Tag Archives: Millennial

Accurate Wedding Hashtags You Won’t See on Insta This Summer

It’s Memorial Day, which means wedding season has officially begun! I adore going to the beautiful weddings of people I love (luckily for me, because I have four to attend before the year is out!), but I gotta be honest: I’m pretty iffy the #millennial trend of #weddinghashtags. Practically, I get that it’s helpful to aggregate social media photos of the wedding, but also…isn’t that what the professional photog’s getting paid $150 an hour to do? I do think hashtags would be more fun if, instead of some cute pun on the future spouses’ names, they revealed key truths about the couple in question. However, it’s probably not gonna happen, so I’ve compiled a list of accurate wedding hashtags you won’t see on insta this summer for your entertainment:

#audreyissettlingformark

#weshouldhavesignedaprenup

#thirdtimeisprobablynotthecharm

#grandmasgonnadiesoonsothisisforher

#anastasianeedsagreencard

#thisweddingcostmorethanyourhousehaha

#yougiveussixmonthstopsandweagree

#allthebridesmaidsactuallyhatejennifercuzshesabitch

#boywesuredolovemasonjarsdontwe

#werereligiousandreallywanttohavesex

#imnottakingbradsnameandheispissedeventhoughclaimstobefeminist

#werecheapsoitsacashbar

#ihavecoldfeetbutmydadpaidalotofmoneyforthis

#imsansastarksothisisnotgoingtoendwell

#wedidntknowitwasaslaveplantationwhenwebookedthevenuenowgetoffourbacks

#wehaventdiscussedwhetherwebothwantkidsyetsothatwillgowell

#youwouldneverhavesetfootinclevelandwereitnotforthiswedding

#momwantsgrandkids

#ourmarriagewillbenothinglikemyparentsright

#amyspregnantsohereweare

 

Cheers to happy couples everywhere! 😉

 

 

*Disclaimer to everyone whose weddings I am attending this summer: lol this is not you. Except maybe the mason jars one, because come on, who DOESN’T love mason jars? My wedding is gonna take place in a fucking mason jar, people!

 

10 Reasons I Sometimes Hate San Francisco

I grew up in a small town in New Hampshire, where most people looked alike and many thought alike and there wasn’t a Starbucks until the Target opened in the late aughts. My mind was blown when I moved to San Francisco, to NYC, and then back to SF over the past nine years. I currently live in the Haight in SF, which is a great area – Golden Gate park is a 2 minute walk away from my front door; I can order any kind of food, from Thai to Korean to surf ‘n turf, and have it delivered within an hour; I can write and work in one of what seems to be a million indie coffee shops; there are endless dogs to pet, interesting people to meet, and pretentious bookshops to browse around every corner.

And yet, sometimes I miss the hell out of small-town life and HATE this fucking place. Cities can be as isolating as they are exciting, and as unwelcoming as they are diverse. So while I’m sure I’ll feel better about San Francisco tomorrow, today I’m sharing the 10 reasons I sometimes hate this city:

10. Cost of Living: SF is always listed as one of the most expensive cities to live in not only in the US but in the world. The tech boom is a double-edged sword; it provides many well-paying jobs, but it creates so many true million- and billionaires that even people making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year have trouble keeping up with climbing rents and impossible price tags on houses. And if you’re a teacher or a fireman or a server or an otherwise normal person? HA! Forget about it! And rent control is great until your landlord sells your building to a tech CEO who turns it into his third home for his purebred dogs, and then you can’t afford anything else and have to go live in a van down by the river…or Walnut Creek.

9. Public Transportation: If you live in SF and you’re reading this, you’re laughing because HAHAHAH WHAT PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION? To be fair, MUNI was not built to handle the population boom we have going on, but that doesn’t make it any less frustrating to wait for a bus that never comes, or have to stand under the fragrant armpit of a man who’s never heard of deodorant on Caltrain for the 90 minute commute from San Jose.

