Oh 2017. It’s an odd-numbered year, which always makes me feel uneasy about things. I mean, what good could come of a year that ends in the number seventeen? The last time seventeen and I met, I was sneaking out of my bedroom at one o’clock in the morning, discovering that beer came in forty-ounce bottles (GENIUS), and playing rap music on volume ten—while (get this) ***still being able to multitask.*** Ah, the luxury of youth. These days, anyone even so
Lack of Sleep Turning You Into a Pissed Off 2-Year Old? I HAVE ALL THE ANSWERS.
Get a load of this insider information: Did you know your brain actually needs SLEEP? I’m pretty sure that none of us are ACTUALLY SLEEPING, and you know who I blame this entirely on? Wine. Holy mother of dragons, discovery of the decade: If I have wine at night, I will not be able to sleep. And by “not be able to sleep,” what I mean to say is that I’ll be laying there in bed like a pissed
So This One Time I Thought I Had Breast Cancer—And The Doctor Was a Huge D*ck
So today I placed my boobs into a giant, hospital-grade George Foreman grill and held my breath as the nurse to the X-ray. Let me tell you what, there is nothing quite like hoisting the flesh of your nipple onto a cold metal surface while a stranger watches. I mean, they’re definitely judging you. If not the size of your areolas, your dexterity. They’re there tapping their foot while you’re fuddling along with some necklace that never effing clasps when you want
Personal Sovereignty + Giving Yourself Options + Who Needs a Vodka?
So that happened this week. There’s a lot that could be said, and a lot I’ll refrain from saying, but I did want to send a courtesy note to say, first of all, that my new on business mentorship program is still moving forward—and starts tomorrow—and second, that holy moly, it’s about so much than your career. You know, I’d never thought too much about on business as something that could save the world—at least, not in much
Unf*ckwithable BOSS | Online Business Development Program
*enthusiastic drum roll por favor* Just kidding. I’d actually like an electronic harp, please. (Obviously superior.) Ladies, gents, and pandas, it is my pleasure to announce that the all-new Unf*ckwithable Boss On Business Development Program is now officially open. If you ever wished that you and I could put our heads together over a bottle of wine, and work together for a series of weeks ing in hard and creating—or overhauling—your on business from start to finish, A-Z, this is for you. As
HOLY BUTTERNUTS I MADE A VIDEO. (P.S. IT’S OUTRAGEOUS. WITH CAPS. ALL OF THEM. )
Hold all the pumpkin rolls: I’VE DONE IT, YOU GUYS. I’VE FINALLY DONE VIDEO. I’m pretty sure that giving me a camera was a very bad idea. Or a very good idea—I can’t tell yet. But I can tell you this—I AM HAVING WAY TOO MUCH FUN. For the of a laugh, it’s called: What Freelancers, Creatives & Business Owners Are Really Thinking. (You didn’t think this was going to be a serious lecture did you?) It’s two minutes long, has a major attitude
UNF*CKWITHABLE BOSS: Red Hot, Brand New, Business Development & Refinery Program. Now Open for Enrollment!
Hang onto your pumpkin loafs! (By which I mean, eat all the pumpkin loaf and then get yo’ glasses on, because there’s big news in the house today.) My brand-new business mentorship program has just rolled up in a Cadillac and is currently swigging vodka before making its debut onto the red carpet. It’s called UNF*CKWITHABLE BOSS, and it’s here to change the face of modern work forever. Unconventional name? Check. Unconventional purpose? Double check. If you’ve been thinking about striking
Self-Hatred, Low Self-Esteem & Firing Those Lying Pricks From Your Payroll
Alright, real talk: It’s 4:27am and there should be laws against writing at these hours. Is this what drunk driving feels like? Because I’m pretty sure my eyes are doing cartwheels and my brain is like, “What the ****?” and all the while my stomach is all, LISTEN LADY IF WE’RE DOING THIS I’M GONNA NEED SOME ASSISTANCE DOWN HERE. I mean, I normally wouldn’t mind dragging a bag of Doritos into bed with me at this hour (it’s
Your Opinion About Yourself Doesn’t Matter
Real talk: I think you’re a liar. A very, very convenient liar. I can call you that because we’re all in the same club. Because the thing is, when you’re out there doing creative work, and new work, and work that has no manager, no support team, no pat on the back, there are days when you will wake up and be convinced that you’re a total fuck up; that you’re not any good; that you’re in over your head; that
Wanna Be Successful Online? Stop Bullshitting. Tell Your TRUTH.
