- These Golden Girls ‘Granny Panties’ Are Everything You Need Right Now
- Mom Shares ‘Mental Breakdown’ During Son’s Tantrum And We Can All Relate
- Madge The Vag Gets The Down Low On Aunt Flo
- Can We Talk About The Male G-Spot For A Minute?
- Nothing Prepared Me For The Pain I Felt When My Marriage Ended
- My House Is The Neighborhood Hangout, And I Love It
- Let’s Give Out Compliments Like Drunk Girls
- Stop Playing Your Loud A** Music In Public
Posted: 21 Apr 2018 06:19 AM PDT
Now these are some ‘granny panties’ everyone can get behind
For those of you who love the Golden Girls (and honestly, who doesn’t?) this is your lucky day. Depending on your age and mood, these new Golden Girl-themed underwear can be your go-to for a laugh, your period week, a Netflix marathon, or, well, every single day.
Yes, ladies, your dreams have come true. Introducing the granny panties that are actual Granny Panties Briefs. According to the Etsy shop Harebrained, these magical briefs are 95 percent cotton and 5 percent elastane but enough about that you can own a pair of panties with all four Golden Girls printed on your ass.
That’s right friends, beloved characters Blanche Devereaux (Rue McClanahan), Rose Nylund (Betty White), Dorothy Zbornak (Bea Arthur), and Sophia Petrillo (Estelle Getty) will literally follow you around all day because, well, they don’t really have a choice in the matter. Anyone who sees your ass won’t be able to help but smile because the Golden Girls bring joy (and a slice of pie) everywhere they go.
The sizing of their underwear “runs approximately a size small, so we recommend sizing up,” the site notes. Helllloooo, they’re granny panties, of course we’re going to size up. The bonus? Every pair of undies comes with a tag that says, “Thank you for being a friend.”
For those of you thinking, “enough with all the Golden Girls shiz already,” you need to put yourself in a timeout because you’ve obviously lost your perspective. Sure, there are Golden Girls prayer candles and hot sauce. Hell, you can even own an entire set of Golden Girls action figures. But to my knowledge, I’ve never seen a pair of undies donning all four lovely ladies proudly on the rear.
If I had one teeny tiny suggestion, it would be for them expand their line to include each individual Golden Girl on their very own pair, because women need options. One day we may be feeling a little feisty and need some ‘Blanches Britches’ and the next we might feel a little more ‘Dorothy's Drawers.’ And who doesn’t need a pair of ‘Sophia’s Skivvies’ in their lives?
Everyone. That’s who.
So ladies who wear underwear, dig into your wallet or deep within your couch cushions for $12.99 and place your orders. These puppies are bound to run out soon and you and your ass don’t want to be left behind.
Posted: 21 Apr 2018 06:12 AM PDT
“This is what a mommy mental breakdown looks like”
Any parent will tell you — when our kids are melting down and losing their shit, more often than not we feel like losing our shit right along with them. And sometimes we do just that.
One mom recorded herself having her own breakdown alongside her toddler son who was throwing a tantrum of epic proportions (as only a toddler can). And it very well might be the most real thing you’ll see today.
In a video posted to her Facebook page, Sarah Van Sickle is sitting in her car crying while her toddler throws an epic tantrum in his car seat. “This is what a mommy mental breakdown looks like.”
“I'm so sick of people just showing the perfect side of parenthood on social media, and today was one of the worst days I've had as a mom,” she writes. “I'm tired. Mentally and emotionally drained. Feeling like a failure of a mom. Feeling beyond clueless as to why my child has the world's worst tantrums for no reason. Feeling guilty for yelling at him and even more guilty for wanting to crawl into a hole and stay there.”
Hoo boy. We have all been there, yes indeed. I can recall multiple days where I’ve sobbed right along with my own daughter and had to walk away and take deep breaths. It’s impossible to keep it together and remain calm and patient and “perfect” when your child is upset beyond reason and you’re not in control.
