Flavor of the Week: Justin Bieber

Yes, it’s shocking that I’ve never written about J. Biebs before, but it’s also shocking that his downward spiral didn’t start the moment people first compared his looks to those of Ellen Degeneres, Miley Cyrus, or any other token lesbian in pop culture. Whatever, we all surprise ourselves sometimes. And so, the time has come for Justin Bieber to receive the FYD spotlight. Justin is like Eurotart. Technically, he’s yummy enough to be the flavor every week. But you can’t spell “Eurotart” without the “tart” and that’s a fact.

This week, Justin made headlines for his unbelievable performance as a teen sensation that doesn’t talk to anyone politely unless he/she was on Disney at some point or made out with James Franco in Spring Breakers.  TMZ released a video showing Biebs being a total dick during deposition with the lawyer of a certain paparazzo who is suing the Bieb Team for assault. Well, if this guy caught up with Kristen Bell’s new charity initiative (#savethefamous), he would know that he was doing serious harm to Bieber in the first place. Justin is so delicate and sensitive. His hobbies include drag racing and Xanax! Justin’s $wag coach should be getting a $eriou$ rai$e because Bieber can really, really put on a show.

To my dismay, Justin Bieber has evolved into somewhat of a joke (can you tell?). It’s a shame because we all thought he was something special when we saw home footage of him playing an acoustic guitar on the streets of Canada. We also all thought that if there was ever a superstar us nice Jewish girls would have the opportunity to sleep with, it would probably be him. I feel like he’d be into the Long Island accents, you know?

My guilty pleasure is eternally Believe Acoustic. Perhaps it’s a subconscious effort to salvage the Justin Bieber we all once knew and loved. In order to preserve the sanctity of the closest thing current sixth graders will ever have to Michael Jackson, let’s recall some of Bieber’s greatest moments…

The music video where he makes a shout out to Selena and we all wished we were her:

JustinB2_620_101212

 

The days of the coconut head:

1064519-justin-bieber-617-409

 

This photo in general:

american music awards arrivals 2 211111

 

This song:

justin-bieber

 

And, now, this mugshot:

1390500405_justin-bieber-mugshot-467

 

LYLAS, Justin.


Flavor of the Week: Being Stressed Out as F***

maria-lookatall

Everyone loves to just walk around saying “Ugh, I’m literally so stressed out right now.” Stress is everywhere, embodied in every kvetching student, in every mother of three children, and in every girl who breathes. It is the symbol of our generation that thrives on espresso, that doesn’t really sleep at all, and that has to deal with the most competitive job market and higher education system in the world.

The worst thing about all of this isn’t even how suckish being stressed feels; it’s that everyone is stressed, so no one’s really stressed, and it’s become an acceptable and normal thing to constantly feel like you’re swimming in a kiddie pool with Tilikum (Tilikum, for those of you who are unaware, is the killer whale in the focus of my fav documentary, Blackfish).

Because I’ve been stressed out since I, as a wee newborn, witnessed my mother birth my placenta, I thought I could offer a few tips in dealing with stress.

Do: drink coffee. It’ll keep you going.

Don’t: talk to other people. Because you’re just going to take all of your stress out on them and then you’ll look like a bitch. Of course you probably are a bitch, but it’s best to hide that at all costs and whenever possible.

Also, don’t: talk to your boyfriend. He will inevitably piss you off.

Don’t: be around people who chew and/or breathe loudly. They will also piss you off. And distract you.

Do: yoga. Cliché, yes. But it’s a great way to kind-of work out and kind-of take a nap during shavasana.

Don’t: smoke a cigarette. No matter how cool you think they make you look, they just don’t. They also don’t actually make you less stressed. Post-boge, you still have an overwhelming amount of shit to do so it makes more sense to stop wasting time taking years off your life and instead just like, work!!!

Do, but also don’t: stress eat. Stress is great for binge eaters. If you say you’re stressed while eating a piece of cheesecake at 3pm (ya know, just an afternoon snack!) or while eating an alfredo pasta, pepperoni pizza, and a giant snickerdoodle cookie at 1am (a.k.a. me last Tuesday night #sorrynotsorry), then everyone is like “Oh, ok, you’re off the hook for not trying to mimic Kendall Jenner’s chopstick-like frame at this moment in time.” However, stressing can be a great way to be like “Ahhh my tummy is in such knots! I cannot seem to stomach a thing!” and shed a few pounds.

Do: go to bed early, and do something for yourself before you go to bed. I’m not saying go to sleep at 10pm, but don’t go to sleep at 2am. I usually work until 10:30ish, then whip off my bra immediately (remember, ladies: no bra, no problem), and then get in bed to watch an episode of Girls. Glass of wine, optional.

Though stress is the most chronic illness of ever, it is something that we can combat together. One last tip: cry. Cry a lot. But stay positive! You will get through this! (Ha. Ha. Ha.)


Flavor of the Week: Jaden Smith Instagram Roundup

This has been going on for far too long and has been flying under the radar far too quietly. I feel as though I must take the liberty of exposing Jaden Smith’s Instagram account to the public.

Jaden Smith looks like The Weeknd and spits godly phrases like Yeezy. He acts on screen like Taylor Lautner circa The Adventures of Shark Boy and Lava Girl. And that about sums it up.

I have a really strange talent for finding semi-famous people’s social media accounts and then obsessively following their lives until I know almost everything about them. I tried to make Jaden Smith one of my stalkees, but it just didn’t work. His guard is too raised; his thoughts too deep. As I attempt to deconstruct the Instagram photos shared by @iputthesocietyonmyback (something Jaden really does, especially valued at $8 million at the age of 15), you’ll hopefully see what I mean.

image (1)

Here, Jaden turns geometry into something trippy as balls. I am wondering if he is implying that this is just the start of his passion for paper pyramid building. Will he be building more pyramids? Will he be gifting those pyramids? Will Jaden Smith send me a paper pyramid? I am v excited to see where his paper pyramid endeavors take him.

image (4)

In other words, “selfié.” Jaden freestyles in this caption, revealing a passion for the Twilight series, which he wants to watch in a light blue room. He’s lucky that he has enough money to paint a room light blue just to watch a Twilight movie in it. Jaden comes to terms with his ridiculousness, warning others not to end up like him, “Young Black And Delirious.” Don’t ignore the second stanza, either. BTW, I think you mean *too, Jaden.

image

Oh, cool. Thx 4 the update.

image (5)

Yes, yes. Enchant them with the White Silk Pants. Those are always a winner. Also, I do not see any young dumb scamps in this black and white photo of LA!!!! I wonder if his fingers ever get tired of typing with capital letters. Eh?

image (2)

Ready for Hawaii or ready to become a dementor? I’m kinda into this one, though. Super ironic.

image (3)

Yes, Jaden, you protect the Kardashian sisters and their pretty blonde friend in an Iron Man suit. Jaden posted this to remind us of his inability to blend into society–the society that is, after all, on his back. I wish I was the privileged child of a celebrity. Then maybe I could look cool pretending every word is a proper noun, too.

That’s all for this week. Check out Jaden Smith: the philosophical poet of our generation on Insta to gain more wordly insights.


Flavor of the Week: How I Really Met Your Mother

Kate_McMillan_tinder-590x536

As we’ve come to know too well, the times are a-changin’. What once was nice and traditional has now become outdated and prudish. Girls bare more skin at Bar Mitzvahs than I do on the beach. Hell, they don’t even wear dresses to Bar Mitzvahs anymore. Now, it’s all about the crop top and shorts combo. I commend the trend, but when I have a daughter of my own I’ll make sure she relies on other “in” pieces… like oversized turtlenecks, for example.

My grandparents met through a mutual friend. My grandfather called my grandmother, introduced himself, and asked if she would “marry [him] this afternoon.” It was classy. My grandma wore white gloves on their date to the zoo. I’m all about it.

My parents met in standards more era-appropriate–on a college street corner on Halloween. Later that night, my dad serenaded my mom by playing her righty guitar upside down (he was a lefty). Slightly more edgy, but as charming as ever, to say the least.

I thought I’d share some ways for you to tell your children in ten or fifteen years from now about how you really met their mother–likely a story neglect of white gloves, potentially containing a good serenade (but only if one of you was, like, on molly at a rave or something like that).

1. “We liked the same @JewBoyProblems tweet. Then, I stalked her on Twitter and she seemed like the perfect balance of Long Island and sleepaway camp-cool for me.”

2. “As soon as I found out that he was @JewBoyProblems, I knew Bubbe would approve.”

3. “So, son, there used to be this thing called Tinder…”

4. “We were both waiting on line at Juice Generation and she complimented me on my desert boots.”

5. “We didn’t go to the same co-ed camp, but we had socials…”

6. “She made a naked video of herself and somehow every thirteen-year-old in the Tri-State Area got a hold of it. I used it as a conversation starter when we met in college.”

7. “My mom was her SoulCycle instructor.”

8. “I know you wouldn’t think that the Boca West club pool could be a romantic spot, but…”

9. “I was ZBT, she was SDT, and the rest was history.”

10. “We were on the same Westcoast Connection Europe teen tour!” (Funny sidenote: I went to the Westcoast website to find a photo to pair with this, but I recognized too many of the kids in all of the promos and didn’t want to make them feel super awk when they heard their face was plastered across The FYD)

11. “I held her hair back for her at a tailgate. She thought I was the nicest guy in the world.”

12. “We had friends in common and I kept liking all of her #tbt’s.”

13. “I was standing behind her in line at Pinkberry and offered to pay for her fro-yo.” (My husband to my child)

Image via


Flavor of the Week: Valentine’s Day

mean girls valentine

A week ago, I wasn’t sure if my “Valentine” knew about Valentine’s. He kept referring to February 14th as “February 14th” and not as “Valentine’s Day.” It could have been intentional, sure. But it also could have been because he lives under a rock. I assumed it was the latter. I also devised a devious plan.

I figured I wouldn’t bring it up. I’d wait it out and see if the V-word would ever make its way into our vocabulary. If I were to write about Valentine’s Day before I saw him on February 14th, he would have seen it, and my plan to make him figure it out on his own–or else–would have been tragically ruined. I was creating a loophole, expecting–or maybe even hoping–that February 14th would come and I would be able to say, “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too, Babe.” The “babe” would obviously be in a very rude and sarcastic tone, and he would owe me everything for a lifetime because of it.

Girls are completely evil. In what sick, twisted world would anyone want her Valentine to forget Valentine’s Day? Apparently, this one.

Eventually, I found out that he knows Valentine’s Day is this Friday. I’ll miss my evil plan, but it was time to part ways. I feel terrible for boys who have to deal with girls like me every February 14th–or, for that matter, boys who have to deal with any girls at all. Valentine’s Day is full of glitter, hearts, chocolate, and contradiction.

Girls who say they hate Valentine’s Day really don’t. These are the girls who, though they’d never admit it, actually care about Valentine’s Day more than anyone else. If they really hated it and if they really didn’t care, they’d have no opinion at all. Now, the girls who hate Valentine’s Day are reading this and saying, “But I really actually don’t give a shit.” Honey, please. How can you not?

These are the girls who have the highest expectations for Valentine’s Day, and they assume their expectations will not be met months before February even rolls around. They’re disappointed before they’re given the opportunity to be pleased. Being anti-Valentine’s doesn’t make you independent or rebellious, either. In my fattest and most awkward stages throughout life, I’ve always managed to love Valentine’s Day. Having my mom and my grandma was plenty for me.

The best way to go about Valentine’s Day is understatedly. It’s one of the few holidays where I truly believe less is more. I always thought that receiving jewelry as a gift was incredibly awkward. When a boy gives me jewelry, I always feel like I owe him something in return. I feel guilty taking it. It’s fancy. I’m not. (Then again, that isn’t to say I won’t accept it. I mean, let’s face it, I’m poor and I’ll take whatever I can get.)

