The Definitive Guide To Stuffing Your Lady's Stockings

Yes. That was intended to sound sexual. I haven't done one of these since 2016; how else was I supposed to grab your attention?

Listen up, folks. I feel like Christmas stockings don't get enough credit. While the contents of the Christmas stocking were once the only gifts children received at Christmas (filled with oranges and other super random items), they have now become an afterthought. They are the reason my parents raced to 7-11 at midnight, desperate to find useless items to shove into an oversized sock. Christmas stockings have been pushed into the shadows. We mindlessly pull goodies out of them knowing the fat man in the red suit left all the good stuff under the tree. I am here today to put a stop to this nonsense.

Are you nodding your head 'yes' enthusiastically at this point? Continue reading, my friend. I'm about to knock your socks off (obnoxious and obvious pun totally intended).

If you're dating a woman - first off, congrats because we are amazing; and also, yikes - shopping for us must be brutal. Especially when it comes to health and beauty products. So if you're a man reading this (and I haven't lost you by now), have no fear - I'm here. I'm about to tell you how to stuff your lady's stockings with the best goddamn goodies she's ever seen. Alright, I'll stop with the innuendos.

1.) RevitaLash Advanced Eyelash Conditioner - If you buy one product because you read this post, please make it this one. I've tried eyelash extensions - they are super expensive and high-maintenance. I've tried fiber mascara - it's messy. This is the only product I've come across in my 30 years of being a woman that actually gives me the long lashes I'm looking for and bonus, they are 100% mine. In fact, it works so well my guy actually complimented me on them. Whoa. 

*DEAL ALERT* at the time of this posting, this is $30 cheaper than it normally is. Seriously dudes, buy this for your lady. This shit works.

2.) Dermal Collagen Facial Mask - I'm of the age now where a solid skincare regiment is no longer an "if I feel like it" option. Slap the description "anti-aging" on literally anything and I guarantee I'll do a double-take and possibly buy in bulk from Amazon. Enter sheet masks. I love a good sheet mask after a rough day and these ones in particular leave my face soft as butter after using them. What's even better is that you can get these in a bundle of 16 for a little over $10.

3.) Batiste Dry Shampoo - Gents, I'm going to fill you in on a dirty, little secret. Does your girl have great volume? Perfect curls that stay in place? A surprisingly strong floral-scented scalp that you've never really questioned before but now in this moment it's giving you pause? It's not her. It's the dry shampoo. We don't wash our hair every day a.) because we're lazy and b.) because it is REALLY bad for your hair to strip it of natural oils and then burn the shit out of it every morning. I go through about two cans a month, three if my social calendar is empty. Buy this for your girl and save on your water bill.

4.) Invisibobble Original Hair Tie - How many of your girl's hair ties have you found on door knobs, bed posts, gear shifts, etc.? Truly there aren't enough hair ties in the world to keep us satisfied. BUT, these guys are hard to lose (look how fun they are!) and they also do minimal damage to hair compared to other hair ties. This product also claims to not leave a kink in your hair when you take it out - I think this really depends on hair type so no promises on that one.

5.) Aquis - Original Hair Towel - I feel like I should earn an honorary degree for all of the wisdom I am imparting on the male species right now. So sometimes we wash our hair. And when we do, the big no-no most women make is putting their hair up in a heavy, cotton towel while it's drying. Stop doing that! It's really bad for your hair! Use this instead. It's super light which means it's gentle on your hair. Also, for the lucky ladies with super thick and long hair, this thing promises to dry your hair more quickly than a conventional towel. I can't attest to that because my hair is basically dry as soon as I turn the water off. Pro tip: use this to cover your hair while you're doing an overnight conditioning mask so you don't ruin your pillows. 

6.) Neutrogena Makeup Remover Towelettes - Raise your hand if your lady has ruined each and every one of your towels with makeup (I think I owe my mother an entire new set). Truth is, makeup is a bitch. Putting it on, wearing it, taking it off. The whole thing sucks and if I was one of those girls who could pull off the no-makeup look, TRUST I WOULD. Anyways, makeup remover wipes do just what they say they'll do. Also, earn bonus points with your SO by leaving these in her nightstand for when she's super lazy and doesn't feel like washing her face before bed. It be like that sometimes.

