i was always a boy-crazy idiot.

Every time I go home I think about reading through my old diaries. Since I’m home for Xmas right now I’m thinking about it RIGHT NOW but I’m afraid of the shame I will feel because I was always a boy crazy idiot.

My ominous stack of diaries.

Please keep in mind that I don’t think I was an ACTUAL idiot, I was actually pretty smart. But that makes it way worse, that I wasted so much of my potential and valuable brain power on being a boy crazy idiot. The energy that I wasted on thinking about boys and chasing after boys and wondering what boys thought about me and trying to get the attention of boys could have powered a small country. It could have been used to solve world hunger, or negotiate world peace. With the mental power I devoted to pining over boys I could have cured COVID before COVID even happened.

But instead, I was a boy crazy idiot.

I don’t know why this was the case. I don’t know where it came from. I was not raised to be a boy crazy idiot and I can’t recall any movies or TV shows that I liked as a kid that would have inspired me to eschew every other mental activity in the entire world to dedicate my entire mental space to “boys and the pursuit thereof.”

One offensive tome.

From the ages of 9-13 my entire existence was devoted to thinking about boys. I’m not making this up. Every place I went, every conversation I had with friends, every mental intention I set was part of a plot to get closer or capture the attention of a boy or multiple boys. Sometimes just casting a nice wide net of “any boy my age I might think is kinda cute.”

In 7th grade we went to a camp place called “Fairview Lake” for a couple of days, and it was the ULTIMATE middle school trip. I went to a regional high school with 5 “sending districts” and in 7th grade, 2 whole years before high school even started, this trip brought together the 5 elementary/middle schools for everyone to meet each other.

It was annoying to grow up in a small town and go to a small school. Like really annoying. There weren’t a lot of BOYS to choose from, but beyond that everyone was always in my business and frankly I couldn’t stand it. I mean who could?! Even at the age of 12 everyone was already gossiping and making shit up.

I couldn’t wait to get away. But I ALSO couldn’t wait for more players to be added to the game. It seemed like if there were more people/peers around, it would be easier to find what I was looking for (as far as boys) and/or easier to disappear/fall under the radar so I didn’t have to deal with anyone’s gossipy bullshit. At the time I remember thinking this Fairview Lake trip sounded so cool that it almost didn’t seem real.

Looking back, it still doesn’t seem real! It seems like something they would do in a Disney show like Flash Forward. And maybe they did. I don’t know, Google it.

But WE did and it was fun and I met a lot of people and learned some shit. But my BIGGEST takeaway for the WHOLE COOL TRIP (to be confirmed if I read my diary and that’s why I’m scared and won’t read it) was this: I looked super hot on the first day and a ton of boys noticed me.

“Hot” for a 7th grader in 1997 I guess…but I was wearing these LimitedToo knockoff wide leg jeans and a purple Champion crew neck sweatshirt. BUT UNDERNEATH, hidden from adults so I could get away with wearing it at just the right moment before anyone noticed and told me to put my sweatshirt back on, I was wearing this very thin white short sleeve v-neck with a cute little collar shirt that I got from DEB shop.

This shirt was pretty much see-through. Don’t worry, at 12 I already had full-on boobs so I WAS wearing a bra.

My big moment arrived when I was given like, “set the table” duty. This duty happened before dinner on the first evening. After a day of outdoorsy stuff everyone was hungry and waiting outside the dining hall doors. As people gathered I knew it was my moment and I removed my sweatshirt and tied it around my waist. I was hot (as in warm) anyway!

As I sailed around the dining hall and set the tables, I could feel the stares through the windows. The interested stares of THE BOYS and the outraged stares of the girls. I’d like to say “not all of the girls” but at the time no one believed in feminism or supporting other women so yes they were ALL outraged.

Okay I looked at ONE page to find confirmation. Why was this my handwriting? 🙄

For the next 2 days, a ton of people commented about my shirt…or like, my PERFORMANCE. I was on top of the world, just because of this one moment. Even now I still remember it in such crystal clear detail.

And it was ridiculous. What a silly thing to put so much effort and thought into. I could have been using that influence and brain power to take over the world! In fact, while I was using my intelligence and powers of manipulation for bullshit, some other gal my age was probably solving some kind of real problem and maybe even getting rich. Or at least setting the groundwork for future richness.

It’s cool to care about how you look and to want to look cute because I do that all the time and it’s DEF COOL because I say so. But only as a cherry on top! It shouldn’t be the only thing you’re doing! You have to use your brain too! And not just to get the attention of boys. COME ON.