8. Weed Smell: I have no issue with weed in general; I think it should be legal. But, my God, can people please just go to edibles and pills already? I do NOT want to smell cigarette smoke, and I sure as HELL do not want to smell your skunky weed every night at 10 pm, DOWNSTAIRS NEIGHBORS! Also, you have a TWO YEAR OLD KID MAYBE LAY OFF THE SECONDHAND WEED SMOKE UNTIL SHE’S AT LEAST SIX?

7. Walking on the street as a woman: I have nothing but sympathy for the many homeless men in San Francisco – until and unless they harass me when I’m walking alone, especially in the evenings. I’m not talking about panhandling (“Do you have a dollar? Have a good night!”); I’m talking about following me while ranting vaguely sexual shit, or pinching or poking me as I walk by, or even staring menacingly from a doorway and licking their lips (ew, and yes that has happened). Homeless men are not the only offenders when it comes to street harassment, but because of pure numbers they make up the majority of street harassers I deal with on a daily basis–and mental illness is not an excuse for a large number of them; they are sound enough of mind to know what they’re doing. Attention all men, homeless or otherwise: DO NOT HARASS PEOPLE ON THE STREET, PARTICULARLY WOMEN! It is actually frightening for us! For real!

6. Lines: Okay, this is not just a SF thing but a West Coast thing: WHY DO YOU PEOPLE FROM THE WEST COAST ENJOY LINES SO MUCH? Lines for brunch, lines for the food cart, lines for the McDonald’s, lines for standing in lines, and never any urgency on the part of the line-standers to move things along. LIKE, YOU JUST STOOD IN LINE FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES AND YOU STILL DON’T KNOW WHAT SANDWICH YOU WANT? How are you alive? This would not fly back East.

5. People Everywhere: As an anxious, introverted person, I get very overwhelmed by crowds, and sometimes it seems like every block in SF is Bourbon Street on Mardi Gras. So then I stay in my apartment more than is good for me and become lonely and isolated in a city of 800,000, all of whom seem to be standing on the sidewalk with me at any given time. It kind of blows.

4. Parking: Sometimes, you just want to park like a normal person in a parking lot, go into a store, buy your shit, load it up into your car, and then drive back to your place. In SF this is nearly impossible because a.) like me, many people don’t have garages or parking spaces and therefore don’t have cars, and b.) there is no parking anywhere. I KNOW CARS ARE BAD AND EMISSIONS ARE BAD BUT MY GOD CAN’T WE JUST DRIVE TO TARGET TODAY FOR TOILET PAPER INSTEAD OF TAKING TWO BUSES AND AN UBER?

3. People yelling “wooooo!!!”: In the dead of night, people stand in the streets, drunk or high or just really excited to be awake when everyone else is sleeping, and yell “WOOOOOOO!” at the top of their lungs for several minutes, waking you and everyone else in your building up. It sucks, and does not happen in my parents’ cul-de-sac in New Hampshire.

2. Thin layer of poop on everything: All cities have this issue, but San Francisco is one of the worst I’ve seen – there is basically a thin layer of dog and/or human feces on EVERYTHING, everywhere you go. Walking down the sidewalk is an endless game of hopscotch to avoid the poop, but even if you avoid the obvious piles of excrement you know that the entire surface of the road and sidewalk and probably the floor of your apartment is coated in invisible fecal matter. Really lovely.

1. All my friends are here: This is the best and worst part of San Francisco – ALL MY EFFING FRIENDS ARE HERE! Most days, this is a blessing, but whenever I hate SF and its people and weed and shitty buses and want to move to a cheap small town where I could own a Prius and drive to Target, I’m stopped by the fact that I LOVE YOU GUYS AND YOU ARE MOSTLY HERE! Talk about inconvenient. Any of you interested in establishing a small farming commune with me in New Hampshire? Eh?

Okay, I’m off to buy some organic kale at the local farmers’ market before taking in a yoga class because my SF life is SO HARD! 😉 #whining #millennialproblems

 

 

Please leave your thoughts in the comments and like and share if you enjoyed this 🙂

What Happens To My Tote Bags When I Die? (A-Z Challenge)

Dear Higher Power,

I know you haven’t heard from me in a while, but I try not to bother you unless it’s, ya know, serious. Thanks for being a sport, and…prepare yourself.

