You’re trapped inside your phone

Ok so everyone watched The Social Dilemma on Netflix, and then everyone immediately posted on social media. Ya’ll are the dilemma. That’s how messed up our world is. Everyone was so passionate about this documentary that they did the one thing it told us not to do. Put down your damn phone. Social media owns us.

I miss the old days when the only forms of communication were the home phone and Chatroulette. At least the nice people of Chatroulette didn’t steal your information—they just left you with a slight trauma after seeing your first Russian half-chub. Tragic. Now every app has built-in filters that make thirteen-year-olds look like Angelina Jolie in Maleficent. Yeah, Maleficent is a ten, but those cheekbones are not realistic! Thanks, Walt.

I can’t even begin to imagine what Gen Z goes through—terrorized from all angles and platforms at such a young age. I thought it was the end of the world when someone called me “flat” in 7th grade on Formspring. Then, someone wrote that I stuffed my bra but I literally only stuffed my bra because someone called me flat! I’ll admit though it was bad strategy on my end because I went straight to a C-cup when a subtle B might’ve been more discrete. My point is, if that one stupid comment made me feel like I needed to change my body, imagine how much damage could be done on a global scale?

It’s as if social media was created for bullying –a place where you can judge people from the comfort of your own home. Major companies are capitalizing off of your bitterness. You salty tweens are fueling this economy. It’s every age, though. Even you, boomer. But even if you think you’re not being controlled by social media, you’re still being monitored every time you log on. Especially now with everyone working and learning from home. The screens are even more accessible than ever as we scroll aimlessly, ad after ad, like after like.

Every five minutes, a new gender neutral, vegan Gen Z is doing the seductive Macarena and thrusting to a song about sex, drugs and gang violence before they log in for AP English. I thought it was risqué when my friends and I did a provocative dance to a Nelly song in the middle school talent show. Think again, sweetie. It’s going to take more than a premature body roll to get this generation going.

I don’t see social media leaving anytime soon. How else would we post a pic of brunch or be notified when Kanye West tweets that he’s the next Moses?! And what about the exhilarating rush from getting a creepy DM from a man overseas? It’s just not the same when you slide into my iMessage.

The only solution is to all simultaneously throw our phones in the river. Which river, I don’t care, just make sure you get a boomerang of me tossing it from a skinny angle, preferably with the G6 filter and max brightness.  

Moral of the story, social media can be toxic, and we need to chill and get a hobby or something. Maybe people will even like you in real life. Probably not, but at least you tried. If you need to reach me, you can find me on LinkedIn. Just don’t @ me on Formspring. I’m still not ok.  

The COVID: Total Madness

By: Ali Benz

This is not a drill. The rules of COVID apply. Play carefully. You are now living in an alternate reality. Nothing is the same and you will survive only if you follow the rules. This is season of the Rona, and you are Player One. Mask on, six feet, never touch your face. Play at your own risk.

You are automatically in the game so it’s time to isolate and adapt. Great time to be a nun, horrible time to be a swinger. A guy literally sent me his Corona test results to get me to hangout. Huge red flag but also is this the new equivalent to STD tests? Proving you’re clean? Thanks, buddy, I’m glad you’re negative for COVID but I’m sure you’re positive for something else. Anyone trying to hookup in these conditions is clearly unwell. Hate to break it to you but you’re not meeting your wife on Tinder today. Stay home.

I know, easier said than done. It’s nearly impossible to stay locked up with your family or roommates. I got in a fight with my dad last night because the avocados weren’t organic. We’re currently still not speaking. I know I overreacted but I fought so hard for those avocados it would be too awkward to back down now. We’ll probably speak once he catches me watching reality TV again and threatens to cancel the cable. Or worse, catches me making a Tik Tok, which is essentially just slutty sign-language. The deaf community should come for Addison Rae.

It would really suck to lose TV considering how many great shows are out right now. Listen to Your Heart? Oscar-worthy. The Challenge? Tear-jerker. So great to see TJ Lavin is still employed and I’m not. Do reality TV stars collect unemployment? I’ve been trying to collect mine for weeks and still can’t get in touch with the New York Government. Andrew Cuomo is too busy being cute AF to call me back. I get playing hard to get but like I need my money, Drew.