I really blew it, you guys.

I HATED this sweater in 6th grade because it “wasn’t flattering” but like WHAT about my lewk WAS?!

As I started to drive my friends nuts with my incessant boy talk, I went a little more underground with the obsession in high school and college. I also stopped keeping diaries so no written evidence remains for those eras. But boys still remained on the top of my list of things to ruminate over.

Honestly I didn’t even really stop with the boy crazy bullshit until like 4 years ago. I wasted so much of my life. And I’m pissed. Although I only have myself to blame.

Even after I had captured a boy’s attention it then turned into only paying attention to things they liked. I’ve always liked to read and learn and try new things and that’s great but I used that love of learning and trying new shit to fully devote myself to the pursuit of some boy’s interests. I learned about some fun things I wouldn’t have even noticed before, like Bob Marley and mountain biking and Korean food and comedy and Brooklyn…but like what about the stuff I wanted to learn about?! I let all of that stuff slide for literal YEARS!

But never again. No, no, my friends. No longer do I chase boys. No longer do I ponder how to get their attention, or try to win them over, or orchestrate where I’m going to go out that night so I can find them or meet them or walk past them in the 2020 version of the great 1997 dining hall shirt, smirking because I know I caught their eye for 30 seconds and that’s worth the hours of thought I put into it.


Not just because I have a boyfriend now. I think part of why I have a boyfriend is because I gave up this nonsense. I became a full person. I used my time and my mental space to pursue things I thought were cool and interesting and fun. I stopped deciding to go places only after considering “will any cute guys be there?” I gave up on the boy crazy life! And it’s the best thing I ever did!

In the event that I end up without a boyfriend in the future, I hope that I will continue this practice of not being a boy crazy idiot. I wasted too much life on it. It makes me so mad I wasted that much time, I can’t even stand it.

All of the years I spent worrying about “boys” I could have been doing interesting and creative things. I could have been getting rich. I could have been making more gal pals. Maybe I would be able to make my own clothes, or have a full grasp of how to use Photoshop. The possibilities are endless.

This very blog was only started a year ago! I should have been blogging for years! After that trip to Fairview Lake I should have gone home to our giant Gateway desktop computer and dialed up the internet and started a god damn blog then and there. Instead I sat around daydreaming and waited for the boys I met on the trip to call. And they did, BUT WHO CARES. Go get me the time machine it’s time to head back and make this right.

I can’t believe I wasted that much time on dumbass dudes.

I say this without meaning to offend my dad or my brother or my nephew or my boyfriend or any of my male colleagues and pals, but our lives as gals young and old are worth so much and are so rich without boys. Like yes positive male presences enhance my life but like my life is ALREADY GREAT. I don’t know what I was chasing after before, for all of those wasted years, but I do know that it was something that isn’t even real. Something that isn’t even THERE. AND I DON’T EVEN NEED IT AND NO ONE DOES AND I’M PISSED I WASTED SO MUCH PRECIOUS TIME AND ENERGY, is what I’m saying. These things are finite: time, energy, LIFE.

So I just wanted to say to little gals or little dudes or any little folks that crush on boys, DO NOT LET BOYS TAKE OVER YOUR MIND. DO NOT LET THE DIARIES YOU WRITE NOW TERRIFY AND DISGUST AND DISAPPOINT YOU AS AN ADULT. Relationships are part of life, so shoot your shot. But plz DO NOT allow the pursuit of relationships to take up so much mental space that you fail to live up to your potential. Use your energy to do great things, not pine away for hours with your nose in your diary.


K thx. Still not reading my diaries. Too shameful. Might barf.

the perfect f-kboy.

I’m going to tell you about the perfect f-kboy. It isn’t an actual person in my life, although there have been some that have encompassed most of these qualities, and inversely some that have shown me what qualities are not ideal for f-kboys.

It goes without saying that I have a boyfriend now and luckily don’t need to deal with f-kboys anymore, and I am glad. But since we’ve all been unleashed into the streets again and the single gals around me have gotten back to “the game”…I’ve been hearing about this and therefore thinking about this and wanted to write it down. Also I have a lot of good/funny/shitty dating stories and why did I endure all that shit for an ENTIRE DECADE if not to document it on the internet as some sort of twisted catharsis.

Maybe this knowledge will also benefit someone out there, but I doubt it, since such lessons can only be learned on one’s own over time, after making many painful and embarrassing mistakes, sending literally thousands of ill-advised drunk text messages, and crying in public.

K here we go. The perfect f-kboy…

1. doesn’t talk.

