Can We Discuss Disney Princesses Though

I was on the phone with my dad yesterday crying (surprise) over my lack of romantic luck recently. He gave me some really wonderful advice, the most hilarious of which came when he said, “The worst thing Disney ever did for society was write those stupid happy endings.” Or something to that effect — I tend to describe things a little more sassily than he does.

Anyway, it got me thinking: according to Disney, everything works out in the end if you’re a quiet woman in a patriarchal society. I am not quiet, and I’m actively attempting to smash the patriarchy at every turn, so I’m a little concerned about what this means for my love life. Also, I’m not exactly straight so I just wanna know what Disney would recommend if I’m trying to woo a mermaid, but I doubt I’ll be getting any answers on that front any time soon.

I’ve never wanted to be a princess, but I’m realizing that in a Disney world, I would have to be in order to fall in love, so uh…here we go. Now, there are a few (million) necessary adjustments I must make to my life in order to attain princess perfection:

  1. Become tiny. Which might be difficult since I’m 6′ and not exactly slender. Maybe I can cut my legs off at the knees, which would successfully reduce my weight and height in one fell swoop. It would also allow me to become helpless. Maybe my prince would be down to push me around in a wheelchair for the rest of eternity (which is obviously also how long our love would last).
  2. Replace my sweet mother with some horrible woman who wants to lock me in a tower or make me mop her floors and take care of her fat, evil cat. I could probably start looking for that type of woman at the local Chicos clothing store. The more chunky jewelry, the better, I’d assume.
  3. Become straight. And probably develop a dwarf and/or squirrel fetish.
  4. Don’t leave the house unless I look immaculate (note to self: find fairy godstylist). Only do housework if forced to. Allow mice to take up residence in my apartment.
  5. Immediately unlearn every self defense skill I’ve ever been taught. Walk into forests alone at night. Take food from strangers. Make deals with weird octopi in ocean caves. Make out with frogs even though they probably have weird swamp bacteria all over their bodies. Totally wander into random cabins in the woods without worrying about some racist hillbilly coming in and axe murdering me while I’m fast asleep.
  6. Let teacups teach me about love. Employ candlesticks for both light and therapeutic advice. Become easily impressed by silverware. Become way too obsessed with my hair for anyone’s good (this one might not be too tricky for me).
  7. Stop talking. This might be hard, as I don’t think I’ve spent more than 3 hours in silence at any given time. I even talk in my sleep, for goodness sake.
  8. Assume kissing men will always be magical and totally save my life. Because obviously everyone knows how to kiss me the way I’d like. None of them will shove their tongues down my throat (princes don’t actually possess tongues, anyway) or drool on me (and yes, before you ask, that has happened to me and I really don’t want to talk about it). Let random twerps kiss me just in case it helps my situation in life.

I think that’s it.

And yes, I’m super serious about the squirrel fetish.


I’m Not FOR Men

I’d like to clear a few things up.

As a bisexual woman, I encounter a lot of nonsense on a daily basis. I hear these bizarre — and offensive — comments on a pretty regular basis, mostly from men but sometimes from women. But let’s be real…I mostly hear this shit from men.

“Oh, you like chicks AND dudes? That’s hot.”

No. I am not for you. When you hear that I’m not exclusively interested in men, you still think that my sexuality is something for you to enjoy? You hear that I like kissing girls and you think I’m doing that for you? You poor, poor moron. This is all for me.

“Oh, so you must sleep around a lot.”
I have the same sex drive as anyone else. I just am driven toward both men and women. But thank you for basically calling me a slut?

“Oh, so you just can’t decide whether you’re straight or gay.”
Yes. Obviously I am experimenting. Testing out both ponds in order to decide which one I’d like to swim in forever.
NO! Sexuality is a spectrum. A continuum. A lot of people are sexually attracted to both men and women. I’m not indecisive, this isn’t a phase, I’m not experimenting because it’s college and I like to drunk-kiss girls. This is a thing I have always felt, and it is who I am.