7.) Cremo Moisturizing Shave Cream - Let me start this one off by saying you have to follow the directions for this to work. And once you figure out how to do that you will save so much money on shaving cream. I searched through my Amazon orders to find out when I last bought this. You guys, I've had my current bottle since mid-June. No comment on how often I shave my legs. Anyways, this isn't ordinary shaving cream. Besides the fact this stuff smells like I'm on a tropical island surrounded by no one (my dream vacation), it works by using a tiny amount of product activated by hot water (the hottest you can stand). The texture is completely different than regular shave cream so don't be freaked out by that. I've been using this stuff for three years and I'll never go back.

8.) Shhhowercap - As I'm writing this post I'm getting increasingly more aware that men just have it way too easy. Anyways, next on the definitive guide is the most amazing shower cap in existence. Yes, shower cap. Like your great grandmother used to wear. Alright guys, get over it - now that we've discovered dry shampoo we're simply not going to go back to washing our hair every day. Moving on - this thing repels water. Not in a regular shower cap way. In like, a NASA employee mastered science and figured out how to keep this thing permanently dry kind of way. Haven't won you over yet? This thing also has some kind of Harry Potter sorcery included as a package deal because it somehow blocks humidity which is the #1 enemy of a good hair day.

9.) UGG Womens Cozy Sparkle Socks - I realize that socks will go down with underwear as being the worst gifts you can give someone but, before you pass on stuffing a sock into a significantly larger sock and call it a gift - hear me out. When's the last time your lady cuddled up to you and used you as a personal heating pad for her feet? Probably always. I received these as a gift last year and they are my favorite pair of cozy socks to date. Pair with an oversized sleep shirt to complete the look.

Pretty sure I just filled my good deed quota for 2018. Good luck out there, men. If you follow this guide, I promise you - you can't go wrong. Ladies, feel free to subtly hint at wanting these items by posting this directly onto your SO's Facebook page. 

Therapy Saved My Life

I recently got a request to post something (how about anything?) lighthearted on the blog and while I agree that it would be nice to post something less heavy than my norm, it's gonna have to wait.

This time of year can be extremely difficult for many. In fact, I think this time of year is difficult for most to some degree but society tells us that we're supposed to walk around like we're lit on eggnog all the time, and so we perform. We shove the stress and anxiety and depression and inconvenient thoughts down, down, down. I get it. I am so good at that game. Which is why before I post something lighthearted, I need to post something that could potentially save someone's life. 

A little over a year ago I was beginning to spiral. I've written about my struggle with mental health in many of my previous posts so I won't do it again here, but for those who are new to the blog you can read about my sexual assault and PTSD here, here, here, and here. Yeah, I talk about it a lot because it needs to be talked about.

You wouldn't think so, but it's actually easy to recall the details of what it was like during the worst of the worst. It's easy because I can't imagine that I'll ever be able to forget those days. They are extremely vivid memories. But what I haven't talked a lot about is how I got to that really bad place.

It was happening slowly but it happened before I knew it. I began to withdraw. I would cancel on friends. Shut myself in my bedroom. Self-medicate with sleeping pills. Essentially, I wanted to "not be." I didn't want to feel. If someone would have asked me if I was suicidal, I would have answered emphatically, "no." And I truly wasn't. But I was also desperate to not feel anything anymore. To make matters worse, I was really good at hiding all of this. The "I'm too busy" or "it's too cold out" texts were frequent and the "I don't want to talk about it" reply was automatic anytime someone tried to care. By the time I realized what was happening and reached out for professional help, I was already pretty far gone. I had no idea just how bad it was about to get over the following months.

It scares me to think of what could have happened if I hadn't reached out for help. I'm not telling you my experience with individual and group therapy was easy, if you've read my posts you know I fought hard to get here. But it could have been worse. And I could have found myself in a hole so deep I might not have been able to get out. 

Let me be clear, what we're talking about here isn't some holiday sadness that Hallmark movies tell you can be cured with a puppy and a fiance (side note, I fucking hate those movies). The desperation one feels around this time of year is something that is preexisting and it is only amplified by the holiday pressure to be social, act happy, and show your love by spending thousands of dollars. In my case, I was already feeling the symptoms of my PTSD when the holidays came around.

If you are in pain now, please know that you are not alone. You are surrounded by people who are hurting just like you and you have nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing wrong with you. You are not abnormal. 