Not sure why they make it so hard to get paid. I just want enough money to buy a trendy face mask from a local rather than getting scammed by hippies on Etsy. I should’ve known ten masks for five dollars from someone named “Wild Flower” in New Zealand was too good to be true. That wasn’t my best move but at least I’m not taking shots of Lysol to stay pure. I actually love the mask look—super theft-chic and the narrow design does wonders for my jawline. My only complaint is the subtle mask-tan and some minor chin acne.

To be honest, I’m not ready for the Q to end. Don’t kill me for saying this, but I find it quite relaxing and I’m super busy. I don’t know where the time goes. It’s amazing we are living through a pandemic, and although it’s scary and your life is actually tragic, things will get better. For now, enjoy the time to yourself and the time at home. Give yourself a break. And remember, liquor stores are considered “essential” so there’s really no reason to complain.

 

New Year New Me

By: Ali Benz

New year new me. It’s resolution time. I just did a 2-week social media cleanse and wow, it was nice. I had so much freedom. I literally had no idea what was going on or where anyone was and it was amazing. A bunch of people couldn’t get in touch with me and that was the best part. Who knew so many people slide into my DMs that don’t even have my number. I had zero fomo. This is the life that I want.

Without IG, you never feel pressured to do anything. You don’t have to see your friends’ three-hour-long story of a DJ Khaled concert and think “what if.” You don’t have to watch a promo for Kylie Cosmetics. You’ll never know whose bachelorette party you didn’t get invited to. And you’ll never wake up in the middle of the night in a panic wondering what cringe-worthy content you posted at 2 am on your story. That was probably the biggest revelation for me. I’m used to deleting everything and then having anxiety for the next twelve hours, but no ‘gram equals no posts. You can finally rest knowing you didn’t post yourself serenading your Uber driver to Taylor Swift as you beg him to get you a McChicken.

It means no worries. However, it does mean sketchy af. After an event last week, a few people asked for my Insta upon leaving. When I said I didn’t have one they def thought I was a murderer. Then I started to think I was one, too, because who tf doesn’t have Instagram? That’s why I’m back on here. People without social media usually have something to hide. There’s nothing sketchier than someone in a job interview who doesn’t have Facebook. Yes, Facebook is wack af and tailored to your stalker aunt but it is a necessity. Group projects? Facebook. Background check? Facebook. Making sure the intern you just hired that only owns a Nokia won’t steal your HD scanner? Facebook! If you don’t have social, odds are you’re Joe from You.

Not to mention, you become extremely alienated. I knew none of the current memes and I had to hear from an outside source that Justin Bieber has pink hair. I should’ve been the first to know. Also, I thought Millie Bobby Brown was Halsey, but that’s another discussion. Honestly, none of this celeb stuff should matter but we have to stay on top of the hot gossip or else we’ll die at work. Selena Gomez put out a fire album and I need to like all her sh*t to make up for hating on her for the past ten years. She’s absolutely killing it and we stan. Her ex, Biebz, tried to outshine her album drop with his Lyme disease but we’re not going to let that happen. Sel legit had a kidney transplant—his tick bite can wait. Not belittling his disease, I know Lyme is awful but for real I need to meet the tick that bit Justin. That lil guy has some serious BDE.

I probably will never find that parasite, but be mindful that other parasites will find you. I deleted Instagram, as I’ve now mentioned six times, but there are other platforms and you need to be cautious. Without IG, I found myself posting on Twitter, because, duh. It’s in these moments that you realize just how psycho your ex is. I barely knew I had a Twitter account, but this stalker was one step ahead of me and seeing everything I tweeted in real-time. I’m flattered you’re so obsessed with me, but seriously Twitter should be a safe space. I never thought I’d have to block someone on an app that tells me my horoscope.

With Twitter unsafe, I finally downloaded Tik Tok. I said I never would but desperate times call for desperate measures and now I have so many questions. Is this app designed specifically for teenage girls to dance to trap music after they’re done with homework? I respect the creative freedom but wow, when I was in middle school, I was hardly able to learn the Cotton Eye Joe. The Cotton Eye J was way too controversial. Now, these people are body-rolling to Doja Cat. I barely know what a Doja Cat is and I feel old. This app made me sad and now I’m having a mid-life crisis. I’ll get back to that later—I need to learn the Renegade dance so my sixteen-year-old cousin will still think I’m cool.