The problem with Valentine’s Day for both guys and girls is the ridiculous amount of pressure that people manage to shove onto a calendar date. For some reason, humans feel the need to prove how much they love each other on one day. I love Valentine’s Day–I always have–so I’m not saying I’m against it. I am, however, against the awkward pressure between two people who both can’t help wondering how much the other is satisfied. Satisfy me 365 days a year, and I’ll feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Buy me a low key dinner on February 14th, and I’ll still just as much feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Hey, at least you remembered what February 14th is.

I said it before, and I’ll say it again–girls are evil. Sure, I bet I’m selling myself as the coolest Valentine there is. I don’t need gifts! I don’t need lovin’! But of course, if I were to get nada, I’d be temperamental as feck. We say we hate Valentine’s Day, but that’s really because we love it. We say we love Valentine’s Day, and then make boys feel like they need to buy us Blue Ivy or North West or earrings or something. This is what Valentine’s Day does to us. The insanity is painstaking, but for some reason, it remains one of my favorite days of the year–in my fat, awkward stages, and in my well groomed ones.

Valentine’s is a day about love; not about boys and not about gifts. If you want to give someone the best Valentine’s Day there is, then remember that. Besides, save your whining and disappointment for New Years’. If you want to talk about depressing holidays, I’ll give ya that.

Image via


Flavor of the Week: The Real Biggest Losers

The Biggest Loser

I’ve never watched a full episode of The Biggest Loser. I only have one friend who’s really into it (though I don’t believe she even watched this season), and the only other person I know who liked it was my grandma (who is now deceased). Regardless, it seems like a pretty inspirational show. People change their lives for the better, have happily ever afters, etc. etc. etc. The concept is really great. But in a society where we teeter back and forth between being too thin and too fat, does The Biggest Loser prompt people to feel like… big losers?

Rachel Frederickson was just crowned this season’s winner, dropping from 260 to 105 pounds. Before I read the first of many articles I would eventually read about her, I saw her “after” photo. She looked good–toned, fit, thin. I assumed she was in her early-mid 30s. It turns out that Rachel’s only 24. That was the first unsettling fact to me.

Then, I learned that she now weighs only 105 pounds. Then, I learned that Rachel is 5’4”. I’m 5’4”. I’m not nearly 105 pounds. Yes, bodies come in every shape and size, and weight is just a number. Body fat is proportioned differently depending on the person, and no one should feel the need to conform to a number on an outdated BMI index. But there is an undeniable fact that everyone is aware of, and it is that being 105 pounds and 5’4” usually means you’re too thin.

Obviously, controversy sparked from every corner of the body-centric world. Two very valid arguments arise: the first, that The Biggest Loser is a weight loss show and Rachel accomplished (very well) exactly what she went on the show to do. This side argues Rachel shouldn’t be penalized and she didn’t take things too far. The second argument pleads the opposite: that Rachel clearly has a problem; one drilled into her head by a show that monitors contestants as if it was the NSA for fat people.

Those of you who blame The Biggest Loser for turning an obese young woman into a petite someone who other women will envy–you are wrong. You cannot blame a television production based on helping unhealthy people lead healthy lifestyles for a contestant’s weight loss. At the same time, you can’t say that Rachel’s weight loss is okay just because you “wouldn’t call her skeletal,” as Betches Love This likes to put it. “Have you ever seen an actual anorexic person or like, a Holocaust survivor?” The “Betches” continue, “That is fucking skeletal.” They also say that Rachel “is the size of a mother of three who spends a lot of time at Soul Cycle or like, Kate Middleton,” and therefore we shouldn’t be concerned.

No, no, no, no, no. We can be funny all we want–we can make fun of ourselves, of the pettiness of young women, of the ridiculous obsessions we have with things like social media and men, but we cannot make jokes about body image. Just because someone doesn’t “look” like they have an eating disorder–like they aren’t “skeletal”–doesn’t mean they aren’t suffering mentally.

Last week, I called my mom in hysterics because I felt comparable to a very large whale. Moms are used to the complaints of their daughters, many of whom are perfectly fine and healthy but suffer from a paranoia and awareness of the body that is unnecessarily overwhelming. My mom, however, could sense the extreme level of shittiness I was feeling. When I told her that it pained me to look in the mirror and to have more than one sit-down meal a day–that the thought of giving in to a plateful of food rather than the Chobani and then the apple and then the Fiber One bar snacking regimen I had perfected to a tee–she knew I was falling into a trap.

My mom asked me why I hadn’t spoken to anyone about this–my friends, a therapist, etc. I told her something I consider to be one of the most wretched mindsets of our image-infatuated generation: I just didn’t look like I had a problem. I’m not “thin,” I’m curvy with a butt and boobs and legs, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been like that since the fourth grade. What are the odds that someone takes me seriously when I walk up to her and tell her I’m having trouble eating? You can claim someone would listen to me, and if it was a real problem, someone would be able to tell. But unfortunately, I can fill you in from experience–that isn’t the case. It seems like you can’t have a problem unless you look like you do.

Okay, so if I lose 30 pounds, will you believe me then?

Luckily, I swung out of my funk and adjusted back to a normal, healthy routine. But there are thousands upon thousands of girls that won’t. Did Rachel Frederickson’s drastic weight loss pose a bad influence on self-conscious teens? I didn’t watch The Biggest Loser, but I’m assuming they only showed her losing weight healthily. They probably didn’t showcase her anorexia, or her bulimia, or any other eating disorder she might have. As I said before, her size doesn’t have to correlate to her mental state, and her mental state doesn’t have to correlate to her size.

In truth, the people who tend to be sensitive to the appearances of people in the media will be affected by Rachel’s weight loss just as they would the body of any other celebrity. The less sensitive people won’t. The job of The Biggest Loser is to help its contestants become healthier. The job of me–and of every other young lady, and even the job of every young man–is to make sure that I am healthy, that my friends are healthy, and that my family is healthy. Rachel’s weight loss was startling to me, too. But can we please get over the battle of too thin versus thin enough and realize the bigger picture?

Please?

Image via


Flavor of the Week: Losing Everything

mr. forgetful

As gleeful college biddies flock back north to the tundrous Great Lakes and to the non-stop pretty-people-party that is all southern schools, I can’t help but reminisce upon the terrible yet inevitable habit of losing everything.

When I was younger, I used to lose or leave something behind every time I left the house. My first few flip phones would go MIA for weeks at a time, only to show up again crushed at the bottom of a friend’s driveway or stowed away in the wings of the stage curtain by a boy who sang in the sixth grade chorus with me. Eventually, his mother told me of his intentions: he thought it would be funny to hijack my most prized possession and then heroically “find it” again. Of course, he forgot about the hijacking and the devious plan in its entirety and ceased to properly return the phone.

In seventh grade, I lost my childhood teddy bear in transit over a weekend in which I was attending three separate Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. There’s a price to pay that comes with being a 13 year old Jewish girl.

A night in which all you do is “win, win, win no matter what” can be awfully tainted by the loss of your Marc by Marc by Marc Jacobs by Jacobs Marc by Marc keychain. In college, girls lose a lot of things. Dignity, respect, iPhones, and wallets. While there rarely seems to be a bright side to losing any/all of the above, there still must be a reason why we lose so often–otherwise, we just wouldn’t. So here’s a few I came up with:

We lose stuff to get attention, because everyone loves putting together a search party for Daddy’s missing credit card.

We lose stuff to get new stuff, because, hey, wasn’t it time for that iPhone upgrade anyways?

We lose stuff to get our stuff returned, because you never know how attractive an honest man will be.

We lose stuff when we don’t really need or want what we lost, because who needs a jacket when you have a sick new crop-top with a major side boob exposé?

We lose stuff when we’re distracted, because we can’t help it that we’re so popular.

i can't help that i'm so popular

 

My mom used to yell at me for being so forgetful about my things, and I told her that it wasn’t something I could improve upon because it was an unavoidable character flaw. It’s part of being a girl. (It’s also part of being intoxicated.)

 

Images viavia


Flavor of the Week: Open Letters

It’s trendy to write in list form (i.e. “10 Things You Learn By Being A Slut in College” or something like that on BuzzFeed) and it’s trendy to be dry, witty, cynical, and funny. In other words, the Internet is experiencing the writing phenomenon I went through during the few months in which my OCD/anxiety peaked. This phenomenon includes the trendy way to tell someone to shut the f*** up in the most PC manner possible: by writing an “open letter.”

An open letter is exactly what it sounds like–a letter addressed to one person that everyone can read. Since we no longer believe in the Postal Service (deuces, Saturday mail), these letters are published digitally for all the world to see. The open letter is the over-exercised protest of the 21st century.

I’m sick of reading civilian pleas against the narcissism in our society, exemplified here on McSweeney’s nonfiction series of “Open Letters To People Or Entities Who Are Unlikely To Respond.” So, I threw together a little list of pitches for open letters we’d actually want to read.

Open Letter to: The People That Work At Chipotle
Subject: We need to discuss the guac sitch

Open Letter to: Lindsay Lohan
Subject: Don’t screw this one up, we are rooting for you

Open Letter to: Girl Sitting Next To Me On Airplane
Subject: Stop looking at my screen

Open Letter to: Chris Christie
Subject: No offense, but you couldn’t seriously have thought that causing a traffic jam would cause people to hate their mayor which would consequently cause you to win a presidential election

Open Letter to: Justin Bieber
Subject: How can you be wasting Grade A eggs if there are starving children in Africa?

Open Letter to: My Ancestors
Subject: My slow metabolism

Open Letter to: Cake
Subject: Your high calorie count

Open Letter to: Miley Cyrus
Subject: Twerk all you want but we want your bun back and we want it now

Open Letter to: Condé Nast
Subject: You closed your internship program, you crushed my dreams

Open Letter to: Hilary Duff
Subject: Sorry to hear about your divorce but it’s time to marry Gordo

Any ideas for open letters you’d want me to actually write? Let’s talk about it in the commentz.

Image via


Flavor of the Week: Jennifer Lawrence

This year, Jennifer Lawrence became the girl that everyone loved. Guys want to get with her, girls want to be her. And if they aren’t her, then they want to be her best friend. Like me, she gives off the “I don’t give a shit what people say or think” attitude, except unlike me, people like her because of it. Maybe if I was Katniss Everdeen I’d be more liked by people who do archery and appreciate a girl with a big mouth. With the Golden Globes around the corner, I thought the time had come for me to join the JLaw bandwagon. After all, her year wouldn’t be that accomplished without a shoutout from The FYD.

Whenever I try to picture Jennifer Lawrence in my mind, I, for some odd reason, can only think of the Disney Channel star Debby Ryan (from “Suite Life on Deck” and “Jessie”) who is cute–def not as hot as JLaw though–and actually smiles for pics. Whenever this happens I get so frustrated that I google “Jennifer Lawrence” on my iPhone so that I can remember her face and let a wave of relief wash over me. I’ve seen every movie JLaw has been in (including Like Crazy, one of my fav movies of all time) and I seem to google her face ten times a day yet it still refuses to ingrain itself in my mind. I think that really says something.

It’s underrated how she got her start in The Hunger Games. I mean, she had a small career beforehand, but you didn’t really know her until you knew Katniss. The Hunger Games reminds me of my tomboy literary phase in sixth grade. I never went through a tomboy phase in terms of how I dressed, but I read “boy books” for a while. How can just a literary work of tomboy-ness bring out someone regarded as one of the most glamorous people in the world?

I do love JLaw, however. I think that she is very real and has intentions of being the role model that wasn’t out there before. I love that she fell on her way to receive her Oscar and I love that she fell because she was thinking about cake. I also love how genius it was of her to finally tell the media that she fell because she was thinking about cake so strategically right before Golden Globes, as if to say, “give me the Golden Globe for my role in American Hustle and I promise I will do something that will further prove how much of a real, down-to-earth food-lover I am!” Her fall also means that when I inevitably fall on the way to get my Oscar one day I won’t be the first one to do it. The experience will be much less scarring.

