Sarah
Nowicki

Regardless of what Gwyneth Paltrow and her crew of zombie mommy bloggers have to say about it, you don’t need to spend your entire paycheck on good face masks.

If you’re tired of being bombarded by the keto diet on your FB page, Insta, and everywhere else you spend long periods of time, tough sh*t, cause we’re about to lay down some easy keto recipes.

Ugh, aging.

Oh my God, it’s over.

So we’ve crossed the threshold of acne, aren’t quite to the magical land of wrinkles, and are smack dab in the middle of oil world.

I wanted to extend a warm, fuzzy, heartfelt cyber hug to ABC, the third person in my marriage.

Here we are again on the eternal quest to lose three pounds and attain the bodies we had when we first thought we were fat at age, like, 13.

The idea of getting sweaty, tired, and out of breath while not immediately losing three pounds is very offensive, especially when we’re making an effort to do the whole gym thing.

Blessed be the fruit.

If you’re recently engaged and the thought of dropping a couple thousand dollars on a wedding dress coupled with spending prolonged time with your mom/bff/soon-to-be mother-in-law perusing bridal salons is giving you high-level anxiety, time to chill TF out.

Weddings are expensive AF no matter how you cut it.

Oh god.

Sponsored by Queen V Having a squeaky clean and healthy vag is like, part of the rules of feminism, and thanks to feminism, we can freely and happily find a ton of products that’ll help keep things so fresh and so clean down there. If you don’t have time this weekend to head to your local Walmart and load up your basket with stuff labeled with “V,” don’t sweat it.

Here we are again, examining diets that the internet real life doctors have invented to combat any one of a number of issues we have from tummy troubles to acne to wanting to lose three pounds.

The ever-present desire to lose three pounds is like the quest for El Dorado—fleeting and seemingly always just out of reach.

I have the benefit of sitting next door to a real, live dietitian—the kind that went to school for a million years and will probs pay off her student loans for the next several decades.

It can be super tempting to head to your local Walgreens/CVS/witch doctor and grab a bottle of pills promising SUPER XXTREME WEIGHT LOSS or CRAZY ENERGY or YOU’LL LOOK LIKE KATE MOSS IN 1997.

Give me alcohol, or give me death.

Yikes.

Here we are once again, ready to be assaulted by 80's cabana wear and oversize sequins, courtesy of lil miss next door Midwest and her stylist, who is out to get us all.

Hooray for cocktails!

Thanks to a miraculous breakthrough of science, we now have alcoholic seltzer.

Holy shit.

Food—the cause and solution to all my work dilemmas.

Omg it’s like, almost summer.

Wedding season has descended upon us.

If you’re one of those sick people that head to the gym at 5am every morning to power blast your abs or experience physical pain that most of us try to avoid, chill.

Holy shit, it’s June.

Your skin is wrinkly and dry, your mouth is a desert, and your entire body feels like that of an 85-year-old arthritic woman.

Any ice cream that boasts only 240 or so calories for the whole fucking pint demands investigatory journalism.

Summer weddings are a dime a dozen; good summer weddings are rarer than me not getting a hangover after drinking anything other than vodka soda.

According to Cosmo, Tristan Thompson, of Yeah-I-Cheat-On-My-Pregnant-Girlfriend fame, has finally said something regarding his new role as a father in the Kardashian circus.

If you’re mixing a drink, you’re adding layers of bubbling fat to your waistline, probably.

So, your bestie is engaged.

Cinco de Drinko is upon us, fam, and with it comes our love of all things Mexican.

In the ever-wise words of LMFAO, “SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS.” Although we’re kind of done with college and the whole prospect of guzzling a shot of lukewarm vodka doesn’t excite us the way it used to (fuck you, makers of Dubra), the presence of shots in our lives does rear its head every once in a blue moon.

LaCroix: a magical calorie-less elixir developed by (I assume) Swedish supermodels who wanted to pass along their skinny hotness to us in the form of flavored water.

Wedding season tends to bring out the worst in us.

If Stacy and Clinton taught us anything, it was to not be fat, poor, or shittily dressed.

If it’s on, you can bet I’m watching Say Yes To The Dress.

Before SkinnyPop, we were forced to either stop ourselves from eating a whole bag of popcorn or live with the fattening consequences.

After a terrible, horrible, sweaty fucking workout, I could stuff my face with any number of items, including but not limited to pasta, pizza, ice cream, and all the carbs.

When it became April, idfk.

Being a bridesmaid means you’re the bride’s bitch for whatever amount of time transpires between the cutesy package with pics of you two, a wine glass, and the “will you be my bridesmaid” note (covered in v tasteful gold glitter) to the bitter end when she and her now-forever dude run through a parade of sparklers.

We've discussed this before, but having shower sex isn't all it’s cracked up to be.

Wedding registries are something that, unfortunately, must be done.

No one likes crusty lips.

Ding ding ding!

If you’re still trying to be a carefree twentysomething and spritzing on Love Spell from Victoria’s Secret to attract the closest male, cease and desist.

You know what everyone loves?