Ayeeeeeee,
What’s up. I’m just chilling. I genuinely think these days that, when I’m not wracked with constant panic and anxiety, I am probably in the top ten of worldwide chillers. There’s me, Willie Nelson, the Sleepytime bear, a dog with sunglasses, the pretty glonky guy, and Rihanna. Maybe also the cranberry juice skateboarding guy, jury is out for now. Just an update on my ability to chill. My a-chill=ity??? No, that’s not good. Forget I said that.
🧖♀️ SWEETIE RATES 🧖♀️
Sliving
For reasons genuinely unbeknownst to me, I have made some LIFESTYLE changes recently*. I have not had a drink in a month, I bought a yoga mat so I can do morning stretches, I am still not shutting up about/eating those freakin’ chia seed puddings, I take my vitamins, I walked 338k steps in September, I no longer scroll social media immediately upon waking. I even watched that boring Blue Zones show on Netflix. I scarcely recognise myself. I don’t know why I’m doing this and I’m scared.
I suppose I am on a hilling journey of some description. And, truly, the will to carry the posi vibes onward has been boosted by an episode of the podcast The Ezra Klein Show. Boundaries, Burnout and the ‘Goopification’ of Self-Care sees (hears?) guest host Tressie McMillan Cottom interview psychiatrist Dr Pooja Lakshmin about the failures of wellness culture. This episode is not a safe space for celery juice, scented candles and bullet journalling. But it is real, interesting and raw.
Listen if you want to learn. Listen if you want to make strides to become kinder to yourself. Listen if you like supporting the failing New York Times!
*Editor’s note: I am not pregnant, so don’t try me.
Razorback
Perhaps it’s because I’ll be in Australia less than a week from now, but I have been feeling something akin to homesickness, but much, much less nostalgic. Homenausea? Anyway. In an effort to get myself in the mood to go home, I watched Russell Mulcahy’s 1984 Ozploitation film Razorback at the Prince Charles Cinema.
I didn’t go in expecting much, but I left the cinema with a hugeeeeee smile on my dial. It’s campy, it’s stunning, it’s completely insane. It sits perfectly under the umbrella of one of my favourite genres of film — people in the outback losing their minds. Honestly a fab spooky season film night watch. Go B2B with Lake Placid for the classic nobody-believes-me-but-there’s-an-animal-that’s-too-big trope.
Physical media
One time I was reading the back of a DVD cover and, without thinking, scrolled my finger down the plastic cover in an effort to read more — exactly as I would if I were on a phone. It was one of the most sobering moments of my life, it freaked me out so badly that it still, clearly, haunts me.
In honour of this iPad toddler-esque memory, I have been making more efforts to consume and engage with physical media. One day it could be a newspaper, or the issue of The Gentlewoman with Chaka Khan on the cover. Today I bought the latest issue of the New Yorker. You actually should really be printing out this newsletter and reading it that way, hyperlinks be damned. Life feels better off-screen.
If I had said this spiel to someone forty years ago they would have put me in a sanitarium.
👀 SWEETIE HATES 👀
Ageism when it affects me personally
Despite my tastebuds slowly dying and my bones crack-a-lackin’ when I get up from the ground, I really like being in my 30’s. But I do have one pet peeve that comes with age, and I think a lot of other people my age, and older, intimately understand my specific nuisance today.
This past week I went to a VR experience (no, I don’t want to talk about it) and I found myself in a conversation with a lovely woman that worked there. During our polite exchange, she made an off-the-cuff reference to being “old” at 32. “It’s OK” I said, “I’m 31!” She looked me up and down, beamed and said “Wow, you look good for your age.” Reader, she got my goat with that one.
When someone says I look good in any capacity, first of all, I am thankful. It’s always nice to know when someone agrees with me. Second of all, let’s drop the second half of that sentence, shall we? “You look good for your age” is actually not a very nice thing to say. It’s a compliment delivered via sucker punch.
When someone says “You look good for your age” they’re not really saying “You look good!” They are caveating the compliment with an asterisk. You look good… because you don’t look how I think you SHOULD look, ya old bitch! You look good… Because the ravages of time are going a little easier on you in comparison to your peers, who have WRINKLES! You look good… for a woman who has about 12% of her eggs left!
So what, if I were 27 and I appeared the same you’d think I look like shit, lady? You think because I’m 31 I should be an old crone, bent at the waist and crinkled at the brow? It’s not just me who gets this, obviously. I’m not so narcissistic that I can’t handle anything resembling a backhanded compliment. I get them all the time! After all, people say the same thing about Paul Rudd, Jennifer Lopez, Angela Bassett. I can’t help it if I’m in their sexy ranks.
I can’t believe there hasn’t been more Instagram block colour infographics or annoying Twitter discourse about how this saying is outdated. Let’s move on. Next time you want to compliment me, lady I will never see again, tell me you think I’d be a really amazing TV anchor, or that I remind you of Kira from The Dark Crystal, or that I have a beguiling aura. Let’s get creative!
Ethan Slater & Ariana Grande’s reception as a couple
Hot off the heels of their maybe-affair becoming public fodder, Don’t Look Up star Ariana Grande and the man that kind of looks like her brother, Ethan Slater, have moved in together in New York. Ariana has made a one off payment to her now ex-husband, Dalton Gomez, of $1.25M. Now she is divorced. Grand. Or is it?
People on the internet and perhaps in real life — I never had the displeasure of having a conversation about this with another person — have been up in arms about this too. The initial outrage over the affair I understand, but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a tad befuddled by the vitriol over them continuing on with their love story.
If my husband left me for a world-famous popstar months after I had given birth I would want the ratbag and the ponytail to be together until they take their dying breaths. They’d better be buried together in a mausoleum, their corpses arranged in an eternal embrace. If Carrot Top-lite dared to humiliate me on the public stage, it better be worth it!
Am I crazy? I might be crazy. Can’t wait for the album, tbh.
Ok… Whatever that means
Guess what, slags: England worst place in developed world to find housing, says report.
To save you a click, just know that 23.2% of private renters in the UK spend more than 40% of their income on housing. They used two percentages in one sentence, which means it’s very serious. Awesome. Thanks for sharing with the class, Guardian. It’s made me feel really good about this crazy little thing we call LIFE.
You know what… What are we even supposed to do at this point? Am I just supposed to die? Just drop down dead and pass away? Oh well. At least my flat doesn’t have bedbugs. Yet.
Byeeeee