As much as I love her, I also think she’s slightly overrated. Some people say they think she’s overrated in terms of her looks, which I totally disagree with. The people that say that are just jealous. I think she’s overrated in terms of how special she is, so to speak. We decided she was amazing because of how vivid she seems through the screen of a MacBook or captured in a magazine photograph. We love her because she’s young, and she’s fresh. I never would have picked her acting skills out of a crowd. Don’t get me wrong, she mastered Katniss, but… well… it’s Katniss.

The first time I saw Silver Linings Playbook, I thought that someone had secretly done an autobiography of my life without my knowledge or approval. JLaw’s diner-freakout scene could easily have been directly taken from any time between November and April of my senior year of high school. People thought her acting in that movie, and in that scene in particular, was crazy. For me it was just like a #tbt or whatever.

Recently, I read a really interesting article about JLaw and all of the things she says about body image–how no one can ever make her diet, she loves a burger and fries, etc. The article, which I believe was on HuffPost, said that the only reason we commend JLaw for being so “real” about her secretly naughty eating habits and her curves is because she manages to portray this persona while still looking thin, beautiful, and healthy all of the time. If someone who needed to lose weight made such a statement about loving a cheeseburger almost every time she opened her mouth, we would probably be disgusted. We would think that she’s being careless and sloppy and needs to go on a diet. But when JLaw does it, we clap for her because she does it and still looks like she doesn’t. This is something I’ve thought about for a long time, but never felt resonated with enough people that I could actually say it and believe it was true. But it totally is.

So, where does that leave us with JLaw? Still love her. Still think she’ll win a shitload of awards for everything she’s done. Still think she’ll continue to talk about food like it’s nobody’s business. But also still think she should make us think about what’s really real and what isn’t.


Flavor of the Week: 2013

Good bye fro-yo, good bye 2013.

Good bye fro-yo, good bye 2013.

Congratulations! You survived your hangover. How does it feel? Rewarding, I bet.

2013 is officially over and we are no longer in that awkward limbo state between Christmas and New Year’s known as “the holidays.” During “the holidays,” everyone talks about everything that’s happened over the past year as if the year has already ended. In reality, the next year hasn’t started yet, either. Our society sets aside a week for us to reminisce and resolute and think about the reasons why we hate ourselves and how we can strive to change in the year to come. The holidays are a strange concept–everyone kind of stops doing everything and doesn’t start real life until the next year gets here. It’s a week that, though it sits on the calendar, doesn’t actually exist.

Now that we are in a new year, I thought it would be appropriate to accurately and fully asses the year that’s passed us by–FYD style, of course. 95 (!!!) posts later and I think I’ve got a pretty good sense of what 2013 was about. Here’s the shortlist of what you really shoulda taken out of that wild year. As the Grateful Dead says, “Oh, what a long, strange trip it’s been.”

1. Your Facebook pro pic says a LOT about you. And by a lot, I mean 4,926 post views in twelve hours-a lot. 

2. The selfie had a revolution. It was the thing of the year, by far.

3. 2013 brought us Thanksgivukkah–a chubby JAP’s dream come true!

4. Every. One. Got. Mono.

5. Kimye is everything.

6. FYD lesson: the balance between being a bitch/playing hard to get and being a slut is very, very difficult to find.

7. Celebrate the anniversary of your Bat Mitzvah by handing out the leftover kippahs you’ve been storing, because there is always a bald man somewhere in need of a hat!

8. Tobi.com took over young women’s “trendy”/mundane going out clothing.

9. Everyone used read receipts. Then, they didn’t.

10. Miley came in like a wrecking ball.

11. We acted like chopped salad was just born, even though it wasn’t. Overpriced chopped salad was born, transforming the dirty water dog-type lunch into one better suited to the women taking over the workforce.

12. FYD lesson: your relationship with your boyfriend is really a threesome between you, him, and Facebook.

13. Everyone wrote about kale, but I wrote about it first. Trust.

14. Cady Heron would not have survived a plastics’ group text. That is why being a girl nowadays is so frickin’ difficult.

15. We speak emoji.

16. FYD lesson: there is a time to laugh, and a time to cry. There is a time to Instagram, and a time to mupload.

17. We were labeled the “me me me generation.” But millennials rock. We’re going places, and they can’t stop us and our selfies.

18. I read Fifty Shades of Grey while living in a rural Eurasian town of conservative Muslims. You might not remember that, but it’ll make you laugh.

19. I wrote my first post, “On Not Being a JAP,” for The FYD. But, obviously, there’s a little JAP in all of us.

20. A lot of other stuff happened that I didn’t get to cover. Gay marriage! Legal weed! Love! Loss! Sex! (GASP!) Breaking Bad! But, obviously, we still have 2014 for all of that.

Cheers to another fro-yo filled year of all of the above. May it bring you all overalls, muploads, selfies, shoe sales, peace, and low fat goodness.

 


Flavor of the Week: Eating Stuff Out Of The Jar

I decided to get creative. Instead of blurring out the photo, I “anonymified” it. As I sit at my computer screen, hysterically laughing at this devious creation (thank you photo editing apps), I can’t help but recall when this photo was taken: four days before I broke up with my boyfriend. We went into the city for a night, and all I kept saying was that I wanted to buy a pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ben & Jerry’s and eat out of it with a spoon. Needless to say, we bought the pint at 2 a.m., shared a sparse amount (whatever I was willing to give up) with some friends, and finished the entire thing. Therefore, I can scientifically prove to you that eating stuff out of the jar is a comfort, easing some of the most difficult curveballs life throws our way.

My first instinct was to write about Nutella. But honestly, what am I going to tell you about Nutella that you don’t already know? Nutella and the young woman are inseparable. We rely on Nutella like we rely on tampons. To put it bluntly, they just soak everything up.

If you’re happy, you might celebrate with a thing of Nutella. If you’re high as hell sad, you’ll head right for the Nutella. But in reality, it isn’t the hazelnut that gives you a sense of satisfaction. It’s eating shit right out of the jar that does.

For being obsessed with being skinny, we seem to let all f**** go when a jar of something yummy comes our way. Ben & Jerry’s just isn’t the same in a cup or a cone or a bowl. It’s only great out of the tub. Bethenny Frankel says that “naturally thin” people never eat stuff out of the jar. You end up eating without thinking, eating too much, and getting fat, and dying alone. Or, god forbid, you might decrease the size of your thigh gap. We all know that a decreased thigh gap is only good for catching crumbs of food as they fall on the way to your mouth. So not worth it.

In honor of the food coma that Christmas instills in all people–if you aren’t eating a ham right now, then you’re definitely going ham on kosher Chinese food–it’s important to come to terms with the fact that we love eating shit out of the jar. I spend most of my weeknights on the floor on my room sticking my fingers in a jar of Justin’s almond butter with my best friend. We love getting dirty with some Nutella, ice cream, almond butter, and obviously peanut butter (the indulgent version of almond butter). Eating out of the jar, for most girls with ridiculous body image issues, is the closest you’ll ever get to going skydiving or something like that. Risky as hell. Living life on the edge. Not counting calories for a slim (or not so slim) second.

On a day like today when I’m having serious trouble coping with my own #fatgirlproblems, I’m going to give you shitty advice: eat out of the jar. But keeping “thin” in mind, maybe only have a few bites. Also, remember that committing to not eating out of the jar is, by association, committing to not taking swigs out of the bottle. Now that is a bond I’m not sure any of us are ready to break.


Flavor of the Week: An FYD Christmas List

(elF)YD

ELF-YD

Dear Santa,

I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering why a nice Jewish girl like me would be writing to you, asking for gifts on a holiday that doesn’t even belong to the chosen people. Well, Santa, it turns out I had a rough year. It was also a great year–don’t get me wrong–but I would venture to say there were times where I, usually a hard headed independent woman that don’t need no man, boarded the struggle bus. I think I deserve a present or two. On that note, I want to introduce to you the Jewish concept of mitzvah–a worthy deed. You would really be doing a mitzvah by helping your marginalized friend (a.k.a. me) out. If I were you getting me a gift, here’s what I would just hypothetically get for myself. If you were my boyfriend or my family member or a good friend getting me a present for the holidays, still totally in theory, Santa, I would also recommend anything on this list. Santa, I think this will be a great role playing game for you. I feel like you’re really going to get to know me.

  • Tickets to the Beyoncé concert at Barclay’s, either of the nights. (I’m not very picky, Santa. But I would prefer GA seats, if you were wondering.)
  • A tobi.com gift card! JK LOL, do not get me this. Seriously, don’t.
  • But feel free to get me a Free People one.
  • An iTunes gift card, because I’m poor and like music.
  • Some makeup, because I’m really ugly and need it. Pity me.
  • An unlimited supply of zero calorie fruity drinks, preferably carbonated ones.
  • A new iPhone. Mine is literally degenerated (the selfie camera is really bad quality).
  • This phone case. Make sure you get the size that fits my new iPhone (mentioned above).

  • A new Facebook profile pic. Mine is getting really old. Can we arrange an artsy photo shoot with the Nikon you got for your Bar Mitzvah? Oh, shit… I forgot you didn’t… um… sorry, Santa.
  • A book deal.
  • The opportunity to babysit Nori West.

Merry Christmas! (Or, as one of my favorite TV characters, Schmidt from New Girl, likes to call it, “White Anglo Saxon Winter Privilege Night.”)

Love, your biggest non-gentile fan,
Hannah

p.s. Here’s one more for the road:

elfyd2


Flavor of the Week: The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show

victoria's secret fashion show

Because it clearly doesn’t receive enough media attention as it is, right?

The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show is the one time a year girls decide to work out for like, a solid week. Then we remember that it’s winter and we’re actually in hibernation so jk lol we aren’t going to work out. But if the fashion show happened during March, perhaps, we would definitely all continue to do an impressive 20 jumping jacks and 10 sit-ups before bed. Right? Right.

The fashion show was an exciting time for me until I watched The Social Network and learned that the founder of VS committed suicide because he thought that his company, which now produces bras with a greater value than my house, would fail. Now it’s just depressing. It’s especially depressing because it also pulls a trigger that causes thousands of teenaged (and not-so teenaged) girls struggling with body image to give a public cry for help. The fashion show prompts the immediate overload of a Facebook estrogen presence. “Why don’t I look like that?” (which usually looks more like “y dont i looookkk likkkeee thttt ughh fml :/”) along with a million other self-hating statuses go up for the world to see. This year, it was ALL about the cover photo switch to a feature of the models wearing bras made out of gold and other flakey metals.

The fashion show is an interesting concept–yes, these models are not “typical” or “accurate” representations of women, but should it get to the point where we cannot handle watching them? A while ago I wrote about the controversy of plus-sized models. It turns out there’s just as much controversy about coke-thin models. You shouldn’t be at a point where you can’t bear to watch the show because it makes you feel shitty about who you are. At the same time, you also shouldn’t watch the show and obsess about these women as body role models you strive to become.

If the show does get you down, which is totally normal, think about these things:

1. BOYS LIKE BUTTS. I promise.

2. If you don’t have a butt, boys will still like you. BECAUSE BOYS LIKE GIRLS WITH ACTUAL PERSONALITIES. AND BOOBS. (just kidding) (well, kinda kidding)

3. Buy yourself an overpriced ridiculously bedazzled push up bra. No, not because boys like boobs. Buy one so that you can walk up to one of the models and say, “OMG, twinsies!!!!!!!” or “GET ON MY LEVEL, BITCH.” I’m a personal fan of option two.

Image via


Flavor of the Week: The Jonas Brothers

joejonas

You may have seen it, you may not have, but Joe Jonas spilled all of his dirty little secrets in a killer essay published in New York Magazine. With all of the hubbub surrounding Mr. Jonas and his artsy choice of facial hair, I thought it would be nice to throw it back to the Jonas Brothers. At one point or another, you loved them.

