As Featured on News Cult: Reasons Not to Have Kids

You mean besides the fact that they’re little assholes? Oh, ok, here are a few, dare I subvert the societal expectations that we all settle down, get married, have kids, and consequently ruin our lives–(I would just like to say though that I feel like the list of reasons TO have kids is much shorter/harder to come up with).

1. Having to change their diapers in airplane bathrooms

I can barely fit in those bathrooms by myself, so I’m not about to try to fit another human being AND change their diaper. Also not about to change their diaper, period–they want it changed? They can change it themselves. Welcome to the real world, fuckers.

2. They OWN you.

Say goodbye to ever being able to just do whatever the fuck you want whenever you want–consequences be damned–again. Gone are the days of sleeping in, disregarding the expiration dates on your milk & eggs, not having to safety-proof your outlets, keeping any sharp objects or your extensive liquor collection where any person could ever reasonably find them, having a functional sex life, ever spending a dime on any non-essential items (that necklace you fell in love with at Anthropologie? That was a pipe dream when you were a lonely shrew, so the chances of it happening after you’ve had a kid are about as good as the chances that Georgia O’Keefe’s paintings are not vaginal), considering rolling out of your bed onto the floor a successful start to the day and walking in your door, immediately removing your pants, and falling asleep while cradling a bag of wine on the couch not only an acceptable, but really the only appropriate, way to end a workday, and so on.

Say hello instead to your soft, squishy body that will just get shittier with each mac ‘n cheese dinner*, your never-ending sleep-deprivation, having to explain what “whose” means when it’s just fucking obvious and self-explanatory and if you’d wanted to define things for a living you would’ve become a dictionary, the fact that everything you ever say and do will have an imprint on your child that you can only imagine, and may in fact lead to them becoming a serial killer, having to actually abide by the “microwave safe” directions on the bottom of your cheap dishes, none of which are microwave safe, etc.

Your children are your chastity belt–the cock block to everything good ever–so buckle up (oh that’s another thing, you have to learn how to use a car seat and all the rules about how young is too young for the front seat etc. and have to stop having a beer on your commute home from work blah blah blah).

*(this was also reality pre-children, but now you just have someone you can blame it on)

3. They will obstinately fling themselves into child’s pose on the marble floors of the most densely congested section of the National Gallery, in front of the only da Vinci in the entire museum after a solid 30 minutes of screaming, and the only way you’ll be able to shut them up for 5 minutes is to breastfeed them.

That’s right–in order to placate the little shit, you will have to stick your tit inside their mouth and sacrifice your nipple to their teething. How fucked up is that? Let’s just back up for a minute too to the part where they scream endlessly like a little bitch in public, ruining everything for everyone, and just adopt the attitude of ‘to hell with all regard for others’ existences, I RUN THIS BITCH.’ They are literally the worst, and you are stuck with them until you die (which by this point you are hoping will come sooner than later).

4. You have to pretend to encourage good behavior.

Look, we all know that the best things in life are the ones that are ‘against the rules’–the jig is up. You know that drugs, alcohol & pre-marital sex are fun, you know that healthy food is the Devil’s work, you know that exercise/physical exertion is NOT how the slaves who broke their backs to build this country would want us, as free people, to be spending our time, and the list goes on.

But, you can’t admit this to your children, because if you do, the PTA will come knocking down your door, and you just don’t have time for their sad haircuts. So, for the next 18ish years, you have to keep up the charade of “do what’s right I guess?” and let your kid discover all on their own all the great things life has to offer, while you miss out on the party and they resent you as they enter adulthood and realize all the secrets you kept from them (MOM, why didn’t you tell me how fun teenage pregnancy is, I could be on MTV right now?!).

5. You’re forever linked to your baby daddy/momma.

What if you make a TERRIBLE choice in co-parent, as you most likely will? Well TOO BAD, because you’re linked for the rest of your life to this other person now that you created someone who is half of each of you (how does it feel to know that your child is half-douchebag?). You’re going to have to coordinate pick ups and drop offs where you get to see your former lover’s new, younger, hotter, skinnier, just better girlfriend/boyfriend/partner/husband/wife/prostitute/whatever, just not you.

