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.

 


On FOMO

When I told my parents recently that “FOMO” was added to the Oxford dictionary, my mom went into total outburst.

I invented FOMO!!!!!!!!!!! Didn’t I, honey?” Some background for you: my mom has always insisted that she literally invented the word “FOMO.”

Although FOMO is a term my mother claims she coined lexically, she sure as hell didn’t coin it theoretically. I bet cavemen had FOMO when they had to take care of their pet wooly mammoths and missed an awesome naked bonfire. Humans have a tendency to overbook. When we overbook, we miss out. And when we miss out, we get FOMO. (FOMO = Fear Of Missing Out.)

FOMO can be a good thing or a bad thing. I mean, it’s never a good thing to feel like you wish you were somewhere else. But at the same time, it means that you have a connection to your group of besties and you know that they’re party people (a.k.a. they like to cuddle and eat cereal out of the box together–shout out to my fam) who are guaranteed to always do something you’re going to enjoy. Often, however, someone who is known for her FOMO is considered desperate, friendless, clingy, and way too attached to a group of people. So, what do we think? FOMO yes or FOMO no?

Someone who doesn’t get FOMO ever is someone who must have a lot of self-confidence. That girl is in charge of her schedule; she always knows what’s up. She doesn’t have FOMO because she knows other people are having FOMO of her. But, of course, we can’t all be this girl. At the same time, there is another side to this: someone who doesn’t get FOMO is potentially anti-social and may or may not have a chemical imbalance/seasonal depression that causes her to leave her friends and their wine spritzers around midnight, get in bed with her MacBook Air, and watch Like Crazy/cry/recite every word. Then, she sleeps for twelve hours and has a forty-five minute phone convo with her mom the second she wakes up. Don’t ask me how I know this girl so well. Just don’t.

In the grand scheme of things, it’s so easy to be antisocial. I have cramps. I have workI’m saving my energy for tomorrow night. Ugh, my eyebrows right now. My legs aren’t shaved. I don’t feel like putting on pants. The struggle is endless. When it feels like there’s always another weekend on the horizon, it isn’t so bad to sacrifice one. I think that having the ability to be both social and anti-social is crucial. Once, someone told me about a line from a rap song that went something along the lines of: the coolest girl at the party is the one who rolls the joint but doesn’t smoke. I’m going to use that as a metaphor for what I’m trying to get at.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you’ve gotta be able to roll with the punches and go with the flow. If you’re concerned about not being in a socially acceptable minimum of muploads from the weekend, don’t sweat it. Your ex is probably thinking that you spent the night with another guy instead of being home alone with your fav movie and a box of tissues. In the end, it’s a win-win. Besides, there’s always next weekend. Take double mups, not double shots. That’s the motto.


On PDA

I used to be terrified of a few things: vomit, roller coasters, and PDA. This is something that most girls have in common. My fears were not of miscellaneous fruits or animals; they were reasonable. But with the passing of time, I don’t know if my fears would stand as “acceptable.” Yes, girls are probably still shuddering at the sight of bodily fluids. Some, like me, will never be too fond of adventure parks, either. PDA is a different story. The girls today don’t give two shits, and I’ll tell you why.

First, let me give some backstory. My freshman year of high school brought a lot of new and exciting changes. My boobs kept growing even after I thought they had stopped, and I was finally getting back into my normal routine of having a panic attack a day. It was really great. It was also the year that I would be start going to school with my first “real” boyfriend. Going to school with your boyfriend for the first time is like having a co-ed sleepover party in the first grade. It isn’t like anything is going to actually happen out of the ordinary, but because you’re in the same vicinity your mind plays a dirty little trick on you that it will. Every day had the opportunity for something amazing and wonderful to happen because I was “young” and “in love” and I was also, like, fourteen.

For him, there was no secret fantasy hiding in the janitor’s closet or the handicap stall of the second floor girl’s bathroom. It was much simpler than that–we were in school together, so when he saw me in the hallway, or when he walked me to class, he was going to hold my hand.

Hence, World War III commenced.

For some reason, I was OK with wishing that one day my boyfriend would get the school marching band to surprise me with a rendition of Weezer’s “Island in the Sun,” but I was not OK with any public displays of affection (for newbies out there, public display of affection = PDA). It wasn’t even that I was embarrassed to have a boyfriend. I was far from embarrassed. I felt like the luckiest girl in the whole school. For a reason I am still not totally aware of, I was terrified of any touching, hugging, kissing, groping, lap-sitting, etc. etc. in front of anyone else.

So much love <3333 like endlessly

The two of us would get into bitter arguments over PDA. Why was it such a big deal for me to hold his hand? Why couldn’t we hug before class? Not even a kiss on the cheek? My defense was simple: no one needed to see it. I was always very prude and in the stubbornest of ways. I had heard so many people go off about how disgusting it is to see couples being mushy in the halls. I had even been blockaded from my locker many a time (a common occurrence at my high school) by couples going at it up against the wall.