They had such an interesting family dynamic. You had Nick, who was the cutest and the youngest. He seemed like a wise, old soul who was inevitably the brains behind the operation. There was Joe, who was absolutely gorgeous but lacked a certain depth I was really seeking out in a teenaged male pop star to fall in love with. Then there was Kevin. Ah, Kevin. He smiled with his mouth closed a lot, nodded his head often, and wasn’t… well… hot. And I respected him for that. I’m not going to say he was my favorite Jonas just because that would be the alternative thing to do, because he wasn’t. But he seemed like a genuinely nice guy.

I was never obsessed with the Jonas Brothers nor was I ever obsessed with any boy band. I think that ability to obsesses is either something you have in your system, or you something you don’t. Every girl I know that was obsessed with the Jonas Brothers had also been obsessed with a million other Disney stars at some point in her life. And when I say obsessed, I mean obsessed. I try to understand how someone else’s life can be that interesting. Why is it that we attach ourselves to people we’ll never really know? There are the obvious excuses–we’re bored, we don’t like ourselves, we don’t like the lives we choose to lead, etc. I feel like there must be something bigger than that, though. Human fascination with other humans is just as troubling as human fascination with crazy things like aliens and killer whales… and the Jonas Brothers.

When the JoBros broke up, they had already fizzled out. While it was sad to the die-hards in my generation, it didn’t mean much to society. They had their peak, they did their thing. And let me tell you, Joe Jonas went out as gracefully as ever. Though his piece is long, it’s worth reading every word. He’s brutally honest in a way that sort-of shattered my view of the Disney star and sort-of was exactly what I needed to hear. As I submerged myself in his words about losing his virginity (but what about the promise rings?????!!!!!) and smoking weed with Miley (every current teenager’s dream come true), I realized that along with Joe Jonas, a chapter of my life had also closed. He’s growing up, and we are too. Farewell, JoBros.


Flavor of the Week: Thanksgivukkah

I effing love this

I effing love this

First, take note: my laptop does not spell check “Thanksgivukkah.” This holiday shan’t be red squiggly lined. It’s for real, people.

For a curvy Jewish girl/all-American like me, Thanksgivukkah is the best thing to ever happen. I get to eat until I vomit, and once I vomit all over my clothes, I’ll be gifted a new shirt to change into. How clutch is that? It’s like god is repenting me for my sins and giving me a soft cushion to land my fat ass on… do I sense a lil bit of Yom Kippur thrown in here?

If you’re still confused, Thanksgivukkah = Thankgiving + Hanukkah Hannahkkah, both of which happen to fall on the same day this year. It’s like a more generic and Judaically acceptable Chrismukkah. All in favor of an OC reunion to shoot a Thanksgivukkah episode, say “Shalom.” SHALOM, BITCHES.

The irony of Thanksgivukkah is that we have to be thankful for things like family, Buzzfeed as a news source, tempur pedic pillows, frozen yogurt, and our waxing ladies while at the same time allowing ourselves to be spoiled by aunts, uncles, grandparents, parents, and, if you’re lucky, significant others.

A lot of people are literally trying to combine Thanksgiving and Hanukkah by making latke-flavored turkey stuffing or baking gelt-bottomed pumpkin pie. Here are some creative ways I recommend for combining two of my all-time fav holidays:

  • Buy a pet turkey and bobby pin a kippah to its head. Don’t worry about having a wild turkey in your home, it’s totally kosher. Just have it chill with your dog or something.
  • Stuff your turkey (your dinner turkey, not your pet turkey) with Free People gift cards for the whole family to enjoy. This is also known as the low carb option.
  • Only serve Manischewitz. Then again, you should always only serve Manischewitz.
  • Dress code required: come as a pilgrim, a Native American, or a rabbi (with payis).
  • Only cook with butter, because obvi, there’s barely any oil left.
  • Serve pumpkin fro-yo. It’s the perfect combo of “Thanksgiving festive” and “Jewish girl swag.”
  • I’ve mentioned this before, but wear your tallit as a scarf. I’m really into this these days.
  • Use menorahs as mood lighting. It’ll be the chicest Thanksgiving ever.
  • Go in a circle and have everyone say which Judaism-associated sorority or fraternity they are thankful for.
  • Set a place at your table for Elijah. I know, I know, he’s the guy from Passover, but Elijah references in every day life make everything seem more Jewish.

Happy Thanksgivukkah! Don’t forget to hit up the black Friday sales, because every Jew would want you to celebrate a national holiday with a good bargain.

Image via


Flavor of the Week: FYD Does Art History 101

Before I decided I wanted to become Carrie Bradshaw a writer, I wanted to be an artist. First, I had an infatuation with the idea of being a marine biologist photographer for NatGeo. This seed was planted in my head when I was but a decade old, and all I wanted to do with my life was hang out with manatees and take cool photos. In middle school, I shyed away from marine biology and leaned toward rock n’ roll. I wanted to photograph trendy shit, like fashion and famous people wearing weird outfits (or, rather, no outfits). My most recent obsession has been in film, not that I’m handy with a video camera whatsoever. In high school I took up acrylic painting on canvas. Now I have a sick DSLR, a beautiful easel, pallet, brushes, and paint set, and an Instagram (Insta covers the trendy photog shit). But, unfortunately, I stopped thinking like an artist and started writing like a yenta.

Since I discovered that I’m really born to write, I haven’t had as much time to paint, swim with sea animals, or to even charge my Nikon. I thought it would be great to take a trip down memory lane and reeducate myself. After all, a huge part of being trendy is remaining culturally in tact with the artistic community. I have this good friend, Juliette Hayt, who is the most talented chick I’ve ever met. She uses oil, watercolor, and arcylic paint and then inks and pens for illustration. Juliette claims that her dark/surreal subject matter doesn’t reflect her as a person and that it all comes from her subconscious. OK, Jules, that’s like me claiming I dressed up as Wednesday Addams for Halloween just “because I felt like it” and not because she’s actually my alter-ego.

It's funny that people think this isn't my face naturally

It’s funny that people think this isn’t my face naturally

What I decided to do for this week’s flavor is to take some of the coolest shit Juliette’s made and then analyze it through an FYDer’s point of view. Enjoy!

"The Meltdown"

“The Meltdown”

This is an example of a dystopian society in which Jewish women around the world have eaten so much fro-yo that their bodies are starting to melt. Eventually, everyone’s body will be a puddle of fro-yo. The women Juliette featured were once big fans of the mango and pistachio flavors.

This is an edgy representation of one of my favorite movie scenes of all time:

972324_494141427329782_1246199656_n

This piece represents the horrors that ensue when boys speak their opinions as well as the complex of the egotistical man. More specifically, it dives deep into what happens when you’re at a liberal arts college and on some sort of hallucinogenic drug and a boy makes a sexist comment. The braces are a strong symbol for how boys think their opinions are more important than ours, but, like braces, they are really just ugly and probably not worth what you paid for them.

1003145_487922431285015_1983875852_n

This is what happens when girls waste their calories on carbs instead of fro-yo. We become green monsters and not even keratin will fix our hair once it’s turned into spaghetti. These girls were clearly once very trendy because they are wearing baggy, vintage t-shirts with slogans like “yum” and a mustache on them. They also have crazy thigh gaps. The moral being portrayed here is “don’t be spaghetti, and also get keratin.”

Thanks for joining me for a great lesson in Art History 101. Also, props to my girl Juliette for letting my borrow her unbelievable artwork. I only aspire to be as artsy as you are. Click here for her site and check her out on Insta @juliette_hayt.

Flavor of the Week: Being Sick

Being sick right now is like rolling deep at E-Zoo. Everyone’s doing it.

My sickness started the first night of Halloweek. For the first time in my life, I completely lost my voice. Usually when people lose their voices, I assume they’re faking it to try and sound “hot.” Apparently guys like it when our voice resembles theirs via 2008. So the second I hear someone complain about a lost voice (which they probably do just to show off their faux-rasp), I never hesitate to ask, “Have you tried coughing to fix that?” or, “You could probs just cough and that’ll go right away!” It’s really rude, I know, but being sick is much chicer than faking sick. Faking sick is too much effort. It’s better to just not be sick at all.

There are pros and cons to being sick. When I went home from school for fall break, I went on a psycho eating binge that wasn’t like “ugh, I had fro-yo thrice in one day” but was scary and revealed a lot about the unconscious association I have between food and home. Before I get all I-went-through-seven-years-of-therapy on you, I’ll get to the point–I literally ate myself into sickness. You don’t wanna know the gory details, but I was sick. Like, sick. The con this time around was that I almost shit my pants at a petting zoo (long story). The pro was that I lost two pounds when I should have gained five. Yay.

Mono is a sickness with tons of pros i.e. you don’t have to get out of bed for months and have an excuse as to why you physically are incapable of working out. If you have mono, everyone knows you get guys. It’s like a less slutty and more desirable form of HPV. One of my best friends (who is prominently featured on The FYD for her Big 10 prof pic) says that everyone at Michigan has mono right now. A.K.A., everyone at Michigan is sexually active right now but using protection (if they didn’t, they would have something else). This is so great to hear.

For me, being sick is an excuse not to go out. At the same time, I look like I’m such a partier that my body is degenerating. Last Saturday, I didn’t go out because I had a cold that was probably a hybrid strain of the Bubonic plague and Yellow Fever. Instead, I lied in bed with cranberry almond trail mix and fro-yo while two of my best friends sat on my carpet and told me funny stories about things like their IBS kicking in during a morning-after (another illness FTW).

Being sick really isn’t so bad after all. Honestly, if you’re gonna be popping Advil on the daily, you might as well be sick when you do. It’s good karma.

Image via


Flavor of the Week: Movember

I learned what No Shave November was in high school when every guy I knew slash every Jewish girl who got her lip waxed on the reg decided to grow a ferret on his/her face starting on November the first and ending on November the thirtieth. (Just kidding about the girls, maybe they had some other excuse or something.) These woodland critter-seeming mustaches and sideburns poked their way through the pores of teenaged boys far and wide in what I understood to be an age old tradition used as an excuse to prove that someone had, in fact, finally hit puberty. Only a small handful of people were actually capable of sprouting a full beard back then. Regardless, facial hair made a guest appearance for one month of the year.

These guys shave eleven months for one. Soon, I learned that this tradition would haunt me to college. Oh, yes. No Shave November is definitely a “between the ages of fourteen and twenty five” thing. But this year, for the first time, I heard formerly known No Shave November referred to instead of “Movember.” And my reaction was: WTF is this??????

"30 days have September, April, June, and Movember"

“30 days have September, April, June, and Movember”

When someone says “Movember” I imagined two things: 1) moving trucks, and 2) me someone being like “put some mo’ food on my plate” or “mo’ money mo’ problems.” It turned out that I was COMPLETELY fifty shades of wrong. Not only is Movember a (bad) combination of the words “mustache” and “November,” but it’s a charity event. Who knew?

According to the Movember Foundation, which is also a thing I guess, men are supposed to grow mustaches during the month of November to, and I quote, “change the face of men’s health.” I am really ambivalent about this as a legitimate cause. The Foundation throws “Gala Partés” around the world, charging an entry fee (that of which is donated to men’s health causes) and encouraging Movember-related costume contests. So here’s the question we’re all wondering: who comes dressed up as an un-manscaped penis?

And here’s what every girl is thinking: is there any way for me to use this as an excuse to not shave my legs?

Images via and via


Flavor of the Week: Halloween

This post is dedicated to my grandma, who loved Halloween... wish you were still here to ride around on a broom with me, Gee!!!

This is based on me and my grandma, we used to ride around on a broom together

I mean it when I say that Halloween is the flavor of the whole effin’ week, not just the day it claims on the calendar. We all know that Halloween is a weekly process, and whoever thought that it solely encompasses a single day is incorrect on a graded scale of “Incorrect” to “So Enthused About Halloween That My Costume Is More Original Than A School Girl Or A Bunny This Year.”