This shit gets really annoying. So I keep it to myself, mostly. I don’t feel the need to be explicit or particularly public about my sexuality, but I also don’t want to feel like I have to hide it in order to feel comfortable. It’s frustrating that people find it acceptable to not only have these ideas and thoughts, but to express them to my face, often while attempting to hit on me.

So be a good, sensitive, intelligent human. Educate yourself. Use good manners. And please, for the love of god, stop asking me if I’ll have a threesome with you and some random girl.

Merry Christmas, Plebeians

We were going for “romantic” but Mickey’s rockstar heart just can’t be tamed.

Dear Friends,

Well, 2013 sure did fly by — like me, on my private jet, flying off to Morocco. I have, once again, had an amazing year that was probably much more exciting than yours.

As you probably read in the tabloids, my new lover Mickey and I were swept up in a whirlwind romance that culminated in him proposing atop the Eiffel Tower a few months ago. As we prepare for our lavish wedding in the Bahamas, we wanted to make sure we kept you up to date with our lives, since you will definitely not be getting an invite to the wedding. It’s very exclusive, and you’re just…not exclusive material.

When my latest book, Welcome to Paradise: A Memoir of Fame, Glory and Striking Beauty hit the shelves earlier this year, I was hailed by critics as “clearly having a better life than anyone else on the planet” and “a perfect example of why other people should just sit down and stop trying, since Cappy is so much better than anyone else ever could be.” Obviously, the book wasn’t as popular as I’d hoped (is a Pulitzer really too much to ask for?), but those reviews were rather sweet.

I travelled the world on yet another exhausting book tour over the summer. Asia was particularly difficult because, wherever I went, fans wanted photos with me. It must’ve been my gorgeous face, long legs and blonde hair that really made them love me. Well, that and the fact that I inspire awe wherever I go.

I dyed my gorgeous locks pink for charity earlier this month, and have been offered several modeling gigs since. I guess I just have “the look” now (who am I kidding — I’ve always had the look). I’ve turned them all down, of course, because with my hectic schedule and amazing love life I just don’t have the time. Besides, I wouldn’t want to make the other models jealous of my natural, raw talent.

Mickey has been trying to relax lately. After his recent tour of North America with his rock band, The Cat’s Meow, he came home to our New York apartment and slept for a week. When he woke up, we started a strict sushi diet — all that fish oil is really very good for the hair, you know — and have been lounging around and opening our Christmas presents from our adoring fans.

We love you. Without you, we’d have no one to brag to about our important lives. We expect amazing things in 2014 and hope you stay healthy for another year so you’re around to hear us brag about our accomplishments in the next Christmas letter.


We love you!

We love you!

Patrick Swayze, Be My Valentine

Swayze, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

1. You’re basically a triple threat. You sang “She’s Like The Wind” (it came on my Pandora this morning while I was getting ready and I just about died), danced and acted in Dirty Dancing, all while rocking a pretty naughty body and wearing cool shirts. I liked how you told Baby’s dad that he couldn’t put her in the corner. That was pretty damn cool of you, Swayze. And yo, that movie was sexy.

2. You played a freaking drag queen in To Wong Foo, because you are that awesome. Speaking of, you made a very beautiful, very sassy drag queen. Your character, Vida Boheme, inspired me in middle school and high school, and I’m not making this up (seriously, I wouldn’t make that up…it’s not every day that a straight girl is inspired by a drag queen in 90’s clothes). But Vida taught me to be who I am, to love myself and others, to work it like there’s no tomorrow, and to always moisturize. Also, that there can be such a thing as a “Say Something” Hat Day. Respect.

3. Two words: The Outsiders. You, being all stern and sexy and bad. Meow, mister. Meow.

4. I heard you were pretty good in Ghost.

I was very sad when you got pancreatic cancer, so my friend sent me this sketched on a post card. It is almost anatomically correct. Also, it nearly-accurately depicts how angry your pancreas was. I feel like you would’ve laughed at this, because if you can’t laugh, what the hell can you do?
Cry. The answer is cry. And I feel like you would’ve rather laughed than cried.