You are brave for getting out of bed every morning. You are brave for fixing that smile on your face before you walk out the door. You are brave for making it through another day. I know it doesn't feel that way. I know you feel weak and unworthy. I know. But I promise you - I can tell you from experience - it. gets. better. 

I implore you - if you are desperate to not feel, especially if you are desperate enough to take your life, please reach out for help. You can cry. You can talk. You can get answers and most importantly, you can get help. 

You are needed here. You are wanted here. You are loved here.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 

1 800-273-8255

NYC: Two Year Review

"Was definitely supposed to write this a while ago and publish yesterday but is anyone really surprised? Because I'm not."

That was my opening line for my One Year Review so I think it's safe to say that absolutely nothing has changed because here I am, an entire month late on this post. This is an endearing quality, right? 

I've got two years under my belt in this big, beautiful city. I keep waiting for the day I wake up and hate the blaring horns, sidewalk vomit, and the smell of piss on a hot summer's day but maybe that is a badge you earn at Year Three? Here's hoping because every day I wake up in this city is completely different than the last and I love that. New buildings being constructed and your favorite deli closing -  an entire block can change before your eyes. There's a sadness in this for sure. Tearing down the old and worn down demands some kind of mourning, some kind of grief. But there's also something reassuring in knowing that change and adaptation is so natural and necessary in this city. Reconstruction is beautiful. 

I've grown up so much here. I've never felt so confident and sure of my self and what I want. Maybe it's a part of getting older or maybe this place forced me to face things I hadn't wanted to before. Either way, it's been an epic two years and I'm so excited for what's next. 

Alright, let's get to the part you actually wanted to read. 

The Rent: So I moved. I was living on the East Side and now I'm on the West Side (in my very own apartment!!!)  in the best neighborhood in all of Manhattan - West Village. When you think of a Kate Hudson movie being shot in New York, this is the neighborhood you think of. Brownstones and cobbled streets, boutiques and the best restaurants. It's like the perfect date neighborhood. Just bring a girl here and she'll fall in love with you. Promise. Also, I'll be doing a "home tour" post at some point just be warned that I live in a shoe box so the post will contain exactly one photo.

The Rats: Solid chance that I'm just not aware of my surroundings because I haven't seen a ton of rats or any A-list celebrities since I moved here. 

The Subway: Now that I actually live close to a subway station I take it all the time and if Uber is doing poorly these days you can blame it on me. 

The People: I've never met so many hard working people in my entire life. I'm constantly in awe of my friends and family that live here and fight for what they want. They don't take no for an answer. Surviving in this place can be a challenge in itself so to thrive here is incredibly admirable. I'm very luck to know so many talented people. Hoping some of that rubs off!

The Dates: You guys. I can't. Dating here is the absolute worst. I actually got rid of Bumble (the only dating app I use) because it's depressing. Can't wait for the holidays when I have to explain to family members that I'm single because the only person interested in dating me is the homeless man I greet on my way to work every day.

The Nightlife: I'm old. This doesn't exist. My night out consists of two glasses of wine at dinner before I return home to my Netflix lineup. I refuse to apologize for this. That being said though, I would never turn down a boozy brunch. Bottomless mimosas, hold the OJ.

The Food: Oh my gaahhhddd the food. Don't ever ask me for a list of restaurants to visit while you're here because that would turn into me starting another novel. There are so many amazing places to eat here. And there's something new popping up every week. If I get fat just know it was because I had to. 

The Smell: To me, New York City will always smell like hot dog street vendors and the possibility that anything could happen here. Big fan of both of those things.

Check One, Two. Check. Is This Thing On?

If you're reading this, you likely know me. If you know me well, you likely also know that my solution to just about every problem is to pretend that it doesn't exist. Don't ask me about it. I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine. I'll be okay. Let's move on. 

That defense mechanism worked really, really well for me. Up until it didn't. 

It was around this time last year that the #metoo movement started to pick up steam. At first it was just a couple of tweets here and there - individuals voicing their horrifying truths. And then all of the sudden it was an avalanche. My news feed was made up entirely of women's stories detailing their abuse, trauma, and PTSD symptoms. I took them in like an addict. I had to read every. single. one. Through sobs I reluctantly clicked on link after link, paying close attention to the comments. Reading words from the victim blamers and shamers as if they were speaking directly to me. Each word piling on top of my chest until I could barely breathe. I couldn't stop.

