HeTexted.com: The Saddest Corner of the Internet

Recently, I’ve realized that Facebook is passing some major judgement on my lifestyle, as all the ads they post for me now involve cleaning supplies and services, rehab facilities, and general websites involving where and how to find a boyfriend. I knew that Mark Zuckerberg had a feminine face, but I didn’t know he was my mother– amiright, ladies? HA-CHA-CHA-CHA! (I’m working day and night on my Catskill/1980’s female comedian hybrid character, so I don’t even have TIME to date).

The other day Facebook suggested this little gem, and in the process, insulted my intelligence:


HeTexted.com has 3 components: A blog, a forum where you can ask for boy advice and people can respond and vote whether he’s “into you” or not (democracy hard at work!), and “ask a bro.”

Besides invading Iraq looking for WMD’s, I literally can’t think of a more terrible idea than this website (guys, how smart did I just sound?). Women and girls don’t need a forum to over-analyze men together from across the globe.

I understand that sometimes you need advice from your friends. I ask for it a lot and I love to sit down with a gal pal and draw out a venn diagram or a pro’s and con’s list over some Sauv Blaahhhh to decide if we should break up with her boyfriend. However, as I get older I have begun to realize that just because they’re your friends, doesn’t mean they give sound advice. If I have trouble figuring out if my friends can be trusted with my romantic problems, how can I be assured that these faceless, internet dum-dums know what they’re talking about?

Just judging by their blog, it doesn’t seem like you should trust this website.


First sentence out of the gate: “Let’s talk girl crushes.”

No. Don’t. I can’t stand this phrase. Just say what you actually mean– you think this woman is cool and pretty and you would like to be friends with her. You don’t have to add a “no-homo” stamp of clarification. Nobody thinks you plan to go Orange-is-the-New-Black on her lady bits. Unless you do, in which case it’s just a crush.

Already I don’t feel good about these people. Next post:


NOPE! NOOOOPE! A bad Sex and the City reference (“Single and the City” is arguably redundant) coupled with a New Girl picture? These are a bunch of 22 year-old girls with brand new journalism degrees, sitting around Starbucks in their H&M blazers, blogging and taking selfies hashtagged #riseandgrind. I’m sure they could tell you how to highlight your eyes like Kim Kardashian (hint: it involves NARS blush in Albatross), but putting your love life in their young, stupid hands is not advisable.

And do women really need advice on guys? Deep down, don’t you already know what’s up? Like this girl:

20130822-102607.jpgThis is just depressing. Is asking the audience really necessary here? And they’re all like this. A lot of the questions seem to be from teenagers, but just as many are definitely from women who are at least in their 20’s. There are just so many things that your time would be better spent on than sitting at a computer obsessing over guys. If you find yourself obsessing, you can do what I do to get my mind off of it: listen to a podcast or meditate or drink a bottle of wine and sing through the Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical episode after your apartment’s quiet hours, aka just doing me.

The Fictional Carrie Scale of Poor Decision Making Skills

The fictional Carries of film and television have a long and storied history of using questionable judgement. Because their life choices are so varied in their levels of stupidity, Carries are the perfect subject for a scale that can measure the poor decision making skills of others.


Homeland Spoiler Alerts Ahead:  I’m being really nice letting you know because at this point you should have stopped procrastinating and finished the second season. You can’t just keep backlogging episodes while we all walk on eggshells. Next time you get no warning. Put aside a wine and snuggle weekend and just finish that shit! 

0-2, or Carrie Heffernan: Carrie of King of Queens is a hottie whose status is confirmed by another hottie, Zack Morris. Despite spending a magical summer with him at Malibu Sands Beach Club, she somehow ends up with a fat UPS worker. Though she is way out of her husband’s league, he does put up with her father that lives with them and almost ruins their lives every 22 minutes, something Zack probably wouldn’t deal with. Overall, not such a terrible decision, depending on your feelings for Kevin James.

3-5, or Carrie White: Carrie in Carrie is only a 3-5 because she couldn’t really help going all telekinesis-y, and it was the other kids’ faults for the pig’s blood. The bad decision was not listening to her mother that everyone was going to laugh at her if she went to prom. However crazy your mom might be, she’s usually right about that stuff. Know when to take good advice.