This is very simple. They don’t talk! Meaning they don’t kiss and tell. They don’t run and tell all of their dude friends about it so you have a whole group of dudes giving you some kind of eye when you walk into a bar. They ALSO don’t go and tell any of their girl friends about it so you don’t get ANOTHER KIND of eye when you walk into a bar.

If you live in a place like Jersey City, which is the second largest city in NJ but also a small town, this discretion is admirable. Everyone is talking, talk talk talking all the time. 15% of what they say is true. But you don’t want to have to deal with the untrue stuff that comes along with it. I mean, I personally don’t give a shit about idle gossip. I grew up in an ACTUAL small town where idle gossip is a way of life and I’m used to it. But I’m giving advice here, so avoid it if possible.

OMG I had never seen this music video and I LOVE IT SO MUCH.

They also don’t put anything on social media that would indicate they know you. Or they don’t even have social media. They definitely do not follow you on social media. The only pictures they have on social media are the ones that friends have tagged them in and they’re incredibly abstruse and pretty much worthless. Therefore you’re not able to spiral too far into Instagram black hole hell. You can’t make any connections or learn anything about their life because the info JUST ISN’T THERE.


2. literally does not say a word.

There’s much to be said for the strong silent type when it comes to these situations. Maybe they’re super shy, maybe they don’t give a shit…maybe both? Either way, they are DISCRETE AF. Honestly most of the time they won’t even speak to you in public. The understanding is that if you see each other you prob shouldn’t say hi but they’ll text you in a few hours during the appropriate f-kboy time window of 1am-5am.

This is good! You have boundaries. You have a SCHEDULE. You know what to expect and nothing will catch you by surprise and your emotions are under control. YOU WON’T CRY IN PUBLIC BECAUSE THE RULES ARE ESTABLISHED AND BEING FOLLOWED BY ALL.

3. is unreliable but in a consistent and predictable way.

He’s a f-kboy, you know he’s going to be unreliable. If you accept the situaish, you accept that he will most certainly be unreliable. An issue arises when he is sometimes reliable, OR unreliable in an unexpected way. Consistency is key. If he sometimes texts you during the day and asks to meet for a drink later, is that a date? THE PROBLEM IS THAT YOU DO NOT KNOW. It’s better if he just sticks to the schedule and doesn’t mess with the arrangement.

“Messing with the arrangement” is frankly emotional abuse and psychological manipulation and I will not stand for it. These f-kboys need to get their shit together.

4. doesn’t make you think it’s a date.

He doesn’t make you think it’s a date, BECAUSE IT’S NOT A DATE. STOP THINKING IT’S A DATE, THAT IS YOUR FAULT.

Unless he is making you think it’s a date, in which case he is being a total dickhead. If he invites you out and buys you shit and opens doors for you and whatever but doesn’t plan on actually dating you or giving up any of the other gals he’s messing around with, he’s being rude and cruel as hell. Same thing if he invites you to his house at a normal hour to watch a movie and like, read books about sharks and shit.

Still a shark fan, don’t worry.

Then he has you thinking that he likes you and you also really like sharks so you’re totally sold on this being your next great romance. BECAUSE OMG YOU HAVE SO MUCH IN COMMON YOU GUYS!

This will NOT be your next great romance and he’s being a shady asshole. Go back to the quiet one if a successful f-kboy arrangement is what you seek. You’ll just need to wait for his next 2:30am bat signal.

5. never gives you compliments.

Yeah, no. No compliments allowed. Like, I’ll allow a, “You’re nice” or “You’re pretty,” totally fine. But a, “You have the most perfect eyebrows I’ve ever seen,” or “Wow you’re smart,” …get the heck out of here, guy. Although these things are TRUE…the fact that a guy notices them makes me think they like me. And that is unfair! Because f-kboys DON’T LIKE YOU. I mean they “like” you enough to like…enter your home and park their skateboard in your foyer and make out with you…but that is IT. Any additional “like” is not guaranteed and should not be unfairly projected by said f-kboy unless they PLAN ON STICKIN AROUND, AMIRITE?

At one point I had one f-kboy hanging around that was super nice to me and took me to dates and parties and stuff, and another one that literally only spoke 10 words the whole 2 years we knew each other and we never spoke outside my home. Between these two, again I chose the quiet one. I CRIED to the nice one and broke the whole thing off because I was like, “If you don’t want to date why are you being nice?! You’re confusing me! I hate it! Bye!”

Then I ran all the way home to JC from Bushwick and retreated to the comfort of the sound of silence and random emojis.