I love Halloween because I’m a fan of all things spooky, creepy, weird, and dark. According to Cady Heron,

But according to me, Halloween is the one day I can wear all black and people will stop asking me if I’m headed over to pay a shiva call. Leave me, my boyfriend jeans, and my high top black Converse alone, puh-lease.

Halloween brings about many fond memories: middle school parties that left me crying, going to the wealthy neighborhoods to get pounds of chocolate, being able to play a socially acceptable form of dress up, having people ask me if they could borrow my real clothes as pieces for their costume, crying again because I was disappointed my night didn’t end up like Cinderella’s (not that Cinderella takes place on Halloween, just the whole pumpkin thing gets me), and broken dreams upon realization that I am not the perfect girl–a combination of Hermoine Granger and Marnie from Halloweentown

The FYD takes a walk down memory lane of what Halloween was like pre-Halloweek and pre-fro-yo (ice cream was still considered a “thing”)…

Me starring in "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" as "The Pumpkin"

Me starring in “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” as “The Pumpkin”

A jester, not my most creative look

A jester. Mom, we could’ve done better that year.

This may or may not have been taken for Halloween... I don't know, I liked to dress up as a cow girl a LOT apparently

This may or may not have been taken for Halloween… I don’t know, I liked to dress up as a cow girl a LOT apparently

This was when I went through that phase where I was OBSESSED with the fact that I had the same initials as Harry Potter, as you can probably tell by my whole "look"

This was when I went through that phase where I was OBSESSED with the fact that I have the same initials as Harry Potter, as you can probably tell by my whole “look”

Haha lol

Haha lol

Lastly, me dressing up as a Real Housewife of New York City

Lastly, me dressing up as a Real Housewife of New York City

Happy Halloween! Eat fro-yo, not candy! (JK LOL, eat candy. Lots of it.)


Flavor of the Week: Kimye

Kanye West and Kim Kardashian are not only an entity: they are a superpower. They are the inspiration behind “Bound 2,” they are the parents of a cardinal direction (making Kim nothing other than Mother Nature). I would venture so far as to say that they are the voice of our generation, but neither of them are “hipster” or “offbeat” enough. Neither of them exploit their naked breasts and bodies for the sake of art enough to be that voice, either. Oh, wait. Just kidding, Kimmy.

This is acceptable because we’re all seen her boobs

Kanye West pursued Kim Kardashian after Kris Jenner decided that Kanye was the ideal “one”: he is the non-relative whose name starts with a K that grosses the most annual revenue. And we all know that Kim likes her men dark and handsome.

Some people are anti-Kanye because they don’t like his attitude and they think he’s out of his mind. It’s definitely valid to debate whether he actually is as psychotic as he makes himself seem or if it’s all an act; a split persona, if you will. Regardless, I don’t really care. I think that it’s genius. He’s the most ridiculous person I know (using the term “know” very lightly) and you’ve just gotta learn how to LOLZ along with him. I don’t know whether I really love Kim or not, as Khloe is everybody’s fav Kardashian (she gets the big beautiful woman points, if ya know what I mean), but I stalk her enough to be her BFF. Once, I saw Jonathan Cheban in East Hampton. It was the richest I’ve ever felt.

Kimye made news headlines this week for the greatest marriage proposal of all time. I was so pleasantly surprised to learn that for once, Kanye did something that wasn’t even remotely about him. For those of you that are unaware: he got the whole Kardashian Klan (what khaos that must have been) into the stadium where the San Fran Giants play. Then, brought Kim out to a screen that read “PLEEEASE MARRY MEEE!!!” Clearly, Kanye is unaware that we all stopped typing like that when AIM went out of style in the seventh grade. Anyway, he gave her a rock the size of my face. And to top it all off, he had a full-blown orchestra playing Lana del Rey’s “Young and Beautiful,” the theme song to my life. If you haven’t listened to the orchestra version of the Gatsby theme yet, then go do it now. It makes you feel like you’re being whisked away in a whirlwind with a bunch of leaves and flowers and some glowing light at the climax of a romantic film set in London.

Kanye, ya done well. Snaps for you.


Flavor of the Week: Christopher Columbus

He has really nice hands

He has really nice hands

One of the greatest struggles a child has is remembering the names of the ships that brought the white people to America who got kicked out of Europe because they wouldn’t let them film “Sister Wives” over there. I would always get confused between the Nina, Pinta, Santa Maria, and the Mayflower and what each of their respective historical purposes were. After googling “what is the difference between the nina the pinta the santamaria and the mayflower” just to make sure that I had my facts straight, I concluded that the Mayflower brought the cast of “Sister Wives” over and the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria were not just the names of every house keeper in the tri-state area but also carried Christopher Columbus and his men to “discover” North America.

Christopher Columbus, not to be mistaken for Chris Columbus (the man who directed your little brother’s fav movie, Percy Jackson & the Lightning Thief), is a controversial man of epic proportions. There is an entire grassroots movement towards abolishing the holiday we celebrate in his honor. This, if you think about it, is especially rude to and ignorant of the Canadians who celebrate their Chinatown version of Thanksgiving on the American Columbus Day.

Here is Columbus looking rather Nice Jewish Boy-esque

Here is Columbus looking rather Nice Jewish Boy-esque

Columbus was neither very attractive nor very Ivy League. He thought it would be a great idea to sail westward to reach the East Indies. Like, I see what your trying to do here, but unconventionality only works in situations such as wearing transparent tights under jean cutoffs in an effort to “stay warm,” or when you have to edit a photo on minimum three different applications in order to mupload it in the trendiest manner.

People don’t like Columbus because he didn’t treat Native Americans with respect. It also pisses a lot of people off that we give him the credit to “discovering” America when a) Leif Ericson, some meaty ginger viking, already came and b) the land had clearly been discovered if people were living there. I think in truth, this is kind of like a “why don’t we all just stab Casear” situation and a lot of people have some pent up jealousy that there are no countries left for them to discover… just new iPhone apps to create. You know?


Flavor of the Week: My Bat Mitzvah

The logo of all logos, which encapsulates my being entirely

The logo of all logos, which entirely encapsulates my being

Mazel tov to me, because as of October 4th, I have officially survived five years of womanhood. Not according to the fact that I had to buy my first bra in fourth grade, but according to the facts of Judaism, it has been half a decade since the marvelous day I made a ten page speech when it was only supposed to be three and I shriveled up my face in response to a sip of Manischewitz just to get the crowd laughing. And by crowd, I mean guests in the synagogue pews.

My Bat Mitzvah was a glorious day. I made everyone wear red to the party, at which I had a hysterical crying fit during my dad’s speech. Whenever I bring up my Bat Mitzvah to someone in attendance, they always mention the crying. It’s horrific, and they always do. Always.

This was my first Facebook profile picture of all time

Taken pre-crying

I was one of those kids that literally liked my service better than my party because I felt like I really ran shit from the bimah. I also have this odd quality about me where my singing voice is significantly better when I’m singing in Hebrew. I obviously don’t sing in Hebrew often, but I always felt the words float out like butter during my Hebrew school days. Not to pat myself on the back, or anything.

Temple photo shoot ❤

Since I love to create holidays out of everything, here’s a quick list of great ways to properly celebrate the anniversary of your Bat or Bar Mitzvah:

  1. Make a toast to it while drinking wine with friends, but more expensive wine than that shit the temple makes you imbibe and classier friends than the kids that broke the ceiling at your BM party. Those are the two key words in life: expensive, and classy.
  2. Tell people that on this day, you became a woman and hope that they realize you’re not talking about your period-iversary (we’ll talk about that holiday another time).
  3. Sing your torah portion to your reflection in the mirror, especially because my your voice always sounds better in Hebrew.
  4. Wear your tallit as a scarf, because it’s ironic and why the hell not.
  5. Hand out the leftover kippahs you’ve been storing in that random drawer. There is always a bald man somewhere in need of a hat!
  6. If you want to feel skinny, don’t try on your party dress… just look at it from afar. But if you have the chutzpah to try, by all means, take a whack at it!
  7. After number 6, look through your photo album and remember that no matter how much fatter you are now, you’re glad to finally have good teeth and clear skin. This is what is feels like to be a woman.

Flavor of the Week: Food-stagrams

As incentive: I will provide you will food porn throughout the post

Personal food-stagrams

People are very split when it comes to opinions on Instagramming food. Many of you have read (and if you haven’t, then you should) Katherine Markovich’s “An Open Letter To People Who Take Pictures of Food With Instagram,” posted on McSweeny’s not too long ago. The column piece went absolutely viral as thousands and thousands of people who spend entirely too much time on Facebook/the internet ironically agreed with Markovich’s scornful rant on those who combine eating time with social media presence. As a food-stagramer myself, I cannot say that I am against the movement. I’d like to write an “open letter” to this thought-piece which, although humorous, just doesn’t get it right.

First of all, no matter how hard you try, you are never going to get people to stop taking photos of their food. Why? Many reasons. People like food. People really, really like food. Also, sometimes people have a hard time finding something to Instagram. And when those people haven’t Instagrammed in quite some time and are looking to turn something from dull to Lo-Fi brilliance, food is an easy place to turn.

Second of all, the title of her piece is almost as infuriating as the piece itself. You cannot take a “picture.” You can, however, take a photograph. And you (usually) don’t take photos of something “with” Instagram. The piece’s title just goes to show how little Markovich knows about Insta and it’s utilization in American syntax. “To Instagram” is a verb, and “Instagram” is a proper noun in reference to the application itself. But you cannot do or take something with Instagram. And if you don’t know that about Insta-grammar (clever, right?), then you shouldn’t be writing an article about Instagram at all.

When I went to Italy last summer, we would take photos of our meals every time we ate. Yes, I Insta’d a bunch of them. But I wasn’t Insta’ing every single plate at every single meal. Most were for the memories. You can food-stagram in moderation, and that’s OK. My mentor in life, love, and the pursuit of being skinny happiness, Bethenny Frankel, says “Food is not your best friend or your enemy.” Food is like a one night stand–just because we’re Instagramming a photo of it doesn’t mean that we’re obsessed with it. It just means it looks yummy and delicious and would look great in Amaro.

A big point that most people make in the case against food-stagramming is that people who do it think of themselves as professional photographers or artists. No, no, no, don’t even go there girlfriend. Posting a photo of a slice of chocolate cake is just like posting a photo of you and your best friend… especially for some people. Lolz.

Now that you’re hungry, click here for some food porn.


Flavor of the Week: TOBI

I can’t even say the word “Tobi” without loling. Seriously.

I felt that it was time to write an ode to Tobi, our beloved online shopping friend. Old wealthy men indulge themselves in Russian mail-order brides. Every college girl indulges herself in mail-order Tobi. It’s just the way it is.

Tobi is odd because it doesn’t exist in real life. It’s like some warehouse in California where all of your wildest 50% off dreams come true. At first, Tobi attacked the newsfeeds of girls around the country. I would use the term “rape,” because if you remember what I’m talking about, it was literally that bad. However my (extremely) liberal arts college really doesn’t approve of using that term lightly so I took it out of my vocabulary. Whoever is the chief over there is actually a genius, and uses an incredible marketing strategy. In order to get the ridiculously huge discount on already fairly-priced clothing, you have to link Tobi to your Facebook. Great for you, Tobi, but shitty for us.

Evidence from my newsfeed

Evidence from my newsfeed, ignore my trendy black & white pro pic 😉

From then on, Tobi is attached to you by something seemingly as strong as an umbilical cord. Every time you “like” something on Tobi from that moment on, or any time you put something in your cart, essentially all of Facebook will automatically see it. It’s really awkward. Like, no, I don’t want to know what you’re shopping for and yeah, it’ll be a little weird when I see you wearing that out the next weekend.

Tobi sends you daily emails which I have not attempted to unsubscribe from because I’m automatically assuming that there is no physical way to unsubscribe, no matter how hard I try. Tobi is clingy as f—. Let me guess–today, you got an email with the subject line, “50 new items today – 30% off the first 7 days for you!” And let me also guess–you get that email on the effing daily.