All in all, social media is quite toxic, but in this society, it’s inevitable. We need apps to stay relevant. Plus, I miss all the paradoxes of Instagram, like when bottle girls have “RN” in their bio. No way I’d let anyone from Marquee put a needle in my arm, but I think it’s unique how you describe yourself as a nurse meanwhile your first ten pics consist of champagne showers and an ice luge. I also take pride in knowing I’m blocked by Bart Johnson. That’s Troy Bolton’s dad from High School Musical. So much clout. Sorry for bothering you, Barty J. We’re just dying for a spin-off

Enjoy your social media breaks while they last. It’s super refreshing and isolating. Just don’t post on your story that you’re doing an “Instagram Cleanse” and will be back soon because that’s obnoxious. You’re not Demi Lovato. No one is wondering where you are besides your mom and that one foreign guy in your DMs that keeps asking you to “send bobz.” Tragic.

 

Christmas Time in the City!

By: Ali Benz

It’s that time of year again. Time to get controversial. With the holidays coming up, everyone is high stress and loves any opportunity to complain. Everything is magical but this is New York—aka we need to be angry. It’s a perfect time to donate to the Salvation Army then immediately kick someone in the face. An amazing day to feed the homeless then cause a scene in a Popeye’s. Too soon?

The holidays are wonderful. I can’t tell if I’m seasonally depressed or clinically confused. All I know is that this Macy’s is beautiful. I want to spend every day in the Christmas Macy’s. Normally, I would need at least three Xanax to enter a department store, but not today. Today I am free and I will buy a faux fur on sale in the wrong size while listening to Michael Bublé serenade me as I try to locate a cash register in the Calvin Klein section. It will turn out to be returns-only and they won’t help me at the perfume counter but my spirits will remain high because the salvation army man is still dancing.

If you missed Black Friday because this is 2019 and you own a computer, fear not. Cyber Monday is just around the corner. If you missed Cyber Monday because today is Thursday, fear not as well. Every day is a cyber one with Amazon Prime. Instead of feeling pressured to buy your dog the perfect winter scarf that screams sexy yet elegant, just wait. The internet doesn’t sleep. Also, don’t cut corners with your pet. If you love your Schnoodle you’ll pay full price. Never settle for burgundy because they don’t have it in jet-black.

Fashion dominates the market this time of year, but we get riled up over the simple things as well. Starbucks has happy hour but we don’t care about that because their cups are so controversial. ‘Tis the season to freak out over a coffee mug. Oh, it’s red? Absolutely not. This establishment is racist. I’ll still take that tall blonde skinny vanilla latte though, thanks. I think the issue is that all this holiday cheer gives people a false sense of security. We suddenly think we’re invincible because there’s a wreath on the doorknob. I don’t get it. If plant-decor could make one feel so powerful, then why hasn’t my ficus been working? Someone please look into this.

Maybe there’s something in the air. Whatever it is, I keep catching it. I think I’ve been on antibiotics since September. Not a good look. I see my doctor so much she invited me to her Hanukkah for night three. It’s a bad month to be on medication. With all the holiday parties and such, I don’t get why they keep prescribing me things that say “don’t mix with alcohol.” I mean, could you be more specific? What else am I going to mix this with? Someone please let me know the wine pairing for Amoxicillin.

Cheers to making it through this holiday season. Make sure they put a Menorah up in your workplace because the tree is so banal. Hit up an ex to go ice-skating even though you hate sports. Buy your mom a Rumba so she can multi-task during hot yoga. And if your older cousin invites you to Ann Taylor Loft, remember that it’s not a secret rave in Brooklyn. It’s a literal clothing store from like, the 60’s. Tragic.

Ballin’ on a Budget

By: Ali Benz

If you need budget advice, you’ve come to the right place. Not trying to brag or anything but I saved twelve dollars last week by switching to Geico. Just kidding, by practicing some self-control and discipline. For example, I decided to be a peasant and go to Dunkin’ instead of Starbucks. It was absolutely awful but I’m way richer now.

