"You should throw that guy a bone"

Okay, why is it that no one knows about the movie Bachelorette? If I didn’t steal Netflix from you stepmother I wouldn’t have ever stumbled upon this comedic gem. 

Side note: Is there anyone in the world that doesn’t love Netflix—I say “love” in the sense that nothing satisfies you like having 12000 movies at your disposal, yet nothing else makes you as frustrated as those same 12000 movies being mostly just the lowest budget, horribly acted films that never even made TV. Seriously if there is anything that Neflix is superb at it is lowering your cinema standards. Since movie-going now runs at the rate of an unskilled hooker, rental is literally not an option (like why would they do that to me?) and no one wants to pick up a DVD from something that looks like a candy bar dispenser, our lives are policed by the whims of the Netflix peeps, whomever they are.

                 

Seriously though, I cannot be the only one finishing a three-and-a-half star movie and being like, “That was the most thought provoking piece of cinema I’ve ever witnessed, who cares that the acting was atrocious and the set was three rooms.” Then once and a fabulous while you’ll accidently run into a real-life good movie instead of a Netflix Standards Good Movie (NSGM) and feel like you’ve just watch someone solve world hunger, syphilis and time travel all in two hours.

This movie was that level of masterpiece. I watched it a few months ago and laughed like the challenged hyena from The Lion King the whole time. Then my sister and I watched it the other day and did the same. Twice. Back to back. Yeah, that good. This thing is like sex without the STD’s and the potential pregnancy (AKA everything you want with nothing you don’t). There is no reason for someone not to be entranced by this movie; it has everything and everyone—like Valentine’s Day without being so obnoxious. 

You like Mean Girls? It has Lizzy Caplan.

You like Bring It On? It has Kirsten Dunst.

You like Pitch Perfect? It has Rebel Wilson.

You like Wedding Crashers? It has Isla Fisher.

You Like Parks and Rec? It has Adam Scott.

You like Girls (like anyone doesn’t)? It has Andrew Rannells.

You like great hair and a panty-dropping smile? It has James Marsden.

You like partying? It has drugs, alcohol, random hookups and projectile vomiting—like your college homecoming without the tedious trip to the ER.

You like hilarious, skinny bitches that make you laugh and simultaneously want to commit suicide? Check.

You want to pretend you’re that funny and that skinny and fit perfectly into one of their characters while eating Cherry Garcia B&J’s? Check and mate.

In summation, this movie is just perfection, so put on your sluttiest dress, deadliest heels and seven pounds of makeup; sit down and pretend for the next 87 minutes that this will someday be your life that that will someday be the way your arms look.

Need some more incentive? Here are some fab quotes from the movie:

“I'm gonna walk in wearing my pajamas like I'm fucking Michael Jackson.”

“Well, it's good to see you're still fighting the good fight against the tyranny of pants.”

“Do you believe in a magic vagina?”

“God blessed me with perfect tits, it’s only right that people should know that?”

“What do you call a bachelorette party without a bride?” “Friday?”

“No, cause we gave up strip clubs for lent.”

“If you take Park Avenue I will fucking end you, I will END YOU.”

Quote of the day

" I base my fashion sense on what doesn't itch." -Gilda Radner

Quote of the day

"Have you ever considered just telling her how you feel?"
"Leonard I'm a physicist not a hippie."

-Big Bang Theory

Why you actually love your period

Okay, okay I know getting your period is like the worst thing that could ever happen to you every month. Really, wouldn't we all just rather be infertile? And if you don't already know, here's why:

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• cramps feel like someone stuck a pair of scissors up your vagina and just went at it--if you don't have a shitload of Ibuprofen at your disposal you get to spend your day in the fetal position wishing someone would just stab you and get it over with already--it's like being hungover for a week!
• you blow up like three sizes the week before and the week of your Bloody Hell but you never realize it's connected so you just walk around feeling like you're fat and ugly all on your own
• the week leading up to your period sucks because you know that this torture is imminent yet you're still hoping that The Big G may spare you
• bleeding profusely from your vagina is just effing obnoxious
• your beautiful once-porcelain skin erupts 
• you ruin all your nice lacy undies trying to pretend your not spewing red death from your undercarriage

 Now, with all this crap just flying around it is difficult to see the silver lining in all this. But the truth is that there's some positive aspects of being on your period. They are as follows:

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• yes cramps are the bane of our existence, but who doesn't want an excuse to start poppin pills to help forget about our pathetic lives?
• because there is no way you're having sexy time while "the painters are in" (unless you're into that sort of thing) you don't have to worry about being your normal sex kitten self--break out the french fries, lava cakes, flowy shirts and sweats




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• you get an excuse to wear your super comfy, super ugly period undies that your mom got you when you were twelve but for some reason never got rid of--honestly we all know Limited Too and Wal Mart made the most agreeable underwear

•  the day your period ends feels like a rebirth, from which you emerge as your most beautiful self ready to take on the world and seduce hundreds of men

So basically you love your period because even though you are writhing around in pain all gross and ugly, it's the only week a month that you can just not give a flying squirrel; the one week you can say "FUCK YOU" to hygienic rules and social norms and literally no other female can say anything. Men will be too scared to come near you so you don't even have to worry about dealing with them. 

Quote of the day

"Don't matter how you feel, it only matters how you look" -Miranda Lambert

Quote of the day

“But the essence of being human is that, in the brief moment we exist on this spinning planet, we can love some persons and some things, in spite of the fact that time and death will ultimately claim us all.” -Rollo May

Ah Pope Paul, he looks just like my mother

So the other night my Nana and Grampy Z, on my mother’s side, came over for dinner with her and me. As usual, I was skeptical about how this meal would go, but with my underwhelming current social agenda I had nowhere else to be. So they arrive and the excitement begins. Grampy asks the usual probing life questions that I’ve gotten pretty decent at reciting since he seems to forget between each of our gatherings.

The whole point is to fluster me so that he can punch Nana going, “Listen to this, ha, listen Mum.” Things get pretty heated and eventually Linda starts berating me for asserting my flawless points and accidently saying “Jesus” to my grandfather. Apparently now that I’m older, running my own life and living on my own it’s important to her that I don’t take the Lords name in vain, but it was fine those other twenty years.

My Grampy is quite an intelligent old Italian man (mum always says she wishes she got his brains instead of Nana’s), so he starts throwing out questions like “How many dollars is the US currently in debt?” (I got it wrong last time, he clearly has selective memory), and making statements like “You can’t trust some of those people from the Middle East,” and “Why are you in Communications you need to be a lawyer so you can get me out of trouble." Meanwhile Nana is throwing in stuff like “Why are you on birth control?,” and "No Pope Paul looks like my mother, not Pope Benedict," “Are you getting married in a church?” To the latter I casually answered “Nope.”

My Nana looked at me as if I had literally just spat on Jesus himself.

Then swore at him.

Then flipped him off.

Then kissed a woman.

After her initial “NO YOU WILL NOT,” complete with wide eyes and heavy breathing, Nana demands to know why. When I say that I don’t believe in Christianity and that I don’t go to church, Grampy (at this point he joins his wife on the Christian battlefront) asks horrified, “When did you stop going to church?”

“Umm, when you guys stopped making me?”

In retrospect that probably wasn’t the most suitable answer for diffusing the situation at hand.

At this point the dinner breaks out in full on pandemonium. Nana and Grampy are yelling—they’re old so it’s not that scary—and Linda goes into full backup mode like “STEPHANIE that’s not true. Mom it’s my fault I never took them to church.” She’s also forgetting the part that she additionally never went.

On a side note, if there were ever a King and Queen of the Ptown Catholic church, it would be Theresa and Danny Z. Need an example? My sister and I spent approximately three weeks in CCD classes. We quit after the woman told us to live our lives like salt (plain and simple) and never looked back. To say the least we were not qualified to be baptized. Where we baptized?

Damn straight we were.

A good four years after the age deadline.

In our own private ceremony.

Why? Because Theresa and Danny wanted it done. So yay I’m not going to hell at least on the most basic level—I didn’t bother to tell Nana and Grampy I don’t believe in hell because they are old and I didn’t want to be responsible for their deaths (I also didn’t mention that they would probably be dead by the time I got married anyway).

So to sum up the topic had to be changed stat before Nana was carried away in a stretcher and we all enjoyed the rest of our meal as if I didn’t just stomp all over their beliefs and vice versa. The rest of the gathering was pleasant until Grampy shouted on the way out the door, “Don’t marry a Muslim for Christ’s sake whatever you do!” Needless to say I ended the night in a glass of Pino Grigio.