I’ve been grappling with something big recently; a spiritual struggle that transcends any I’ve known before. I’ve been asking myself a question, and no matter how I plumb the depths of my soul and mind, I cannot answer it. Do you know, Higher Power?

Do you know what happens to my tote bags when I die?

For years, I didn’t give the presence of tote bags in my life a thought. Before college, they weren’t even a factor. If you went to the grocery store, your purchased items went into a bag (“paper or plastic?”), and you took the bag and brought it to your car and then your house and then the paper bags became recycling bags and the plastic bags became liners for your tiny bathroom waste basket. It wasn’t uncommon to have a drawer chock full of plastic Stop-N-Shop bags, just waiting to be filled with tissues and tampon wrappers, or to be vomited into after a really bad night at the dive bar.

And then, overnight, or so it seemed, things changed. “Would you like to purchase an eco-friendly tote bag for $1.95?” the cashier asked one day, her cheerful gaze barely masking contempt at my obvious hesitation. Why would I buy a canvas tote bag when the plastic one provided by the store was free, I wondered? But then I looked into her eyes, and knew that $1.95 plus tax was a small price to pay to avoid the shame of being publicly labeled as against the environment by Cheryl at the organic Co-op in the Financial District in NYC. “Yes, please!” I said, handing over my debit card and grasping the hefty canvas tote–to the cashier’s obvious approval and relief.

Suddenly, the cheerful offer to purchase a tote bag with every grocery trip became more sinister: “Do you need a bag today, or did you bring your own?” I was horrified to discover that it was now expected that I bring my own tote bags to the grocery store, so as to save the environment. If I didn’t, I was irresponsible, callous, even discourteous. Unplanned stops at the grocery store caused extreme shame as I babbled my excuses to the unimpressed baggers: “Oh, I was just out for a run, and then I realized I needed some milk. Usually I bring my own bags! I have tons of them at home, I promise, it’s just this once!”

It was never just this once, and the baggers knew it–and they showed their disappointment in their scowls.

But the truth was, I did have tons of tote bags at home! The drawer that once contained crumpled masses of plastic was now brimming with yards of canvas covered with the logos of every grocery store in NYC. And yet, I could never remember to bring an empty tote with me at all times in case I needed to make an unscheduled purchase–earning me the wrath not only of grocery employees but of my fellow customers at well. “Someone forgot their bags, hmm?” the lady in the fur coat would ask, apparently unaware of the existence of the word “irony.”

Then, after a move back to San Francisco, my tote bag shame became codified into law: California taxes 10 cents per a paper bag at the grocery store, which you can of course avoid if you bring your own. My tote bag collection, which had diminished during the packing process, was sorely lacking, so I slowly built it back up again, with totes from every establishment in the city gracing the floor of my coat closet: Whole Foods. Trader Joe’s. Burger Urge. That Store With The Fifty Dollar White T-Shirts. Even Walgreens, for Christ’s sake.

Even Walgreens. 

And here is where my spiritual crisis began to arise. What the FUCK, I asked myself as I selected two of my favorite tote bags, so chosen for their wide, sturdy handles, for a trip to the local market, is going to happen to all these damned tote bags when I die?

The purpose of these multi-purpose bags is to save the environment, but when I die, whether it’s six years from now or sixty, won’t my friends/family/children/pets/landlords just want to throw these things the fuck out? Should I provide for their distribution in my will? Will a crafty friend have them made into a really uncomfortable and ugly commemorative quilt? Will my great-great-grandchildren be showing my tote bags to their kids in a far distant future where they all live on the starship Enterprise? Behold, these are the tote bags of your ancestor, who lived before the advent of warp speed and universal health care; treasure them always! If they are thrown out, do they compost? Or will they just add to a giant landfill somewhere? And if they are thrown out, then what was the point of anything?

What was the point of anything?

WHAT WAS THE POINT OF ANYTHING?

Is it all a lie, Higher Power? Am I really helping the environment? Or is it all a conspiracy funded by Big Tote, and are all my canvas bags destined to choke poor, innocent dolphins in the ocean? What is the answer, HP? WHAT HAPPENS TO MY TOTE BAGS WHEN I DIE?

