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On The Social Media Prenup
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On Moving
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Flavor of the Week: The Birthday Collage
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On Insane Girls

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There is no such thing as a girl who is not insane. Rather, there are girls who are good at hiding insanity. You have those girls, and then girls who are outwardly insane, and that’s about it.

If you don’t think your girlfriend is insane, she is. If you love your best friend because she’s not insane like everyone else, then you really don’t know your best friend that well at all. Of course, the ones who are best at hiding their insanity are the most insane. You won’t know this, though, until their surface cracks and the insanity begins to absolutely gush out. This is why these girls are the best.

I am insane, which you can probably tell, but I’m not very insane. I’m just as insane as the next girl, but I’m not one who’s going to crack and gush like the bloody noses I had when I was younger. Unlike a bloody nose, you cannot cauterize an insane girl back into fruition. You can maybe give her some chocolate or some frozen yogurt, but depending on her type of insanity and the roots of it, that may make the issue a hell of a lot worse. So maybe don’t offer her chocolate (not even dark) because in cases like these, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

Half of an insane girl likes being insane, and the other half doesn’t. Actually, I changed my mind. Half of an insane girl likes telling everyone how insane she is, while the other half must protect her identity at all times. The showy side is what girls give one another. The side where everything’s sunshine and roses is saved for the boys, who we must constantly prove to at all times that we aren’t insane.

Last year, I was sitting on the floor with four of my closest friends, drunk eating peanut butter, pretzels, dark chocolate covered pretzels, popcorn, and other things that I can’t really remember, around 11:45pm. (We didn’t make it out for that long, if you couldn’t tell.) Suddenly, everyone started complaining about all of their serious problems — you know, the problems that make us insane — until no one could barely get a word in edgewise because you were trying to tell your story that you never really told but fine, what the heck, you’ll tell it.

It got quiet really quickly, if you don’t count the loud chewing, and one of us looked up and said smiling, “Guys, isn’t it funny how fucked up we all are?” She was talking about the insanity, not about the BAC level. And then there was another, “We are all kind of really fucked up.” Before I knew it we were all looking around laughing hysterically at each other and at ourselves. I think we were all thinking, Wow, how great it is to finally have friends that are real and that understand me and aren’t shiny like plastic. I know I was. But at the very same time, I had this very strange out of body experience where I looked down at me, sitting there cross-legged in black leather pants, and said to myself, This is very weird and very screwed up. And I was sad, in that moment, for myself and for my friends.

Mind you, we aren’t drug addicts and none of us have tattoos and we all come from very loving families and even study at a very respectable university. I had a nose stud for a few months my senior year of high school, but no one really remembers that, anyway. We are great girls. We aren’t perfect, but we’re generally nice girls who are very fun and would be great to take home to Mom and Dad. We’re those girls, or at least that’s how you see us, but we are all most definitely also insane. That doesn’t make us any different from any other girls, though, and I can really promise you that.

Most people probably assume that my insanity is just part of my personality and isn’t really a ‘girl thing.’ I can only think of one person who thinks I’m truly insane — like, off the wall cooky crazy insane, like psycho girl insane — and that’s only because I always go to him when I’m at my most insane. He doesn’t realize that though, and he probably just thinks I’m like that all the time and not just the twice a year when we speak, when I am carrying all of my insanity in my arms very visibly.

But hey, what can a girl do?

Flavor of the Week: The Ice Bucket Challenge

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On Sunday, I stated the following: “I’ve come to a point in my life where neither my overbearing Jewish mother nor I can control how included I am,” in reference to the assumption that I would be perpetually excluded from the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge for all of eternity.

Well, I was completely wrong, as it appears that I am one of the lucky few to have been nominated for the Ice Bucket Challenge by none other than Mommy Dearest. This is embarrassing (no offense Mom) because it kind of makes me look like I don’t have other friends that would be willing to nominate me on their own. But c’est la vie, or whatever.

In that very same post, I wrote about how I imagined life under nomination of the Ice Bucket Challenge. I explained how I was at first skeptical to it, but found myself defeated by cold hard facts (read: all they see is signs, all they see is dolla signs). So, I decided my course of action as a nominee: I would accept the challenge and donate the money as to ensure I was both making a difference and succumbing to a Facebook trend.

The day after my post was written, my mom is nominated to and accepts the Ice Bucket Challenge. And as chains of events tend to unravel, she nominates me, which is how I was obviously nominated. So, I do as I previously promised: I got ice water dumped on my head and donated some ca$h to alsa.org (which you should, too). And afterwards, to be frank with y’all, I felt kind of shitty.

First of all, my video was not well-loved. I didn’t really want to do it when my mom nominated me, and I bet everyone on Facebook thinks I asked my mom to nominate me, which I did not. Because I, like most other people, have no-likes-phobia. I knew the trend was already on the decline, I knew my friends are the type of people who really are not into this sort of thing, and I knew that combination results in no likes. Hence, the brought on no-likes-phobia. Anyway, my mom pushed me to do it (because she’s a pusher, Cady) and so I did it. Also, my little brother wanted to do it together, and he’s very cute and sometimes is my favorite brother.

Second of all, I felt like my own victim. I had just penned a short essay making fun of the way everyone seems to take on the Challenge, and after watching my video, I realized I subconsciously did all of that stupid shit!!!!! I sounded really dumb, I was on the beach – which I really couldn’t help, because I’m here for eight days – my cousin insisted on pouring the water on me when I probably could have done it myself, the ice and water were in separate buckets, and I kind of counted on my fingers. I did not scream, because it wasn’t that cold, and I did realize through this experience that everyone else is kind of a chicken. I mean, you know the ice is coming.