There are subtle ways to save money, you just have to get occasionally uncomfortable. Sacrifice where it makes sense. The other day I took an Uber pool downtown to cut the price in half. I realize this is the worst-case scenario considering the last thing anyone wants is social contact in a random car-pool. I wouldn’t even want to car-pool with James Corden. It makes me uncomfortable that he’d do karaoke sober. We can’t trust him. Anyway, it was a blessing that my driver spoke literally zero English. So far so good. Then, we picked up two girls from Murray Hill and do I really have to say more on that? If I wanted to be surrounded by Bud Light and Uggs I would’ve just went to Brother Jimmy’s. It’s cool though because I saved ten bucks on that ride and no one asked me to donate to their basketball team.

With all the cash saved on rideshare, you might be thinking you deserve to eat out. Relax P. Diddy, it doesn’t work like that. You don’t need to spend fifteen dollars on a bagel. There are better ways, like making your lunch order less dramatic. You can actually go somewhere like Chipotle and get a decent meal for under ten bucks, and even make it vegan or gluten-free if you’re into that sort of thing. Yes, I know guac is extra. I’d say you could pack a lunch but there’s nothing cringier than Tupperware in the office. That might be a personal phobia, but whatever. And let’s be honest, no one actually meal preps. Separating your leftover Bolognese into seventeen containers does not count as “prep”. You’re more of a hoarder.

In addition to food, people tend to spend ridiculous amounts of money on coffee. I think I spend fifty dollars a week on oat milk lattes and I don’t know wtf they are or why. I just do it without even thinking. Who even knows how to milk an oat. My suggestion is to leave whatever weird milk substitute you like in the fridge and then just buy an iced coffee. Sure, it’s going to look ghetto af but that should save you about a dollar per cold brew and by the end you can probably afford that fancy croissant you always hesitate to add but don’t because you just spent seventeen dollars on a latte with a foam heart in it made by a sexually ambiguous barista named Miguel.

Aside from the bombardment of street vendors, everyone is a huge victim of technology. Sometimes you need to delete all your apps. It’s way too easy to order literally anything. Take it from me: a recovering Amazon addict. There’s nothing I won’t prime. Also, definitely get rid of all food ordering apps. Immediate. If I had a dollar for every time I order Shake Shack on my way home from the bar, I’d have enough dollars to keep doing it.

Also, cancel subscriptions that you don’t need. I was once so desperate to watch Frozen I subscribed to Starz. Literally have no idea who uses Starz but apparently I did for four months. Control, Alt, Delete. You also don’t need every membership. It’s not that serious. I’ve been trying to remove myself from Massage Envy for years but I like their cucumber water. I think it would be more practical to buy massages as needed. Not to mention I leave there nine out of ten times feeling violated. I don’t get why they always tell you to drink a ton of water after the session, like why don’t you drink water? You’re the one that just worked for an hour. All I did was lay there wondering if these people are certified.

There are many little tips and tricks to save here and there. It just takes a little planning and self-restraint. Maybe you have to be obnoxious and ride a Citi bike. Maybe you have to suck it up and go on a Hinge date with a guy named “Seb”. Who knows. Just keep your confidence at a Lizzo and your bank account at a Gatsby. If anyone bothers you send them a Venmo request. Only donate to the homeless that have ~good vibes~. You can be in control of your finances.

In the words of Kylie Jenner, “Rise and Shine”, because you are now ballin’ on a budget thanks to my five-step plan. See you at Dunkin’ happy hour from 2-6 every day and on the 2 train that runs express except late night when it runs locally in Manhattan. Tragic.

Into the (Jordyn) Woods…

First of all, I want to give a huge shout-out to Jordyn Woods for completely dominating the media. In a time of outrageous scandals from Jussie Smollett’s felony to Michael Cohen’s testimony, all the world can talk about is this random girl that lives in Kyle Jenner’s pool house. Side note: Where is 21 Savage?

Honestly, up until a week ago, I thought Jordyn Woods was a trail in Israel or some sh*t. Guess I can cross that off my Birthright bucket list and extend “float in the dead sea with Shlomo.” Jordyn with a Y (super edgy spelling—love it) kisses Khloe Kardashian’s psychotic, serial-cheating baby-daddy and my whole life gets flipped-turned upside down. Now, this is a job for Jada-Pinkett Smith, thought literally no one ever.