I feel the Disturbed cover of this song is most suitable for my purposes.

The moral is, no one should put up with someone being mean to them. But in a f-kboy situaish, being too nice is also dangerous to all involved. Like, just be cool and everything will be fine, guy. I’ll still hook up with you even if you aren’t nice to me. Unfortunately I would probably be more likely to if you were mean. But neutral works for both of us as far as human decency. Just be quiet. Don’t say shit. You can laugh at my jokes. That’s fine. Other than that plz stay dark and mysterious so I can project my preferred personality profile onto you and invent a hilarious biographical backstory for you in which your parents own a diner in Central Jersey.

We must get our kicks where we can, my friends.

6. is in your same phase of life.

I’ve thought a lot about this one, and I think the perfect f-kboy for you is the one that is in your same phase of life. This doesn’t necessarily mean the same age, but like…the same phase. Yes, I said phase. Should I define “phase”? I think you get it.

So if you’re in a “going out every day even on weekdays and drinking 10 Tecates to the face” phase, it’s good if they’re in a similar phase. If you wake up in the morning and you’re not sure how they got there, it’s good if they’re not sure how they got there either. Level playing field, my friends.

I went through some times when I was in a bad phase. Like a “drinking a little too much and acting like a downtown JC loser every day” phase. A “not my best self” phase. I mean we all have. It’s fine. But the best choice f-kboy for that phase was one in a similar phase, as far as me perceiving him to be in a similar phase. Perception is reality. He could have been having the best and most successful days of his LIFE, but he seemed not his best self to me so I felt okay wallowing in nonsense together until something much better came along.

Background noise for wallowing.

And then something/someone did! And that’s that, and I’m sorry to betray the single world by saying that. But in the end, maybe for you, if you follow these guidelines, it will be that a better f-kboy comes along. Or not just “comes along,” that you CHOOSE. And THAT is important.

PS I also feel like I have gotten to the point where I am the annoying friend that is in a relationship that is like, “omg tell me all your STORIESSSS!” to my single friends and I’m sorry.

the end.

xmas textes from exes.

I realize this isn’t grammatically correct and I apologize but I think you know what I mean when I say “xmas textes from exes.” Like I just manipulated the words so they would rhyme.

Perhaps I SHAN-ipulated the words so they would rhyme.

Get it?

Either way xmas textes from exes are like…wtf? It’s just like every other time one of your ex “whatever” randomly texts you and you’re like… “wtf?” Except it’s during a holiday. So if you’re young and/or sad/lonely and/or still a moron about human interactions and relationships…sometimes it will get your hopes up.

Because you’re like “omg it is a HOLIDAY, it is a VERY SPECIAL DAY, and they would NOT be texting me unless they REALLY CARED ABOUT ME. AND THEY JUST TEXTED SO THAT MEANS THEY DO. OMGOMG WE ARE IN LOVE AGAIN!”

And it takes literal YEARS to not believe that every ex that texts on Xmas wants to get back together with you and loves you forever. Like it’s just not happening. But when you are younger and dumber and still have dreams it seems like it might happen.

And that’s not cool. Or fair. Or even humane, frankly.

So why do people do this? Do they literally think they are Santa? And they can now appear one special day a year and be like magical or some shit?

Although I am now immune to giving a shit about textes from exes I still don’t fully understand the WHY behind this particular species of seasonal greeting. It just makes no sense and accomplishes nothing.

Is it a power move? Like, an “I have power” move made by the exes? Probably. Everyone is terrible.

Anyway I didn’t get any textes from exes this year. And I was thinking about how grateful I am for that. I guess that’s what Santa brought me. Did I say I was grateful? I wish the same for you.

Stuff like this makes me think about all the times that people said “After you turn 30 there are a lot of things you don’t give a shit about anymore and it feels great,” and I was like “Eye roll.” But now I’m seeing some of that come into play and it IS great. I guess I’m just 5 years behind because I’m only reaping the benefits now, at 35.

I had too many mimosas and coffees with Bailey’s today so this isn’t a fully developed thought. But my gratitude remains.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

engagement ring shopping in brooklyn.

I’m going to do a throwback to when my sister’s FIANCÉ and I went engagement ring shopping in Brooklyn because I am now free to share this info since he proposed last weekend! (She said yes).

Over a month ago my sister’s then boyfriend came to ME, of ALL PEOPLE, to ask for my help with engagement ring shopping and I was HONORED. But then I had to decide where we were going to go, and what style we were going to look at. And I also had to decide what style my sister would like.