Frustrated because she felt like her version of parenthood didn’t look anything like the version everyone else posts on social media, Van Sickle decided she had had enough. “In the middle of one of the worst breakdowns I've ever had, I got my camera out and decided to help show everyone the side of parenting that isn't broadcasted,” she tells Scary Mommy. “I was determined to show what the reality of parenthood can be like, even if it meant risking my social image and showing me in my mess. I just wanted other moms and dads who go through The emotional ups and downs to know that they are not alone.”
She brings up a valid and discouraging point about parenting in the age of social media. Of course, we want to share the happy moments and the posed moments and the moments that capture the love we feel. But when our only glimpse into the lives of many people is through the rose-colored lenses of our controlled social media posts, it can make us all feel like we fall short in comparison — even if we’re guilty of doing the same thing.
The fact that Van Sickle’s video went viral proves being raw resonates. Deeply. Perhaps there’s something to learn here beyond feeling less alone. There’s nothing stopping any of us from changing up our own algorithms to reflect the reality of our lives in addition to the sunshine and rainbow stuff.
“We are not perfect,” she writes. “Neither are our kids. We are human. We break down. We cry. We get frustrated. We lose our tempers. We need help. And at the end of the day, we are doing the best we know how.”
Posted: 20 Apr 2018 06:30 PM PDT
You’ve been getting your period for as long as you can remember. But do you even know anything about it? It’s red, it’s brown, it’s heavy, it’s light. What the hell is going on? Madge the Vag sits down with Dr. Ashley Bartalot to get the down low on your Aunt Flo.
Posted: 20 Apr 2018 06:00 PM PDT
If you haven’t heard of a P-gasm, then we need to get some things out in the open. Everybody loves an orgasm, but if we can take the arousal factor to the next level for ourselves, or our partner, I think most can agree we should give it a go.
I mean, if given the choice, would you take the plain Hershey chocolate bar that cures your chocolate craving, but leaves you wanting more and is kind of boring? Or would you go for the 1- pound box of Godiva chocolate that tantalizes your taste buds and has long-lasting, deep flavor? The choice is the latter, obvi.
Women love to get whole-body orgasms that take us to a special place (and sometimes back again), and so do men. We talk, as we should, about the female G-spot all the damn time. Do we really have one? Where is it? How can we stimulate it? How can we help our partner find the damn thing?
But what about men? Do they have a G-spot? Well, yes. Yes, they do.
Now before we go any further, it can be an uncomfortable topic to approach with our partner because of its location: The male G-spot is located on the prostate gland, which houses certain ingredients that make up his semen — the P-spot if you will. It’s located between his bladder and his love wand, and there a few ways to make it dance.
Kait Scalisi, founder of PassionbyKait.com, has a master’s in public health in sexual and reproductive health. She says you can stimulate the prostate with two different techniques. From inside the body, the only way to get there directly is through the hairy cheerio.
But before you go all in (pun intended), you need to talk about it with your partner first. It will make the experience more exciting and pleasurable if your partner is aware, and consenting, before you go diving in.
Maybe he wants to have a P-gasm but doesn’t know how to ask for it? Perhaps you want to treat him to a mind-blowing orgasm, but aren’t sure if he’s into it. If that’s the case, pass your partner this article right now and wait for a reaction, have a drink and bring it up over dinner, send a sexy text, or wait until you are in the heat of the moment and let your partner know you’d like to try it. Whatever you do, breaking the ice before you enter into the land of anal play is important.
If putting a finger into a b-hole is outside of your comfort zone, you can make him explode by taking your fingers and gently massaging his perineum, also known as their t’aint or gooch, or the area between his testicles and backdoor. But if you want to go for it and really get in there, make sure your fingernails are short and filed (because ouchie) and enter his anus very slowly. Consider using lubrication.
Once inside his chocolate starfish, Scalisi recommends “pointing your fingertips down like you are doing air quotes and make sure you use lube.” Don’t go crazy here — a little goes a long way. You aren’t yanking down, just massaging in a downward motion. Make sure to handle with care.