Jesus, do you feel that? *Not a direct quote from Donald Trump I was scrolling through my feed, as one does on a Thursday night when they’ve just made themselves a pot of coffee in a feeble attempt to NOT keep the sleep schedule of an eighty year old choir member, and there it was, all over the place: The sense that everybody is entirely bullshitting you. And, you know, I’m not entirely sure who I’d like to
The DIRTY 30 COMMANDMENTS of Working for Yourself: How to Slay Like an Unf*ckwithable Boss
When negotiating, put on your big girl pants and start with your BIG ask. What’s the most important thing you *really* want out of this? People usually start with their little asks, and then build up to the big one, because they’re scared to death and trying to warm up to it. But, the other side wants you to do that. They’ll happily throw in your little ones, so when you make your big ask—the thing you really wanted (that
“Never Lose Your Sunny Disposition. It’ll Be the Most Important Asset You’ll Ever Have.”
Her name began with an H. I brought the card down to the hotel lobby with a little swing in my pulse—not because I was nervous to give it to her, although in retrospect, maybe I was. I didn’t want it to seem like I was bribing her. (Or, you know, ASKING FOR SEX.) “My first Kate Spade!” she exclaimed, swinging the lid off the round pink and orange box with the same overflowing enthusiasm that had been the very
$199 vs $200: The difference of a dollar is never just the difference of a dollar.
I was recently told a story about a man named Uncle Bill who went to Colombia, stayed in a hostel, and climbed the ladder into his bunk—even after the four bottles of wine. Uncle Bill wasn’t your average uncle, though. Uncle Bill was eighty-nine years old. Which sounds like a lot, when you say it out loud, right? Eighty nine! What?! But you know what it sounds less than? Ninety. One sounds pretty old, but not as old as ninety. Once you
If You’re Nervous About Pulling the Trigger, Clap Your Handsssss!
There seems to be this idea that you should be ready for stuff before you do it. You should do your research. Come fully prepared. Think ahead. Not get taken by surprise. While that might be practical advice when you’re presenting an 8th grade science project, or pitching your boss an idea, or trying anal for the first time—SHE DID NOT JUST SAY THAT—it’s the farthest thing from practical in a modern world of entrepreneurship. The assumption behind the “plan
Women Don’t Learn How to Be Strong & Confident & Brave in Home-Fucking-Ec.
Once upon a time, I to Home Ec in high school, which is hilarious, because based on tweets like these, I must have failed: I tweeted that out a couple of days ago after Googling “How to trick your mother-in-law into thinking canned tomato sauce is homemade,” which inevitably led me into chopping, like, four fucking onions with a butter knife and spooning an entire cup of sugar into the pot, because if a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine
If you’re terrified you’ll be judged online, then you need to slow down, have a vodka & read this immediately.
Ohhhhh, fucking shit. Those are kind of the words I want to say all the time, except if I did say them all the time, I’m pretty sure I’d start to get sick of them, like one does after eating tuna fish every day (not like I’d know anything about that) and that’s really my greatest fear, really: Lackluster profanities. I mean, talk about losing the will to live. And then there are other reasons, of course, like the
You cannot be a sane person all the time. But you *do* get to choose where you spend your sanity.
You know what’s a real mind fuck? The whole “getting taken seriously” thing. Let’s be honest: How much do you just wish you could just hammer down some Doritos and blog about your mother-in-law? Or talk about the fact that, yes, you definitely swore under your breath at tourists last night, who, in their “Pura Vida Costa Rica!” childlike optimism, declared that the city-wide blackout—the one that happened RIGHT BEFORE YOU WERE ABOUT TO MAKE CHICKEN QUESADILLAS—was “charming.” Charming? Did
There are two options: Make your own rules, or make your own grave.