My literal fear of PDA got so bad that my mom eventually had to say something to me about it. “You’re so cold towards [insert ex’s name here haha lol]. Why don’t you just be a little warmer? One day you’re gonna push him so far away that he’s not going to come back.” Since Mama always knows best, especially when she’s Jewish Yenta Mama, I took her advice to the best of my ability. Slowly, I eased by way into the nauseating hand-holding and the awkward-feeling-but-looks-cute arm around the waist. “See?” I would say to my boyfriend. “Look how good I’m doing!” You’d think I was going through psychotherapy (not to say I wasn’t, anyway) or that maybe he was teaching me how to ride a bicycle (not that he didn’t, either) by the way we would speak about it.

But enough about me. Let’s talk about the biddies in their prime–they can still eat whatever they want, they can still solely rely on Mommy and Daddy’s ca$h flow, they’re still naive enough to believe that a quadruple date with four senior guys isn’t just a quadruple booty call–and how these days, they are lovin’ themselves some PDA. Let me go back to where I started. Why do they love PDA? Obviously, I’m going to blame this on social media. Haha duh.

When I was a freshman in high school, I had a Facebook. But social media was not nearly as much of a “thing” then as it was now. My freshman year was when people learned how to put photos onto Facebook from their Blackberries (freshman now don’t even know what a Blackberry is) that were filtered into an album automatically titled “Mobile Uploads.” And just like that, my fave vocab word of all time–mupload, obv–was born into creation.

Now, there is no way to put photos on Facebook aside from through your iPhone… or at least that’s how we make it look. Facebook and its critical importance in the everyday life of a teenaged girl has built up PDA to become a normal thing. Everyone sees everything you do because there’s a mupload of you doing it already on Facebook. I’ve seen you hooking up, I’ve seen you grinding, I’ve seen you holding each other’s hair back, and I’ve seen you sitting on the toilet. So, you might as well go ahead and hold hands in the hallways. You might as well.

The weirdest thing is this: after a few years of high school, I started feeling a compulsion to chronicle my relationships on Facebook. Simultaneously, I found myself feeling more and more comfortable with a quick kiss or a hand-hold. Just some food for thought…

On the bright side of things, in case you were wondering, I’m totally over my phobia of PDA. Vomit… not so much.


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!


On Facebook, Your Boyfriend, And You

At any given point in time, I have two boyfriends. The first is a guy that I’m convincing myself is my boyfriend/is actually my boyfriend. The second is Facebook. And, to put it bluntly, Facebook is a slut.

If you think it’s bad that I have two boyfriends, then get a load of this: Facebook has 1.11 billion sexually active partners. They say that it takes two to tango. Exactly–it takes a medium of social media and a real-life guy to turn our lives from a cute sushi date into a swarming dance full of Instragrammed spicy tuna rolls, muploaded selfies, an infinite amount of “are you a thing?” texts post-mupload, a nervously sweating Jewish girl, and a boy who isn’t sure if all of this attention is worth the amount of ass he’ll get later that night.

After hearing one too many witness account of relationships gone awry both on and because of Facebook, I realized that the inevitable would have to take place. We need to lay down some laws before this town ain’t big enough for the both of us–err, all three of us. Facebook, Boyfriend: it’s time we have a little chat.

It all starts with a mupload. That single, blurry picture from some Saturday night not too long ago. Here’s how this works: if a girl is with a guy and she wants people to know about it, she’ll make sure people know about it. Hence, one picture is added and tagged. The unspoken rule: you can never mupload the first photo of you and Boyfriend. Then, everyone knows how hard you’re trying, and even though everyone knows how hard you’re trying no matter who posts that photo, it’s still the sheer principle of it that causes your best friend to be the one to mup. Obviously the best friend will do the first mup, because you told her to. You probably even sent her the photo from your phone to mupload. Right?

Time passes, and things aren’t what you’d call serious, but things are… things. This is where the tension between you and Facebook builds high enough to split the fibers of a Louis Vuitton bag. You have so many questions you want to ask Facebook, but you don’t know how they’ll make Boyfriend feel. When/is it socially acceptable to make your profile picture one of you and Boyfriend? What about your “relationship status?”

When we were younger–like, middle school younger–I thought that “relationship status” meant everything. Whenever a friend would tell me about a guy, the first question was always the same: “Is it Facebook official?” Facebook was like the evil eye of relationships. It saw everything, all the time, yet acted as a source of protection from insecurities about labels. As I’ve grown to accept the hook up culture that I live in, I learned that no, two girls “in a relationship” on Facebook are not lesbians (99% of the time), I don’t need to publicly list to “friends of friends” that I’m “interested in men” in order to feel “normal,” and, generally, labels on relationships no longer exist. I used to think that labeled relationships made things more mature and valid. Ironically for me, I had it all backwards. If your feelings say it all, then you no longer have a need to prove your relationship to yourself or to anyone else. It exists, and suddenly, that becomes enough.

Should you make your relationship Facebook official? If you want to, go ahead. But if you break up, it effing sucks because it’s public as hell (been there, done that).

