Tag Archives: Confessions

InfoTel: Nothing is solved by glitter alone


I’m writing a new weekly column!

You can check it out HERE. This week I tell the famous story of my fifth birthday party. In which the final product was this:

I mean, seriously? My brother’s mask has glitter STRIPES on it. Mine look like it has chicken pox. THE WORST.


Why I’m Quitting the Naked Selfie


The other night I sent a provocative selfie.

Why? Because I’m a badass. Or, because I was bored and the mirror was right there. Or, because I was feeling skinny. Or, because it was requested.

I don’t know why, but I did it.

I do not make a habit out of sending seductive photographs to people. I have a strict relationship or no rule. Probably because that’s supposed to ensure there’s some sort of unspoken no sharing policy.

I always seem to forget relationships end on occasion, and sometimes they end badly, but so far I haven’t been confronted with any internet surprises. [LUCK.]

The naked selfie (nelfie? no? I’ll keep working on that) is a huge issue right now. The whole question surrounding whether or not it’s child pornography if a minor possesses a picture of a minor, or if it’s distribution of child pornography if a minor sends a photo to another minor is making cyber-bullying and persecuting those involved extremely difficult.

But, the nelfie isn’t going to stop any time soon. People are able to conduct entire relationships via technology these days, and that’s a beautiful, beautiful thing. Sooner or later in these relationships, technology ceases to appear as an unfamiliar barrier and becomes a tool. A tool that, between consenting adults, is totally hot.

But I’m not conducting a relationship between Canada and Afghanistan. I’m conducting a relationship between Canada and 5km away.

I hit send anyhow.

He responded within three minutes.

“Excellent selfie.”

I’m sorry. What?

No. Unacceptable. Absolutely not. You do not get to use the word “excellent” when responding to a nelfie.

Before The Reporter corrected himself with the appropriate response, I spent a solid three minutes filled with the deepest regret I have ever experienced — and one time, I convinced a drunk guy I had been to Thailand and it changed my life and he needed to book a plane ticket, and he did book it, in front of me that night, with his wedding money, and I have still never been to Thailand (I am so sorry if I ruined your life, Todd.)

I thought it was a good picture. I was happy with it. I wasn’t ashamed of how I looked. I had spent five minutes doing pre-sit-ups, and finding the perfect back bend that elongated my torso but did make me look like I was about to enter Camel pose. I looked good, I’m not going to lie to you.

But then, then he says “excellent.”

All the confidence I had in myself was immediately blown up and passed — in a million pieces — to someone else to manipulate. And if you have ever been handed a shattered-confidence jigsaw puzzle, you know it’s damn near impossible to complete.

Three minutes was all it took for me to go from feeling like Beyonce to feeling like Amanda Bynes in rehab. Sober, passed her prime and sad.

It wasn’t worth it.

Even when he took his foot out of his mouth it wasn’t worth it.

I understand that there are times in life where we have to put ourselves out there — risk failure, risk criticism, risk a soul-shattering outcome. These are the circumstances under which I get to say “be not afraid” and “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” and “if you’ve never failed you’ve never tried” and “stop being a pussy!”

But there are other times when your safe little harbored ship is probably better off staying out of the 40 foot waves. Being happy with yourself should be good enough. To need someone else to validate or confirm what you already see in yourself is going to end in disaster.

If you want to send nelfies because you’re super hot and of legal naked age, be my guest. You’ll make some people out there very happy. I’m one of them.

But my self-love is still balancing on one foot, and I’ve worked so hard to get here, I’m not going to risk toppling over for the thrill of someone else saying “dayum girrrl.”

Which, might I remind you, wasn’t even what he said.



16 Reasons Your Boyfriend Never Buys You Flowers

Carnations  Hmph

It’s pretty simple. You’re probably a huge bitch.

Just kidding ladies, that’s not true at all. You see, I’m actually on your side (you’re all like, “For once!”)

Recently I’ve had to evaluate my daily actions in regards to my relationship because I’ve been struggling with this problem myself. I mean let’s face it, none of us want to set the standard of romance, we just want it to exist. Unfortunately for us, we’re about five centuries too late for chivalry to be the standard behavioral code. I know this for a fact because I have to hear about it every week in my three-hour Arthurian romance lecture. Oh sure, some guys still got it. They mostly “got it” when it’s too late to count, but that’s besides the point.

So, while I was sitting there stewing over the fact that I had yet to receive a $4 rose, I did what I was good at.

I took a long hard look in the mirror. Allow me to present you with my findings:

16 Reasons Your Boyfriend Never Buys You Flowers

1. You have specifically said on more than one occasion that you don’t believe in grand gestures.

2. You have three cacti (cactus’?) in your apartment with a “30 year life span” written on them and all three are very, very dead. You just received them at Christmas.

3. You witnessed your best friend receive an apology bouquet and spent fifteen minutes talking about how offended you were that they were only carnations.

4. You watched Love Actually and vomited because “romance is gross.”

5. Each time you grocery shop, you come home with a new bouquet for yourself.

6. You have had to take your cat to the emergency room on two separate occasions for the ingestion of poinsettias.

7. Each time you watch Ten Things I Hate About You you applaud enthusiastically at the scene featuring the “love fern.”

8. In 2005 – when you graduated high school – your boyfriend inadvertently pierced your nipple with the pin of your corsage and you still have the scar.

9. You confess to only liking Oleanders – which are poisonous.

10. Alternatively, the only flowers you mention liking are peonies and we all know that only fashion bloggers can afford those when they’re out of season – which is, like, always.

11. Whenever you watch 80s movies like Say Anything you proclaim with a loud sigh that you wish someone would hold a boombox up in the air for you blasting Peter Gabriel’s In Your Eyes instead of being all cliche and showing up with “stupid flowers or something.”

12. You once told him that Valentine’s Day was your least favorite day of the year because you didn’t think people needed to make a show out of a love that “isn’t going to last anyway.”

13. Then you gave a spiel about how maybe flowers were the perfect gift after all, because they died pretty quick, just like the sexual flame in your relationship when you spend all night eating take-out chow mein on the couch in front of Sports Central reruns.

14. Whenever you take a walk through the park your face swells up like a helium balloon and you need him to stab you with an epi pen.

15. You actually are a huge bitch and don’t deserve them.

16. Mostly, though, he’s probably listening to all of your “I hate romance” comments and taking them seriously thinking that he’s being sensitive towards your cunty-ness, because what person in their right mind would do all of the things mentioned above and still actually really want to receive some god damned flowers?

Oh yeah. A woman.

xx, Andria