Wait, I just realized this is starting to sound like the theme song to ‘The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air’—which is a coincidence since Woods considers Will Smith her Uncle. They’re def not blood-related, just super dramatic like when you go to a party and introduce all your best friends as your cousin. “Hey Siri, add this to my list of conspiracy theories.”

I’d like to take a minute just sit right there, I’ll tell you how Jordy got evicted by a dumb billionaire. I don’t know what goes down in the Hidden Hills, but what I do know is that if every mistake I made when I was 21 was publicized…. I’d have a killer reality TV show as well—or be in jail, not really sure. This young, insecure girl was consumed by alcohol and the attention of a B-list NBA player, causing her to make a sporadic decision that would damage her entire life. When I was 21, I dumped a full vodka-cran on Chris Brown at a club because I believed my loyalty was with Rihanna—but no one wants to talk about that anymore. Woods’ entire being has consisted of Kardashian left-overs, so I don’t know why this is even such a big deal. Let it go. As for me, turned out it wasn’t even Chris Brown, but still Team #BadGal all the way. Slight mix-up.

There was a lot of speculation that this whole thing was a publicity stunt for KUWTK Season 675, but if Kris Jenner is responsible, we can’t even be mad. Why is nobody talking about Jussie “stage a hate crime on myself” Smollett? The homosexual with the voice of an angel actor from Empire? He literally put a noose around his neck and pretended he was attacked in MAGA hats, all for higher ratings, yet we still just want to know if Jordyn and Tristan used tongue. Tragic.

The Trump Administration works hard, but Kris Jenner works harder. Seriously, ever since Woods went on Red Table Talk with Jada and was slut-shamed by the Kar-Jenners, I can’t even remember why Michael Cohen was screaming at me through the TV for two hours.  And, once again, where.is.21.savage?!!!!

This whole situation is honestly wild and makes me miss thicc Rob Kardashian. Jordyn Woods went from being the least interesting person in the world to becoming my phone background. She gives the little people hope just like the return of the Jonas Brothers. Kevin Jonas is back! Thought you’d seen the last of him? Think again, bich!

 

By: Ali Benz

What do R. Kelly & a thicc Otter have in common?

By: Ali Benz

What an interesting world we live in where one can body shame an otter. I’ve been reflecting a lot these days. Not by choice, but we’re over a week into dry January and I literally have nothing better to do. It’s amazing how much free time you have when you’re sober. Who knew! Anyway, back to the otter: an absolute unit. How is it that an aquarium is facing extreme scrutiny over posting a thicc sea creature yet R. Kelly, a serial pedophilic rapist, has received minimal backlash after decades of abuse? The only thing I’m thankful for regarding this monster is that the six-part “Surviving R. Kelly” docuseries came out on the first weekend of Sober January. That was the first time I’ve ever told my friends I couldn’t go out because I was watching Lifetime. No one believed me. So, thank you Robert, but also f*ck you, you piece of trash.

Let’s compare these two breaking stories. On one hand, we have Abby, an innocent otter with the same publicity and curves as the Kardashians. She’s an icon. Abigail is an unapologetic female who will not conform to impossible beauty standards, and her PR girl gets that. After the Monterey Bay Aquarium released one of her tasteful nudes, the internet quickly turned the otter into a victim. Although I’m sure the picture was meant to empower women of all sizes, Instagram trolls quickly did what Instagram trolls do best—ruin a good thing. Thus, the #OttersLivesMatter movement was born. The aquarium was quick to issue a public apology to the furry feminist to silence the trolls. Abby has since become the most influential sea otter on social media and is predicted to be the first aquatic member of Congress. She is set to have lunch with Michelle Obama at Nobu to talk strategy. Fingers crossed for another tell-all.

On the other hand, we have Robert Kelly, the Harvey Weinstein of RnB. While the sea otter content had me falling out of my seat, laughing, the R. Kelly documentary had me sinking into my couch, crying. This man abused tons of vulnerable women without seeing any consequences or remorse. His fame and fortune allowed him to hide in plain sight. Loyal fans protected this creep for years and constantly shamed his victims. It literally took thirty years and a six-part docuseries to shed light on an infamous rapist, yet just hours to shame an aquarium for accidentally offending the otter community. Tragic.