Next topic: Facebook offers you a single private space to be yourself–alas, the profile picture. Are you willing to share that space with someone else? In this verse of the Love Triangle Bible, I say go right ahead. However, there are guidelines. If you’re more into the relationship than he is: DON’T. If you’re definitely a thing, basically boyfriend/girlfriend/whatever, and people approve of you as a couple, AND you look amaze in the photo: DO. If you’re been together for a really long time and everyone is rooting for you to get married and have minimum five kids: DO, but with caution. Because if you break up… SGA (shit got awk).

I have a friend that is going through a mutual break up in the upcoming month. In addition, her current profile photo is one of her and her boyfriend. At a recent dinner she told me that she needed to take a ton of pictures in hopes of finding a new profile photo–one that she could change now so that when she and Boyfriend broke up, things wouldn’t be as obvious and public.

I appreciate the depth of her social media cues and I respect her break up intelligence. At the same time, this makes me sad that we feel the need to balance Facebook with Boyfriend 24/7. We should be grieving over lost love, not worrying about what Facebook will make of it. When she goes through her split, things will suck. And no matter how much they do, Facebook will still be there. While we’ve done away with the bullshit from Boyfriend, we are not through with Facebook. We will never be. We could never break up with him, no matter how we tried.


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:

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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:

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This also happened recently:

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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.


On Muploading vs. Instagramming

I’ve written about muploading before, and in great detail at that, but I feel as though I didn’t dig deep enough. There is an infinite amount of potential expanding to do about the topic of taking photos on your iPhone–if you have a Droid, you can’t sit with us–and I figured that since I refuse to leave my bedroom today as I am physically glued to the new Justin Timberlake album, I may as well expand upon it.

In our nation’s history there have been many great debates: Brown vs. The Board of Education, Roe vs. Wade, the uprising of college students against the Vietnam War draft, and, of course, the current battle of Essie vs. OPI. During my most recent meditation I discovered that there is a very subtle issue that often goes unheard of and can probably be added to this catalogue of 21st century #firstworldproblems. How do you know when you should Instagram a photo as opposed to muploading it???????

Last week, I dissected a cat in Bio. I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to test out these waters. I took some pics of our deceased cat, which I named Joaquin (pronounced WAH-KEEN for those of you that don’t keep up with trendy baby names), and then I took some selfies. I went through each of the 200 resulting photos and tried to decide which ones I wanted to mupload and which ones I wanted to Instagram. Fine, I was exaggerating. I went through the process with the resulting 86 photos. Fine, 75. 75 I swear. After this trial, I appointed myself Supreme Court Justice of the iPhone megapixel camera and came up with a solid list for when one should Insta-G a photo and when one should mupload it. Here is my organized research:

You should Instagram a photo if…

…you think it would look absolutely perf with a little bit of Hudson, X-Pro II or some Amaro up in that shiz.

Screen shot 2013-05-18 at 5.19.42 PM

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…you can’t tag anyone it in. For example, your Starbucks latte does not have a Facebook account, so you cannot tag it on Facebook, so it will not show up on the news feed unless you mupload it by itself, which would be super weird, and since it will not be on the news feed, no one would like it, so you will seem like a total weirdo loser. If you Instagram it, however, you will get minimum 11 likes–just enough to make you look popular–so you’re set.

…it will make people jealous of what you are wearing, what you are eating, where you are vacationing, etc. That way you can be subtly obnoxious, but not overly obnoxious.

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Example: this could have made people jealous that someone gave me a bouquet of red roses (which look pink due to my poor filter choice).

…you are doing something illegal. No explanation needed. If you feel like you need an explanation for this one, then you shouldn’t have an Instagram to begin with.

…you take an attractive selfie. It will get lots of likes, and make you look drop dead gorgeous amongst light, sun-soaked tones.

You should mupload a photo if…

…you really, like, really, want people to see it.

…you look good/better than the other people in the photo. Duh.

…the picture is funny. Instagrams are meant to be glamourous, i.e. Kim Kardashian’s account (JK LOL), or cute, i.e. Soul Cycle’s account. If it’s funny, Facebook it.

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Facebook’d.

…it will make your ex-boyfriend jealous. Because it will. (Also, only boys like Scott Disick and Justin Bieber’s swag coach Ryan Good really utilize Instagram in the same way that we do, so your photo probably won’t reach your ex that well. Then again, if a guy is your ex chances are he’s of the Scott Disick-type. Then again (again), if you Instagram it, girls that are friends with your ex will see it. This one is kinda debatable but not really because muploading is probably the answer. Muploading is always the answer.)

…you take an unattractive selfie. It will get lots of likes, and make you look cute and funny.

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I muploaded this photo of my friend Louis and myself from our cat dissection.

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This is the conversation that ensued when I asked Louis for permission to use his face on The FYD.

I think that one day, I would like to write an iPhone bible. I say this especially considering my experiences with Facebook, Twitter…….. and, how could I forget, Tinder!!!?? (Read this for elaboration on all of the aforementioned.) For now, though, I am going to get back in bed–just kidding, I never left bed–and listen to this 10-minute JT song for the sixteenth time.