I stopped writing after the election. I didn’t write my morning pages. I only wrote poetry when I had to, which was once every other Friday for work. I didn’t touch my book. I couldn’t even look at my blog. I mean, no one else was looking at my blog, either, so I didn’t feel […]Read More Our Voices Matter
That’s right. You heard it here first. I’m back. Get ready.Read More Don’t Call It A Comeback
I turned 26 last Friday. I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, but Whitney! You don’t act a day over 12! Or look a day over however much younger you would like to look or act! Thanks, reader. That makes me feel really good about myself! I DON’T look a day over fetus. I spent my […]Read More 26 is The New 25
My blog has generally been a place where I turn tragedy into comedy. But the thing is, you can only turn a personal tragedy into comedy. You can’t be like, “oh, ha, ha, the holocaust was so funny,” because there is no way to make that hilarious. But you CAN be like, “remember when […]Read More Hey, You.
It’s like Asimov’s I, Robot only less fun and the movie adaptation would star Michael Cera in drag as me instead of Will Smith as the lead guy. I’ve been exhausted lately. Not post-blood clots nap time exhausted, but so tired that I actually have to lie down or I will pass out. The fatigue starts behind […]Read More I, Hypochondriac
Since Donald Trump is still in the running–is still considered to be a “viable” candidate–I have decided to take it upon myself to create a weekly segment in which I tear him up like the piece of beef jerky that he is. On this week’s segment of #TrumpedThursdays, we’re going to talk about how dumb […]Read More #TrumpedThursdays
I have tried to sit down to write this post like a zillion times and then my Anxiety Voice kicks in and gives me the sweats. Like this: Hey, Whitney. No one reads your blog anymore. Literally, no one. You’ve fallen from your position as a recommended humor writer and everyone thinks you suck because […]Read More You’re A Writer, Aren’t You?
2015 has come and is gone the way of anyone’s intestines after a two-hour long Indian food fest: down the drain, hopefully without the help of a plunger or a plumber. Let me further this metaphor, and I apologize ahead of time if you are currently eating. Let’s imagine that each year represents a pair of underwear…Read More 2016: We Aren’t Potty Trained
Here is my Christmas list for the year. I know, I know. It’s very late. But you see, the magic of Christmas is that you don’t actually give a fuck what I write, but I can write it anyway and send it out into “the universe” and hopefully “the universe” will be like, “oh-hay, here’s […]Read More Dear Santa
I’ve decided I need to start sharing with you guys the wonderful things I’m reading. Or the terrible things I’m reading. Thankfully, I haven’t picked up a Anita Blake, Vampire Series book since I was like 15, so hopefully there won’t be many reviews of terrible books. This week’s book, Dear Mister Essay Writer Guy, I […]Read More On the Couch: A Reader’s Series