Massaging the P-spot is great on its own, but when paired with oral sex or intercourse, he will think you are an angel who has sent him to heaven. But if you aren’t into rolling up your sleeves and doing a bum injection with your bare hands, you can slip a condom over two fingers or purchase a toy designed for anal play that can do the dirty work for you while you are busy fondling other areas of his body.
Keep in mind, nothing should go into the anus unless it has a base. Things get sucked up in there when it’s stimulated and a trip to the emergency room may kill the mood.
Giving your man a P-gasm means a stronger, longer-lasting orgasm for him. Scalisi also adds, “There is no erection needed. That means prostate stimulation is great for anyone dealing with erectile dysfunction.” Massaging the male G-spot may also have a hand in reducing erectile dysfunction.
So, if you’ve been wanting to take the horizontal bop to new heights, have a talk, try it out, and see if you both want to add this to your bedroom rodeo routine.
Posted: 20 Apr 2018 06:00 PM PDT
"You are broken inside." Sitting in front of a psychic in her apartment with my close friends a few years ago on a hot and humid July day, this woman, who didn't know me and whom I had just met, said I was broken inside. I was broken; she was right. He had left for another woman.
As she was making note of the lines on my forehead to indicate the hardship I had recently been faced with, my thoughts immediately started to race back to when my ex walked out of our marriage and of our home while I was holding our daughter tightly in my arms, crying inconsolably, scared and in shock, not knowing how to handle the situation of grieving a lost husband, caring for my three children who were so young, and getting myself through this unbelievably challenging time.
The sun had set, and the next door neighbor was pulling into her driveway, coming home to find me standing outside on the front lawn watching my husband get into his car and drive away. She knew what had just happened and, like me, she was at a loss for words. Tears coming down our cheeks, she held me and my daughter. Her hug meant the world to me at that moment, and I didn't want to let go of her embrace.
Getting to know me through the process of being cheated on and ultimately left for another woman was so frightening. Nothing prepared me for how to deal with the pain I experienced when I realized my marriage and friendship with another person would never again be the same. For almost 20 years, I had been someone's partner and, as such, many of the things I did and the way I thought about my future was very much centered around another person.
After spending months crying over my failed marriage, mourning the loss of a future I had imagined for our family, I came to realize that I had defined much of who I was based on this partnership, and I was lost.
What now? How do I move forward? Who am I?
For months after I found out about the affair, I hated that my mind arbitrarily drifted to thoughts of the affair. I hated that these thoughts had taken over my emotional and mental stability. I couldn't make sense of what was going on, with him or with myself. He was a completely different person than the person I had known and loved for all those years. What had happened to him, to us?
I also felt like I was becoming another person … I couldn't recognize myself and the things I was doing. For some reason I convinced myself that I could somehow make sense of his actions by rummaging through his cell phone and computer. That I could uncover evidence that he did still love me and would not leave me for this other woman. I convinced myself time and time again that we would be okay and that all we had to do was figure out how to get through this bump in the road.
All I ended up finding was more evidence of his love and affection for another woman and the growing distance he had created from me and our life together. I felt unsettled and frustrated a lot of the time. I constantly replayed events in my head, pictures, email, and text exchanges between them that I had found on his phone. None of it was helpful, but I didn't know how to stop myself from these thoughts, from trying to uncover evidence of his love for me. Evidence that he would leave her and realize that he and I could have a happy life together.
I was spinning out of control and couldn't stop the madness that had settled within me.
One of the most difficult things for me to wrap my head around was the betrayal of trust that had shaken my inner peace to its core. I struggled with the emotional trauma of reconstructing what had happened between them while he and I were together, before I found out about the affair. Painfully putting pieces of the puzzle together from the things he told me he did and said to her while he was with me — this haunted me day and night for a long time.
Not only was my mental and emotional state declining, so was my physical health. Struggling to eat and take care of my body, I quickly lost 35 pounds over the period of only a few months. I've always wanted to lose weight, but this was not how I wanted to go about it. The worst part was his comments to me of how "hot" I now looked after having lost so much weight. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Who was this person, and why was he talking to me in such a crass way?
