Wednesday, February 25, 2015
You're probably single because men find you so intimidating, you know, because of the way you aren't afraid to speak your mind and the way you bathe in the blood of virgins. READ MORE
According to one of my more observant friends, I am not a human but a robot with a pretty solid sense of how humans behave. She’s gathered some compelling evidence: I almost never experience thirst or seek out water, and when I do, I’ll make a grand show of it to keep up the act. I side with Tracy Jordan here: water is nothing more than “clear bathtub juice.”
There’s also the laughter issue: I don’t really laugh. I find things funny, but I’m rarely moved to spontaneous vocalizations of glee. Instead, I smile and offer a nasally “HEH,” a guttural “heh heh,” or emphatic nose exhale when I want to show someone I recognize what they said was a joke, and that it was nice. This can be off-putting. Even when something strikes me as truly hilarious—that dog that looks more like John Travolta than John Travolta, for example—I don’t laugh, or even smile.
Something happens when you grow up, as the tragedy of existence sets in. Human babies laugh about 300 times a day, while human adults only laugh 20 times. Maria, of neither demographic, laughs two times daily, three times max, but only if she watches that scene in It’s Always Sunny when Danny DeVito’s character, naked and sweaty, breaks out of a couch he was sewn into.
“People learn to put roadblocks in the way of their laughter,” offered Enda Junkins, a national laughter therapist/mogul, when I called her after Googling “laugh feel better therapy i'm depressed science?” I was interested in learning to laugh like my human friends, yes—but my desire to experience the transformative power of routine laughter was far more powerful.“The more you practice laughing, the fewer controls you have on it,” she told me.
On her website, Laughter Therapy Enterprises, Junkins provides several tips for laughing more and breaking down some of the roadblocks. Suggestions include: “Wear hats that make you laugh,” “Buy and listen daily to a tape of laughter, a laugh box, or a laughing toy,” “Laugh with your co-workers for a few minutes for no real reason at all,” and the best one, “Wear light-hearted, temporary tattoos that help you cope.”
She advises laughing for five uninterrupted minutes every day. I vowed to do ten minutes a day for two weeks because I wanted double the benefits.
My first morning on a strict laughter regimen, I began with exercises I found on the Internet. I held an imaginary cellphone to my ear and laughed into it for two minutes, and then transitioned to a move where I spread my arms, looked up at the ceiling, twirled, and laughed heartily for three. My fake laugh was unconvincing—the sounds were labored and maniacal, like a mall Santa who has had a long day—but I didn’t need to convince anyone. After the exercises, I felt a lightness in the top of my head that resembled joy. READ MORE
"It's, like, gooey."
"Yeah, dude, that's the placenta."
After the incredible success of our first foray into the placenta-powered world, Jaya Saxena and Jazmine Hughes decided to go one further. We learned that putting placenta in our hair made it a little bit softer and smell slightly of cornchips (which men LOVE)—what would happen if we put it on our faces? Enter the Placenta & Collagen Premium Facial Mask Pack, available on the well-known site Amazon.com for as little as $5.95.
Here is the only information that the Amazon listing gives:
- Placenta & collagen mask pack with placentl liquid will give you a fantastic beautiful treatment
- Also gives your tired skin moisturizing effect and beauty effect
- Our placenta & collagen mask pack contains green tea, aloe, licorice, seaweeds extracts and so on.
Green tea! Aloe! Licorice! Placenta! All things that sound very chill and normal to put on your face. We were excited! Then we read some reviews:
I just apply the mask after I wash my face then apply the mask and keep it on for about 15-20 minutes, rub in the juices lol
It comes drenched in the baby sheep juice,so as long as you seal it up and don't leave it sitting out in the air, it will stay moist.
Helpful and gross! It is far better to just stick to the official company description.
Undeterred, we opened the masks — Jaya was right; they were, indeed, incredibly gooey, and it was at that moment we realized what we were putting (placenta, if you forgot) onto our beautiful faces. We put on our masks and looked at each other. “You look like you’re a robot trying to convince someone they are, in fact, a real human.” "You look like Hannibal Lecter."
