DG Fall Essentials

Girl with a scarf holding a cup of coffee.

Things have been getting a little heavy around here at Damn, Girl. From declaring war on happiness to shitting on Lifetime movies, it may be time to take a walk on the lighter side.

This week I couldn’t decide between writing about “Why Your Grandma is Kind Of a Slut” or “The Surprising Health Benefits of Puppy Blood,” so I opted for a third option. A classic: Damn, Girl Fall Essentials.

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Today, Be Anything but Happy

A pineapple on the beach

Sometimes I read stuff like this article called “Why Pursuing Happiness is the Greatest Goal” and wonder why traditional advice doesn’t seem to apply to me.

I just absently blink at 90 percent of the “awesome truths” that “change people’s lives.” When I try to apply them to my own life, I end up totally dissatisfied, living in a yurt with a mouthful of chia seeds dribbling down my face, yelling positive affirmations into the mirror.

I’m pretty sure if there is anything that makes humans miserable, it’s chasing happiness.

Knowing that it’s The Goal of almost everyone I know is so tragic I can’t. Hardly. Even.

Before you get me wrong, I don’t have a problem with happiness…It’s just not a goal. And exalting one emotion doesn’t sit well with me

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Fuck Lifetime Movies

Arm reaching out of the covers

You know the ones. They all star this legless bald chick with an IQ of 70 and anorexia whose stepdad beats her but she ends up going to Harvard and winning Miss USA and running a marathon and then goes on to inspire other bald legless anorexics to achieve their dreams.

Does the Lifetime movie channel play in other countries besides America? Cause it’s so fucking “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps” American I could puke…and then make a hot chocolate and grab a box of kleenex and cry, “She’s. So-ooo. Ah…ma..ma..zing!” and then watch it again. Damn you, Lifetime movies!

I swear to God, this is the reason why we are all so crazy: the expectations. They are terrible. TERRIBLE!

This is coming from someone who is practically a walking talking lifetime movie.

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Minimalism? Oh Fuck It, Let’s Buy Stuff.

Empty room

I grew up poor. Like…in conditions that you don’t even associate with being possible in a first world country.

Abandoned building in Detroit poor. “Running water? What the hell is it running from?” poor. Three siblings glued together on a dirty mattress in front of an open oven in the kitchen in December CAUSE WE GONNA DIE! poor.

It has given me an appreciation of things. Physical things. Amazing, tangible things.

I swear to God, for the first five years I had a dryer, I legit used to take out all the clean towels and just lay in the pile, purring. “Where’s DGGYST?” “She fell asleep in the towels again.”

Cats cuddling in a towel

I’m firmly out of my towel fixation. (That’s a dirty lie. May I never become so jaded as to not appreciate warm clean towels.) My love of creature comforts continues, but I am trying put that aside. After all, happiness is an inside job. I’m going to try forest bathing, a vow of silence, a retreat of the spiri…oh fuck it let’s buy stuff!

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The Art of Parting

Woman putting out a fire with an extinguisher

This is going to come as a huge shock to you: I’m a fairly saucy woman. Spicy. A firecracker. A real pistol. An over-eater…wait, no, that doesn’t belong there.

I enjoy myself very much. I kick ass, take names, make sure those names are kicking ass, and make sure those asses are kicking names. What can I say, I’m thorough.

Being this way has its benefits. I set my mind to something and just…go. If there is something I want on the other side of a mountain, give me a shallow spoon and watch me tunnel, baby.

There is, however, a dark side to combining ambition, intense love, and brutal honesty.

The arson in me recognizes the arson in you

This post is for my warrior women. My Xenas. My tough mothers. Damn, you are sexy AF. I love powerful women. You bitches aren’t to be trifled with, and I couldn’t be a bigger fan. But chances are you aren’t being nearly as effective an ass-kicker as you could be because of one thing that often befalls the feisty:

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So, You Want a Blogging Tip…

Damn, Girl has been growing a bit fast. OK, scary fast.

My little three-month-old blog is reaching toward fifteen hundred followers and tens of thousands of views. Companies are starting to contact me about promoting their shit. Every blogger’s dream, right?

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But I am not writing this to brag. I am writing this because I’ve been getting dozens of emails asking for blogging tips… And apparently “day drinking” isn’t cutting it

So let me try and muster something better: Let’s start by knocking off that “I feel bad for promoting myself” shit.

