking about it!

I've had Prom on the brain, hence, This Prom Is Bananas, B-A-N-A-N-A-S, in which we discuss early 00s prom dress styles, purity pledges, and erotic banana-eating videos!  Basically, all the sexiest stuff.

Oh and just so you don't feel cheated by this links roundup post, I'd like to share something deeply fucking personal with all of you:  so another thing that's been keeping me so so so so so busy is that I've been attending weekly therapy sessions and we've gotten past the "getting to know you" stage and into the "OMG WTF is wrong with you" stage.  The last couple weeks have been REALLY hard, and I reached a seriously low point at the end of last week.  This week, things have started getting better, and my therapist recommended an app to me that's absolutely contributing to that.  It's called CBT Thought Record Diary, and it's kind of like carrying my therapist in my pocket everywhere.  Wait.  What?  That sounds disturbing.  Uh, anyway, it's been so helpful to recognize that I'm starting to get anxious or upset or ragey, to make note of it, then practice the techniques she's taught me in our sessions.  Yo, if you're doing CBT talk therapy, you might want to check it out.  I'm not recommending it instead of therapy, but it's really been a help to me this week.  Look at me writing instead of dwelling!  

Anyway, hope your weeks have been good, all!  I've just finished cleaning the kitchen and now I have to touch up my roots before my tour tonight, because tomorrow we're heading up to Boston at 7am to attend a wedding BBQ!  Shit guys, WHAT DO I WEAR?  This weather has been so mercurial (ha), I'm trying to choose between like 4 different dresses.  Ugh.  See you again SOON — I promise!

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Carrie's Side

Mom: "Hi Carrie, how was school today?"

Carrie:  "Fine.  We drew pictures of our families...but I'm worried about my friend Cindy."

Mom:  Oh?  Why is that?

Carrie: "Well, it was Tyler's birthday today, so his dad brought in cupcakes, but Cindy couldn't have any.  She had to sit in the nurse's office until after we sang "Happy Birthday Tyler," and then she came back for our spelling test."

Mom: "That's odd."

Carrie:  "Yeah.  Cindy told us it's because birthday parties are evil tools of seitan.  Mom, I'm confused.  What does high-protein meat substitute have to do with birthdays?"

Mom: "Well, Carrie, it sounds like your little friend is in a cult."

Carrie:  "Occult, mommy?  You mean Cindy is 'of, involving, or relating to supernatural, mystical, or magical powers or phenomena'?"

Mom:  "Haha, no dear, excellent definition though.  I think Cindy is in cult."

Carrie:  "What's a 'cult,' Mommy?"

Mom:  "A cult is a group of adults brainwashed by some old white men, usually so those old white men can rape little children."

Carrie:  "Holy shit, mom!  Do you think some old dude is raping Cindy?"

Mom:  Maybe, Carrie.  Maybe.  What would you do if someone was raping your friend?

Carrie:  "Well...I could tell her about consent, while keeping the conversation is a sex-positive and body-positive inclusive framework...but honestly, I'd rather just avoid her.  Her whole family is really angry and weird.  I mean, have you seen her brother Caleb's face?  That's the thing!  I don't think anyone has!"

Mom:  Ha ha (laughs mirthlessly) that's AWESOME!


reuploaded video here...does not endorse beliefs or contribute views to original content:

Wednesday, May 4, 2016

Brought To You By...

You guys, I miss blogs.  Like, I really miss blogs.

You know that awful Twitter chat question: "What made you start blogging teehee lol?"  BLOGS.  Blogs made me start blogging.  Blogs opened my eyes to something human beyond myself, something real and sympathetic and extraordinary in the everyday banal realities of life.  A voyeuristic window into the lives of humble, ordinary, charming people.

So when I say I miss blogging, I mean I miss that.  I can't remember the last time I read an actual blog.  Not one with a title like:

"15 Ways To Increase Followers With SEO"


"10 Self Care Tips (That Are Actually Common Sense Shit I Learned Watching Oprah & Listening To My GP)"

Y'all, y'all, calm down.  I'm not mad that you wanna tell me to "drink water!" like it's the first time I ever as an adult human woman heard that drinking water was good for me.  And if you know what SEO is, I admire you.  That's impressive.  It's not really lifestyle blogging, though, is it?

I'm talking about the blogs I used to read with titles like "Life Update" and "Day Trip to the Canyon."  Fuck the bullet points, fuck the grammar, fuck construction.  LET ME READ YOUR JOURNAL.  I don't give two shits if you can't spell.  I want to peek into your brain and see life through your eyes.  THAT's talent.  THAT's hard.

If you could peek into my brain and see through my eyes, do you know what you would see?

That the "Life Update" post was actually an elaborate sponsored content post for Head & Shoulders shampoo.  That that sweet "Day Trip to the Canyon" was sponsored by Brawny Paper Towels, consisted of four photos of the landscape, an outfit post where you stuck your fingers in your hair, and wrote 2 sentences about how you can't live without Brawny paper towels! 

