A Note About Misogyny in Rom-Coms from Me, a Woman Who Only Listens to Podcasts About Murdered Women
Boy meets girl, girl falls for boy and sacrifices everything. How are we supposed to change society if we keep glorifying these shitty images?
Boy meets girl, girl falls for boy and sacrifices everything. How are we supposed to change society if we keep glorifying these shitty images?
I should never have strayed from the routine. The second I opened that dessert cupboard I knew it was a mistake.
Listen, you're already on thin ice with me. You and I both know this ain't the first time we've found ourselves here.
With each passing day, her resolve grows weaker. She begins to wonder if the girl above will once again leave her in peace.
That’s when I see this sandwich, all multi-layered and cut in half with these giant toothpicks holding everything together.
I mean, if my life were a novel, this would be terrible writing. The reader would be flipping back, looking for pages they must have skipped.
She goes to bed early, after washing her face and applying night serum. I go to bed drunk, after forgetting to brush my teeth or remove my contacts.
By the time the bus came, I'd assigned everyone in line a "Lost" archetype; I was Kate because I was sexy and had a backpack.
“Is there a doctor on the plane? Specifically, someone with a PhD in Mathematics with a focus on algebraic geometry?”
“Chris,” I said, as a family of five wiped their shoes on his face. “What’re you doing here?” “Muhughuh,” he said, spitting out a piece of dogshit.
Give me Rafael Nadal. I would let Rafa bagelize me as compared to you-know-who. Is that too much for a poor, first-time U.S. Open qualifier to ask?
A millennium of mystics lives in my heart. But when you look at me, all you see is “Prince of Darkness” in Comic Sans stretched just under my chin.