Honestly I didn’t have a great idea what she would like when I first thought about it. She’s the opposite of me when it comes to fashun. She dresses simply and always looks beautiful, but she’s more casual and 100% not interested in styling herself or picking out girly shit. So I was like…she’s never told me what ring she would like. I haven’t even seen her wear jewelry since I went with her to get her bellybutton pierced when she was like 13 and literally fainted.

She also works outside often and has some farm animals to take care of, so she wouldn’t want a ring that was too much or in the way of the shit she has to do.

I combed through many rings, many sites. Her fiancé sent me pics of rings he thought were cool. We decided we thought…we KNEW, she would like something simple but special, with a flair to it. But not too much flair or too crazy because she’s not trying to do crazy fashun shit like me.

My personal favorite engagement rings are the ones from Catbird. And that IS what we ended up getting when we went engagement ring shopping in Brooklyn but I SWEAR I forced no one into it. I merely suggested and the rings spoke for themselves. They are beauteous.

Their store and their Wedding Annex are both in Brooklyn (they also have a winter market in Manhattan now!), so we had to go there to check out the rings. We were ready to go engagement ring shopping in Brooklyn. It was all happening.

She and her FIANCE live out in the middle of nowhere New Jersey in my ancestral homeland of Hunterdon County. It’s a great place! But different than here, in “the city.” I think her fiance was excited about the idea of a fun adventure origin story about the ring that we could tell for years to come and I guess that’s kind of what happened!

I mean nothing crazy happened, but it was one of my most favorite days ever. I was so excited to help pick out a ring and I loved the feeling that my opinion really mattered. And then I realized I don’t feel like that as much as I would like to. But that’s another story. THANK YOU, SISTER’S FIANCE, FOR YOUR VALIDATION.

He and I went on a fun little road trip across the state in his pickup truck emblazoned with the name of their badass small business. I had taken the bus home the night before, only to go back the next morning. I don’t know why I did that.

I do know why I did that, it’s because I wanted to take glamour pictures with the chickens before he picked me up.

It was very windy the night before and he had been up very late working. This was not at his badass small business job, it was at his other job that I’m not 100% clear on what it is but something with wind and outside, he had been dealing with. So he had like no sleep! But he seemed okay, BECAUSE HE WAS PUMPED.

We drove through Soho and Chinatown on our way and I told him some little touristy stuff. AGAIN HE WAS PUMPED.

Honestly he was PUMPED AF all day. I was also pumped. Did I say it was my favorite day? It was.


Once in Brooklyn we had a bit of a tough time finding parking. I’m not such a good parking helper because I don’t have a car so like…I don’t know where to park. I can read the signs and stuff but sometimes they’re confusing and I get scared of cars getting towed so I was like, “Let’s just garage. Like the tourists we are today.” So we tried the Whole Foods garage in Williamsburg and the attendant dude said his truck “wouldn’t fit in the elevator.” Then we pulled into an unmarked garage and it was not a parking garage and I don’t know why I even told him to go in there and I still feel bad and I’m sorry. You’ll be glad to know he remained quite jovial the entire time though!

Still pumped!

Finally we arrived at the parking garage at the William Vale. Whew. Let’s see these valet parker dudes park this pickup truck that “wouldn’t fit in an elevator,” byeeeee.

I first led us to Catbird’s main store on Bedford. Which was stupid of me, we were meant to go to the Wedding Annex! Duh! So we then changed course and walked over to Metropolitan. We were 2 hours early for our appointment but they took us right in and sat us right down and we got started right away.

Catbird was a wonderful place to go engagement ring shopping in Brooklyn, or anywhere. I’ve never gone engagement ring shopping before so I have nothing to compare it to but shopping for shit that expensive makes me feel nervous and stressed and like people are trying to trick me or make me pay more, and at Catbird I never felt like that once. We told the gal that was helping us my future brother-in-law’s budget and she stuck to it and made it work. She looked around and found some really beautiful rings that worked for him, and she didn’t make us feel dumb. RESPECT.

He studied the rings, but didn’t love his first choice that he thought he would love when he saw it online or any of the others like it. So we gathered our thoughts and looked around. We came across The Swans, which are my most fav personally, specifically the one with the BLACK diamond stones because, YEAHHHH. But they also have a few beautiful versions of The Swans with OG diamonds so we got into looking at those and he finally decided on Odette the Swan, that lovely gal.

