Unconventional
living for the
Quit your job. End the relationship. Get on a plane. Do something new. Follow your gut. Take no shit. Believe in your ideas. Go, go, go.
This is the anti-patriarchy, anti-job-you-hate, anti-stuck, anti-trapped-in-your-own-life newsletter for unconventional women (and those in training). Every weekday morning at 7am Eastern you'll get 3 ideas to help you go, go, GO.
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It’s gonna be scary but that's better than your greatest hits being taking the trash cans back and forth down the driveway for the rest of your life.
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What kind of confidence do you need today?
Bake a Cake and Shut Your Mouth: Or, How to Be Unhappy, Unfulfilled, and a Martyr to Your Own Life
I am a fickle bitch, and it's one of my greatest qualities. In fact, I wish the word “fickle” were more attractive—it sounds too much like “pickle,” and one time in college I read a book called “Tickle His Pickle,” so I think it's clear that (a) I am a true academic, and (b) Using the word “fickle” makes my mind wander. But if the word weren't so ugly, I'd use it to describe myself all the time. Fickle (adj):
Writing, Houses & Hot Dogs: A Love Story
There were greasy hot dogs on the counter. Four of them. Naked and un-bunned, flopping around inside a glass Tupperware dish for all the world to see. I had many questions, including “are these for sale” and also “where are the onions,” but perhaps the biggest question I had was: WHO PUTS HOT DOGS IN THE FRAME WHEN TAKING A PHOTO FOR ZILLOW? Zillow, as in, the real estate website where other people look at photos and decide if they
On Not Thinking With Your Cultural Crotch
I fantasize about pugs. Not the way other people fantasize about pugs, mind you—nuzzling them and squeezing them and squealing “oooohhhhhhh!!!!” before scooping them up in their arms for a welcoming, wet kiss (what is wrong with people). Rather, I want to put their tiny little gargoyle heads straight into a vise. (I thought about writing “meat grinder,” but that seems a bit much.) So far in life, I have had not one, but two pug sworn enemies, and I
On Being DONE With Your Work: A Guilt-Free Approach to To-Do Lists
There's something to be said about being DONE. I mean, do you ever feel like anything is done? Probably not! We're living in a world where nothing is ever done. How could it be, when everything is an ongoing conversation? This is why I find it nearly impossible to text people back. Because once I do, I think I've gotten it off my to-do list, but then balls on a stick! THEN THEY TEXT BACK! And then I've got yet
16 Words That'll Help You Defeat Refund Bullies Over the Phone 💪 📞
I hate phone calls. In fact, there are fewer things I hate than when my phone rings. The first thought: WHO DARES…HAVE THE NERVE…TO CALL…UNINVITED?!? It's basically the modern equivalent of dropping in on someone unannounced—especially if it's a video call. Quick, hide the mannequin! Hide the hamburgers! Hide MY ENTIRE FACE! (Oh, you don't have mannequins and hamburgers lying around? I'M SORRY.) I know I'm not alone—at least with the phone call bit. 😉 This is hilariously one of
On Giving Refunds with Kindness (But Taking No Shit)
“Btw, I need your advice on something!” I knew instantly what she was going to ask me. It's the same thing that all my friends come to me for advice for. Not talking shit to boys, which was obviously my favorite past-time in college 🤷♀️, but rather, a different kind of talk: How to word hard emails. So we ordered a round of mango mimosas—as one does on the beach of Costa Rica at Sunday brunch—and my wedding planner friend
Listen: Do What You Crave Without the Guilt. Travel to Italy. Enroll in That Workshop. Make Your Art Every Afternoon. And Hurl Yourself Into the Unknown—For This Is The Best ROI That Money Can Buy.
My almost-mother-in-law gets really fucking nervous when I travel—especially when I bomb off to South America for a month by myself to drink ALL THE WINE and celebrate ALL THE BOOK DEALS. But she doesn't get worried in the typical way a mother might; not the way my own mother would have been worried, which would have sounded something like: “Oh Jesus Mary and Joseph, Ashley, you think they won't kidnap you and rape you and leave you for dead?
Bake a Cake and Shut Your Mouth: Or, How to Be Unhappy, Unfulfilled, and a Martyr to Your Own Life
I am a fickle bitch, and it's one of my greatest qualities. In fact, I wish the word “fickle” were more attractive—it sounds too much like “pickle,” and one time in college I read a book called “Tickle His Pickle,” so I think it's clear that (a) I am a true academic, and (b) Using the word “fickle” makes my mind wander. But if the word weren't so ugly, I'd use it to describe myself all the time. Fickle (adj):
Welp, Finland's #1 AGAIN for World Happiness, Those Clever Bastards—Here's Why
Happiness is an elusive little shit. This is why, when the annual United Nations World Happiness Report comes out each year, I rip that thing open with my fangs. (Note to self: say”fangs” more often.) The report lists, in perfect sequential order, the happiest countries in the world down to the least happy countries in the world—in other words, the most miserable victims on the planet—and then tells you a whole bunch of sciencey-stuff about how they came to that
Jesus, yes, I need a change.
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