I mean, shit, I can say this because I have like zero followers.  Yeah, my numbers are so in the negatives, that like -0 people follow my blog.  That's a goddamn irrational number.  That means it's unreal.  Almost as unreal as how absorbent Brawny paper towels are!  

THERE!  THAT!  Do you feel cheated?  Were you expecting some actual human emotion, only to get tricked into yet another fucking commercial?!?  You mad?  

Don't forget to include the photo with zero context!  It's pretty!  Why does it matter that it has nothing to do with the piece?

Yeah.  Me too.

Monday, May 2, 2016

Currently... in May 2016

FEELING:  Exhausted!  I've been looking forward to this post for a LONG time, because I feel like so much has changed and everything has gone by so fast!  Like Holy Hell, we have a whole new room in our apartment!  

Sadly, I discovered a whole new season of Say Yes to the Dress I had not yet seen, and spent like basically a whole day (doing chores) and watching that.  I finished season 2 of Kimmy Schmidt and was PISSED - hello, cliffhanger!  

 Ugh, I've basically stopped listening to music in the mornings because I can't deal with it.  You have no idea what a shit morning person I am — I basically stomp through my morning routine muttering "I hate everything," until I get into the office where I'm interning.  I hate waking up, I hate being cold, and I hate commuting.  Things I hate most about commuting: having to hold my pee for an hour to an hour and a half on the trains because it takes anywhere from 20 minutes to forever to get from my area of Brooklyn to BUST's area of Brooklyn.  No clue.

READING:  Likewise, I have been doing very little reading except when researching things to write about.  Ugh, je suis le worst.  

Dude, you should read my friggin' archives.  I'm so goddamn busy you have no idea.  I've written like a million things but here are my top ten favourites, in no particular order: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10  

Lots of "WHY?"  Like, I don't know if any of you will remember a time when blogging was a meaningful way of sharing thoughts and ideas.  It just occurred to me that I can't remember the last time I read a "personal blog" that I actually enjoyed.  All the people who I used to enjoy getting to know through their writing...their blogs are all sponsored content now.  I'm not sad, I'm angry.  I feel like I was tricked into caring about writing, personal essays, BLOGGING — and then ditched at the mall by the "cool girls" who've moved on and monetized because who gives a damn about writing?  It's all about that bread now.  This leaves me clutching my silly blog to my chest like a worn-out diary.  Damn.  What happened, blogs?  What happened.

EATING:  I realized the other day that if I were to be autopsied, my stomach contents would be so tragic: KIND bars and prepared Indian food that comes in pouches.  It's tasty (not the KIND bars, but, well, I'm working full time for $0 so you do what you have to)

LOOKING FORWARD TO:  The little tease of spring we had (before it went back to 40 degrees and rainy) has frozen over my heart.  The building heat doesn't go on because it's "too warm," but it's not actually warm at all, so I'm shivering on the couch under a blanket, wearing a sweatsuit, and my nose is running — OH, I'm looking forward to not being cold all the time. 

I love writing.  I love it so damn much.  I love writing jokes over here, I love writing about serious issues on BUST, I love writing.  I'm so happy I get to write all the time.  My dwindling personal savings is the noose dangling over my head, but I love writing so fucking much.  I'm so glad I'm where I am right now.  Check back with me in a month.

Monday, April 25, 2016

Five Albums: Arrival

"See that girl, watch that scene/digging the Dancing Queen"  I'm 12 years old and I've re-discovered ABBA.  My parents laugh because they have video of toddler-me dancing to "Take A Chance On Me."  Oh, if there was YouTube in 1989!  But when I rekindle my love of ABBA in 1997, I do my share of dancing. 

In 1997, I've yet to have a crush on a teacher, so I can't relate to "When I Kissed The Teacher."  Maybe this does explain, though, why I seem to always go for the timid, mathy guys.

"My Love, My Life" is dreamy, ethereal ballad about breaking up with a guy named Mitch.  Or, at least I thought so, back in 1997.  "I can hear Mitch passing by, my love, my life" starts the chorus.  As a kid, this song bored me.  As an adult who is capable of Googling the actual lyrics, this song breaks my heart.  Mitch breaks my heart.  "Oh this has been my longest day/sitting here close to you/knowing that maybe tonight we're through" — the sinking feeling of your love dying and realizing your relationship is over.  Realizing that this song isn't really about Mitch.  

Hell, I was twelve.  I thought "Dum Dum Diddle" was profound.

If any one song reinforced my internalized misogyny and low self-esteem at this age, it was "That's Me."  Boasting about being not like other girls, while relishing being undeserving of love.  Whoof.  "I'm jealous, and I'm proud/if you hurt my feelings I cry out loud."  Yeah, #NotLikeOtherGirls cry out loud when their feelings are hurt, and then shrug it off like "That's Me"!  Uh huh.