6-8, or Carrie Bradshaw: It is my opinion that the difference between being a girl and being a woman is whether or not you believe that Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City is an acceptable role model. How many Style Network marathons did it take for you to realize she’s a needy, selfish woman? Putting aside whether or not she should have married Aidan, the dude offered to refinish her floors foh’ FREE, and after only a couple hours with the noise of the sander, she gives him some attitude, goes to a hotel and CHEATS on him! You did not have to do him like that, Carrie. You could have just written at Starbucks like the rest of us. That is some above average poor decision making.

9-10, or Carrie Mathison: For all the terrible, unavailable men Carrie Bradshaw dated, she never came close to dating the multi-hyphenate of awful that is Brody, the ginger-husband-father-terrorist that Carrie Mathison of Homeland fell in love with. I mean, you risk your life and career for this dude, and when you almost say you love him, he tells you “careful”?! Does this guy know he’s a terrorist?! AND A GINGER? Not only are you in love with a married, suicide vest wearing red head, you like him more than he likes you. If you’ve hit this red zone you should seek help immediately because you are now way beyond dating politicians with golden shower fetishes, and we need to adjust your medication before you start having jazz fits.

I’m Every Woman

I’ve always heard from other writers that you have to go out and have life experiences so you have something to write about. Well, since the inception of this blog, I’ve been— I don’t want to call myself a hermit per se, but maybe living the life of someone just a touch agoraphobic. I’m definitely not agoraphobic, but there have been days when the only thing separating me from Howard Hughes was a pair of yoga pants (and not storing my pee in jars). Hence, why I have been posting a lot about eyebrow pencils and Bravo-lebrities.

Today all that changes! I have life experiences and lessons learned that I can write about in a pithy yet heartfelt manner!

It’s about a guy, so brace yourself, it’s about to get all Taylor Swift-y up in here (I bet you thought I was going to say Carrie Bradshaw… Well, I wasn’t. I don’t always have to make a Carrie reference… But if you want to call me Carrie then do what you need to do. Okay, fine. I’m just like Carrie Bradshaw. Now drop it. Drop it).

So I was dating this guy–we’ll call him Jim. I mean, that could be his name. You assume it’s not because I said ‘we’ll call him,’ but who can say? His name may or may not be Jim. (It’s not Jim). Anyway, we were talking for a week, dating for about 3, so all told the interaction was just under a month. Now, I’ll just preface this by saying that we were not dating for a long time, and I have a heart of stone/am not a crazy person, so I’m not terribly distraught over him, but definitely unhappy with the situation and how it made me question the humanity of all people. Or something.

So you can put someone’s face with the name in your head.

So without getting too into it, Jim came on very strong from the beginning until the end. There was no way I could have misread anything he said unless “I’d like to position this […] to become a relationship” is a sentence completely made up of auto-antonyms (Facebook, April 16). **Is that how you cite a Facebook message according to MLA style?**

There was no game playing, and I had no reason to question his feelings (I mean, I’m a red headed Jewess with a whimsical blog, what’s there to question?), except for a couple red flags, namely, that he kept bringing up his ex-girlfriend. I mean, he was like, calling her the C-word and stuff, but still. Now, I’m exceptional at 3 things (+ a million more things) which are: Figuring out what celebrity a person looks like, 90’s pop culture trivia, and spotting and interpreting red flags. I saw the flags, yet I ignored them. The stakes weren’t high so I went with the flow.

Things kept chugging along until one day he offered to make me dinner. It was a lovely, romantical night (except for a minor tiff about him bringing up his ex again), but then I didn’t really hear from him for two days. I got a text from him saying that while he was at work the day after dinner, he suddenly felt “overwhelmed” with how fast things were going, and how “his heart wasn’t ready for anything serious,” which made me cringe because I hate when anyone refers to their heart like it’s anything but a vital organ (ie. ‘my heart needs mending,’ ‘my heart is fragile,’ etc.).

Besides the unfortunate phrasing, it was a little upsetting, and I felt pretty duped because I wasn’t driving this bus to ‘Serious’ Town –he was– and it’s kind of bewildering and scary that someone can change their mind about you in one moment.

And he had a hot tub… I think I’ll miss the hot tub the most.