When you died, Swayze, I mourned properly. I really felt you were a beautiful, beautiful person, inside and out, and you seemed to carry with you this radiance that…I don’t really know, but when I think about how wonderful and caring you were I get all confused and overwhelmed. So thank you. Thank you for overwhelming me. I’m disappointed I never actually knew you, but you made me feel like I did, and that’s pretty amazing.

Cheers, and Happy Valentines Day

This One Time I Put My Pants on Backwards

I should start this by saying that I was 6 at the time, so please refrain from worrying that I struggle daily to put my pants on. Okay, actually, you might want to worry, because I basically fall down every day putting them on. Tights are a different, even more horrifying, story (nobody has ever looked attractive putting tights on. Ever.) So, moving along…

I was absolutely infatuated with this boy, Peter, who was in my class when I was 6. It was a 1st and 2nd grade combo class, so he was older than me (ooooh, he was 7, what a stud) and smart and tall and apparently quite the hunk. So every day I would try to get him to notice me, but I’m pretty sure he never did, until the day that would forever be known as the Pant Debacle of 2000.

I was standing in the back of the classroom, about to wash my hands for something (they made us wash our snotty little hands a lot back then) when Peter came up behind me and said, “Your pants are on backwards.” And then he looked at me for a couple seconds and walked away. I’m pretty sure I’d turned bright red and practically peed myself (which wouldn’t have helped the pants situation), then ran into the bathroom.

Guys, I was wearing jeans. With a zipper. AND A BUTTON. AND A ZIPPER. GUYS!!!! How did I do that? I have a few hypotheses:

1. Aliens dressed me that morning and, because of their unfamiliarity with human clothing, thought that was how they went.

2. I somehow slipped them on backwards without undoing the button or zipper. Except I have never done that in my entire life. Also, I don’t think my mom buttoned my pants when she folded them.

3. I am a contortionist.

4. I am insane.

I am writing #2 off as completely impossible and going for number 4, but still…this is a serious issue and I need answers, fast. I’m considering hypnotherapy so that I can delve into the depths of my brain and understand what occurred on that terrible day.

Oh, and needless to say, Peter and I never fell in love. Although I did mail him a love note with a million frog stickers all over the outside of it and told him never to tell anyone that I loved him. I apparently did that a lot as a child.

It Went A Little Like This…

One of my dearest readers, Hans, asked me to write a post about my first kiss, and Ben was rather anxious to get another post out of me as soon as possible, so I thought I’d throw modesty to the wind and tell you all one more time how awesome I can be. 

I was a bit of a late bloomer in the kissing department, shocking as that may be (I know you all think I’m a floozy, don’t lie), so my first kiss happened the summer after I graduated from high school. I’d gone over to my best guy friend’s house in the evening, and we were sitting on his couch and chatting. I hate to admit it, but I really liked someone else at the time and we were talking about how that person was a jerk to me, and I started crying.

Y’all, I started crying all over his shirt. Mascara and snot were involved, cuz I’m the sexiest person ever, and I’m really good at being around boys. And then he kissed me, and I laughed really hard afterward…somehow I always knew I’d do that, who really knows why. Probably because I’m a nervous laugher, with just a touch of the clinically insane about me. I felt bad because he looked a little terrified, but I told him it wasn’t anything he’d done and that was the end of that!

Well, and then we dated for over a year, so I guess that wasn’t really the end of anything. But that’s another story, and one that nobody needs to hear.

Welcome to my love life, y’all! It’s a bit bland, but it’s what I’ve got!

Effective Techniques for Dumping an Un-Boyfriend

We’ve all had one. You’re not sure where you stand; does he really like your butt, or is this a booty call? Or does he want to hardcore define the relationship?

1. Ignore him. He texts you? Ignore. He calls you? Ignore. You see him in person? Turn around. (Or use my preferred method and hide behind a tree…make sure it’s a stationary object and not a car, cuz once that car drives away you’re screwed.)

2. Beginners can start out with the Minimal Effort Response. He elaborates in detail about how his day was and how it made him feel? You say, “Nice.”
Basically, respond with “cool,” “nice,” “sweet,” “okay,” and other similar vocabulary. If possible, shorten the words (okay = k).

