For novelists to return to the spotlight, they must do one thing. No, not write better. Just fight.
Minimize eye contact. As a general rule, the ratio of eye contact with your crush to how much you’re crushing on your crush should be inverse. If you must acknowledge your crush, a sideways glance or indirect stare is advised.
I don’t know what it is exactly but women love anything British. If you add the words “Period Piece” in front of it then you’ve successfully found every ladies’ G-spot. Congrats!
You tiptoe around it, you get back to the scripted version of your life. Where did we leave off, again? The scene where my emotions and expectations rest idly in a protective bubble, never to be contaminated by reality? I almost forgot my lines, what with all of that scenery crashing down around me. Let’s take it from the top.
No amount of sex education prepares you for that trapped feeling. That constant cloud of concern over your head as you get further and further away from when your period should have come. You can deny it for a while—“Maybe it’s just late, I’ve always been irregular, it’ll come soon.” And then when it doesn’t, you panic.
If you have the opportunity to skip out on your life for a certain period of time, do it! Ditch all of your obligations to create some amazing memories. Nothing says “I’m young, I’m free, and I do what I want!” quite like a road trip does.
Most of the ads were typical: “Wanna go skiing? I’ll provide, you host,” or “I just moved here, I’m really shy.” But it didn’t take long to find one that interested me, that actually excited me. He was looking for someone to exchange emails with, I think—I don’t remember his exact words but the intention behind the ad seemed innocent and not of the “blowing cocaine off of each other’s bodies” nature.
Did you know if you put your ATM password in backwards it alerts the police that you’re being robbed? Did you know that sugar causes cancer? Did you know that dialing *677 tells you if the unmarked police car trying to pull you over is actually a rapist?
The alcohol has run out. Suddenly it feels as if the party is now completely without purpose; as if the meaning of the party was to continually consume alcohol until some end point had been reached. It’s time to go home.
Sometimes it’s okay to choose dicks before chicks. Sometimes it’s okay to go off the grid and just do the whole “I’M IN LOVE!” thing. The first few months of a relationship are always intoxicating. It’s like you’re on drugs and going on a love binge — it’s very “Hit Me Baby One More Time” — so it’s totally acceptable for you to ignore texts and become a selfish lovesick monster!
u can take r lives bt u cant take r freedom!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! – Braveheart
Srsly, my dear, WTF? – Gone With the Wind
For many years, when the topic of regret came up, I would confidently say, “if I had any regrets, that would mean that I wish this very moment was different, because every second in my life has led me to where I am right now, and I’m great right now, so nope, no regrets!”
I’m a post-modern work baby, which means I have no concept of what it means to work in an office that enforces a dress code and has Casual Fridays. I’ve actually only worked from an office one time and it was for three months at an edgy magazine that encouraged you to wear a Balenciaga trash bag to work.
I’m sorry, but a 50-year-old Asian man wearing a Paul Smith suit, a denim jacket, a mink stole, a Louis Vuitton backpack, Air Force Ones, and shutter shades–WHERE IS HE GOING?
Tell me the last time someone ingested two delicious, buttery, brown sugar cinnamon Poptarts and thought, “Wow. I feel stupendous, so full and balanced. Let’s go for that run.” No. You feel full of empty regret and temptation to savor another package, successfully topping off your daily calorie intake at 800 before 9 a.m. Poptarts are a tease.
These should be updated around once a month, or when any significant changes take place in that person’s life. It’s like the reverseBourne Identity for friends—I’ll keep a file cabinet with a profile on each of you, and extract the relevant information before hanging / catching up to peruse and refresh my knowledge en route to rendezvous.
The first time it happened, I was 14 years old. My friend, Sarah — an older girl who wore band t-shirts and had punky hair — brought me to a dirty café that was known for letting teenagers smoke as long as they paid for coffee. I had a crush on her and she knew it.
When you’re happy, you don’t ask why. But when you’re sad, all you ever do is ask yourself why. You have so many questions for yourself and about life in general. You’re tuned in not only to your sadness but to the sadness that exists all around you.
