Very soon, I’m putting out a new podcast! It’s called “You Need Therapy!” and it’s cohosted by my friend Shannon who is an MFT and a comedian. We met in UCB improv level THUH-REE so you know we must be funny because they don’t let just anybody into 301 improv. No way. Sometimes they don’t let people advance because they pose an emotional or physical threat to the other students. Not us. We made it to level 3 because the only physical threat we pose is to your funny bone.
Basically, we talk about different topics and how they relate to psychology and therapy. And sometimes we do it in (debatably) funny voices. We’re recording a bunch of episodes now so we can actually release them every week on the same day and the same time like professionals and not like the last time I had a podcast where I released them whenever I had time between Below Deck reruns and then got sick of it after two months.
So, although this is not specifically an advice podcast, we do want to take questions and answer them on the show. If you have a question relating to love, relationships of all kinds, identity, self esteem, mental health, etc. etc. etc. and you would like one qualified individual and one know-it-all to answer it on air, email us at firstname.lastname@example.org! We can keep you anonymous if you’d like! You can also ask anonymously in my Ask Me section on this blog.
And of course, when we start releasing episodes I’ll tell you alllll about it.
Though I’ve never been a fan of Kim’s, I suddenly have an overwhelming sense of compassion for her armpits and the armpits of women in every grocery store in America who are being subjected to this magazine cover. I realize that Kim is probably gaining this weight so she can get some sort of Jenny Craig deal after that set piece of a breathing infant pushes its way through her Kanye Kanal. If she develops preeclampsia it won’t even matter because I’m sure the line between real life and Ryan Seacrest’s SimCity has completely disintegrated at this point.
For this exercise, let’s just assume at this point that Kim has no human emotions left. So, even if a close up of her armpit on a national magazine couldn’t crack through her exterior (which I’m assuming is just one big coating of gel nail polish and melted polyester) and hurt her feelings, it’s still hurting my feelings! I’m a size 2/4. I am not Rosemary’s Babying Ryan Seacrest’s devil child. And, yet, I think I have “fat armpits” or essentially, “vagina arms.” You’d never know because I’ve become skilled at flexing whenever my self esteem smells a camera within 15 feet of me, but if you caught me walking down the street in a tank top… there they’d be. Now, thanks to InTouch, I am reminded that fat armpits are a legit concern and I WILL NEVER BE SEXY AGAIN.
Women in hair salon waiting rooms don’t need to be reminded that there is another part of their body they can hate. You know that stupid Dove commercial where they bring in that “police sketch artist” or “actor” and then they try to pass off your low self esteem as your own fault?
It’s not your fault (here’s a great counter to that Dove commercial). Because you wouldn’t know to be self conscious of your arm pits if magazines didn’t show you a picture of a beautiful, pregnant celebrity, circle her fat like a sorority sister during Hell Week, and say “EWWWW SHE’S GROSS! YOU’RE PROBS GROSS, TOO! PLEASE CHECK OUT OUR CELLULITE CREAM AD ON PAGE 78!”
I finally feel like that perfect mix of Dina Lohan and a Real Housewife of New Jersey. I may be 3 glasses of Sauvignon Blanc deep (which is just deep enough for me), but I feel like the classiest lady this side of Long Island (I’m actually from NH but my soul is from Long Island).
I just bought this coat from Banana Republic. This is what the joy of tipsy suburban mall shopping looks like. I walked through JCPenny’s liked I OWNED that dizzy bizzy (look, I can’t be held accountable for anything I say right now… though my grammar and typing is still flawless). My parents said ‘look she’s strutting through Jay-Cee-Pee-Pee’ (okay, I added that abbreviation and the extra ‘P’) as if I was Carrie Bradshaw, I said, “do I strut? Am I a strutter?” like the coquette that I am in this faux fur coat (that’s a real Carrie Bradshaw quote, btw).
Anyway, the point of this post is that I hope you find your faux fur leopard print coat this season- whether it’s a real materialistic piece or just a state of mind. It’s a bad economy, ya know? Just find whatever gets you in that spirit. Okay bye, the Sex and the City Movie is on. But I’m serious…