Just because you don’t want to remove “Ignition” from your throwback 2000’s playlist does not mean you need to support a predator. While Abby thrives in aquarium boundaries, R. Kelly should rot in a cell. If Instagram trolls spent even half as much time destroying R(apist) Kelly as they do tearing apart a random aquarium, the world would be a better place. He may sing like an angel, but keep in mind he’s just another Bill Cosby behind a pretty voice. I strongly suggest everyone continue the fight to #MuteRKelly and protest this sick man to death.

On a happier note, I just received word that Abby will be the new face of OtterBox. She will be collaborating on a new design for thicc, plus-size iPhones, available exclusively through Fashion Nova. Oh lawd she comin.

Sexy Ruth Bader Ginsburg

By: Ali Benz

Halloween is amazing. The costumes get crazier and more confusing every year. For example, last night, I met a black man wearing a sweet George Washington costume. Naturally, I asked him if he was George Washington Carver. He said, “No! I’m Ric Flair (b*tch)!” Then I jumped off a bridge. Just kidding. I’m not racist, just an idiot. I’m not even sure who GW-Carver is but I’m sure he’s a lovely guy. We then preceded to get a ~ spooky ~ drink together and he followed me on Instagram and I’m buying his mixtape. All’s well that ends well!

I just love how it’s socially acceptable to dress up like an idiot, consume your weight in chocolate, and black-out on a Wednesday all because of this random holiday. I mean, to me, that’s just another day in the life, but it’s great to see the community getting involved.

I’ve never actually planned a Halloween costume. I have no idea how you psychopaths do that. My method is to throw on all black (shocker), douse myself in paint, find the nearest headgear, and call it a day. Then, you go out and whenever someone asks who you are, you obnoxiously say “What does it look like I am?” However they respond is now what you are. Basically, that’s how you become a skeleton, pirate, cannibal, and sexy pumpkin all in one night. That’s just showbiz, baby.

Lucky for me, my Italian hair-dresser saved the day. She legit stuffed one of her black smocks (smock is a weird word) into my bag and said: “Here, have a cape.” Sexy witch, here I come. Stylist Deb doing G-d’s work—I love it. Clearly, her selfless act did not go unnoticed. I caught the attention of a guy dressed as a sexy cop. He asked for my full name, address, birthday—and then I realized he was indeed not in costume at all and I was indeed receiving a fat fine for public intoxication. Stupid hot narc.

Bottom line, Halloween is the best holiday of the year. A bunch of weirdos running around half-naked or covered in blood—you never know what you’re going to get. Also, holiday-hack: if you’re a girl in your twenties and put on a mask and channel the voice of a small boy, you will never have to stop trick-or-treating. I don’t do that, I just heard one of my friends did it. And I was there. Don’t judge me. I have no idea where else to get 100 Grand bars without knocking on a stranger’s door disguised as a ninja turtle. Gender roles, am I right?

Super depressing that it’s over, but at least it’s about to get worse. All your slutty pics are about to surface and literally ruin your life. Bad weekend to be a school teacher. The best is coming into the office after all your ~ spooky ~ activities. All the Karens and Toms ask you what you did and you tell them “nothing special,” as if three hours ago you weren’t funneling handles of Fireball dressed as a sexy Ruth Bader Ginsburg and vomiting into a pumpkin. Life experiences are everything. Happy Halloween!

Advanced Guide to Resume Building and Job Applications

By: Ali Benz

If you don’t have ‘Proficient in Excel’ on your resume, did you ever even create a resume? Just because you made that mailing list for your step-sister’s Quinceañera, doesn’t mean you’re an Excel pro, but you better believe it’s on my list of skills, right next to ‘Works well with others’. Doubt it.

Applications are just too confusing these days. I love how, in a desperate attempt to appear less prejudiced, forms will put ‘White’ as one of the second to last options. This is cute and all but I can literally never find it. Sometimes, for the sake of time, I just circle a random race so I’m not late to the interview. It was only awkward that time I chose Pacific Islander because I thought it sounded like a cocktail at Red Lobster.

The questions just get harder and harder. Do you ever get hit with the ‘Hispanic or Non-Hispanic’? It might as well say can you dance or not. I always feel a little offended by this one. They’re basically asking if you’re exotic or a basic b*tch. Not slick. Also, I never really know how to answer this super personal inquiry. In my heart, I do feel a little Hispanic—I did spend that one summer in Punta Cana and I might have dated a Salvadorian—but the question isn’t clear as to what qualifies. My advice is to just leave that one blank. First amendment type sh*t. #KnowYourRights.