The funniest thing is when you see someone wearing something and it’s clearly from Tobi. This is easily recognized as Tobi thinks that it’s OK to make a million different articles of clothing that all look exactly the same but are in different forms (dress version and shirt version… and tank top version) and colors. The site doesn’t even have an “If you like this, you might also like…” function because everything looks exactly the same so that wouldn’t even be helpful.

Once, I was visiting a “friend” at an anonymous Big Ten school, and we were going out for the night. While walking outside, we encountered four girls emerging from a freshman dorm. I pointed at each of them, “That’s from Tobi, that’s from Tobi, that’s from Tobi, and that’s from Tobi.” They were all wearing the same thing in different colors, and it was the most ridiculous thing ever.

That same night, I also happened to be wearing Tobi. I was wearing the long-sleeved version of the exact same shirt that they were wearing, obv:

Tobi 5

Now do you know the shirt that I’m referring to? Of course you do.

Tobi 2

Tobi is really great at being Facebook responsive. Once, my camp friend had an entire convo with them. I stood as a witness to that.

Tobi really loves smilies. They are, like, VERY friendly.

Tobi 4

Tobi getting great client responses

Tobi, we love you for being convenient. We also hate you for being both unoriginal and a pain in the ass. You’re great for staple tops, I suppose. Hmph.

 


Flavor of the Week: Read Receipts

If you are not iPhone savvy, which essentially means kbye…

READ RECEIPT: An indication of whether a sent iMessage has been read by its recipient. If the most recently sent message has been read, the word “Read” along with the time at which it was read will appear underneath the message. If the message has not been read, the word “Delivered” will appear underneath. In order for this to function properly, the sender of the messages must have enabled his or her read receipts to be turned on in “Settings.”

An homage (and a very-needed pro/con list) to our favorite little thing to hate:

CONS:

1. Apple stole it from Blackberry, which is why “betches loved BBM.” We thought it was the best invention since sliced whole wheat bread that you could see when someone read your text. Oh yeah… remember that??

ily doe

2. If you’re attractive enough for a boy to stalk you, he’ll know you’re blatantly ignoring him.

3. If you’re passive-aggressive enough to ignore your best friend’s outspoken text, she’ll know you’re ignoring her.

4. The “Mom, I swear I fell asleep and didn’t see your text asking me to come home” excuse goes down the drain… like, sayonara.

5. The only way you can see if someone’s reading your messages if if their read receipts are on. So you can totally get away with having yours off but still being able to tell if they’re ignoring you.

PROS:

1. If you’re trying to play hard-to-get, you can let the other person know that you immediately read every text they send you the second you receive it yet still do not respond.

2. If you’re a guy, your girlfriend will know if you’re reading/ignoring her texts vs. if you genuinely haven’t looked at them yet. Let me emphasize that these PROS are geared towards the ladies.

3. You create an aura of trust with the people whom you text. They know you’re a hella honest babe if you’re putting yourself out there so much.

4. Most people in serious relationships have theirs on. I don’t know how this is a PRO, but it’s a funny thing to notice.

5. You come off as a total badass if your read receipts are on and you ignore people, hence you clearly not giving a f***.

Most people say that they “don’t believe in read receipts” like how I say “I don’t believe in people who chew so loudly that they literally could start another tsunami.” No matter how much you think you can ignore this cultural movement, it’s still going to exist. You don’t like read receipts because you believe in being super self-conscious privacy. Don’t worry–my receipts are shut off (post-serious boyfriend, of course). But if we could indulge in them without making people think we care too much, wouldn’t we all?


Flavor of the Week: Post-its

I’ve always known that if I were to ever become a millionaire, it would not be due to a million-dollar idea. It would be more likely that I’d receive a million-dollar book deal, and even more likely that I’d win the lottery (just to put things into perspective for you). Steve Jobs had a million-dollar idea by transforming the world of transportable music. To do something like that, I figured, one would have to be wildly intelligent. My intelligence about technology and other 21st century “things” extends no further than my aptitude for Facebook etiquette. If I were to ever be inventive in any sort, I would have to create something so simple that the world would change forever. I would have to create something like Post-its: the smartest dumb invention of all time.

When you break it down, Post-its are small scraps of brightly colored paper with a centimeter-wide strip of sticky shit on the back. There’s no excuse as to why I can’t invent something like this. After all, the inventor of the Post-it must have been an OCD mother of four (maybe temple sisterhood president?) who makes us question, “Oh, just how does she do it all?!” with the utmost amazement and sheer respect.

I use Post-its more than I used Google translate in high school and more than I used this girl I knew in elementary school just to eat Nutella at her house combined. Here is why we effin’ love Post-its:

They can be used as wallpaper for the poor, unemployed post-grad.

They contribute to some of our nation’s greatest works of art.

They don’t judge you for still having a Blackberry.

They serve as a great alternative to an overpriced paint job after you scratched Daddy’s Jaguar.

If you aren’t into eating solid foods these days…

And, finally,

Their ad department is really great.


Flavor of the Week: Boy Bands

It is shocking to me that America has always been so accepting of boy bands, yet so reluctant to accept gay marriage. Especially when gay men are stereotypically well groomed while boy band members are known for their Ramen noodle-resembling hair. Is this not the most confusing precedent ever set?????

We’re talking about you, Justin.

Nevertheless, boy bands are about as traditional as grilled chicken in a chopped salad. We have always loved them and we always will. However, the culture of the band of the boy has drastically changed. Once,  you could get any eight year-old male to cry themselves a river (ha, see what I did there?) at the sight of the Backstreet Boys or NSYNC. Do you see 21st century boys willing to throw themselves in front of a One Direction tour bus? No, you don’t, and there’s a reason for that.

Boy band culture is, unfortunately, on the decline. Once, boy bands were all about hair gel, harmonics, iconic CD covers, and brotherhood. There was certainly a specific AEPi-ness that held bands together like glue until they got too fat and too old–

(case in point: Joey Fat-one)

I mean, until they had “creative differences” that tore not only the bands apart but also the hearts of young boys and girls around the world. If boy bands were still as good as they once were, wouldn’t all kids still have a dedicated passion for them?

Besides, we liked boy bands for their music. Boy bands today, like One Direction, The Wanted, and Tegan and Sara (jk lol, I actually love Tegan and Sara) are worshipped at the same level as Hashem (BTW, happy Rosh y’all) because of their appearances. Think about it–were you ever sexually attracted to anyone in NSYNC or in the Backstreet Boys besides the obvious JT and Nick Carter? No, and don’t even try to defend that. You liked them for what boy band culture is all about–for their music.

I think that the era of the boy band has come to a close, and while I appreciate NSYNC’s attempt to resurrect the 90s at the VMAs, I saw it more as a blast to the past than an everlasting reunion. That’s why JT only let them sing a total of three words each–it wasn’t because JT is more talented or good looking than the rest of them, and it’s not because JT thinks that he’s better than them (HAHA OK)–it’s because that performance was just meant to be a gentle reminder of a better time; a time when toddlers didn’t have iPod touches and your favorite record was not platinum, but it was “black & blue.”


Flavor of the Week: Miley Cyrus

Because you haven’t already read at least 50 strongly-worded articles about Miley Cyrus and her shit show at the VMAs, I thought you should read one more.

Don’t get me wrong–if there is a Miley Cyrus fan, I am it. Although with the start of Hannah Montana the uniqueness of my name decreased by 200%, I didn’t hold a grudge. She took away my individuality, but I loved her through and through. When I decided to chop off my hair two years ago, I showed my hairdresser the photo of Miley when she went for the long bob. At the time, I didn’t realize that the haircut only looked good on skinny people. But ne’ertheless, I am #blessed to have shared a stage of beauty and fashion with Destiny Hope, the queen of legginess, crop tops, and now, plastic underwear.

I should not digress; we need to discuss this VMA performance.

First things first: on August 26th, Dave Stopera published an article on BuzzFeed titled “22 Things Miley Cyrus Looked Like At The 2013 VMAs.” This article was incredibly successful, with a total of over 3 million views since its release. I was loving every second of this article until I saw this blasphemy:

Screen Shot 2013-08-28 at 3.56.31 PM

 

Then, my mood turned from “Robin Thicke getting twerked upon by Miley” to “Will Smith shielding the eyes of his young children while watching Robin Thicke get twerked upon by Miley” because obviously I MADE THIS CONNECTION WHEN I APPOINTED ANGELICA PICKLES (and Cynthia–who’s a really cool dancer–by association) AS FLAVOR OF THE WEEK.

Screen Shot 2013-08-28 at 4.06.28 PM

 

Whatever.

Here’s my take on Miley’s stint at the VMAs: was it comparable to my experience watching Saving Silverman as a fourth grader in the same room as my teenaged babysitter? Yes. Did I love every minute of it? Yes. Miley looked like she was having the time of her life. Yeah, her tongue was out a lot. But if you look at my Facebook profile photos, it turns out that in about one-third of them, my tongue is out too. I think it’s just a girl thing, similar to feeling happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time. Right T. Swift?

Leave her alone–after all, she’s just being Miley.


Flavor of the Week: Bandeaux

Yes, the plural of “bandeau” is “bandeaux,” and no, I do not have dyslexia nor think that I’m French.

Bandeaux were a brilliant invention until some sorority girls decided to wear them as shirts. Then, they became [somewhat] acceptable as crop tops, and essentially all hell broke loose. The sanctity in the ingenious purpose a bandeau was originally supposed to serve became tainted by fifty shades of neon and a hundred shades of “my high wasted shorts compensate for the fact that I’m literally wearing a bra to a social event, right?”

My freshman year of high school, I wrote a letter to myself with the intention of opening it my senior year. In it, I said, “You are wearing a colorful, beaded Free People dress, no bra (just a bandeaux).” Clearly my spelling was a little off back in the day, but my sense of sensible style was right on point.

Bandeaux are excellent for use when you are wearing a low-cut shirt (except for the fact that the newest trend after the peak of the bandeau was to wear ridiculously cut shirts with your bra just hangin’ out there to give the whole world a big hello) or, for my personal favorite purpose, when you just don’t feel like wearing a bra. You all know you love it, for comfort and for style–while everyone likes the look of “Bra!!!!!!!” no one likes the look of “Bra Straps!!!!!!”.

Bandeaux are excuses to wear a bra as a shirt or to not wear a bra at all. So if you love bras or hate bras, it’s all very win-win.


Flavor of the Week: The Hamptons

…to the Hamptons.

Just the name brings back pings of luxury and memories of the endless struggle of keeping your hair as tame as possible when going out at night.  What once was a place of family fun and average-income couples who drink beer on their motel porches until 2 a.m. has now become a harboring for hipsters and young, wealthy 20-somethings alike. I’m out here for a week, but if I see a table of guys wearing cuffed jeans and tight yellow cutoffs while I’m eating my egg white omelet one more time, I might have to leave. And you know me—it is a rare occasion when I let an egg white omelet go unfinished.

The Hamptons are really dreamy, and I say that in all seriousness. You drive out of the city along this thin strip of highway for a couple of hours until you get to a totally isolated but glamorous beach community full of the young, the beautiful, and the wealthy.

So basically, it’s a Lana Del Rey song.

There is a certain stigma about going “to the Hamptons.” Like:

“I’m going to be in the Hamptons next week.”

You’re going to be in the Hamptons?! Same! Let’s totally get together for lunch one day.”

This is all fab, except a) these two people are blind to the fact that one of them is probably going to Quogue or Westhampton, both of which are 100,000 miles from every other Hampton (put it this way—Cady Heron is to Westhampton as Regina George is to East Hampton) hence the fact that “getting lunch” would actually be way more convenient at home in Westchester, and b) this conversation was 60% actual interest in making plans and 40% an ego boost so that each person could say out loud that she is going to the Hamptons. Scratch that—make it 50/50.

