There are many things to love about winter. I am, of course, kidding. Winter is a loathsome season and anyone who claims to love it is being paid off by “Big Winter.” Follow the money!
Regardless of whether or not you are on the payroll at Winter Corp., I think we can all agree that between the pandemic and the chill, we are all feeling a bit limited.
For me personally, giving up the things I look forward to the absolute most has been eating at me. I am beyond fortunate to have remained healthy during 2020 and I try my hardest not to lose sight of what is truly important, but I’m not going to lie and say that having my big pleasure activities taken away has been easy.
I wanted to check in with my readers because it’s been a hot minute (hi, lovelies!) and pass on a little thing that has brought me joy this year, and hopefully help you out too!
We’re talking holiday gifts this week!
Continue reading “Damn, Girl’s Top COVID Christmas Gift Pick”
Like many women, I’m in the middle of a lifelong quest for better feminine health. We all have our little tips and tricks to ease and support ourselves during “that time of the month.” I want to share with you the ones that have made the biggest difference for me and solicit the ones that have made the biggest difference for you.
So let’s gather outside the cave to tell each other which berries we should rub on our boobs for an easier cycle and a better corn crop.
Continue reading “How to PMS Better”
You see, dear readers, when a clusterfuck and a shit show love each other very much, they get together and make something truly terrifying: the year 2019.
I don’t want to dwell on the bad things because we have so many fun new topics to explore this year. So let me sum up what has kept me away from you all… with shopping.
Today’s post is my year, in self-care purchases.
Continue reading “My Year in Self-Care Purchases”
I’ve never been wild about the idea of romance. When I was young, I always had a crush on the Disney villain, felt nothing for Prince William, and thought that Romeo and Juliet were so unstable that had they not killed themselves over a relationship that lasted a whopping four days, they had little chance of overcoming inevitable “baby mama drama,” “just can’t even’s, and “who is she, huh huh”s.
I have been with my husband since I was 19. I am in love with him. He comes home from work, we have a drink, cook a meal, make love, go for a stroll. It’s smooth sailing. On Valentines Day there are gifts, trips to New Orleans, bubble baths. “I love you’s are exchanged dozens of times a day along with a slew of adorable pet names that would turn the strongest of stomachs. My favorite is “dragon baby” or maybe “little cat wolf.” Sickening.
While I do appreciate and expect a certain level of romancing and spontaneity out of my husband, I think that it is not only necessary but preferable that the main provider of romance and intrigue in my life be me.
As a society, we have started to come around to this idea. We call it “self-care.” And while I am a wild about it, there is this maternal, almost wound-licking tone to it that makes me questions its lasting effectiveness.
Self-romancing is a lifestyle. It’s not something you pull out when you’ve gone overboard with your commitments, become too entrenched with family drama, or realized your children may just eat you alive if you let them.
Continue reading “The Importance of Romancing Yourself”
I don’t remember much about my dad. I know that all the stories my mom tells me about their time together end with “…and then your dad stabbed him so we had to get the hell out of there.”
My most vivid memory of my dad was his knife coming through the roof of the van we lived in. I can still hear my mom screaming, “Run for your life!” while I tried to super-speed activate my stubby toddler legs. It turned out my great escape wasn’t necessary; they reconciled and went on to have more children. It’s the rom-com you never knew would scare you.
They did eventually part ways. My dad got out of the van to take a leak one hot summer night and my mom just sped away. She traded the van for a trailer, the alcoholic schizophrenic for a heroin addict, and we never heard from my dad again.
Until this month. A few days before my 30th birthday.
Continue reading “A Very Stabby Birthday”
There is a vicious rumor going around that it’s the new year. Fake news strikes again. Sad.
Oh wait… Shit… It is the new year.
Well, I guess that explains the recent tsunami of articles about “How to Go to the Gym,” “How to Keep Going to the Gym,” “How to Get to the Gym,” “How to Stay at the Gym Once You Get There,” “How to Not Just Buy a T-Shirt From the Gym That Says, ‘Namasté Fit’ and Then Never Return,” etc.
Yes, people descend on the gym on new years like people descend on the grocery store at news of an approaching storm.
Sure, you don’t like spam or tofu flavored popcorn or the bench press but this is an emergency, goddamnit! You will pay the $9 for the blood sausage, the $90 a month for the gym membership, and you will just wait for the storm of expectation to pass.
Oh, fuck the gym. Fuck the gym so hard. (Note: my traffic soars any time I use the word “fuck” in the title of a post. “Fuck High Heels” is my most popular performing post by like a million disappointed perverts.)
My big new year’s truth bomb is pretty obvious, yet one of those things that is so easily forgotten:
exercise and the gym are not mutually exclusive.
Continue reading “Fuck the Gym”
Write what you know.
This week I have been sick, sick, sick, sick. I mean real sick, like binge-watching Keeping Up With The Kardashians sick.
I so rarely get sick that I didn’t realize how fucking bad I was at it. But in true DGGYST form, over the course of one week I’ve managed to grab sick by the balls… and sneeze all over them.
I want to give you some great tips on how to survive the cold and flu season that you haven’t already heard:
Continue reading “You. Sick. Bitch.”
I thought growing old would take longer.
-Old guy’s shirt at the grocery store
As many of you know, I teach ballroom dancing. I spend a lot of my day with people in their 50s-80s, recently retired, looking to fill their work-free days or reconnect with their spouses.
I love spending time with the older demographic. They come in for their lessons, doze off to sleep, wake up, knit a scarf, make a stew, find a quarter behind my ear…and off they go.
No, actually. That doesn’t happen at all.
The Metzgers grab at each others asses and play Candy Crush in the waiting room. The Sanchezes bring me in beers they brew at home and share photos on their iPhone of the trips they took to China or Mexico. The Watsons…well yeah, I mean, Mrs Watson does in fact bring in her knitting, but she has been knitting since she was like fifteen. And yeah, her chicken and dumplings are really good. And Mr. Watson has found almost four dollars in quarters behind my ears. Maybe I shouldn’t have used the Watsons as an example. My point is…
They are all totally unique individuals and when I talk to them about their pasts I find something truly astonishing:
They aren’t anything like us, they are exactly like themselves.
Continue reading “Dehumanizing Your Future Self”
There is that first day of fall where you feel like the world is a magical place, full of wonder and change. A bit later comes that fall day when shit starts to get real and you realize you have fifty years of fucking winter stretching out before you.
On that day, which for most of us is between November 1st – 5th, you need to take your supplies of feel-good fall energy and use them to rescue your future self.
Seasonal depression is the bane of my existence. It will be the middle of July and I will be like, “You Fools! Put down your volleyballs and summer shandies! Winter Is Coming!”
I’ve been training for this all year, so consider me your honorary Ph.D in S.A.D. and how to dodge it
Continue reading “Oh Crap, It’s About to Be Winter”
Ah, dieting. The most futile endeavor of our times. Diets completely work while we are on them, and then suddenly stop when we go off them. It’s a mystery worthy of Scooby-Doo.
It takes a level of deranged self-importance to think that one could make a meaningful contribution to the endless amount of lifestyle tips, healthy eating hacks, or diet tricks at this point of insufferable saturation. Luckily, I have that level of deranged self-importance, and am going to blow your mind. Then run for president.
So without further ado, I present the Damn, Girl Diet:
Continue reading “The Damn, Girl Diet”