It seems I’m not the first one to be confused by an application. Senator Elizabeth Warren was clearly a bit rattled when applying to Harvard. Maybe she wasn’t sure to what extent Native American they meant—just like I’m still confused if I could be considered Latina. Then again, I was just trying to get into Costco, not an Ivy League school. What she did was probably wrong, but I bet she would’ve been accepted even as a Pacific Islander. You can’t always just name-drop Pocahontas and get the job. Sometimes, you have to actually meet the requirements. For example, Jamie Lee Curtis is my fourth cousin and I still didn’t get the part in Freaky Friday. Lindsay Lohan is just a better actor, dancer, activist and—this is how you throw a party in Mykonos, b*tch.

Anyway, I’m not sure how much you should exaggerate on a school/job application. Maybe just enough? Like, if your idea of fluent in Spanish entails watching Narcos without the subtitles, then, by all means, throw it on the res. Just don’t apply to any positions that specify bilingual as a requirement. That’s a bigger let down than a Starbucks in a Target. No one wants a caramel macchiato from the place that sells tube-socks in bulk. Know your audience.

Race and name may influence some outcomes, but with all these ancestry tests who even knows what’s real. I’m surprised they don’t require you to attach your results to the common-app. Had there been a 23andMe kit back then, I would’ve checked off way more race/ethnicity boxes and really expanded my horizons. White girl from Connecticut just never had that “wow” factor. Luckily, my grandma forbids this testing because “why would we just hand our DNA over to the government?” Once again, I do not know what secret opps she’s running out of Boca Raton, Florida, but I continue to respect the hustle.

It’s no secret that everyone exaggerates a little to get a foot in the door. Just look at Paris Hilton. She managed to convince the whole island of Ibiza that she was a DJ, when really, she had spent the past ten years blacking out at Ultra Musical Festival and occasionally dancing near one of the Chainsmokers. All you can do is work hard to surpass the lies that are your resume. Get that job you are completely unqualified for, then become so great that you don’t need a last name, like Dunkin’ Donuts. Did they really change their name to just Dunkin’? Who do they think they are? Cher?

Hopefully, this helps you land your dream job. Takeaways from this post: always lie just enough to get inside, subtle brag that Jamie Lee Curtis is my fourth cousin, don’t rely on DNA testing. Anything is possible. I’ve received opportunities way out of my league, and I thought Big Pharma was the name of a rapper. Tragic.

 

Casamigos On The Ice

By: Ali Benz

Reality star Brett Kavanaugh made it very clear that he likes beer. Boys and girls like beer. V cool revelation. I, however, only drink Casamigos. I could go on about its vanilla undertones and sh*t, but seriously, you’ve got to try this tequila. Life-changing.

If you didn’t blow all of your summer money on Juul pods and sparkling seltzer, chances are you’re back on your bullsh*t. With this cold weather approaching, we are all gearing up in our best liquor blankets. No coat-check necessary.

As I made my triumphant return to nightlife, strictly for investigative journalism purposes, I grew extremely disappointed. Finding: people are still ordering bottles of Vodka to the table. I don’t care that your Tito’s is gluten-free, Sebastían, I want some f*cking Tequila. More specifically: Casamigos.

When I asked if any good alcohol would be coming, this uncultured swine of a bottle girl offered me a shot of Patrón. Tragic. I mean, did I take it? Yeah—there are sober children in Africa. I’m not a monster. But it was awful. My palette is clearly way too refined.

At least it wasn’t Vodka. Tequila comes from the agave plant and is way better for you according to, like, science…and Pitbull. Dalé.

If only Casamigos knew how much (of other people’s) money I’ve spent on their products. Maybe then they wouldn’t have left me on read when I slid in the DM. Over it.

Anyway, if you don’t idolize Mr. 305 the way I do, then maybe you should know that this tequila was founded/blessed by silver-fox George Clooney himself. So, if you’re having trouble stomaching silver-sex-offender Kavanaugh this week, grab yourself a bottle of Georgie’s Casamigos, and try to black-out the way poor little Brettski never could.