I also had some fainting spells during the first few weeks after I found out about the affair, and I was dumbfounded at how annoyed and unsympathetic he was when I would faint. He saw my pain, but for some reason he was unable to help me or pick up the pieces of my broken heart.
Despite the small steps to finding my way again, there was still the daily struggle of caring for the kids on my own and dealing with the separation. On most days I felt like I was in survival mode. I would often come home after dropping off the kids at school and go back to bed and hide under the covers and cry. It was terrible. I felt extremely guilty that I was hiding in my bedroom and not being fully present with the children. The lack of energy made it difficult to keep up with the kids on the weekends, but I managed it as best as I could, and by the time Monday morning rolled around, all I wanted to do was sleep. I was physically and mentally exhausted.
I knew I had to get out of the cycle I had created for myself, one that was spiraling out of control. I had to do it for myself, and more importantly, for the children.
The first thing I did: I asked for help. Many (well-meaning) people had advice for me and encouraged me to meet new people, to get out of the house and find a new hobby. Easier said than done … Imagine you've just jumped out of a plane, you've landed in the middle of nowhere and you're afraid and panic-stricken. You have to get yourself up and figure out how you're going to find a way that will lead you to where you want to be. This was me. I was lost, frightened, and didn't know how to find my way. I needed a plan.
I knew that before I could make new friends or do all the things I’d been encouraged to do, I had to get to know myself. Not myself as a wife, long-term companion, or mother. I needed to date myself, push myself out of my comfort zone and try new things. I took myself out to dinner, the movies, walks on the beach, tried new restaurants, joined online women's groups, and went to therapy–a lot of therapy.
Through all these experiences, I began to develop a voice that was my own–I literally had not heard myself speak so much in my life as I did in only a few months. The sound of my voice was actually a little foreign to me. I began to gain confidence and to think about what kind of future I wanted to have. I could see myself coming out of my shell.
This is also when I started to realize how confined I had been in my marriage, how much I had given of myself to another person, and how much I had allowed myself to stand aside to allow someone else to move forward on their path while I got left behind. I had completely lost myself.
Although a great deal has happened to me, I can see how much I have learned about myself and the world around me in only a few years. I now know that the events that once broke me no longer define who I am. They have led me to where I am now — standing strong and feeling whole.
Posted: 20 Apr 2018 06:00 PM PDT
There are seven kids in my house, but only four of them mine … and there goes the doorbell again, so make that eight – no, nine. Excited voices reverberate off every wall, and somebody forgot to take their shoes off, so there are dirty footprints leading up the stairs.
I can already hear my refrigerator door opening as one of our younger guests, my kindergartner’s friend from three houses down, asks me if I have any oranges. I do, of course, because when your house is THE house, your snack game's gotta be strong. My kids hardly even eat oranges, but I always have them on hand because I know someone's going to ask. It's just another afternoon around my place, where everyone naturally seems to gravitate.
Yes, it's chaotic. Yes, it's loud. And yes, there are days when I'm less receptive to the chatter and bleep-blooping of video games and thumping of feet. But it's a chaos I normally don't mind, because it's the sound of my children (and, okay, everybody else's) having fun together, making memories with the neighborhood kids they'll fondly remember long into adulthood.
It's funny, because I didn't always practice such an open-door playdate policy. In fact, if it had been more socially acceptable, I totally would've hung a "GO AWAY" sign on my front door a few years back. I had very little patience for most kids, and hated the responsibility of having them over because it felt like babysitting to me. And I suppose it is, in a way – I mean, I'm still responsible for their wellbeing while they're at my house – although unlike babysitting, I can send them home whenever I feel like it.
But two years ago we moved into a neighborhood full of families, and my kids quickly befriended their kids. I wanted them to make new friends so badly that I started allowing everyone to come over, and something changed in me: because to my surprise, it wasn't so bad after all. My kids were bonding with their neighbors, some of whom were also their classmates. I could get a good sense of how they all treated each other – my own children included – because I was right there to witness it in person. I knew where my kids were at all times, eliminating the stress of keeping track of whose house everyone had gone to.