Here's how it went. READ MORE
Hi guys! Classic Hairpin advice column "Ask a Lady" is back and I am very excited to announce that this time the Lady is me, your friend Monica Heisey. As an anxious and bossy person (great combo), I basically live to over-analyze situations and offer life suggestions based on that analysis. I have even written a how-to book about generally being alive, a little volume called I Can't Believe It's Not Better, which you can buy in Canadian bookstores after April 28th and in American bookstores in September.
In the meantime, I have tried my best to answer a few pressing questions from friends and readers here, online, on the Hairpin dot com. I would also love to hear your alternative solutions to these problems in the comments, because really the best part of asking for advice is cherry-picking your favourite answers from a number of thoughtful options. Let's do this! READ MORE
Since Arthur Chu's historic win streak on Jeopardy! early last year, he’s shrewdly turned his still-minty viral celebrity into a regular gig as a cultural critic and, as some have put it, “the ombudsman of the nerd community.” At Nom Wah Tea Parlor in Manhattan’s Chinatown, we talked about milking his fifteen minutes, the crisis of nerd culture, and becoming an unlikely Asian-American male icon over a plate of chicken feet. (For me, since he politely declined.)
Is online celebrity strange?
It is, because stuff that's happening on Twitter, you feel like it's the whole world and you step off for a few minutes and it doesn't matter to the majority of people. Even to the extent that it does, there's a huge decoupling of what makes you important online. A lot of times, I just throw up my hands and say, "I don't even know what my follower count means anymore." You just have to keep that in perspective. It affects the real world but it's something separate from the real world.
What did you do after Jeopardy!?
Call up publicists and PR firms, and said straight up, "Hey, do you work with viral celebrities?" Then I’d ask, "If you were me, how would you hang on to the fame, how would you monetize it?" I got good answers—they weren’t bad answers—but it was stuff I couldn’t imagine myself doing. It was stuff like, "Well you should take the whole idea of game theory and you should become an advice kind of guy, you should do lifehacker stuff, stuff like how-tos on how to invest, get a mortgage." I said, "That stuff doesn’t interest me." I didn’t want to keep talking about that for the rest of my life.READ MORE
If the dual firings of Mr. di Marco and Ms. Giannini came as a surprise, that was nothing compared with the reaction to the person whom Kering, Gucci’s parent company, soon chose to install in Ms. Giannini’s place: Alessandro Michele.
Within hours of the news of Ms. Giannini’s firing, names surfaced in the news media about who would fill her post, suddenly the most coveted job in fashion. Would it be Riccardo Tisci, the star designer who took a drifting French label, Givenchy, and transformed it into the must-have uniform for rock stars and celebrities? Or the rising American designer Joseph Altuzarra? Or maybe Hedi Slimane, who had recently revived the fortunes of Saint Laurent, another Kering brand? Or could Kering even entice Tom Ford to go back to the company he had turned into the hottest fashion brand of the 1990s and whose work at Gucci is still cited by many designers today?
Instead, on Jan. 21, the company announced it had hired Mr. Michele, who had spent the last 12 years working in Gucci’s accessories department, the last three as the associate director to Ms. Giannini.
And the reaction of the fashion world could be summed up with one word: “Who?”
MY KINGDOM FOR AN OSCAR-BAITING BIOPIC ABOUT THE MANY HIRINGS AND FIRINGS OF GUCCI CIRCA 1993-PRESENT.
"But don't let it get you down. After all, no matter how you feel, you have to live with people. You have to live with yourself, too!"
That was advice on dealing with cramps, but also can be applied to life, you know?
No one is safe from a potential remake on our Casting Couch, not even Based God Billy Wilder. The cast for the original Sunset Boulevard was incredibly meta; we're following suit in our proposed update for the TMZ era. You’re welcome, Hollywood. READ MORE
In October 2012, my husband and I had established careers in our town, a down payment saved, and a big student loan and a truck paid off. We were ready to buy a house, and our lease was up, so we packed up our stuff and moved into a small apartment that came with a six-month lease that turned month-to-month.