It was a very sweet and happy moment for me to see him carefully and thoughtfully studying these rings and pondering very hard to decide which one he thought would be best for my sis. It meant so much to him and you could see it in his face. That sounds corny as hell but it was great. Again, FAV DAY, SO GLAD TO BE THERE.

Once chosen, he was ready to purchase the ring! But they didn’t have it in her size there so we had to order it, which was fine. But then they didn’t take cash at the Wedding Annex (a tip if you’re going to go there!) so we had to head back over to Bedford to their main store to place the order.

Even though we went engagement ring shopping in Brooklyn, we got it shipped to New Jersey so he wouldn’t have to pay sales tax. This is a great service that I would offer up to anyone that lives in Manhattan/Brooklyn/whatever if packages didn’t get stolen from my house every time. Sorry.

So that was that! Purchased! Initially they said it could take up to 3 weeks but it shipped in 3 days, then he had to hide it for like a month until the proposal. Whew. SECRETS TO KEEP.

On the way home there was a lot of traffic getting into the Holland Tunnel because we left at like 4:30pm and it took us a veryyyyy longggg timeeee. But during that time we chatted a lot, about life, about family, about relationships, everything! I didn’t realize that my future brother-in-law is so incredibly thoughtful and insightful about a number of topics and I really enjoyed the time that I got to spend with him on this adventure.

Again, that sounds corny but like, it was great. I’m so pumped for my sister! I think she likes the ring…I hope. This post really has no point but to just tell the story, and now my sister has it written down somewhere for all time where she can read it. You’re welcome.

Also, he kept referring to Catbird as “CatDog” so now I have this in my head.

You’re welcome again.

sexy planks.

First let me start off by defining “sexy plank.” Have you ever watched Phoebe Waller Bridge’s brilliant and amazing show “Fleabag”? If not, go watch. I’ll wait.

Oh cool you’re back! So there’s one episode where the eponymous Fleabag goes on a date or something with some shitty guy that has a girlfriend he’s cheating on and at one point he wants to end things with Fleabag and he’s struggling with it and he says, “You just kept turning up like this sexy…plank.” And she stands there all long and slouchy-like and glares at him but also kind of grins at him at the same time.

Phoebe Waller Bridge as Fleabag, via Vanity Fair

This completely cracked me up and I couldn’t get it out of my head. But I wasn’t sure why. And then I realized that I’m surrounded by sexy planks.

I mean maybe not surrounded but they’re around. I didn’t have a name for them before but now I do because Fleabag gave it to me. Maybe I’m completely bastardizing it and maybe that’s not what they wanted me to do, but it became a personal inside joke with myself and person-qualifier in my brain and now I’m sharing it with you. Because people need to define what other people are and what box they fit into because it’s easier for our brains. Look it up, it’s science. Being a sexy plank is a positive thing though, hence the word “sexy.”

Long and slouchy and half glaring/half-grinning, all through the streets of Brooklyn, Jersey City, and my preferred neighborhoods of Manhattan, they are ambling along. On impossibly long thin legs with slouching shoulders and a bit of a smirk and a completely effortless and unattainable aura of cool. In the tri-state area nothing is cooler than not trying or caring or giving a shit, and sexy planks don’t have to try at all. And they operate at an unattainable level of not trying.

Hunter Schafer, famous and fab sexy plank. Via Bossip (this was where I found the best pic this outfit is incred)

Maybe they’re trying on the inside! I’m sure they are. I mean I don’t know maybe I should talk with some sexy planks and be like, “Do you try like I do and it just looks easier? I look like a moron trying so hard to be cool every day.” It’s always been hard for me to realize that the coolest thing about being cool is NOT trying. Hence it being unattainable. Because one can’t just TRY not to try. It’s really a chicken or egg thing I guess.

Have I said that the sexy plank energy/vibe/lifestyle is unattainable?

I was once very overweight and I lost a great deal of weight and I was like “I’m thin now I can be a sexy plank! Look I’m slouching!”

How am I even slouching like this?!

But no that did not work. Because as usual I was trying too hard. I was consciously slouching and trying to take up less space. Trying to monopolize on taking up less space. That sounds paradoxical but I was trying to emphasize how little space I was now taking up by slouching.

Slouching but do it by cake.

Basically no matter how much you work out or how strong you feel (woo!), you will not be a sexy plank. You will be able to DO a sexy plank (woo!) but in order to BE a sexy plank you need to be born a sexy plank.

My sister is a sexy plank. Hi pop.