I am not entirely sure how I first heard about the existence of identical twins, nor where my fascination stems from. Naturally, over time I had fallen in love with a young and innocent Lindsay Lohan in Parent Trap and thought about the vast array of activities I could avoid if I had the option of sending my twin to perform a perfunctory task.
When you’re happy: you don’t care why. You just are and it’s fabulous and you want to indulge it by running outside in fields of wildflowers, holding hands with your lover and throwing puppy dogs over rainbows. You want to prance through streets being overly nice to bank tellers and deli guys and spewing out meters and meters of colored scarves to make the neighborhood children laugh with delight.
Now refract that relationship through the infinite. Are you going to remain angry over such things forever? Well, no. The everyday banality of this or that complaint compared to the infinite is nothing. And so rather than leaving, you stay. You overcome that complaint.
In all seriousness though, what other profession would allow you to glorify your budding alcoholism, objectify the people that pass through your bedroom and your social group, and afford you walk-in closets full of the latest fashions? None!
As cheesy as they were, these are some of the songs that made me, in pubescence, essentially see how being wronged by a boy was cause to call the girls to arms rather than an excuse to wallow in bed surrounded by tears and chocolates, listening to “Lovefool” on repeat.
The movie time was established through a series of AOL Instant Messenger and text messages. Her buddy profile, in large pink font, read “Age ain’t nothin’ but a number,” which, in retrospect, seems incredibly strange, especially for a 16 year old, but when one is going through puberty most everything can be overlooked or ignored in the name of a potential make-out session.
Hello readers! Wanna hang out with us? Wanna tell us how much we suck and throw things at our head? Wanna tell Kat and Stephanie how much you’re in loveeee with them? Well, now’s your chance! On Thursday, October 6th, Thought Catalog will be hosting a reader meet up at The Anchor Bar in Soho. Open bar is from 9-10 with drink specials after!
You see, this is how I’ve chosen to devote a small portion of my finite time on this planet — looking at images of ducks in airplanes, ducks yelling at yetis, and ducks eating top hats. Like dressing Kate Moss in clothes from the Gap or feeding Anthony Bourdain a plateful of McNuggets, so I treat my intellectually malnourished brain to an illustrated narrative concerning duck people.
I recently got to know her on a much more intimate level in reading her memoir, The Last of the Live Nude Girls. In it, she chronicles the two years she spent dancing in Time Square’s infamous peepshows – a vocation that has, up until now, remained undocumented from an insider’s perspective. I met Sheila at a seedy bar of mutual acclaim to discuss stripping, dating, and what comes next.
Yes, let it be known that modern day chemotherapy often causes patients to gain weight, not lose weight—especially if you’re on the younger side of the life spectrum, like myself. Turns out that the steroids/various meds that help prevent violent projectile vomiting also cause fatty tissues to duplicate like double stuffed Oreos, while simultaneously increasing your appetite when you feel good.
I chose the word “Invictus” for my first tattoo because I genuinely like the poem and thought it’d be super edgy to have something literary embossed on my body. Turns out I’d unknowingly been introduced to my favorite poem by the television series One Tree Hill.
I loathe nothing more than seeing an obnoxious couple at the grocery store. While I’m there picking up my single survival essentials (pasta, one jar of tomato sauce and maybe a yogurt/gelato), they’re there basically dry humping each other in the frozen food aisle.
Maybe there are no instructional pamphlets or illustrative posters to point out each and every one of the things we need to rid ourselves of, but there they are – lurking in the shadows of our subconscious. They are the people who make us feel like our lungs are in a vice whenever we see them. The humanization of our bad habits, walking and breathing and telling bad jokes.
I met her in a coffee shop. The one where Bible studies meet in that circle of scavenged chairs, where only the attractive women wear wedding bands or are chained to their initial-inscribed sacred texts. You know the ones. That suburban happiness: too happy for their own good, like they are running from something.
I am aware that a vast majority of people are both ashamed and embarrassed about farting, even though I’m not. I’m also aware that a vast majority of this vast majority are women, and moreover I am aware that most women only fart perfume and poop rainbows (everyone has to fart and poop OK, some girls just do it prettier).