The Hamptons are respected by all, including the rich and famous, and especially by Kanye West. He gives a pretty nice shout out in Yeezus’ “New Slaves”…

They prolly all in the Hamptons
Bragging ’bout what they made
F— you and your Hampton house
I’ll f— your Hampton spouse
Came on her Hampton blouse
And in her Hampton mouth

…so that’s all really appropriate, censored, and lovely. As you can tell from Yeezus himself, the Hamptons are all about good ol’ fashioned family fun. Good stuff.

 

 


Flavor of the Week: Angelica Pickles

Angelica Pickles is the younger, Jewish version of Paris Hilton. Wikipedia refers to her as a “spoiled brat,” verbatim. Wiki also says that she’s “vain, conceited, self-centered, irritating, bossy, selfish, self-righteous, arrogant, and obnoxious yet beautiful.” Since Wikipedia is the most reliable source of all time, and there is clearly no way that the article on Angelica was written by a thirteen-year-old Rugrats enthusiast with the vocabulary and grammar skills of a sloth, we must take in these vindictive personality analyses with the utmost sincerity.

In other words, Angelica’s a bitch and we love it.

Angelica is best known in film for her roles in Rugrats, All Grown Up, The Rugrats Movie, and in print for her appearance in the Pulitzer Prize-winning children’s book (which I also consider to be a personal favorite) Let My Babies Go! A Passover Story.

Here are some of Angelica’s greater moments:

“Chanukah is that special time of year between Christmas and Misgiving when all the bestest holiday shows are on TV.”

“So you see, Tommy, cookies made me who I am.”

“When life gives you lemons, make apple sauce.”

“A bacation is when you can do ezzactly what you want all the time.”

(After sorting through all of these quotes, I realized how likely it was that Angelica C. Pickles herself wrote her own Wikipedia article. I mean, the vernacular is almost identical. Typical Ang.)

Lastly, let us not forget Cynthia, who is almost as disturbing as Courage the Cowardly Dog. Let’s take a look at some of her better days:

Cynthia being mildly strangled.

Cynthia hangin’ out in the sewer.

Cynthia on the cover of Vogue.

Cynthia getting “shaken baby syndrome.” So basically nbd.

I’d love to sit down and break some matza with Angie one day and ask her how a girl so Jewish could get away with being blonde and having minimal arm/body hair. I’m sure she’d be a doll.


Flavor of the Week: Chopped Salad

Ew, who eats bread anymore?

If I wanted to, I could make this post short and sweet: If you haven’t eaten chopped salad, then you haven’t lived. If you haven’t custom-made your own chopped salad, then you are not alive at all. And if you understand why chopped salad is about as trendy as Kim Kardashian’s breast milk is right now, then you are a fricking genius.

But of course, I can’t complain in just these three short sentences. So let me spell it out for you:

I adore chopped salad. It served the role of “Gay Best Friend” to me. But what I cease to comprehend is exactly why chopped salad has become such a “thing.” Salad and it’s ability to be chopped has been around since… like… ever. Yet, girls and women alike act as if suddenly someone discovered that indeed, there is a vegetable called lettuce and, holy shit, we are #blessed enough to be able to chop it into tiny pieces with a pizza slicer?????!!!!

I mean, when you put it like that… am I wrong? Does this not seem absolutely ridiculous?

#YesWeCan #DreamActBroughtToYouByChoppedSaladPlaces

Women always have and always will love to eat salad–this is not a “new” thing. So why does it seem like it? And why is salad seemingly better when it’s chopped? It’s almost as if we keep getting our baby food diet mixed up with our only-eat-things-that-are-96%-water diet. Rookie move. Get a grip, people.

Salad used to only exist as a sad, lifeless, and stationary being. It was left out on “salad bars” in the centre (yes, centre) of restaurants where it was totally exposed to the germy air and any waft of passed gas that sauntered in from the bathroom around the corner. Now, salad is respected. We gave salad back its rights like it’s 1965, baby. It is kept in a refrigerated, enclosed environment behind a counter where only trained professionals have access to its leafy loveliness.

Decades ago, our country was scattered with luncheonettes where hardworking men would get a 99-cent sandwich and fries. Today, luncheonettes have been replaced with “Creative Salad Companies,” feeding the brains of the driven women and weight-conscious homosexual men who are taking the workforce by storm. It is likely that my dissertation will one day hover around the concept of, oh, I don’t know, something along the lines of “The Rise Of Chopped Salad As A Lunch And/Or Dinner Food Is Definitely Like 100% Linked To The Fact That Women Are Better Respected In Society And Are Taking Over The World In A Great Way.” It’s just a working thought, you know?


Flavor of the Week: Ailsa Anderson

Who is Ailsa Anderson?

If you don’t know this, then you don’t know The Royals. And if you don’t know The Royals, then you don’t know me. So preppy teenaged girls who thought they were bigger groupies to Prince William than any token Belieber is to J. Biebs has got it all wrong. Turn around now, honeys. You may have won the battle by hosting a viewing party of the royal wedding, but you lost the war by not knowing Ailsa. You’ve gotta know Ailsa.

Ailsa Anderson is the babe who placed the obviously-framed royal birth announcement upon its golden easel that, in British terms, probably cost about as much as it did to fix Austin Powers’ teeth. Only a loyal servant to the Queen (not referring to Beyoncé this time) would have this honor–oh, yes, the dutiful honor of placing a frame upon an easel–bestowed upon her.

Ailsa is no ordinary civilian, however. She’s actually part of Her Majesty The Queen Elizabeth II’s mothaf****’ clique. She started from the bottom now she’s here. Ailsa’s title is “press secretary,” and is one of the three woman that the Queen surrounds herself with each and every royal day of her royal life. Because the Queen ain’t no queen without a possé, amirite?

According to PEOPLE.com, “Living in the home counties just northwest of London, [Ailsa] likes to shop for clothes at the designer outlet stores at Bicester Villlage (where Kate has been known to visit) and has a nose for a good deal. ‘She’s great at sussing out the good bargains in sales,’ says a friend.” So, basically, we love her.

Ailsa sported a sick snakeskin pencil skirt with a pearl cropped jacket and three-inch heels to make the birth announcement. We love you Ailsa, because you’re a champ. Keep it up girlfriend.


Flavor of the Week: Stuff Girls Like

As you may or may not know, The Fro-Yo Diaries is a member of the Her Campus Blogger Network, “a curated network of blogs written by women ages 13-30 on fashion, beauty, cooking, fitness, design, lifestyle, and more” (HerCampus.com). So since we’re BFFs with Her Campus, I wanted to spread the word about a trendy gathering known as the National Intercollegiette Conference 2013. This really long title is referring to July 27th and 28th, two days in NYC in which college babes from all across the country are welcome to come and join Her Campus for tons of lectures (with super legit speakers from Cosmo, Huff Post, Glamour,  Lucky, etc.), workshops, and opportunities to network/schmooze.

Her Campus teamed up with a bunch of sponsors that all sell stuff that girls like. To fill you in on the sponsors, I figured I would go through the list and tell you what you like about them. Because I know, obviously.

Chipotle

Girls like Chipotle because it’s fast food that you can get away with muploading without looking gross/fat/sumo/etc. but still having people question “How does she eat that but stay so thin????!!!!”

Brenae is one of these girls.

Luna

Girls like Luna bars because they taste amazing and are perfect for those of us that are not psycho enough to juice cleanse but are still interested in meal replacement with things like protein bars, fro-yo, and fro-yo.

Woodbury Common Premium Outlets

Girls like Woodbury because how can they not?

LeSportsac

Girls like LeSportsac because if you never had a LeSportsac, did you really ever go to middle school?

Veet

Girls like Veet because when they’re eight years old and Jewish, they think the amount of leg hair they have is enough to make a small fur coat for a mouse.

You can sign up for the National Intercollegiette Conference by clicking here. HC love! And remember to bring your Veet!


Flavor of the Week: Yeezus

Because Kanye West’s new album, Yeezus, is supposedly a literal work of God, I thought it was worth a good haiku review. Surprisingly, and probably unlike most other females I would typically associate myself with, I actually really like this album and listen to it in its entirety at least once a day… not even kidding. However, that doesn’t mean I’m not about to go all out HAM on these haikus.

Yeezus by Kanye West

1. On Sight
Aliens invade
Mixed with an unfortunate
Song by Depeche Mode
[*note–if you have never heard an unfortunate song by Depeche Mode, listen here. The lyrics start at 0:35, but the music video is funny enough to compensate for the ear bleed. I promise, you’ll laugh.] 
 
2. Black Skinhead
Is it me, or is
This song not from “The
Lion King” soundtrack?
 
 
3. I Am A God (by Kanye West and God)
Thank the heavens* that
Hashem was able to make
This recording sesh! 
[*Lolz, punny]
 
4. New Slaves
Kanye gets deep with
These lyrics. Also Alvin
(The chipmunk) sings some. 
 
5. Hold My Liquor
I really like this.
Do not understand how he
is a lightweight though…?
 
6. I’m In It
Audio track from
Kim’s sex tape plus Kanye’s good
time with “Asian girl.” 
 
7. Blood On The Leaves
Beauty. Kanye got
Zero’s g-ma from “Holes” to
Sing it. Amirite?
 

“You must carry Madame Zeroni up the mountain and sing ‘Blood On The Leaves’ while I drink.”

 
8. Guilt Trip
Wait, what? I just got
Distracted by an Insta
Of Scott Disick’s beard.
 
Screen shot 2013-07-09 at 8.33.56 PM
 
9. Send It Up
What is he sending
Up and please tell me why it
Is not going down??????
 
10. Bound 2
Best on Yeezus. Sing
This to me and we can get 
Married. Pinky swear. 
 

Happy listening!

Love,

Your Most Trusted And Knowledgeable Source For All Music Review Haikus, Especially Those In The Rap Genre (because obviously) (haha jokes).

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Flavor of the Week: Vine

Before Vine fades into the darkness and becomes nothing more than a quintessential #tbt, I wanted to make sure I acknowledged its great presence in the social media world by naming it Flavor of the Week.

As you may or may not know, we are very concerned about the longevity of Vine because Instagram, now basically Mark Zuckerburg and his wife London Tipton, decided to swoop in and cross social boundaries by sitting with the Plastics at lunch enabling a video function.

I have many mixed emotions about this, but my immediate response was that this is blatantly #rude #rude #rude of Insta. It’s like an unspoken rule of apps–you find your medium, and you stick to it. Instagram is for photos, Twitter is for complaining, Facebook is for stalking, and Vine is for a combination of stalking and displaying your wealth or your good-looking boy toy. There is a cuh-lear separation here that Instagram decided to ignore.

I have a Twitter BFF, @LindsayBrandes (def follow her–she’s sometimes obnoxious, always funny… JK, she’s always obnoxious… JK lolz again, love ya Linds), and she was basically having a panic attack over the video app crossover. This was how our conversation went:

Screen shot 2013-07-02 at 6.26.44 PM

In other words, we are having serious white girl problems.

If you were wondering, I decided to stick with Vine for vids and Insta for pics. And, BTW, after taking an antibiotic twice a day and Benadryl three times a day for the past week, my rash/spider bite is finally on the mend!


Flavor of the Week: Kale

Sometimes, people are so desperate for trendiness that they’ll turn something as mundane as a vegetable and make it a “thing.” Well, my friends, this is what happened to kale. Kale used to be a nobody, sitting lonely on gourmet supermarket shelves, only purchased by the small Chinese grandfather who knew the magical powers of this leafy green from his ancestors and his small dragon friend/spirit guardian, Mushu.

Mushu is psyched about kale.

Once, someone who is either a really ano Jewish girl or the Hollywood trainer Harley Pasternak (who bears no relation to me whatsoever) discovered kale from the rich soil of our earth. And, upon realizing its great qualities–hello, negative calories–turned kale into a staple of the skinny. Not only is kale both an edible and a drinkable, shout out to green juice, but it is also a way of life.