3. Bro out. Overuse the hang-loose hand gesture. Call him buddy and slap him on the back a lot. Offer to spot him while he’s benching.

4. Conversely, casually mention how attractive you find his friend…over…and over…and over.
Set him up with someone else. “Hey, wanna go on a date? …With my friend?”  Tell him he’s perfect…for your sorority sister.
Warning: This may result in him saying, “Yeah, your friend’s pretty, but you’re beautiful” or other similar responses. If this happens…

5. Turn the cling on. Emoticon usage must increase by at least 95%. Winky faces are preferred.
When he asks how your day was, say, “Good, but it would’ve been better if you’d been by my side.” This is also an appropriate response when he asks how your classes were, how your dinner was, how the gym was, and especially how you slept.
Keep him up to date with your emotions. Don’t just tell him how dinner was, tell him how it made you feel. Tell him exactly how long you cried when you failed that test.
Keep him up to date with your menstrual cycle. Tell him you are bleeding, and word it exactly like that. Use medical terminology like “menstruating” and “uterus” liberally.
Ask him if you can keep a drawer at his house. Leave your toothbrush in his bathroom even when you’ve never spent the night.
Tell him you want a baby, and you hope it has his eyes.

6. Actually man up and tell him that you don’t like him. But really, who’s gonna do that?

Props to my gal pal Courtney for helping me out with this! Check her out here.

Why Isn’t This the Twenties?

The movie was terrible, but I think we can all agree that Robert Redford made a very handsome Gatsby.

Pull up your pants, boys, and get ready for the ride of your life, because I’m about to learn you a thing or two. I’ve recently realized that there aren’t enough lovely boys in my general vicinity, and this needs to change. So, I am now going to complain for about 300 words, after which you are to knock on my door and make me swoon. Good? Good.

WHERE THE EFF IS JAY GATSBY? Where is Augustus Waters? Because the universe seems to have misplaced them. Now, I will admit that men who care too much about their lady love can get reeeeally obnoxious (and/or creepy) pretty quick, but I would like to see a little more chivalry and a little more…well, general kindness. So here are a few tips, because really, I’m getting a little tired of the slim selection I’ve got.

1. As I’ve said before, pull up your pants. I think it’s great that you wear underwear, but I’d rather not see them unless you accidentally drop your laundry on the floor in front of me or something. Also, get a few sweaters, because those are cute and also classy.

2. Either shave your face or don’t, but don’t go halfway. It’s disgusting, and (shocker!) can chafe a bit if you’re kissing someone. Plus, the spotty-stache is never a good look, nor is the neck beard.

3. Open the damn door for a lady, if only so you can get a good look at her bum. That’s the one thing I love about going to school in a semi-rural area; everyone’s related to a farmer and has that part of chivalry down pat.

4. Take girls on dates. Don’t just “hang out,” because there’s plenty of time for that when you’re married and living in a rest home. Take her out somewhere fun. Dancing is always a good way to go (if you don’t dance I will shun you so hard it’ll make your teeth fall out).

5. Don’t you dare grab her ass. Ever. Caress? Sure, after a while. Grab? Never. Same goes for her chest region. Grabbin’ ain’t sexy, yo.

6. Educate yourself. Read a book, take a sociology class, go to lectures from famous people. Nothing is sexier than the brain…except maybe a good smile. If you educate yourself, though, you’ll have more reason to smile! See how easy that was?

7. Walk her home. Don’t slobber on her when you kiss her goodnight. Also, don’t lead girls on, don’t make unwanted advances, and…I mean really…don’t roofie her…

I feel like that list was extremely obvious, but I just wanted to educate you all. Basically, act like this is the twenties and you aren’t a gangster, bankrobber or drunkard.


Saint Cappy’s Day

Hi y’all! It’s officially Saint Cappy’s Day, as mentioned previously in this post.