Cutie <3

Anyway this sexy plank distinction came into play when I was going on stupid dates and trying to find dudes to hang out with and whatever I was doing that wasn’t working when it came to dealing with the opposite sex over the past 10 years. And there would be dudes that I was like “omg love that dude” and he’d be like “yeah cool whatever I’ll just be over here with this sexy plank but see you at some point after 3am but before 6am make sure you put on west side story k bye.”

From my personal collection of photos I’ve taken of West Side Story on my TV screen.

And I would be like, “ugh. Every dude wants a sexy plank.” And this was hyperbole. Every dude did not want a sexy plank. But every dude DOES want something different, and so does every gal, and we’re all not going to be what someone wants some of the times and that’s okay. And it took me a long time to be okay with that. I swear I’m okay with it now. Maybe.

But even if “maybe” I’m okay with it now, it’s more a matter of pride/ego than actually feeling hurt by it. This took a lot of personal growth and you should be proud of me. Thank you.

Hey hi over here does this work? Still a no? Oh…okay.

Part of working through this was writing notes to myself in my iPhone notepad as many of us do. Do many of us do that? I do know that I am one of “us” and I write many notes.

And these were my thoughts on sexy planks I’d seen around the town, and comparing myself to the sexy planks, because as women we are conditioned to always compare and weigh and measure and find ourselves wanting. Oh and also the “he” encompasses many, all the he’s that ever thought I was “too much” over the history of time, pretty much:

Neither of them take up any space and seem quiet and meek, trying not to draw too much attention. Not like I’ve ever spoken to them. In his mind he probably just thought I was “annoying.” But that’s semantics. By “annoying” I’m certain he would mean all of the things I prize most about myself: being outspoken, taking up space, laughing too loud. I’m going to assume he simply wasn’t interested in THOSE qualities and interpret his “annoying” as “just not for me.” Keep in mind I don’t even know this any of these people at all and this dialogue exists solely in my head.

Wow. That really went somewhere. JK it didn’t. Also I do create narratives in my mind about people I barely know and I give them entire personalities based on like, their Venmo activity but I will explore that another time.

I guess you’re supposed to like “learn shit” from dating and this was something that I learned. It’s the whole grass is always greener bullshit.

Here I am, wanting to be a cool as a cucumber, quiet(er), aloof, slouching in a cool way sexy plank, and I ended up realizing part of who I am is NOT being cool. That I LIKE the uncool part, and being loud and taking up space is important to me. That walking into a bar or a store or a party and being like “HELLO I AM HERE LOOK AT ME” is the only way I want to live. That maybe everyone doesn’t like that and is quite possibly horrified and appalled and embarrassed by that and that’s okay.

Born to live out loud and I do mean loud so get used to it or get outta here. Also not a sexy plank but okay with it for now.

Additionally over the past couple of years it’s become very important to me to not hate other women or see them as competition for dudes. In breakup or cheating situations now if I’m trying to comfort my gal friends I tread very carefully and don’t talk shit about other women, as in the “new woman.” A lot of times it’s easy to try to make your pal feel better and be like, “She’s dumb!” “She sucks!” “I hate her shoes!” “She is literally a FETUS!”(for those under 27). And it’s hard around these parts because it’s a big city but a small town, and pals see exes out and it’s weird and it’s hurtful and it’s garbage. But we soldier on. And talking bad about other gals isn’t going to make you seem any cooler. I’m uncool overall and not an authority on cool by any means but THIS I know to be true.


I remember when I wrote myself that note and what I thought about. It was a sunny day, a band was playing. I was drinking a Ruby Redbird. And I realized I don’t have to be a sexy plank. And also that sexy planks don’t have to be me. And we can all be who we want and no matter who we are we can do whatever we want and that boxes are bullshit so please break down your boxes and recycle them and don’t let the door hit you on your way out.

manic pixie dream girl-ed

We’re all familiar with the Manic Pixie Dream Girl character, but have you ever been Manic Pixie Dream Girl-ed? As in someone makes you into a MPDG in their mind and you can tell they’re doing it and you feel like a cartoon character of yourself and you hate it and it is lame.

Initially I said I was going to write about dating so now I’m going to. And I want it to be clear that anything I write about is not me just talking shit. Everyone does stuff wrong in the dating game, even me…EVEN YOU. We all have lost the game, no one survives unscathed or without blood on their hands. I’m just telling a story. For all you know I could have just made this whole thing up. That’s for you to decide.

There are too many guys that are like, “oh I’m so nice, I’m a GOOD GUY, I’m going to DO NICE THINGS FOR THIS WOMAN.” And the woman is like, “oh okay cool great, I like new friends and people doing nice stuff and these activities seem fun so I’ll hang with this guy.”