I decided to google “quotes about kale” to see if I could find something spunky to include. Instead of finding a few interesting quotes, I found a lot of psychos that are literally obsessed with kale. Like, I cannot even. Psychos.

I stumbled upon this charm: a blog called “365 Days of Kale: Where Kale is More Than Decoration on My Plate!” My first reaction? What the literal…

Screen shot 2013-06-26 at 5.31.47 PM

This is my favorite post on 365 because it contains a photo of Ryan Gosling holding a head of kale.

Obviously, this woman got her kale confused with her kush.

During my research, I found this in breaking news on ecorazzi.com: “The Green Quote: Vegan Singer Alanis Morissette Is Obsessed With Kale.” Really? No effin way?!?!?! Send that shiz to CNN stat. I’m sure you’re dying to find out what Alanis Morissette has to say about kale–“It’s like rain on your wedding day.” JK LOLZ, kale is ironic, but more in the trendy way than in the 90’s pop way (you will only understand this if you know Alanis Morrisette’s hits like any good Canadian lesbian would). But she actually did say this: “Kale is my best friend.” Cute.

Kale is like one of those things that people love to talk about because they want everyone to know how obsessed they are with kale. Once, I was with someone who wasn’t particularly in good shape and she was eating steamed kale. She could not stop gushing to be about how obsessed she was with it. It’s like great, good for you, you love kale. But I’m pretty sure that she thought talking about something like kale so much would make her lose weight, and it really didn’t.

I would not be surprised if somewhere in a white loft office space in LA a bunch of really skinny beautiful people who go to Soul Cycle a lot are conjuring up kale fro-yo. Just wait. Seriously.


Flavor of the Week: Thought Catalog

Are you alternative? Are you cynical? Do you like to write? Do you like to write in list-form to make your topic matter appear more dramatic? Do you enjoy and relate to dark humor? Have you ever had your heart broken? Do you want to write about how your heart was broken, but in list form, analyzing the process of figuring out the “Top 5 Mistakes Men Make In Dating,” the “7 Things To Tell Yourself When You’re Hurting,” or the “7 Things Your Future Self Would Tell You Now?”

Well, then, you should write for Thought Catalog.

ThoughtCatalog.com is like a BuzzFeed for depressed teenagers still in that Panic! At the Disco phase or for lonely twenty-somethings who are inseparable from their slouch-beanies and are really into the internet. It operates from Williamsburg (obv) and refers to itself as an “experimental media group.” Now how trendy is that?!?!

This is Chris Lavergne, the publisher behind Thought Catalog. He obviously has really dark hair because it goes oh-so-well with his dark, intellectual, hipster soul.

Something magical about Thought Catalog is that I can find a way to relate to every article. When I’m having serious boy issues, I read “How Can You Tell If You Love Him” or “Here’s 20 Ways To Figure Out If You’re Being A Crazy Psycho Bitch” or something like that. Those articles don’t literally exist by name, but it’s probably only a matter of time until they do. I’m sure I could write them.

If you don’t catch my drift about Thought Catalog, below is the cover of a digital book they published containing different essays from the site. Of course, the book had to be digital, because they are just #struggling that much in Williamsburg.

Of course, the book cover looks like this.

Thought Catalog is great for many things: procrastination, feeling better about your life because your eyes are opened the the heartache of metrosexuals wearing jeggings in their studio apartments, procrastination, and much more. Truthfully, I read their articles a lot. But then again, I’m me.


Flavor of the Week: Group Texts

You love them, you hate them, you love to hate them, and you hate to love them. Basically, we are just really really emotional about group texts. Whether you’re savvy with GroupMe, WhatsApp, or stick to the classic iMessage chat like I do, you are involved of at least two of them. You probably have one with your best best friends and then another with your bigger group of friends, and then a few elsewhere, give or take. We heart these chats for so many reasons. Convenience? Yes. But secretly tedious and often awkward? Also yes.

lol duh I’m in

I see it that group chats linger as the nostalgic descendants of AIM chat rooms. Nothing gave me a thrill quite like being in a, dare I say, coed chat room in elementary school. I loved how everyone’s screen name was a different color and how the intensity of a conversation about who had a crush on who make my blood pressure soar like a vanilla chai, not soy, from Dunkin. And even before chat rooms there were three-way phone calls, which I never really figured out. That was more of a Regina George thing, you know?

What is a home phone?

Group texts do kinda suck. It’s awkward when I type a general question to a solid six people and NOT ONE OF THEM responds. It’s also awkward when two people have some type of side conversation no one else in the chat really understands, and the two of them are fully aware that no one else understands, but they continue to discuss it openly anyway. A group chat can, if desired, be used as a weapon of mass destruction in girl world. Cady Heron would find herself Amanda Bynes-status in that situation. Literally, she’d just skip the level of Miley’s little salvia video and head right to throwing things like her African tribal vase and her Lady Smith Black Mambazo tickets or whatever out of her midtown high rise window.

A group text is like a bad boyfriend—always better to have something awkward, rude, and annoying than to have nothing, right?


Flavor of the Week: Emojis

If there is one aspect of the iPhone that has revolutionized its use–more than its calendar and alarm functions, more than my Neopets app, and more than the birth control reminder–it is the integration of the emoji. For anyone unaware (although being unaware of emojis is comparable to being unaware of the ability to involuntarily breathe), an emoji is a little teeny weeny cartoon face that you can use to communicate on an iPhone. If you have a Droid, you are not relevant. #sorrynotsorry.

Emojis come in all forms, and can portray any possible emotion ever felt by mankind. Ever.

Take this, for example. Once, someone who is kind of anonymous used an emoji to convey to me that he had farted:

IMG_1341

A really big moment was when whoever makes all of the cute emojis in the little emoji factory added the homosexual emojis, which had not previously been of option:

IMG_2247

This also happened recently:

photo

As you can see, conversation via iMessage would not be the same without emojis. Old people hate our generation because we talk by texting and avoiding conversation face-to-face. Whoever thinks that is obviously wrong, because as a millennial, I can honestly say that I have never felt more face-to-face in my life. You can tell more about me by my choice of emoji than you can by reading my Harry Potter glow-in-the-dark diary.

You know what they say–an emoji says a thousand words.


Flavor of the Week: Jane Lynch

I’ve mentioned Jane Lynch once before in a reference to me wearing tracksuits and looking ironically athletic, but I felt like she deserved more than a snide mention in a photo caption. We love Ellen Degeneres Jane Lynch because she really twerks it 24/7. She’s a great human because she’s a combination of Vanna White and Justin Bieber—Jane is, actually, drop dead gorgeous (courtesy of Vanna) but totally rocks the lesbian vibe (courtesy of J. Biebs).

Can we puh-lease have a moment of silence to appreciate this photo. Just, like, I can’t even.

Recently, Jane Lynch took up the Broadway role of Ms. Hannigan in Annie, which is suiting for her since Ms. Hannigan is obviously the alter ego of Sue Sylvester, crazy tea party-ist and belligerent racist cheerleading coach on Fox’s Glee. My mom always claims that when she was younger in the year 1800, she auditioned for the role of Annie the first time the show went on Broadway. I used to tell all of my friends this to make myself sound really cool. My mom did not get the role, if you were wondering. I also did not gain any popularity from telling everyone that story, if you were wondering about that, too.

We love you, Ms. Hannah-Dylan-Pasternak-gan

Jane Lynch wore a tracksuit to a Hollywood awards ceremony, so I wore a tracksuit to a Hollywood awards ceremony. JK LOL, I would never be invited to an awards ceremony, but I did wear a tracksuit to prom. JK LOL again, I would never wear a tracksuit at all. It’s a metaphor, of course.

ILY, Jane Lynch.


Flavor of the Week: The Great Gatsby Soundtrack

Recently, I have gone through two musical phases. In last Sunday’s post, I mentioned how I could not get out of bed because I was glued to the new JT album and pretended that I was the star of the “Mirrors” music video and acted out the entire song for a few hours. My second musical phase involves none other than The Great Gatsby’s soundtrack. It is beautiful in so many ways, and has quickly made its way to the top of my “Most Played” list on iTunes. Just in case you have not heard it, I will provide you with a thoughtful review of the album, song by song, written in haiku form.

1. “Bang Bang” – will.i.am
Did they have auto
Tune in the 1920’s?
Awks for will.i.am
 
2. “A Little Party Never Killed Nobody (All We Got)” – Fergie, Q-Tip & GoonRock
A warehouse rave and
Moulin Rouge give birth to
Fergalicious song.
 
3. “Young And Beautiful” – Lana Del Rey
Makes me cry every
Time I hear it because I
Think that I’m Daisy
 
4. “Love Is the Drug” – Bryan Ferry with The Bryan Ferry Orchestra
Bryan Ferry, who
Are you and what is this
song. I don’t get it.
 
5. “Over the Love” – Florence & The Machine
Perf for the album
Makes sense in context of the
Movie, finally
 
6. “Where The Wind Blows” – Coco O. of Quadron
This makes me forget
That I have OCD and
I feel down to chill.
 
7. “Crazy in Love” – Emeli Sandé and The Bryan Ferry Orchestra
I think that when I
Sing along I sound just like
I am Sasha Fierce
 
8. “Together” – The xx
If you are a crack
Head then you will enjoy
This song. LOL
 
9. “Hearts a Mess” – Gotye
Very eerie but
Like a good song you know what
I’m talking about?
 
10. “Love Is Blindness” – Jack White
This song will play in
The background when I’m giving
Birth in my movie
 
11. “Into the Past” – Nero
Weird breathing at start
Better suited for Twilight
Or a porno flick
 
12. “Kill and Run” – Sia
Sia thinks she is
Adele in this song but it’s
OK I like it

Because this soundtrack is so incredible, go and see The Great Gatsby. Especially if you’ve read the book. If you haven’t read the book, go and see it anyways. Just don’t act like you’ve read the book because that would be pretentious and annoying.

 


Flavor of the Week: Gum

When I was in sixth grade and going through a lot of anxiety, I lived off of two things: water, and gum. I was convinced that a combination of these two totally nutritious staples would prevent me from throwing up, like ever. Well, I suppose they worked, as I made it through my year without vomiting once. Since, I have had a strange obsession with gum. Then again, pretty much every babe does.

Tacky, but cute gum

This is the round-up of my fave types of gum in no particular order:

  1. Orbit. It’s very classic. Has a fresh flavor, but is not too exuberant. Loses flavor faster than I’d like to admit.
  2. Stride. Flavor jacked. Super juicy. Love it. I only get the green one, though.
  3. Trident. The type of Trident that I chew—the small packs with those cute pieces, although that is not a great description (also, is there any other type of Trident? Idk…)—is pretty shitty gum and loses flavor in about 1/8 of the time it takes me to put on overalls or give up on a liquid-only diet. However, I’m literally obsessed with the packaging. Great fruity flavors too. Only fruity gum I’ll chew.
  4. 5. 5 is good and reminds me of expensive and luxurious things because it names its gum after the natural elements. Kinda makes me feel like Katara from Avatar the Last Airbender.
Screen shot 2013-05-08 at 4.35.43 PM

I love nature, duh. I’m also def from the Water Nation. We’re basically the same person.

Gum solves a lot of problems for me. When I am hungry, I chew gum. After I eat, I need to chew gum. When I’m nervous, I chew gum. When I go out, I chew gum. When I drove up the side of the tallest mountain in Turkey in my host father’s VW on the wrong side of the road, I chewed gum. I brought 15 packs of gum with me to Turkey. Turkish gum is “gum” flavored. It’s very interesting. Chewing gum is like being a born-again virgin after you ate 100% of your Chipotle bowl when you know you should have eaten max 70% of it.

True life: last weekend, I came home late and fell asleep chewing a piece of gum. I woke up the next morning, still chewing that piece of gum. I will accept gum as a birthday present. I don’t like cinnamon gum. Not to be picky, just saying.