As always, thanks for your consideration, Higher Power. I’d like to hear back on this before Tuesday, when I’m planning on going to the grocery store. Whole Foods is offering a 2-for-1 deal on Spring-themed canvas tote bags with every purchase, and I’d like to know ahead of time whether I’ll be wasting my money or damning my soul and the fate of the human race for all eternity.

Peace, love, and tote bags,

Jackie

 

 

Please leave your thoughts in the comments, like and share if you enjoyed, and if you need a tote bag, just come by my place and I can probably hook you up.

 

 

 

 

The millennial’s guide for how to vote for the “right” candidate in the primaries

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Primary season is upon us! If you’re lucky and not being voter suppressed and are able to get away from work/childcare/other life duties and actually vote in your state’s upcoming primary or caucus, you have an important decision to make: who will you support for your party’s nomination for President? I know it can be daunting, especially for millennials who don’t have decades of experience in becoming apathetic and exhausted by our disastrous political system voting. Fear not, fellow twenty-and thirty-somethings! I have put together the following guide to help you exercise your most cherished democratic right and duty.

Step 1: Ensure you can properly name and stereotype each candidate. For Democrats, this is easy! You only have Crazy Socialist Old Jewish Dude and Feminazi Wall Street Lover Vagina-haver to choose from (Mr. Pleasant-faced Generic White Guy already peaced out; RIP Pleasant-faced Generic White Guy!). For Republicans, you’ve got Crazy Billionaire Who Wants to Bang His Daughter, the Guy Who Doesn’t Know How Hoodies Work, the Sleepy Surgeon, the…oh, who am I kidding. If you’re a millennial you’re probably not voting Republican. If you are, I wish you well–may the powers that be help you in choosing a candidate from among these clowns!

Step 2: Do your research. Remember, there’s a lot of misinformation out there, so you have to dig deep to make sure you’re getting the real scoop on what issues each candidate will prioritize once in office. Examine their voting records in Congress, read their books and writings (going back to college and graduate school, if possible), watch their public addresses and speeches on YouTube, read the endorsements of various newspapers and organizations…

Step 3: …Shit. That’s A LOT more work than you thought. Both of these assholes have, like, decades of service under their belts, and they’ve both done good and bad things during that time! I mean, obviously income inequality is a big issue, but so is gun control…I guess they both support reproductive rights, but Hillary got Planned Parenthood’s endorsement, but Killer Mike likes Bernie, and…wow, this was a lot easier four years ago when there just wasn’t a democratic primary and you hated Romney a lot.

Step 4: Don’t panic and read Facebook. Luckily for you, most of your Facebook friends are politically-minded! They’re sharing really interesting pieces from writers big and small on your feed, from all perspectives: the LGBTQ community, feminists, activists of color, political giants, foreign policy specialists, small business owners, you name it. Dive in, and prepare yourself to be informed up the WAZOO! Your choice will be easy as pie once you take in this information.

Step 5: Wow there is some SERIOUS shit going down here on Facebook. Huh. You’ve only clicked on one article your friend from college posted and people are having some REAL STRONG REACTIONS in the comments. Someone just called someone else a bitch, and that girl just said that other guy is a “berniebro,” and now everyone is talking about false narratives and apparently if you vote for Hillary it’s only because you have a vagina, but if you vote for Bernie you are betraying your vagina, and maybe our political system is now dependent on the votes of our genitalia? How would voting genitalia even work? It seems like voting machines would have to be majorly redesigned…

Step 6: Something something Supreme Court nomination. Holy shit, Scalia died! Wait, Mitch McConnell says Obama can’t nominate a successor? What is this shit? Also people are saying OBAMA should be the next justice, but like he is already President…oh, after he’s done being Prez, you mean, and either Hillary or Bernie could nominate him…but doesn’t Obama deserve a vacation from this crazy country after the past 8 years? Oh God, Scalia is dead, after all! Am I being disrespectful of the dead? This think piece says I am, but this other one says I’m not, and this one says the election is now turned on its head, and this one says the Zika virus is turning the world into Children of Men, and THIS ONE says that Bernie is actually an alien, and THIS ONE says Hillary is an Ewok, and THIS ONE says #OscarsSoWhite, and THIS ONE says…