I knew that my children were safe, that they weren't playing some kind of violent video game or surfing the Internet for porn because the parents weren't home or – worst of all – in a place where an improperly stored firearm could be accessed. (My uncle was killed in an accidental shooting as a young teenager by a friend who was just trying to show him a gun, so this was a big one for me.) I realized that when my kids were at my house, I never needed to worry about their safety or who I could trust.
The more I allowed myself to relax about it, the more enjoyable it became to have a house full of kids – and now I actually like that our house is the designated hangout spot most of the time. I do have to care a little less about keeping my throw pillows neatly arranged on my couch, and going through snacks like a colony of hungry rats lives in my pantry. I find myself yelling things like "Close the door!" and "Bring down the volume!" just a little more often. But it's a small price to pay for the benefit of letting my kids have their friends over.
They're going to remember these times their whole lives, and I get to witness the cementing of their friendships. Plus, the benefits extend beyond my children; our home can be a haven for any friends whose own homes are lacking harmony, or who need just a little bit of extra love, a safe space for them too. And maybe one day, in a sort of ripple effect, their own childhoods will inspire them to have the same open-door policy for their own kids. I hope so. Because it's actually a beautiful thing.
Gotta go – there's that doorbell again. It's like Grand Central Station around here, but oddly enough, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Posted: 20 Apr 2018 06:00 PM PDT
Walking into a restaurant with a couple of friends, I was struck with equal parts awe and envy at the hostess's skin. It was flawless and poreless and dewy, the kind of airbrushed-looking complexion that everyone wants, the kind that keeps skincare a multi-billion-dollar industry. I didn't say anything to her about it, of course – that would be weird, right? – so I just thanked her for seating us.
But then I had a couple of martinis with dinner.
On the way out of the restaurant, on the cheerful edge of tipsy, I felt courageous enough to swing by the hostess station. "Sorry to bother you," I said quickly, "but I noticed earlier how gorgeous your complexion is and I thought I'd tell you. It's perfect! Right out of a magazine!"
She seemed to light from within, her enviable skin glowing as one hand flew up to rest on her cheek. "Thank you so much!" she beamed, surprised. And as I glanced backward on my way out the door, she was still smiling.
Maybe she gets it all the time, random restaurant patrons telling her how beautiful she is. Or maybe it was just what she needed to hear and it made her entire night. Either way, it was a beneficial interaction for both of us – because getting compliments feels good, but giving them is just as nice. And that got me thinking: why do we hold back so much of the good stuff?
I understand why we refrain from saying ugly things to people — that carries a risk of confrontation. Telling someone they're acting like a dick doesn't typically help a situation. It doesn't perpetuate positivity, and we don't want our asses beaten by an angry stranger. But what do we gain by biting our tongues instead of offering a genuine compliment? Why don't we just let them fly, the way we're more inclined to when we've knocked back a few sips of "liquid courage?"
For proof of this phenomenon, look no further than a women's restroom at a bar or club. Stand at the mirror long enough to wash your hands or touch up your lipstick, and you'll inevitably hear a jubilant decree of, "I LOVE YOUR SHIRT!" or a squeal of, "Your smoky eye is on point!" because that's what drunk girls do. (Well, some of us anyway.) We get tipsy and we love everybody and, damn it, we feel compelled to tell them.
We're more inclined to believe compliments coming from a drunk girl because everybody knows that drunk people tell it like it is. But the only difference between complimenting someone in a bar bathroom and, say, a grocery store aisle is the presence of an above-average blood alcohol content. It still comes from a genuine place – I mean, we've got nothing to gain by telling someone we like their hair if we don't mean it.