Then, next thing I know, he’s back with his ex-girlfriend (which apparently was separate and unrelated to him pumping the brakes with me two weeks before). Just to give you a frame of reference, they have broken up 5 times in 3 years, so clearly theirs is a healthy and loving union. At first, I didn’t get why he would want her (with whom he has major trouble making it work) over me (who is awesome). But, I thought about it, and it actually makes the situation a lot easier to digest, and it made me realize a couple things.

For one, never ignore your gut instinct. If you do, something like this could happen to you or you could end up murdered by a Craigslist Killer, bloated and decomposing in a lake (I saw it on Oprah). To be honest, I don’t know if I would have done anything differently, but it did prove that I shouldn’t second guess myself because I’m right about everything, always.

Another thing I realized is that I shouldn’t take this personally because I don’t think it was about me at all. I’m the center of my own universe, so at first it was like, why did this happen to me, and I didn’t do anything to deserve this. But really, this was about the two of them, and I’m just a footnote in their Sid and Nancy love story. People come into your life for a time, wreck shop, and then go about their business. It’s not about you, it’s about them dealing with whatever mess they have going on in their own life. Everyone is the center of their own universe and serving their own interests. People are disappointing. It sounds cynical, but either way, people are going to let you down sometimes, and it’s important to know it’s usually not about you. And I guess it’s important to realize that so next time when you’re doing you (and you should always do you), you remember who might be affected in the process and then be a little more careful.

So there you have it. Please excuse me while I have a Bridget Jones, ‘I’m Every Woman’ montage.


Sitting Alone in Public

Back when I had braces, one of my favorite things was after an orthodontist visit, I would go to Friendly’s with my mom or dad (as a chubby kid, all of my favorite things involved red meat, french fries, and not being in school. Kids are mean!).

Apparently, though, Friendly’s is a real hot bed for lonely senior citizens. Every time I went there, there was some old man or woman sitting alone eating, and I would torture myself by making up some sort of scenario where their spouse had died or they never married because their one true love died in the icy Atlantic Ocean as the Titanic sunk beneath them (remember, this was the late 90’s. Having a lover die in a ship wreck ‘Caprio-style was the height of romance).  Heart breaking.

While old people sitting alone drinking a fribble is tragic, it’s not so for the young. I’ve heard a lot of people talk about how they would feel too weird eating at a restaurant or going to a movie alone.

I feel like people who are afraid of sitting alone think that people around them will think they’re a loser, but that’s not the case. The other day I was sitting at a bar in a restaurant with my dad and this woman -probably in her late 20’s- was sitting alone at the bar. First of all, she was pounding back sushi like a champ. I’ve never seen anything like it- very admirable. She was drinking wine and doing work on her lap top, and I never thought she was a loser. I thought she was my bad ass lady hero.

I don’t think anyone should feel uncomfortable about sitting alone, as long as you don’t eat at an Applebees. Or an Outback Steakhouse. That does actually look sad. But sitting at the bar at a swanky restaurant or at a cafe and you’re all sorts of Carrie Bradshaw

… I promise I’m going to stop with the Sex and the City references. That was it. That was the last one.

Obsessed With: Sephora Blemish Extractor

I realize that this is the second Monday in a row that I have been obsessed with something pore related, but that should just indicate what a full time job it is to take care of this situation I’m dealing with.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen the episode of Sex and the City when the girls are talking about their “secret single behavior” that they do by themselves, but couldn’t let a man see if they were living with a guy. Using this extractor is my shameful single behavior that might keep me from ever living with a man (other than the fact that having to share a room–and with a boy no less– sounds like the wooorst). Seriously, I don’t even let my friends see me use this, it’s disgusting, but I have to do it because it works so well.

When I get facials I’m always tempted to bring this with me and just ask them to extract my blackheads with this because you get so much more traction than when they use their clumsy, vienna sausage fingers. I just think it would be heavenly to have someone actually extract my face FOR me and with a big magnifier and some professional lighting over my face. I could always just get a lighted magnifying mirror, but looking at pores in that would just get me upset, so I would need a third party to do it for me. I would never actually ask for this, though because I don’t need anyone else thinking I’m weird. I don’t know why they don’t just have these in the first place at spas and just sanitize it after… I’m getting ahead of myself.

Anyway, I highly recommend buying this at Sephora for $16, but be warned you’re going to get obsessed and spend an extra 20 minutes in the mirror every night. (Click on “Sephora Collection” to buy).