Since Saint Cappy’s day is all about celebrating yourself, I thought I’d give y’all a few reasons to love being single:

1. Some people have arranged marriages. At least you don’t have to deal with Derk and his 12 goats buying you from your father’s farm and making you his prized woman. You’d be baking SO MUCH BREAD for the rest of your life. And you’d have 8 children, all of whom tended to the cattle in the morning and made cheese with you in the afternoon, but even though they were helpful you had to cook for all of them and cooking for 10 people every day is really tiresome. Then one day your son Yani would break his arm climbing a tree (silly kids, they never learn) and you’d have to wrap it up yourself because the closest “doctor” had a snaggle-tooth and lived in a hollowed out tree.

2. You could be a sister wife, married to a man named Jethro and wearing a calico smock. You’d have two bedrooms and you and your sisters would alternate sleeping in Jethro’s bed, which is uncomfortable since he sleeps with his pitchforks (he loves farming). You’d have about three kids of your own but 15 total, and it’s really, really hard to love 12 kids that belong to your husband but not to you.

3. You could be part of a harem. And trust me, that doesn’t just mean you’d get to wear fun pants. Your husband would be super beardy and make you feed him grapes all day while another wife told him stories of Ali Baba.

4. You could be a nun and God would be your husband but lord knows he’s barely ever home. And he’s got this goodie two-shoes son who doesn’t even do his carpentry work but instead just hangs out in a river playing with badgers and bathing people. And everyone would always be comparing you to God’s ex, Mary, and telling you how WONDERFUL she was. And you would just be quietly washing your unmentionables in the stream when the townsfolk would come by and sneer at you because everyone knows God still loves Mary but she ran off with that Joseph character and…

Anyway, happy Saint Cappy’s day. Don’t forget to love yourself, and whether you’re single or not, at least you’re not married to God. He’s a piece of work.


How to Treat the Fellaz

1. Offer to do things for him.
I think he’d especially appreciate if you re-laced his shoes all cool so the laces aren’t crisscrossed but instead go straight across. That’s a real winner right there. Expect a ring tomorrow.

2. Be real.
I always hate it when people say that: “I’m just bein’ real with you, bro.” But…be real. Shut up giggling and trying to make his ego swell. It should swell only when it deserves to swell! When you’re impressed by something he says/does, let him know it, otherwise, just act like you would with your girlfriends (minus the makeup talk). Be nice, but don’t be sweet, unless you’re just totally in love and can’t help it. In that case, get a friend to slap you across the face and make you WAKE UP! I’m kidding. Maybe.
And for Buddha’s sake, stop sticking your butt out. It isn’t cute and it makes you walk funny.

3. Look cuddly.
You want a cuddle, and so does he. Unless he’s a leper, in which case you should probably not get that close…but you can definitely love him from afar while he tries to get his condition under control…
Basically, be a little touchy, but stop slobbering all over him. The touchy can only go so far. And only touch when there’s a reason to. Like…if he tells you a really crap joke, you probably shouldn’t laugh and then hang all over his arm. But if he tells you the nicest story ever about his dog dying the day after his dad died, you could give his arm a little fondle. But keep it classy, cuz his dad and dog died.
While we’re on the subject, I’d like to say this: don’t date guys with tons of issues. His dad is freaking dead…and so is Fido. The man needs some space!

4. Look at him. Speak to him.
These are important because A) we know fellaz are morons and don’t get a single subtle hint we throw at them and B) you know you want to. Suppressing the urge will just make you explode into a crazy ball of scary later.
If you compliment his sweater because really you just love what’s underneath, he isn’t gonna get it. I repeat: subtlety doesn’t work.

5. On that note, be assertive.
Tell him what you want. Because he won’t understand what you want unless you say it loudly, clearly, and in as little words as possible (I realize how sexist I sound. I’m definitely aware that guys are smart, but even I’m terrible at understanding subtlety and I’m a girl!). So tell him when you’d like his jacket. Tell him your favorite type of food. Then he’ll know how to please you :)

Once again, people helped me with this. Since I’m not a boy and do not understand boy minds, a big thank you to my friend Adam for his assistance! And to my cat for always being there for me even when I forgot to feed him dinner the other day. And to Maddie for the shoelace suggestion. Why don’t we have boyfriends?