Google can’t save you. Here is a short but compelling list of things Google is good for: Figuring out how the hell to poach a wet, floppy fish Ordering purple pimp costumes to wear to dinner at your in-law’s Frantically searching the correct pronunciation of the word “GIF”—before saying it out loud at your client meeting in 5 minutes And here are things Google cannot help you with, ever: Originality Creativity Discip Practice Experience Trial Error Finding your own fucking
To the Woman With the Fake Smile: Stop It, You Fucking Pigeon
Can we all just stop, already? Stop apologizing. Stop saying sorry. Stop shrinking into some small little ball-less version of yourself—you know, so you don’t make all the other ball-less twats feel uncomfortable. Or risk offending somebody. Or do something controversial. Or doing all of that and then totally screwing it up and feeling stupid. God forbid. I’m sick and tired of it. I’m sick of seeing you hesitate. Second guess yourself constantly. Smile weakly. FUCKING WILT. You’re wilting away
How to Be Interesting As Hell On Paper
Agency. It was one of the first things my bo editor said to me. “These parts need agency.” And I obviously said: Like the CIA? And she said: Shoot me. And I said: Is that a CIA je? So while furiously drinking wine and researching this new writing foe—agency—I had been ighted to discover that this wasn’t some kind of polite euphemism to tell me that I was an absolute shit writer. But, it was a problem. Because lacking
Is Your Life *Actually* a Good One? Can You Even Decide? What Does Good Even MEAN These Days?
It’s hilarious, really. You spent the first twenty years of your life worrying what the f*ck you were suppose to do on this planet—with your ONE BIG PRECIOUS LIFE that every other poster won’t shut up about—only to spend the next twenty years wondering if you did it right. Because, did you? Was this what life was suppose to lo like? Did you do it right? Pass the test, check the box, score the A? Like, is your life
When You Feel Worthy of Being Seen…It Shows
Let me tell you what: American women may have Victoria’s Secret, but Italian women have another secret altogether. You know it by the way she holds her head a little higher than yours, eyes on fire, gliding down the god damn sidewalk as if her and Mother Nature were tag teaming. It is not just confidence—though confidence is plainly written across her shoulders—nor arrogance, judging by the way she laughs with her entire body alongside her friends in the piazza.
A Dead Simple Way to Write a Creative Bio (Without Crying) (Or Wall Punching) (Awkward, You Guys)
Most people dread introducing themselves in general, but ask someone to introduce themselves in writing, and you’ve just added another unwelcome layer of pressure: Now you’ve got to WRITE WELL ON TOP OF IT. And, you know, say witty things. That you’re committing to paper. While being judged by everyone who reads it. Because isn’t that what reading really is? A bunch of strangers JUDGING YOU. Great. This is sounding promising than ever, isn’t it? That was one of
For a Long Time I Secretly Worried: What If I Was Screwing Everything Up?!
We’re on a transatlantic flight to London. I just bite into the kind of sausage one should never bite into, and now that we’re exactly 552 miles away from our destination, I realized that my eyes were less than sprightly and my hair loed like Fiona fucked a bird’s nest. So I did what any resourceful woman on a transatlantic flight to one of the most fashionable cities in the world might do: I brushed it. With a toothbrush.
“Ding, Ding, Ding! You Can Have Fun Now!” <—The Universe Is Never Going to Send You This Email, Yo
I’m going to England tomorrow. By which I mean I’m stepping inside a long metal torpedo and sitting my fat ass down on some murky blue pleather for an exact distance of 5,429 miles across a cold, dreary ocean that always makes me wonder things I shouldn’t ever wonder. Like: Would I actually remain calm in case of THE BIG EVENT, like I think I would? Would I place my oxygen mask a top my bouncy little cheeks, knowing exactly
Stop Peeing Apologies Down Your Leg: Instead of Saying “I’m Sorry,” Say “THANK YOU”
I used to be a really nice person. I was the kind of person who would nod sweetly and enthusiastically, as if I had a permanent coating of cotton candy on my lips—even when I was seething inside. (Whether this made me nice or a moron is still up for debate.) I would never question anyone else’s opinions, assuming that if they thought it, that made it true; that they saw something I didn’t. I would never tell anyone “no,”