White Girl Problems has become more than being just a funny Twitter account. It tapped into something universal and helped define the everyday experiences of a sizable part of our generation. When people criticize it, I often think it comes from a place of secret shame and embarrassment.
Here are what I imagine we might see cats tweeting, if they could use Twitter.
I learned so much about myself from dating. I was challenged and put out of my comfort zone. I was taught how to compromise and how to deal with different personalities. It was exciting, scary, and foreign.
Just eat a mid-sized meal every three hours until it’s time to go to happy hour. [Editor’s Picks: meatloaf; fried chicken; egg rolls; manicotti; several variations of fried rice.] Play Bejeweled on your computer to appear as though you are thinking and making use of your fine motor skills. Sixty percent of the time, it works every time.
Much like animal noises in the wild and the opening scenes of Miss Congeniality and Miss Congeniality 2, knowing the difference between specific sighs can keep you out of bad situations. Here are 12 different sighs to get you started on this life-long learning journey.
There are so many Australians living in New York City that New York is more like a colony of Australia than a city in America. They say that every New Yorker has a drug dealer, a therapist and an Australian friend. You can’t go anywhere in New York without meeting an Australian, to the point where you have to wonder if we’re up to something shifty, like a very passive invasion.
You’re a 35-year-old singer who writes lyrics about candy and kissing boys behind the monkey bars. I mean, I get that it’s twee and adorable to talk about such things, but it’s also weird because you’re clearly too old to be living la vida schoolgirl.
Appearances by any/ all of the following guest judges: Bjork; John Cage; Marilyn Manson; GWAR; “Weird Al” Yankovic; G.G. Allin; Insane Clown Posse; corpse of Elvis Presley.
My casual attitude was a luxury, though I didn’t know it at the time. For the Ziliaks, cells dominated every day of their lives. They watched in anxiety as Jaz’s white blood cell count rose and fell, marking the ups and downs of the war raging inside her body. They battled leukemia with chemotherapy, radiation and prayer.
I was drinking beer on a rooftop one night with a couple friends, when we simultaneously and unassumingly caught a flashing glimpse of some girl’s boobs through an open window. Because I like boobs and this was the fulfillment of something I desperately wanted to happen when I was 12, I got a huge kick out of it. All things considered, it felt like a very pure form of happiness.
You check your bank statement, online, and you see that nearly every night this week there are withdrawals, in increments of twelve or sixteen dollars, for pizza deliveries. For Indian deliveries. For sushi deliveries. Because you aren’t poor, for god’s sake. You graduated — didn’t you?
I’ll be pleased by Jack’s five o’clock shadow and the way his whiskey-soaked words tumble out of his mouth. I’ll see his mania as refreshing; he’s not the buttoned-up doctor I expected him to be. “It was a six hour flight,” I’ll think, “Of course he had a drink or seven.”
Maybe he’s nervous that he’s going to say hi and it’ll go swimmingly for about 15 seconds before it just completely crashes and there’s suddenly nothing for him to say and nothing for her to say. Maybe he’s worried that after the crash he’ll says something really, really stupid like “So, uh, well it seems like we have nothing to talk about” or “Wow this silence is awkward!”
I have a dad and a step dad, but I guess in a sense they’re both my dad, which is sort of awkward, in its way. My step dad came into my life when I was a child, and I was lucky I got a good one. Here are some things I’ve learned in the 20-odd years he’s been in my life.
Whenever I feel like crap (emotionally or physically), I make a point to never let my interior match my exterior. That means whenever I have a cough or just am battling a bad mood, I channel that sadness into pure disgusting vanity. Yes, I’m one of those gross people who feels good when they look good.
Shopping on the clearance rack is a lot like dating, in that one must sort through hundreds of bad items in order to find the small handful of good ones. There will be tons of things you don’t need as well as plenty of items that might have been great at one point, but now possess some glaring defect.
My mother was notorious for getting into fights with strangers. It was a constant source of embarrassment as a child. We’d be out somewhere, she’d spy some injustice or slight and find herself incapable of not speaking up, and suddenly security would be rushing over.