I could tell you to “post pretty pictures” and “be patient” but those tips are everywhere and they are a lot easier than what you actually have to learn how to do:

As a blogger, you need to get comfortable with needing things. More than that, you need to get comfortable asking for those things that you need.

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Meal Prep for When You Just Can’t Even

Sleeping girl

I have two versions of myself: the one that kicks ass and takes names, and the one that just. can’t. even.

It’s a hormonal thing. I can’t be expected to clean my house and cook dinner and defeat my enemies when I am downing wolfsbane and transitioning into a she-beast. I ride those energy waves just like most women, but I feel like we aren’t allowed to admit that we ride them. Because that makes us “less-better than men,” or “hormonal,” or “crazy,” or “lazy,” or my favorite: “witches.”

Maybe you are that elusive super woman who has consistent mood, energy, and awesomeness all month long, who kicks ass from sun up to sundown 365 days a year and runs and wins marathons on the first day of her period. In which case, Hi Gwyneth! Thank you so much for reading, girl! I loved you in “Duets”!

Gwyneth Paltrow GIFs - Find & Share on GIPHY

For the rest of us, learning to navigate those waves, whether they be from hormones, or depression, or balancing a job and a family is key to master the art of adulting.

I’m a bit of an extremist by nature. I get these grand ideas of preparing surf and turf on a Wednesday, duck a l’orange on a Thursday, tackling a vegan dish worthy of the cover of Bon Appétit on a Friday, and ringing in the weekend with Eggs Benedict and homemade apple crisp.

In reality, I have surf and turf on a Wednesday and then the fridge is empty for the rest of the week and I bounce a check cause that shit is expensive and by the time the weekend comes around, I can be found half naked, squatting in front of the fridge eating the last remnants of a block of cheese.

I’m better now. I’ve discovered “attainable goals” and “pajamas” and something called “meal prep.”

These tips may seem over-simplistic, but that’s the point. We all spend 45 minutes on Pinterest, get these crazy ideas in our head about “30 meals in 3 hours” and 30 hours later, we have 3 meals and are shitfaced and covered in peanut butter. So, here’s to attainable goals and to meal prep for when you just can’t even.

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Your Wedding, Your Money

A wedding

Uh oh, DGGYST has been reading again. Nothing good can come of that. I get new information and then I pass it on to you like some kind of horrible virus. You didn’t want to know about your giant clitoris, but I found out and just couldn’t help but tell you, so now you must take that information with you to the grave… or to the gynecologist where you will only think, “Zucchini clit, zucchini clit,” over and over and over again.

So when I read an article that the average cost of a wedding climbed to a record high of $35,329 last year, I was a bit stupefied and immediately felt the need to discuss it with you.

Now let me assure you, I think you are a big sexy adult who is entirely capable of spending her money the way she sees fit. There are a bunch of ridiculous articles out there telling you that weddings are a waste and stupid, and that you look fat and shouldn’t go to the beach (maybe my magazine pages got stuck together). I’m not going to do any of that.

I only want you to have a firm understanding of what you are getting for your money.

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Fuck High Heels

A woman in high heel shoes

I’ve made a pretty revolutionary decision. I’ve decided to never wear anything uncomfortable ever again. Like. Ever….

Bridget Jones holding up a pair of large panties.

I’m doing a whole series on this shit. It’s about self-care and feminism and honor! …Or possibly me just being fed up with being fucking uncomfortable. I’ll be hurling all of my itchy, too tight, too high-necked, too-anything out of my closet and into a pile where I will urinate on them and light it all on fire and dance naked around the smelly polyester bonfire….Oh, like you have anything better to do on a Friday night.

I’ll be starting this purge with my shoes, because no itchy sweater, no tight pant, no binding dress can compare to the mass discomfort and mass destruction of high heels.

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Shit You Might Not Know Because No One Tells Millennials Anything

Girl in a dryer at a laundomat

Let me preempt this post by saying: maybe you had awesome boomer parents who were wise and gave you guidance and provided you with endless opportunities and pearls of wisdom. In which case, ask them if they are up for adopting a 29-year-old blogger who sometimes only pretends to wash her hands for the comfort of others and is not above eating things out of the garbage.

George Costanza eating out of the trash

But this post is for the rest of my contemporaries who, in our guidance-free lives, use #adulting and call all of our other millennial friends when we discover how to load a fucking dishwasher.

Our general cluelessness and enthusiasm for life hacks has been on my mind a lot and has led me to conduct a very unscientific poll. This week I have been asking all my millennial friends, “What is the best piece of advice you ever got from your parents?”

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