Flavor of the Week: How Girls Look Good in Pictures
Flavor of the Week: Pregaming
On Insane Girls
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Shit You Should Read: Jewish Wizards in Harry Potter

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Were you ever suspicious of Dumbledore’s resemblance to Santa Claus? Why doesn’t any Harry Potter character look like Hanukkah Harry??? Or at least Moses?

When I was little, I thought I was really cool because I had the same initials as Harry Potter. And I may or may not have drawn a lightning bolt in the middle of my elementary school era signature.

Happy Hanukkah and happy Hannahkkah!

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On Putting Your Right Man First

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Everyone shacks up in the winter. Those single ladies? That girl whose milkshake brought all the boys to the yard? They’ve put flash-tats on their ring fingers.

Now, you’re the only one who finds the chemical radiation from her laptop warmer than a big spoon with five o’clock shadow. Your girlfriends who used to be your girlfriends are now somebody else’s. Your Snapchat-ready sister wives relationship could only last so long. Winter is coming, so she decided that it was time she did, too.

Suddenly, you’re left in the dark. And don’t forget that we have three less hours of sunlight than we’d like to. The dark lasts a long time.

The problem with winter-ships isn’t that our friends get a quarterly boyfriend. It isn’t that this quarterly boyfriend becomes the priority. It’s the how and why girls think it’s okay to do it like that.

Putting your boyfriend first is as passive aggressive as “k.”: You schedule your plans with him first and then fit your friends in wherever it’s most convenient afterwards. You don’t commit to anything until you weigh your social options in case his is better. If nothing is going on, you’d rather do nothing with him than with your friends. The second your friends’ plans fall through, you’ve already sent an emoji his way. Do you need to print something? Does he have a printer? Then you’ll ask to use his, right?

I know I’ve hit the nail on the head because I’m retracing my own methodological thoughts from years passed. In other words, I’m not denying it, so you can’t either. I’ve told you before, girls are insane. Our brains work in mysterious ways. We aren’t that evil, though, because none of this is a conscious stream of thought. It isn’t that we don’t love our friends, it isn’t that we’d rather SoulCycle with him, it isn’t that he’s more fun to talk about pooping with. It’s just that it “happens.” It’s convenient for it to, and it’s easy.

We aren’t trying to be shitty and manipulative. But we still are!

Girls put their boyfriends first because they can always grab lunch with a girlfriend. Grabbing lunch is a metaphor for like, everything: all cuisines, juice bars included, all time spent together, every bagel, every coffee run, every toenail painted, every hair given the deuces at your shared bikini-waxings. While still retracing my old trains of thought, I can tell you I’ve also hit this nail right back on the head — they tell me I’m great with a hammer these days.

No matter how much your relationship feels like a room without a roof, there is a laden, looming ephemerality. If you’ve always been wondering why Allie and Noah lay in the middle of the street for ten minutes, it’s precisely because of this. You do everything because you never know how much time you have. This is why he comes first. Because he’s not permanent, but ~sisterhood~ is.

This is just as unconscious as our friend manipulation. We don’t all think we’re going to break up with our boyfriends. A lot of girls don’t, actually, and that’s the magic of a relationship: if it’s so good, you don’t even really imagine the end because you don’t see why there would be one. However, clinginess comes from being afraid that if you let go of whatever you’re holding on to, it’s gonna fly away and give you the deuces just like that waxed bikini line. Bye, Felicia. (That’s what the kids are saying these days, right?)

What makes us think that our friends are going to be permanent no matter how much we forget about them between daylight savings times? Is it that we’re so used to being heartbroken, post-breakup, with a pint of Chocolate Fudge Brownie in one hand and your BFF’s hand in the other?

I don’t have a seasonal allergy to oxytocin. I am oxytocin. But have we been shitty friends to each other for so long that we’re accustomed to being the lone front wheel on the tricyle? Is that why we’re not only willing to hold the hand covered in melted ice cream and salty tears, but we showed up with the ice cream in ten minutes or less?

Or maybe it’s just that we’re so used to boys being shitty to us that they’re inherently temporary:

-She’s dating Liam now. I think it’s going to be more like her vegan phase than her gluten-free one. 

-Oh, cool, so like two months and then epic mental degradation and anemia? 


This could be a “Cut her some slack, she’s shacking up for winter” sitch, or it could be a “Girl World is an animal kingdom” sitch.

All I know is that I’m going into hibernation.

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Flavor of the Week: Surviving Finals

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Everyone loves to complain. If it’s another excuse to talk about yourself, it doesn’t matter if your life absolutely sucks. It’s still talking about yourself, and it’s the thought that counts. Complaining makes the struggle worth the pain.

Naturally, then, we would all love finals season.

HA. Ha ha ha.

Wait, did you read that as “ho ho ho?” Oh goodness, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to misconstrue holiday joy where there is only the sunken, sullen faces of us poor children who have no time to eat anything other than ice cream and cupcakes for the next two weeks. That’s right, you heard me. We simply have no time to eat anything else so don’t ask about the hardened frosting on the corner of my lip. (Perhaps we also have time for Chinese food and brunch. These are the only exceptions.)

Have you ever felt guilty about wearing leggings every day of the week? And if leggings are not considered pants, then have you ever felt guilty about not wearing pants every day of the week? Asking for a friend.

Let’s role play every conversation going on around campus at this very moment.

Person 1: Hey! How are you?

Person 2: Hanging in there. Stressed. How are you?

Person 1: Samesies. When are you done?

Person 2: This date that has no real relevance to you and that you will never remember. How about you?

Person 1: Ugh, you’re lucky. You’re done early. I’m going home on this date that has no relevance to your life, that you won’t remember, and that you definitely don’t care about.

Person 2: I’m gonna run because I’ve gotta get back to work, but good luck with everything!!

Person 1: Yeah… you too!

You’re either yet to leave your room (this week) or you don’t remember the last time you were in it. You can’t tell if you’re out of breath because you haven’t worked out since before Thanksgiving or if you’re breaking out into a panic attack faster than a street artist breaks out into interpretive dance. Is that chocolate making me nauseas or is it totally what I need? Probably both.

Drinking your coffee black will help you feel more intense. It will also trigger your stomach ulcers. Eat lots of avocado because apparently, the world supply on them is low. Also eat it because it’s healthy. We’re running out of chocolate, too, so I guess eat them together. Eat them together at brunch, which is all you have time for. Order the Nutella waffles and the fancy Eggs Benedict, which is apparently a proper noun. And don’t forget to capitalize correctly in that English essay!

Be your own Tiger Mom. Everyone knows all the cool kids deleted their Netflix accounts, or disabled them, or whatever. The new method of procrastination is to spend twenty minutes adjusting your beanie in the bathroom mirror and taking a Snapchat of it before you screw it up all over again. The library is #cold.

All nighters are never worth it, but it might be worth it to say you did one. You are sick, tired, anxious, and all of the above. But don’t always circle “e” just because it’s there — your professor is probably trying to trick you.

I don’t know which unanswered question I should be more concerned about: that study guide essay topic, or the curiously sour taste in my mouth. Am I dehydrated? Maybe I’m hungry. More cake, then!

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