Step 7: Descend into madness. HOW DID BOTH OF THESE CANDIDATES BECOME EVIL ALL OF A SUDDEN? WHAT THE FUCK? WAIT WAIT WAIT A COUPLE YEARS BACK EVERYONE WAS SHARING BADASS MEMES OF HILLARY ON A PLANE TEXTING BUT NOW SHE HATES BLACK PEOPLE AND LOVES BANKS? AND BERNIE IS LOVABLY GRUFF AND HATES CAPITALISM BUT DIDN’T LISTEN TO VERMONT’S BLACK LEADERS AND ALSO MAYBE LIKES GUNS? HILLARY LOVES HEALTHCARE BUT MAYBE HATES BEYONCE? WAIT, DOES BERNIE HATE BEYONCE, TOO? CAN WHITE PEOPLE LIKE BEYONCE? DO I EVEN LIKE BEYONCE? SHOULD I JUST VOTE FOR BEYONCE? AM I ALLOWED TO LIKE “FORMATION?” WHAT ABOUT KANYE, IS HE CRAZY OR WHAT?

Step 8: Cry. sobsobsobsobsobsobsobsob can’t we just have Obama for a third term?

Step 9: Have a stiff drink. God damn it, get yourself together and make a God-damned decision! YOU ARE AN ADULT YOU CAN MAKE THIS ONE CHOICE.  

Step 10: Call your most bigoted, sexist, “The Civil War was really the War of Northern Agression” relation and ask them which candidate they hate the most. Vote for that one. 

BOOM! DEMOCRACY, I OWN YOU! YOU ARE MY BITCH! HUZZAH!

You’re welcome, millennials!

 

 

 

The Single Millennial’s 15-Step Guide to Surviving the Holidays

THAT’S RIGHT, KIDDOS! It’s the most wonderful time of the year – if you’re rich, have excellent will power when it comes to eating and drinking, and are happily coupled.  Otherwise, as I well know, it can be a tough time, so to help you deal I present to you the Single Millennial’s 15-Step Guide to Surviving the Holidays! READ WITH CARE.

Step 1: Put up all your holiday decorations, including your organically farmed hypoallergenic spruce fir, energy efficient LED lights, and flameless menorah, all while enjoying the holiday stylings of Michael Bublé on Google Play! Check your calendar for the month to make sure you have all of your holiday parties and events scheduled. Make a detailed diet plan for those days when you’re not attending a holiday event to make sure you stay healthy and energized – and avoid putting on those extra holiday pounds! Pledge only to have 1-2 drinks per holiday event so as to remain hangover-free throughout the season!

Step 2: Mug of soy cocoa in hand, sit down to make your holiday gift list, including all your dear friends, coworkers, and family members. Smile as you plan fun surprises for the people you love the most in your life and imagine their faces lighting up with joy when they open your beautifully wrapped, thoughtful presents! And wow, that Michael Bublé can SING, am I right?!

Step 3: Though you have already planned out all your holiday events and shopping, you receive a last-minute invite to drinks with some friends the night before the company Christmas party. You decide to go, but you’ll just have one glass of wine – that won’t mess up your schedule!

Step 4: Wake up the next morning with a massive hangover. You’re unsure how happy hour at the wine bar turned into karaoke at 3 am, but you know you have to rally for the company party that evening so you try to hold back the vomit. You promise yourself that you will not drink at the company party – last night was a fluke, and it won’t happen again.

Step 5: Ok, so you got completely wasted at the company holiday party and dirty danced with your boss while your coworkers took videos and posted them to Instagram – so what? Everyone else was smashed, to0! Besides, the rest of your holiday events this season are with family and close friends, so you won’t be drinking a lot. What’s one night of letting loose? Also, thank the lord that they didn’t play any Michael Bublé.