Tasti D-Lite – Boston

I made a little trip to the new Tasti D-Lite on 205 Newbury Street in Boston yesterday, which I have been looking forward to since I found out they were coming to Boston. Now, if you don’t know what Tasti D-Lite is it’s this low calorie, frozen yogurt-y, soft serve-y ice cream thing. They ate it on Sex and the City and 30 Rock, which is all the information you need to know.

The chain started in NYC, but this Boston one is way cooler because you can get any of the 5 flavors they have “on tap,” but if you’re really high maintenance you can have them specially mix a flavor for you if they aren’t serving it in bulk that day.

I’m pretty high maintenance when it comes to food, so I had them prepare for me the Nutella flavor (they use real Nutella to make it), which was 90 calories. Now, generally, if something is low-calorie I don’t care if it tastes like styrofoam… I’m just happy to be eating. However, this Nutella flavor was legit UNREAL (I forgot to take a picture before I ate half of it… enjoy the following picture of my dessert remnants). I also got the Strawberry Shortcake flavor, which was also really good. When you go, take your time, try one of the flavors of the day, but peruse the complete menu to take in all your options. Don’t do anything rash before you’ve made an informed decision on what flavor and topping you want. If you get overwhelmed, just ask for a Nutella with chocolate sprinkles, and I promise you’ll be fine.

A Vague Attempt at Being Chelsea Handler

Side note: I originally wrote this for another blog about two years ago. If I remember correctly, it was written around the time I read My Horizontal Life by Chelsea Handler. You’ll get why in a second.

All I wanna do is move to NYC and drink cocktails at summer rooftop parties!


Brace yourself, readers (and by readers I mean both of you) I am about to go all Carrie Bradshaw on you. Not totally Bradshaw, though. I’m not very good with puns, and due to my severely pronating feet, my ALDO stilettos still have the price sticker on the soles.

However, I do date. And live in a city. And have an open forum to write about it. So, that makes me Carrie Bradshaw.

Recently, I’ve acquired a lavish dating life filled with men who own limos, financiers, sensitive furniture makers, politicians with urine fetishes….sorry, that’s the real Carrie…a woman can dream, though. My actual dating life is a lot less Cosmopolitans and business suits and more Bud Lites and dockers, but the problems remain the same. My biggest problem mostly revolves around the issue of dinner.

What part of the dinner date perplexes me? Definitely not when it comes to the menu. I have no problem ordering something like a sloppy joe and eating it like a cavewoman.

No, no. If a man can’t accept me when I have brown sauce resembling poo on my face the date might as well end there because gross eating habits is one of my many charms.

Many. Many charms.

The big problem lies with the check.

I love a free dinner. I enjoy food so much more when I know someone else is paying for it. Usually on dates I allow my date to pay if he offers. Of course I put up a half-hearted fight. “Ohhh, are you suuuuure? Really, it’s fine if you want to split it…I got two drink, lobster, and dessert– I feel baaad….”

I don’t really feel bad.

However, I have begun to realize that apparently men expect “things” if you let them pay for dinner. This was brought up to me recently by a boy (and the operative word here is ‘boy’) who after buying me dinner made some inappropriate advances on a second date. Perhaps they were appropriate advances for a Samantha Jones, but I, as previously stated, am a Carrie. After denying these advances, I was promptly called a tease.

This was perplexing. Last I checked I did not mention at any point in the evening, “Shall we move forward with some feverish love making?” So, I was confused as to how he was under the impression that dessert was to be served bedside. And then I realized:

He bought me dinner! So, clearly there is no such thing a gentleman anymore. Apparently, some men find women to be less than prostitutes. Prostitutes get cash, whilst women are supposed to accept a steak. This won’t do.

The other option is splitting the check (me paying for him is not on the table. Not that women shouldn’t pay for men if they want, because I’m all about the feminism. I’m cheap first and empowered second). The problem with splitting the check is now your date thinks you don’t like him and just want to be friends. Or at least that’s my excuse for not insisting on going halfsies.

The way I plan on dealing with this dilemma is allowing my dates to pay for me and just take the name calling. Yes, I could just split the check, but I’d much rather save my money for some Jimmy Choos. Sticks and stones may break your bones but at least I can afford the hospital bill.