IMHO, the album standout was always "Why Did It Have To Be Me?"  Lead vocals by Bjorn and Frida, so we get a rare break from Agnetha's usual airy strainings.  I always rooted for Frida, as the non-blonde of the group.  I felt that her face had more expression while singing, and I still watch videos of this song being performed live when I need a pick-me-up:

Is ABBA kind of punk here?  As punk, I guess, as ABBA gets.  After our departure into dirty, gritty rock, we have our "Arrival."  An almost completely instrumental number (unless you count "AHHHH" as lyrics), I listened to "Arrival" and thought, "this is what it sounds like when your plane lands in Sweden, naturally."  

ABBA is one of the highest-grossing musical acts of all time, which is hard to comprehend when you hear "Tiger" — a song that may be laden with sexual innuendo, but seem like it lends itself better to a ballet recital for five-year-olds.  Can you just see the damn costumes?  Little tigers in leotards and face paint, running around onstage, forgetting their choreography?

ABBA was engineered for dancing.  Say what you will about their lyrics (as Dorothy Parker would say, "if you don't have anything nice to say..."), their music is fucking danceable.  The opening piano slide of "Dancing Queen" comes over a loudspeaker and you are transported to the Land of Compulsory Dance.  In 1997, I didn't really understand "Friday night and the lights are low/Looking out for a place to go," but I had recently been introduced to Middle School Dances, and they were what I lived for.  Every month, for $2, you could go to the gym — which was the place where nightmares come to be made during the daytime — on a Friday night and the lights would all be turned off...hmmm...and stake out a claim of territory with your friends near the DJ booth.  The sweet old man spinning records was kind enough to take requests, to ensure they play the right music...huh.  The night was young, and the music...hurt your ears!  And then you get the let go.  

These dances were my everything.  I had not yet learned to be ashamed of my body, a shame that would rob me of my joy in dance for the next couple decades of my life, no, but that would come soon enough.  For now, my only responsibility (having paid my $2 at the door) was to spin, twirl, shake and high-kick my way through two hours of music without stopping.  I developed a bit of a reputation as the shy, quiet girl who could really dance.  I turned down partner offers — partly because I was terrified of boys at this age, and also because they'd only slow me down!  I was a solo act, baby.  A Star.  A Supernova.  I was the Dancing Queen.

Coming Soon:

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

Stop Making Sense

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Things Guys Do On The Subway That We HATE

Playing Shitty Music Out Loud — look at everybody else's ears.  What do you see?  Those are called "headphones."  People wear them in public.  If you're wearing headphones and I can still hear your music, then you need to re-evaluate your life.  Seriously.

Spitting — yo are you brushing your teeth on the D train platform?  NO?  Then you have no reason whatsoever to spit.  So you just bought a big ol' bag of sunflower seeds, and you are under the delusion that the shower of shells you're spewing onto the tracks are going to germinate a field of beautiful sunflowers three stories below 36th Street?  Oh wait, no, that's bullshit.  Spitting on the train is vile.  Would you spit on the seat of a cab?  If I gave you a ride, would you spit on my dashboard?  So don't spit on the fucking train, you wretched creature.

Manspreading — it's an epidemic.

“Showtime” — the top-left corner on Living In New York BINGO is "seeing a breakdancer kick an unsuspecting passenger in the face on the subway."  You're not really an official New Yorker until you've had to dodge a sneaker to the face on the E train.  In eight years living here, I've seen one female dancer on the train.  ONE.  

Singing/Rapping Aloud With Their Headphones — Well, congratulations, look who got a set of headphones!  Now let me tell you how they work.  The bottom-center square on Living In New York BINGO is being alone on a deserted platform late at night and suddenly hearing the visceral scream of "RAPED THAT BITCH IN THE ASS!"  Is it a dangerous murderer?!?  No, it's someone singing along with their headphones.

One of the proudest moments in my life as a New Yorker happened in the High Street underpass.  A creepy guy was singing aloud to his headphone about cracking skulls or some nonsense, and I just decided to sing along with my own headphones to the witty songstylings of Billy Joel — "Leave A Tender Moment Alone."  

Blocking The Doors — you say, "But Meghan, are you sure women don't do this too?"  And yes, leaning against the doors for balance when the train is in motion is a universal necessity.  My pet peeve is on the guys who keep leaning when the doors are open, defying the laws of gravity and physics to prevent anyone from getting in or out of the train.  Nothing says "I don't care what the function of a door is, I'm comfortable where I am" like ignoring angry people on either side of you while you play Candy Crush Saga on your iPhone 6S during rush hour.  

What bad behaviors did I miss?  What pisses you off on the subway?  Should we collect these "courtesey counts" posters and burn them in a fire, casting a spell on all those who violate the cartoons' directives?

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