And if it’s real bad, you’ll have to engage in custody disputes, mediation, trials, competitions to prove you’re the better parent, which means shelling out a lot more than you’re prepared to for Christmas and birthday gifts, and you’ll probably get sucked into shit-talking your ex to your kids because really who could resist. But then your kids resent you for making them the middle-man pawn in your failed relationship, and so they grow up to be upper middle class heroin addicts who wear far too much argyle, and now look what you’ve done.

I could go on and talk about how expensive kids are, how you have to worry about getting them into the best schools, ballet classes, soccer teams, play groups, SAT prep courses, learn what TAG means (“Talented and Gifted” Program), and know that it’s complete bullshit for such a thing to exist in elementary schools, but it exists nonetheless and maybe your kid should be in it and why aren’t they and wait they’re just as talented as Virginia, (maybe not as religious, but that’s a facade waiting to crumble and just because her name has “virgin” in it doesn’t make her a perfect little angel–in fact you’re fairly certain she’s headed for a life in Ho-Town on the Slutsville Express), and WTF does ‘gifted’ even mean, what is this, Harry Potter, because if so, bring it on motherfuckers because my kid is ALL Harry, and I’m seeing a lot of Draco Malfoy up in here.

So, I’ll just leave you with the reminder that our planet is rapidly decaying due to its abuse which is a byproduct of not just overpopulation, but the ignorance that often accompanies it. And the more 19-kid families we have (which ALL start with just 1) using paper plates and plastic utensils for every meal, the more fucked we and the earth progressively become, and if you’re super into endlessly procreating, you may be all like, “well that’s fine, because when the end of the world comes, I know I’ll be saved,” but keep in mind that the Rapture only provides space for, like, not that many people (trust me, whatever the number is, it’s not enough–I wish it would take more of you 700 Club members).

Featured on News Cult:

As Featured on News Cult: EMBRACE THE AWKWARD

We can’t all be graceful swans. Some of us are the unfortunate ones–our lives are the personification of running with a backpack on. We’re the baby deer straight out of the womb, but not as skinny. We’re the ones who don’t realize a piece of lettuce is stuck to our face (hey, at least we ate a salad–we consider that a win). We’re the ones who will tell anyone and everyone when and how badly we have to pee.

But rather than hang our heads in shame, I say, SORRY WE’RE NOT SORRY AND YOU’RE ALL WELCOME. Embrace your awkward! It’s the best thing about you–it makes you just way more interesting and dynamic than those perfectly suave, good-looking people who are super accomplished and loved and attractive and just have great lives but don’t worry because you’re UNIQUE. Here are some ways to appreciate, cultivate, and embrace your awkward.

1. Remind yourself that you have way less to lose.

If you walk into a room giving no fucks, then no fucks will be given when you inevitably embarrass yourself when you get rejected by the cute guy at the bar, or choose to sit by yourself in the corner and read instead of socialize at the birthday party, or shove your face with all the free appetizers at the fundraiser, or realize you haven’t shaved your legs in like 2 months as you get into the stirrups at the OBGYN–whatever the case may be, start from the bottom and there’s nowhere to go but probably not up, but at least the same place.

2. Remind yourself of all the awkward people everyone loves.

Liz Lemon, Mindy Kaling, Jennifer Lawrence, Jess from New Girl, high school Drew Barrymore in Never Been Kissed, Aubrey Plaza, Louis C.K., Mae Whitman, Amy Schumer, Liz Lemon, Chelsea Peretti, Kimmy Schmidt, Zach Galifianakis, Dwight Schrute, Michael Cera, Rebel Wilson, Kristen Wiig, Leslie Knope, Ellen DeGeneres, high-school/fat Monica in Friends, Ricky Gervais, Liz Lemon, Michael Scott, did I say Liz Lemon? Yes, many of these are fictional characters, but obviously that’s because they’re too perfect to be real. BASK IN THEIR GLORY.

3. Use your awkwardness to your advantage.

Your awkwardness makes you not intimidating–you’re the person everyone feels like they can talk to. You’re not the beautiful unicorn they idolize, which means they’ll feel more comfortable approaching you and being themselves around you. Yes, this means you will attract a BUNCH of weirdos–BUT, hopefully this means that you will also attract some genuine souls tired of the BS, who just want to be able to talk to someone about how they tried to eat the decorative pebbles at their job interview because they LOOKED like chocolate covered sunflower seeds and who has decorative pebbles in any scenario ever anyways, and not be judged.