Step 6: Still hungover from the company party the night before and in your pajamas, you go on Facebook at 2 pm and see a twelve-paragraph rant from your Great Uncle Ronnie about how Fox News says there’s a war on Christmas going on, led by Muslim-In-Chief NOBAMA, Planned Parenthood, and Feminazis.  Feel your stomach heave with too many mocha martinis as you thank your lucky stars you haven’t seen Great Uncle Ronnie in seven years and will likely never have to talk to him in person again.

Step 7: Around 4 pm, you receive a call from your mother informing you that Great Uncle Ronnie will be attending Christmas dinner this year and you will need to purchase a present for him. Take a long shower and cry from the DTs and then go to the bodega. Buy and immediately consume a Family Size bag of Ruffles Cheddar and Sour Cream chips. Go to bed at 7 pm full of self-loathing.

Step 8: You wake up early feeling much better the next day, so you decide to go online to attack your Christmas shopping. Let’s see…maybe a sweater for Lucy, and Eric might like that new book by Ta-Nehisi Coates…

Step 9: …Jesus Christ, when did sweaters and books get so damned expensive? You haven’t seen Eric since Halloween, so he probably won’t get you anything, either, and he can just buy that book on Kindle Unlimited if he wants it, anyways. And Lucy, well, that girl comes from money and her boyfriend’s always buying her expensive shit, so there’s nothing you could get her that she doesn’t already have. You’ll just get cards for everyone at Walgreens, that will be fine, right? You don’t need to spend money to show your love for your friends!

Step 10: Oh, shit, you have to buy something for Uncle Ronnie. According to his Facebook page, all he really wants for Christmas is an AR-15. You briefly consider buying him a copy of Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay but decide you do, in fact, want to survive until 2016. You order him the latest Michael Bublé Christmas CD instead. Take that, asshole.

Step 11: Attend your annual friend group holiday gathering. Every other fucking person there has brought gifts for you, and all you have for them are these damned Walgreens cards. Also ERIC GOT YOU A SEVENTY-FIVE DOLLAR GIFT CERTIFICATE TO TARGET ARE YOU KIDDING ME? You slink to the corner, ashamed, and drink the equivalent of two bottles of wine by yourself as you realize that not only is everyone else more generous than you are, they are all also in long term relationships and you are the only single person at the party. Are you the only single person BECAUSE you’re not generous? Is that why? Also, why is the host playing Michael Bublé music? Why are you alone? WHYYYYY AM I-

Step 12: Wake up feeling awful. Realize that after you blacked out the night before, Eric and Lucy had to pour you into an Uber during surge pricing and drag you up three flights of stairs to your apartment to put you to bed. Oops. If nothing else, you now owe them each a major apology gift. Get on the scale and decide that since you’re already fucked, weight-wise, you might as well go all-in. You order an entire large pizza and eat it alone while watching While You Were Sleeping on TV with commercials, even though you have the DVD on your shelf (you’re just too lazy get it and put it in). Fall asleep at 2 am with your head on the pizza box after watching your thirtieth commercial for the upcoming Michael Bublé Christmas special.

Step 13: Travel home for the holidays. Somehow, end up in the middle seat  on your six hour flight. Because of “high winds” your plane needs to land in Vegas for 30 minutes to refuel. Thirty minutes becomes ninety and you order three of those little bottles of wine to keep yourself sane as the two giant men on either side of you jab their elbows into your ribs and fart copiously.

Step 14: Arrive home and watch your parents bite their tongues to avoid commenting on your disheveled and bloated appearance. Go to your childhood bedroom and pass out for ten hours because, damn it, you’ve earned it, and you need to steel yourself for Christmas dinner with Uncle Ronnie, who’s told your mother via text several times that he’s really concerned that you haven’t found a man to take care of you yet and that it’s all Feminism’s fault.

Step 15: On Christmas morning, your mother lets you know that Uncle Ronnie is at home with gout and will not be attending Christmas dinner after all! Beam as you sit down with your family for the meal, and tear up as you realize that, hey, maybe there is a God, after all! Huzzah! Joy to the World, bitches!

Finally, after dinner, your mom tells you she’d like the whole family to join her in the family room to watch the Michael Bublé special, which she recorded on DVR.

WHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYASYD;LAJS;GAKS?

In the name of Bublé, I wish you a happy holiday season.