We all know Netflix. If we don't have it loaded on all our devices we've at least watched it somewhere, or at the very minimum we've heard about it. This is a digital world and on-demand streaming is the new "Must See TV;" the sight of giant televisions at the curb every bulk garbage pick-up day reflect the changing times.
Ever since I’ve had my 40th birthday (to say I “celebrated” may be a bit enthusiastic), I'm finding that for a few days each month I seem, well, a bit moodier than usual. To be clear, I should say I've never been one of those women who says, “PMS? Me? Nope. Not here!” when in reality for three or four days every month she is making her co-workers pee their pants with fear if GOD FORBID there is no Splenda at the coffee machine. That is not me. I owned my PMS when I was younger. It was mild, at best.
Have you seen the quiz on Facebook, wherein you accumulate points based on your beauty/hygiene routine? Daily showering, pedicures, time spent doing your hair - these all accrue points based on a value system and your total score determines your "maintenance level."
Let's say this: If I were a 4 door sedan you would buy me.
When your children grow up and think about you, their mother, where will they picture you? I know for sure that a large portion of my kids' memories will have our kitchen as the setting. It is, after all, one of my primary habitats. But as much as I love being in my kitchen, baking a quick treat, or preparing lunches to fuel them during the school day, I'd also love to be able to spend more time in other rooms - rooms with couches, rooms where I can relax.
Jennifer Garner is an impressive human. She is raising her three children — Violet, Seraphina, and Sam, aged 4 to 10 — in a show business family while maintaining a respectful co-parenting relationship with their father, her ex-husband Ben Affleck, who I think lives in their garden shed. Kudos, Ms. Garner; I have trouble getting two kids to school in the morning while remaining on speaking terms with anyone who crosses my path, and I know several pissed off crossing guards who will attest to this.
The 88th Academy Awards air this Sunday at 8 p.m., but we all know the real fun starts hours prior as we watch and judge people who are buffed, shined, and poured into unnaturally tight tubes of fabric totter down a fabric-lined street in Los Angeles' entertainment district. Woo hoo; it's red carpet time!
It can also be nine months of heartburn, coming thisclose to peeing you pants at the grocery store, and wanting to eat someone's arm from hunger while simultaneously crying because an elementary school crossing guard "looked at you weird."
News this week that a popular baby item and common beauty product found in bathroom vanities and diaper bags everywhere is now the centre of a court ruling with some serious allegations attached. Check your supplies, read on, and do some research if wondering whether or not to continue using talc products.
It's been 12 years since Friends ended its run. So how does it make sense that the stars of the show - all six of them - still look as good or better? I'm thinking the million dollars per episode paycheques went a long ways towards rare unicorn foreskin skin serums, because it just doesn't make sense.
Imagine being kidnapped right from your front lawn at the age of 14. Sure, your home life wasn't that great and your mom is kinda wonky and a bit neglectful, but still, even that shit show of a home life would be better than living in a dark underground bunker with three other women and a crazy religious captor.
I am not a positive thinker. Never have been, never will be. Some people call this line of thinking “defeatist,” or “nihilistic,” but I don’t agree, because these people are possibly head-in-the-clouds dreamers who refuse to acknowledge that bad stuff happens all the time and that it’s not going to change ever no matter how hard you wish on a star. Being a pessimist from the day I was born has served me well the vast majority of the time; I am almost never disappointed because I don’t expect things to go as planned anyway.
Have you made plans this summer? Rented a cottage? Booked an RV for a cross-country tour? CANCEL. Call right now and get that security deposit back because you'll want to spend a few warm days lounging around reading the brand new Harry Potter book coming July 31, 2016.
Whatever happened to predictability? The milkman, the paperboy, evening TV?
The milkman developed a dairy allergy and retired to a nondescript gated community in north Florida. The paperboy fell in with the wrong crowd, and as for evening TV, Netflix happened, thank (insert deity of your personal choosing.)
Hannah Montana was a huge pain in the ass for a lot of us, let's just get that out of the way. I have a daughter who hit the Disney Show Target Market Age Demographic right during Hannah Montana's prime, and to say we've experienced hundreds of hours of furry boots, sparkly vests, and questionable singing is no exaggeration. The first CD my eldest bought with her own money (and yes; it was long ago enough that it was an actual, hold-in-your-hand CD) was the Miley/Hannah soundtrack, and the year was 2006.
I consider myself to be a reasonable, rational person. I'm not prone to fits of rage (mostly), but nothing makes me see red like people who discuss "push presents" without making the universal "finger down the throat" puking sign.
