Chelsea Fagan

I’m like the emotional equivalent of the homeless man leering at breasts in the corner of the bus while swigging from a bottle of whiskey. “Yeah, that’s right, I bet you’re goal-oriented but caring. I bet you’d make a great father. Oh, yeah.”

If you can poke a pointy thing through a soft thing a few times in a row (heh), you already know how to use a needle and thread. Watch an instructional video, read a guidebook, find any old lady on the street — learning how couldn’t be easier.

“It’s me,” we think, “if I lived in 60’s Manhattan and had limitless access to workplace booze and bored housewife panties.” But what does your favorite character actually say about you — the real you, living in boring old 2012?

And if you are one of those people who is going to Debbie Down me right now and be like, “Ugh, I don’t know, I’m not really a dessert person and they’re a little too sweet, you know, a little too rich,” you can take your suitcase full of radishes and quinoa and go sit outside in the rain.

In order to bag a Princess/live happily ever after/be a hero, princes have to be: ripped, two weeks away from coming into their inheritance, live in a castle, and have a face like looking directly at an orgasm.

Does he picture his good deeds like tickets at Chuck-E-Cheese’s, hoping to one day amass enough to get that shiny bra at the top shelf of the gift counter?

But let’s be honest — it’s kind of weird. Most ASMR-ers are in the closet about this, because how in the world would you interject it into a conversation?

I don’t know what to think about Megan. On the one hand, she’s just a fun-loving, go-go dancing, French-Canadian wood nymph who wants to inject a little fun/marital sex into Don’s fetid emotional swamp of a life, but she seems a bit conniving.

Getting a beer with someone after work hours is something you propose because it seems appropriate, because it’s simply what you do. So what if the conversation’s tedious? So what if you have nothing in common? This is what adults do, right?

And don’t get me wrong, I love Ramen noodles. I even have one of those bogus little cookbooks that teaches you 40 new and exciting ways to eat those packets of pure sodium and their little cardboard pasta squares. But we shouldn’t be relegated to that.

Remember the Wonder Ball? The lame little orbs of mediocre chocolate filled with some lackluster Tarzan stickers? Yeah, the Kinder Surprise sees that candy at dinner parties and laughs derisively in its face.

What do you think women look like if they just wash their face with a bar of soap and let it air dry, nary a drop of lotion or wisp of concealer? They look like a bridge troll hobbling out to ask you his questions three before you can walk across.

What was that entire party, by the way? It was like everyone had been given a cheesy one-liner to essentially drive-by shoot to the other guests in between drinks.

I am not advocating that everyone go around with a lacrosse stick and beat their children into fun new shapes, but a solid smack on the behind for a kid who is clearly getting out of line is something that every parent should have in their back pocket. Trust me, you miss it when it’s gone.

No one can actually make those diets do any good for them, because the second you get done with them, you just stick your face directly into a chocolate cake and eat your way through to the table.

Despite only being a duo, these guys absolutely earn the title of boy band, if for nothing other than the baby-butt softness of their music. Listening to one of their songs is like covering yourself in cotton balls and floating on a cloud through a river of fabric softener.

There are few things worse than realizing, the second it’s too late to go back and change, that your outfit looks like something your grandmother would have dressed you in as a child, shortly after her cataract surgery.

It’s saying to your partner, “I don’t care if you want me to share this, I don’t care if you wanted this private, I want to tell everyone what happened, and I’m going to do it.”