And just like that, the pretty facade I had spent 2.5 years building had completely imploded.

The next six months of my life would be the absolute worst I had ever experienced. My body completely turned against me - a new physical symptom of my PTSD popping up so regularly that I was visiting my doctor every other week. Multiple prescriptions. Acupuncture. Acupressure. Three hours of therapy a week. I was fighting like hell when at the time it felt like I was doing nothing but merely existing. 

I know it's been a while. I've been quiet. But I've been rebuilding. I'm not "healed." But I'm better than I was a year ago. 

Anyways, the point is - I'm not going anywhere. So if you thought you had escaped my passionate and frequently politically polarizing posts (alliteration totally intended), then I am so not sorry to disappoint you. Because I'm back and I'm swinging, baby. 

This is What Healing Looks Like

After tossing and turning for over an hour, I finally give in and check the time on my phone. It's 3:30 AM. In this nightmare, I was being skinned alive while hanging upside down from the ceiling. I feel the panic in my chest start to rise. My pulse increases and the familiar "butterflies" in my heart start to flutter. The heart palpitations mixed with my shallow breaths eventually make me nauseous and before I know it, another hour has passed. It's now 4:45 AM and I know I've gotten only a few hours of restless sleep. If I take a Xanax now it will probably provide relief but I don't want to rely on medication. Instead, I try the "conscious breathing" technique I was prescribed. Slow breaths in, slow breaths out. It seems futile. I know the palpitations and nausea will last all day. My alarm goes off. 

I roll out from my cocoon of blankets and pad barefoot into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. My doctor told me to stay away from any amount of caffeine but the migraines and insomnia have won and I'm not left with a choice. It's not until I look at my meetings for the day that I remember it's Thursday. After work I'll be in two hours of intensive group therapy for victims of sexual trauma. 

I know I should curl my hair and put makeup on today. People at work have started commenting on how unhappy and tired I look. But I don't have the energy for it. So I put my hair in a bun for the fourth day this week and turn the bathroom light off. I hate looking in the mirror. When I leave my apartment it's cold and bright and loud outside and I'm sensitive to it all. For the entire 20 minute walk to work, I tell myself that I only have to act like a human for the next eight hours. That's it.

It's 8:30 PM and I've just left group therapy. The 4 Train is crowded, even this late at night, so I try to keep my head down to hide my face. My eyes are swollen and red from sobbing for almost two hours. I feel numb and raw at the same time. I clutch my "grounding stone," running my fingertips over the smooth edges. It's supposed to distract me from my thoughts and emotions. The train jerks me back and forth and I realize that's exactly how I feel inside. 

It's Friday morning and I've finally slept with the help of Ambien. Like the Xanax, it's addictive so I only take it when I'm desperate. Desperate. That word sounds so hollow compared to how it feels. Work is almost unmanageable today and I only have time to leave my desk to go to the bathroom. For the next 24 hours I will be unable to stop crying. My office has glass walls and as my coworkers walk by I can tell how uncomfortable I make them feel. 

I look down at my phone and see the unread text message notifications. My best friend had surgery three days ago. Another is publishing a book this month. I care. I'm concerned. But I don't have the energy to have a typed conversation. Or any kind of conversation. I turn my screen off and tell myself that I'll respond later. I won't. 

I come home and spend twenty minutes sitting in the shower. It's become another kind of therapy. In addition to the group therapy. The individual therapy. The acupuncture. The prescriptions. I spend Friday night in my bedroom alone watching TV because it's easier than having a conversation with someone about how hard their day was. 

Saturday is a good day. I have a party to go to. I get a blowout and a spray tan. I put makeup on. Today I'm supposed to be happy. And I am. For almost 12 hours I am talking and laughing and drinking. Later I'll see pictures of myself and realize I don't look happy at all. I spend all day in bed the following day recovering. Not from the alcohol. From the "having fun."

This is four days. I've been doing some version of this for almost four months and I've never felt so alone in my life.

It's been almost three years since my rape and I am just now scratching the surface of what it means to "heal." The symptoms are endless and they tell me it's called PTSD. Don't ask me if I'm okay. I'm not okay. I'm not fine.