Imagine if, every time we thought something nice about someone, we actually let them know. I can't tell you how frequently I secretly admire a trait in a perfect stranger. It happens almost every time I go somewhere, from the mom in front of me in the checkout line who has nailed the perfect messy ponytail, to the teenager being so sweet with a younger sibling, to the teacher at my kid's school whose fashion sense is better than my Pinterest boards. And I don't know why I don't just tell them. I mean, what's the worst that could happen? I'm pretty sure nobody is going to snarl, "Ew! Get away, you creep!" – and if they do, well, they've got issues that didn't come from me randomly complimenting them.
So I'm making it my personal goal to start calling it as I see it: if we're standing shoulder to shoulder in the frozen food section and I admire your taste in footwear, well, you're gonna know it. You'll feel awesome that a stranger likes your shoes enough to say something (I mean, who doesn't?!), I'll feel great that I've given you a little boost of confidence, but most importantly, our children are watching. They may not get to see what goes on in a bar bathroom lovefest, but they can certainly see how we treat people out in the world, and it's how they learn to treat people themselves. So the way I see it, doling out compliments like a drunk girl is not only spreading some immediate sunshine … it's sowing the seeds of a brighter future, too.
By the way, you’ve got great taste in reading material.
Posted: 20 Apr 2018 06:00 PM PDT
As a person who has always lived in a major city and often takes public transit, I have encountered my fair share of extremely annoying and rude people. It's practically a way of life. To be fair, I know that assholes are everywhere, from the line at the bank to the parking lot at Target. I am generally annoyed by all assholes, but I have something to get off my chest.
I fucking hate people who use their electronics at top volume in public. Talking loudly on your phone, watching YouTube videos, or listening to your music without headphones — all of it drives me up the wall. That is literally why headphones were invented, so you can listen to whatever you want without the entire world having to hear it.
It shouldn't have to be said, but apparently it does. It's not just inconsiderate, it's actually breaking the law. Most cities have different noise rules and ordinances in place for a reason, so what makes you think that you're above the rules? There can be a sign that says "No Radio Playing," and then there's someone sitting under it listening to loud music. What the actual fuck?
Look, you can listen to whatever music you want. That's your choice. But that doesn't mean that everyone within five feet of you needs to listen to it too. Not only am I thinking that you're a total asshole, I'm judging your shitty taste in music. Because it's always the people with the worst taste in music who seem to think everyone wants to hear the garbage they're listening to. Well, guess what? We definitely don't.
You know, you can find headphones in most stores, and you don't have to buy expensive ones; I spent like ten bucks on a pair at Target.
And don't even get me started on people who talk loudly on their phones while they're out in public. Okay, I'm already thinking about it, and now I'm annoyed, so let’s do this.
Do you not know how to speak at a reasonable volume? Do you not care that everyone now knows all of your business?
I was once sitting on a bus in NYC, and a woman was having a battle with her baby daddy about him not paying his child support. On a crowded bus. In the middle of the day.
That’s a whole lot of information that a whole lot of people did not need to know.
I mean, I get it, sometimes you need to take a call while you're in public. I'm not saying don't answer the call. I do it myself. But when it's something that personal, then you really should try to arrange another time to have the call. See also: common courtesy. Because if you have to take such a personal call while you're out in public, for the love of all that is good and holy, don't yell! I was trying my best to ignore you, and you have invited me into your conversation.
And another thing. If you're going to let your kids watch YouTube or play games on your phone, which I'm definitely not going to judge you for because I do it all the time, your phone has a volume button for a reason. My son knows that when we're out, he can't watch YouTube at full volume. No one wants to hear that freaking Finger Family song at top volume while they're trying to enjoy their lunch. I mean, I'm sitting next to him and I don't want to hear it, so please, keep "Five Little Monkeys" at a reasonable volume.
Look, what this really boils down to is, don't be a dick. It's not that hard to be considerate of the people around you when you're in a public space. Your auditory preferences do not take precedence over mine simply because you've chosen to ignore common decency.
People who play their music loudly in public are on the same level as people who don't return their shopping carts. There is no real reason for them to be assholes and yet they make the conscious decision to go ahead and be just that. When it's so easy to be a decent person, why choose to be a shitty one?
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