And then at some point she might decide she just wants to be friends because like, SOMETIMES PEOPLE JUST WANT TO BE FRIENDS and then all of a sudden the “nice guy” like LOSES HIS MIND because he got “friend zoned” and is all “this girl is just chasing after mean dudes and I’m the best guy for her” and it’s like NO. SHE JUST WANTS TO BE FRIENDS. THE FRIEND ZONE DOES NOT EXIST. SUCK IT.

Either he loses his mind or he mopes around. Either way after a bit of time after being told “no thanks” he will TRY AGAIN and honestly the AUDACITY OF THIS SECOND OR EVEN THIRD TRY SICKENS ME.

Obviously I have very strong opinions about this.

Because one of the times this happened to me (it has happened more than once yes, it happens to everyone, it is a MENACE), in addition to the guy kind of being a mopey jerk when I said “no thanks,” because he felt ENTITLED to my affection because he was “NICE,” he also put me on a pedestal in a very odd and unnerving way that had never happened before and I chose to analyze it and Google it and decided I was “Manic Pixie Dream Girl-ed.”

Resting on pedestal.

Disclaimer time: I’m not a scientist or a psychologist or an anthropologist and beyond that I don’t live inside this dude’s mind, nor did I have insightful conversations with him asking him what he was doing, so these thoughts are just from my perspective of how he made me feel and that’s that.

But he DID make me feel weird. And perception is reality.

I felt like I was being analyzed under a microscope but ALSO at the same time being ADMIRED DESPERATELY. As some kind of muse. As some kind of INSPIRATION. At first it was like, okay cool I have a new friend to watch the Shannon Show and listen to me when I talk and let me control the radio. Because I really like to control the radio and hate when others control the radio.

Oooo so quirky with my binoculars!

But then I started to realize that everything I said and everything I did and everything I chose or showed that I was interested in became something that he was weirdly staring at me and admiring. I would catch this stare of weird admiration and be like wtf.

What’s wrong with admiration? I mean nothing but I’m telling you I felt weird about this one. He was admiring me in an unhealthy way. And I am convinced this is so. And I’m still mad about it. Because I feel like other men are doing this and other women are victims of it and it needs to be stopped.

The thing that’s WRONG and SEXIST about Manic Pixie Dream Girls as characters, according to their actual definition, is that they “have no discernible inner life, and usually only exist to provide the protagonist some important life lessons.”

And this is what I felt like! I felt like he was completely ignoring who I actually am, my actual story, my actual wants and hopes and fears and ideas, and just looking at me as a fun little character lady he could project his yearning onto. And I hated it. And I felt it was unfair and uncool. And I felt like I was reduced to some kind of object that just existed for him to be inspired by. A bright shiny glittery fabulous object, but an object nonetheless.

Leg kick! I’m so fun and silly and have no inner life or backstory. Weeeee.

He cast me as a character in his life and his story where he was the hero protagonist and he did not even care to write me a good backstory. I was a prop. To him I had no discernible inner life and existed solely to provide him with some important life lessons. And maybe he learned some, because he unfollowed me on Instagram.

I guess I’m most mad that once he accepted that I didn’t want to date him he wrote me off as like “a bitch who took advantage of him” and I submit that I DID NOT.

My funny face says I’m essentially a two dimensional cartoon character! Hehehe.

Perhaps this is just another he said/she said case we’ll have to submit to the Court of Dating and it will never go to trial. Because no one cares.

Thank FUCK I’m in a relationship and I don’t have to date anymore. It is a living nightmare. If you’re single I’m sorry but dating blows. It is 100% better to hang with your pals and fam or read a book or do some self care or any infinite number of things than go on a date with someone you don’t know and then 99.9% of the time they suck or you suck and it’s a waste. It’s always a waste. A waste of time and resources and sanity.

That’s not to say I think I’ll never have to date again. It can happen any time. No one is safe when they fully rely on the whims of another. Which is why I strive for complete autonomy in my romantic relationship at all times.

If I ever have to date again, I think keeping the harsh reality of it fresh in my mind will help. I’m saying “if” (babe if you’re reading this plz don’t be mad love you bye).

Have you ever been Manic Pixie Dream Girl-ed? Have you ever Manic Pixie Dream Girl-ed someone? Shame on you! Do you like when I talk about dating and rant? I do.

PS – Women most definitely also do this to men. Or anyone to anyone! Next time I’ll write about times I’ve been on the other end. We’ll see who is ashamed THEN.