Both of my parents are real estate agents, but I knew I needed an agent in town. My husband and I have a handful of friends who are agents as well, but I wanted to work with a stranger because of all the personal information that would be involved, and because a really honest part of my brain knew that I was going to freak out at least once or twice. We found our agent by visiting open houses, and chose someone I didn’t get a slimy vibe from. When it came to choosing a loan officer, I went in the opposite direction and went with a family friend I’ve known forever.
Throughout the process we went to probably five times more properties than we ended up bidding on. Not all of the properties were in the price range we were looking in, but I really wanted to get a sense of the market for myself.
I had a few things I considered must haves from the very beginning: I wanted a single-story house. I wanted at least 1.5 bathrooms. I needed a gas stove. I strongly preferred to not have a stucco exterior. My husband wanted a garage. Neither of us wanted a condo. We both ended up with two of the things we wanted.
Our first offers were ones that never even got submitted. Lesson learned: Have all of your papers handy for bank-owned properties. I had a pre-approval and thought I was sitting pretty. Nope—when stuff is bank-owned the procedure is to send your papers directly to that bank for pre-approval. Since we had recently moved and never really unpacked some of our boxes, we were unable to participate in the bidding for either of these properties. We had the papers written up to submit our bids, but by the time we found our tax returns from two years ago the properties were in escrow. READ MORE
In high school, I desperately wanted to be a punk because it seemed akin to being dangerous. I was convinced one cold stare from a blue Mohawk-ed dissident could send a jock running away in terror; that was the kind of social power I was interested in. I tried valiantly to increase my intimidation factor as a thirteen-year-old-girl by listening to a lot of Good Charlotte and wearing excess amounts of pyramid-stud jewelry. It was probably not the most authentic way to announce my arrival into a subculture, but it was the best impression that I, a scared-straight rural nerd, could muster.
By noting my use of the term “jock” and “punk” to differentiate types of people, you would be correct to assume that most of the social cues I understood at age thirteen came from teen movies like She’s All That—mainly that you were just supposed to stick with people who looked similar to you. To ensure I found my tribe of weirdos, I made sure to wear a lot of heavy black eyeliner, bondage pants, and fake band t-shirts (I didn’t know about any good ones yet).
Based on my cheap and ill-fitting—yet totally hardcore—wardrobe, I managed to find my fellow ragtag bunch of Good Charlotte-loving misfits in gym class, where we earned the wrath of our butch teacher by slacking off endlessly. There was Laura, a slender friend who hid their dynamite bod in men’s XL t-shirts (years later an unfamiliar Facebook request made me realize they were transgender); Alyssa, a fairheaded goth pixie straight out of a Tim Burton movie; and Frances, a Spongebob Squarepants enthusiast with the social skills of a misfiring Dalek. We all wanted to date a different member of Good Charlotte (except Frances, who maybe wanted to date SpongeBob) and thought that Tim Armstrong from Rancid and Brody Dalle from The Distillers were the cutest couple in the world.
We countered our adolescent ennui through dumb playful activities like putting my hair in liberty spikes or commandeering the cafeteria jukebox with Nirvana and Ozzy Osbourne. I vaguely remember someone throwing pudding at us because of our musical choices. We were the losers, but that was okay; we already hated everyone to begin with. READ MORE
This is old in Internet time—like a week, gross, I know—but fuck it I was away and this is one of my favorite songs and the remix is great and also wasn't today just so long and aren't we so glad it's over?!?! Happy Monday etc.
Gather ‘round, my Bleeding Beauties. For the first time here on Bloodfeast, we’re making a dessert! Yes, this B has finally made you something SWEET. I know you’re probably like, “Boo, you whore. Isn’t eating sweets while you’re on your rag a total stereotype for a reason? BECAUSE IT’S TRUE? How dare you make us wait this long.” My apologies; I am so selfish. I’ve got SUCH a salt tooth. I swear on my Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the movie) DVD that we’ll get down with some real chocolate treats in the future. In the meantime, let’s get horny over these butterscotch blondies.
When I made these, I was in the middle of doing that super hip, grain-free, asshole elimination diet known as Whole30. Because I hate authority and like to break all the rules all the time, I ate one of these blondies. After that it was downhill and I only made it to Whole22. Sorry but a good chef MUST try out her own dish. I ain’t about to play us like that! And you know what? It was mutha fuckin’ worth it. READ MORE