Post-Challenge, I was in a very bad mood for several hours. I was completely exposed to my 1,000+ Facebook friends in a way I didn’t like. I wanted to take it down, I wished I had only donated, and my mom cooed, “Don’t worry, I didn’t receive most of my likes until nighttime. Most people don’t check Facebook during the day,” which is, in other words, the joke of the century.

One interesting thing did come out of this whole catastrophe, and it’s the elephant in the room that everyone thinks about but no one talks about. Obviously, when a girl posts a photo or video of herself half-naked, aka in a bikini, she is ‘asking’ for some sort of body feedback. In the event of the Ice Bucket Challenge, most ladies just don’t want to get their clothes wet, so they wear a bikini. When I posted my video, I did not feel extremely fat, and I did not feel extremely thin. I’ve been thinna, I’ve been fatta, whateva. Though my video was not embraced by the Facebook community, however, I did receive a good handful of texts from friends telling me how good I looked. Let me make it clear: I’m a bottom-heavy girl, and I don’t rock it quite as well as Kim K. I’m not obese, but I got legs and a tush, and I know how to use them.

These unnecessary comments could have been about anyone and I would have found it just as lovely and refreshing to hear people say that someone who didn’t have Gumbo legs looks good. I am the antithesis of the thigh gap, which I have been self-conscious of since kindergarten, but in the wake of feeling like a complete tool, I also felt kind of beautiful, which was great.

I’m sorry about my divergence from the topic of ALS, but when granted the opportunity, I have to take it by the reigns and soak it in and just be like, FUCK THE THIGH GAP!!!!!

On Ice, Ice Baby

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It appears that Miranda's life was a 'bucket challenge' of sorts.

It appears that Miranda’s life was a ‘bucket challenge’ of sorts.

I like to think that I wasn’t very excluded as a child. I was at all the birthday parties, I adapted to all of the trends (albeit doing so at a three year delay), and I wasn’t picked last for gym class. In hindsight, I realize that this was probably because I refused to be left out. I was friendly enough to make the habachi birthday dinner list, my family was comfortable enough to afford a terrycloth Juicy Couture tracksuit top — note, not the velour — and I allowed my freak flag to fly during gym class ‘steal the bacon,’ but at half mass.

I’ve come to a point in my life where neither my overbearing Jewish mother nor I can control how included I am. This especially comes into play when considering one, oh, “Ice Bucket Challenge.” I have not been nominated, and I am starting to come to terms with the fact that I never will be.

In a dream world, I am nominated for the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge, and my peers urge me to contribute my own sliver of life on the rocks (ha. ha. ha.) to the montage the Facebook has become. In fact, that’s a perfect way to put it: Facebook has basically evolved into a Bar Mitzvah montage for a bucket of ice, and everyone at the party is really just there in hopes they see themselves up on those flat screen TVs. Am I right?

So, I am *hypothetically* nominated for the challenge. And what do I do? Do I donate? Do I make a video? Do I think that this movement is another narcissistic way we like to receive attention, or is it something that actually helps a terrible disease that affects millions?

At first, I was skeptical to you, Ice Bucket Challenge. I did not think you would raise money, I did not think those who thrusted buckets upon themselves knew or cared about ALS. I still, to this day, do not believe many young women my age even know who Lou Gehrig is or what channel to put on if they want to watch a baseball game. But then I did my research, and I discovered that donations had increased dramatically. So if it takes a bunch of skinny girls in bikinis pouring ice water on their heads to make other people bring out the big guns, fine. I got you. I feel that.

I still don’t know if that means I would do it. I would want to donate if I was nominated. Yes, awareness is important. I spent all of seventh grade doing presentations on the education of Kenyan girls, carrying my tri-fold poster board to every middle school in the county. I appreciate knowledge. But you simply cannot deny the fact that a donation is more effective than a cold Hannah. It is also better for my loved ones, whom I would surely wreak hell upon later once I am simultaneously PMSing and freezing my ass off (so in that sense, none of the lady parts are happy).

BUT… HOW CAN I NOT DO THE VIDEO????!!!!! How can I not give myself that status when granted the opportunity? How can I pass up my one chance to do the following, in this exact order:

1. Stand there, bikini clad, with separate buckets for ice and water.

2. Say in the JAPpiest voice possible, “I’d like to thank blahblahblah for the nomination for the ALS Ice Bucket Challenge. I now would like to nominate…” (Does this part remind anyone else of color war team announcements at camp? Or of anything else you read scripted at camp in front of a big group of people? LMK.)

3. Count my four nominations using my fingers, in case any deaf people view my video and are wondering how many people I’m nominating.

4. Mix the ice and the water. I really, honestly, do not understand this step at all, unless one is trying to demonstrate a very large amount of ice, which one is probably not.

5. Step back as another random person saunters into the video frame neglect of introduction, picks up the bucket of mixed ice water, and dumps it on you.

6. Scream, throw your hands in the air like you just don’t care, and run off screen as fast as you can OMG QUICK before things get awk!!!!!!!!!!

If I do the challenge and donate the money, then I look like an attention whore. Which is why, I’m assuming, most people just do the challenge. If we could all do both we probably would, but who wants to look like they willingly signed themselves up for the most public wet t-shirt contest of all time? Nada.

Today at lunch, my mom told me that she thought companies should hire people just to think of creative marketing ploys like this one. And I was all, Mom, are you kidding? What do you think every millennial with the b.s. title ‘Creative Director of Social Media Marketing and Consumer Outreach Yadda Yadda Yadda’ does?

BTW, is anyone else concerned about the inevitable nipplitis?