4. Have faith that your peak won’t be premature.

My mom always told me that the popular girls peak in high school and then go on to become fat, unhappy secretaries. This is one of those truths we hold to be self-evident; the karmic bitchslap will have its day in court with the cool kids, and it may take until your dying breath, but your awkwardness will pay off. You’ll live a more fulfilling life, because you’ll understand struggle and what’s really important–not ridiculously good looks, the ability to glide effortlessly in heels without tripping, being able to flirt successfully with god-like creatures, or waking up every morning without crying upon realizing that you’ve just woken up, but the things that really matter, like being able to eat whatever you want whenever you want wearing whatever you want around anyone you want, not being ashamed to go to bed at 8 PM after spending the night in, working on a puzzle, and having a proud commitment ceremony with your dog.

5. Be your unbridled, awkward self, and people can love it, like it, leave it, WHATEVER.

Here’s the secret everyone knows deep down: the awkward ones are the BEST. People who can, will, and do laugh at themselves, who aren’t afraid to look foolish if it means they stay dry from the rain thanks to their poncho, who will love you even when you ugly-cry–THOSE are the people everyone wants to come home to. Keeping up the charade of perfection is simply untenable, and just too exhausting. But remember that you deserve to not only be that person who everyone loves, you deserve to be the person who everyone admits they love, and also to have those people of your own. Don’t settle and wait around for all those idiots to realize how great you are–be loud and proud, because while it may be lonely, you’ll find your way to your tribe in time, and it’s a hell of a lot better than pretending to actually LIKE networking events.

Featured on News Cult:

This hotel is ridic

I rolled up like a bull wearing spandex, flannel, and tennis shoes with rat’s nest hair to a china shop that is ostensibly a very nice hotel, but I’m pretty sure is actually Downton Abbey. I think I scared everyone there just by being myself. As one of the bell boys escorted me up to my room, he asked me how my day was going, and I answered in what is, for me, a very normal way–I said, “ehhhh, ughhhh, I’m… I’m just… [big sigh]… How are you?” He looked very disturbed, and, needless to say, the rest of my attempts at small talk with him floundered miserably. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I’m confident that he was not a bell boy, but in fact a security guard, because when I hurricane-d into the place, they clearly were like, “who is this what is she doing here make sure she doesn’t try to steal the decorative orchids or extra toiletries from the housekeeping cart.” 

I appreciate nice things, but I’m not comfortable being waited on and, let’s face it, don’t belong in formal situations. I’m more comfortable hanging out with “the staff” than being served by them. I made BFFs with one of the maids, Eveline–her 13-yr-old daughter doesn’t think she should have to clean her own room because she’s a kid, but Eveline told her, “no, you’re not a kid anymore,” and I was like, “it’s good you’re preparing her for adulthood because real life is harrrrrd,” and we discussed how expensive college is (she and her husband have started saving for both their daughter’s and 8-yr-old-son’s college funds), as well as the recent plane crash in the French Alps, and she generously gave me lots of cookies.

Below are some photos from this beautiful place I will never belong:

Sometimes walking to the bathroom is just so exhausting that you need a chaise lounge to collapse on immediately upon entering and a wall of shadowed cameo profile portraits to soothe your eyes. And it’s always nice to have a bathroom you can use as a bowling alley.

IMG_5605_2 IMG_5606_2IMG_5604_2  

I’m pretty sure this elevator is where angels go to just get away from it all.


Sometimes you just want your gummy bears to come in a bear-shaped jar.


When you’re torn because you really want to watch CBS but also stare at yourself in the mirror–you no longer have to choose just one!


Keep it classy, Senators

We went to the Senate building and they literally just let us wander around unsupervised, in and out of the senators’ offices (some of them had snacks!), down in the underground tunnels between the Senate, House, and Capitol buildings, on the subway between those buildings, into the galleries to see them voting, etc. Here are some pics to document our journey.


Sometimes you just have to decorate your office with dead deer (elk?) and buffalo.


His office was as vanilla as Arizona, so not even photo-worthy, but when we went into the gallery, did see him walking around like a crippled balding Eagle.




The underground railroad between the Senate, House and Capitol.