Low fat cheese! Replacing pizza with a piece of bread and cheese (low-fat!)! Egg-white scramble! Cavemen ate all the carbs at once; that's why you love pasta!
@S. Elizabeth Oh, I know- I meant it removed the insane fantasies, not all of them. Replacing the broken knobs on the cabinet drawers: acceptable. Moving from sharing a bedroom for $450/each to sharing a two bedroom apartment for $1100/each: unacceptable. I was just debating the merits of the latter scheme when I clicked this link.
Personally, this kind of writing is among my least favorite. But living in NYC, I am always grateful to the unhappy wealthy.
This piece guilted me out of my apartment fantasies temporarily, so I'll let the rest go.
In the U.S., the biggest obstacles to healthy eating seem to be poverty, infrastructure, and psychological shit. I don't the advice to drink less red wine and combine vegetable proteins goes very far.
I got them only when I worked in an office, and they stopped after I had them turn off the fluorescent lights overhead. I guess studies indicate this correlation is false? But I was satisfied with the solution.
They weren't nearly as bad as those here, but I would have to go home, put a blanket over my head to block out sound and light, and just sort of lie there in too much pain to sleep but unable to look at or listen to anything.
Start by reading a better magazine, I guess
@E I know! For me, this means that period shits can be more than a week long, due to the weird new iterations of my womb cramping, and I may start spotting a full week before the actual cycle. I am hoping this dies down by my early 30s?
I think the answer to all these qualms-- that she took their money, that she agreed to a contract, that she cannot be considered radical in a position of such power-- can all be addressed by assuming that she does not give a fuck. A position with which I feel great empathy.
A friend and I were just discussing how period shits were omitted from all teenage info-sessions on dealing with your period, leaving us both to believe something was seriously wrong with our individual bodies. I want to petition to have period-shits added to the 5th grade group convos.
This confirms the only real rage cleaning inspires for me: the moment when I decide, irrationally and with no real knowledge, that my roommate grew up with a housekeeper.
I should note that I am not a particularly clean human being, nor, anymore, a particularly messy one. But I have always been shocked by my cohabitants that actually don't seem to *know* that toilets get cleaned by people.