Answering The Scary, Hairy, Xanax-Provoking Question: What the **** Should I Do With My Life?

IN: Creating, Lady Balls, Life, Success

  Mediocre questions for figuring out what you should do with your life: What type of industry should I go into? Which career path should I pursue? What kind of job should I get? What kind of business should I start? What services should I offer? How should I price this? What do I write? How do I do it? HOW CAN I BECOME A RICH, SKINNY BITCH WHO LOOKS FLAWLESS ON INSTAGRAM AND EATS CHILDREN FOR BREAKFAST? A better one:  What

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Change Is Fucking Messy (Thank God)

IN: Hard Stuff, Lady Balls, Life, Success

Change is fucking messy. You’re effectively molding yourself, and re-molding yourself, the way a sculptor would a piece of clay. And yet, nobody says to the sculptor: Shame on you, butter fingers, for not having it perfect the first spin. Rather, there’s an expectation of process. Of trial, of error, of slow transformation; of forming, fashioning, shaping and smoothing. Nevertheless, we—masochistically enough—don’t allow ourselves the same courtesy. We expect flawless perfection, right out of the box. We beat ourselves up

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How Do You Survive? How Do You Make It Through the Shitstorm—With Grace?

IN: Hard Stuff, Lady Balls, Success

  You forgive yourself, over and over and over again. You build little glass cases around your emotions, one by one. You don’t always like feeling sectioned off—but you forgive yourself for that, too. You are fragile now. You learn how to be fragile. Fragile means you need to play by different rules, for a while. “No” becomes your religion. Solitude becomes your faith. Your entire life pulls backward, like a tightened bow and arrow, going backwards, backwards, backwards, backwards,

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When Following the Crowd is GOOD FOR YOU.

IN: Confidence, Lady Balls, Life

  So the other day, it happened. There was one person stubborn enough to finally coerce me into doing the one thing I’d promised I’d never do. I’d hedged for many painful weeks. (Okay, fine, months.) I’d squirmed and I’d squithered (new favorite word) and I’d writhed and I’d wriggled. And yet, she kept asking. “Today at 5:30!” “Are you coming today?” “A little birdy told me today is the dayyyyyy.” And every time I’d try really hard to talk

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There’s No Such Thing as The Committee of True & Actual Greatness™

IN: Confidence, Lady Balls, Life, Success

  You know what’s the absolute worst? Waiting in at the doctor’s office. There’s a lot of anxiety around that, am I right? Nobody likes waiting at the doctor’s office because we all secretly think that the doctor’s just sitting behind a closed door somewhere, doing wheelies in an office chair, watching the minutes churn past with glee as they browse the latest in cutting edge gardening techniques while the rest of us waste away huddled together in

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My Top 5 Makeup Tips for Working From Home—And NOT Looking Like a Total Soiled Sloth :)

IN: Confidence, Humor, Lady Balls, Video

Hi! You are going to think I’m positively off my rocker, but I made you a video containing my very own top five makeup tips for NOT loing like a soiled sloth while working from home. Because WORKING FROM HOME IS HARD AND WE NEED ALL THE HELP WE CAN GET. (Also, because last week one of our Unf*ckwithable Girlfriends—a fabulous photographer named Heidi—rocked a Live for all of us on how to lo hot for the camera, and

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Lack of Sleep Turning You Into a Pissed Off 2-Year Old? I HAVE ALL THE ANSWERS.

IN: Creating, Hard Stuff, Lady Balls, Productivity, Success

  Get a load of this insider information: Did you know your brain actually needs SLEEP? I’m pretty sure that none of us are ACTUALLY SLEEPING, and you know who I blame this entirely on? Wine. Holy mother of dragons, discovery of the decade: If I have wine at night, I will not be able to sleep. And by “not be able to sleep,” what I mean to say is that I’ll be laying there in bed like a pissed

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So This One Time I Thought I Had Breast Cancer—And The Doctor Was a Huge D*ck

IN: Finding Your Voice, Hard Stuff, Lady Balls, Life

So today I placed my boobs into a giant, hospital-grade George Foreman grill and held my breath as the nurse to the X-ray. Let me tell you what, there is nothing quite like hoisting the flesh of your nipple onto a cold metal surface while a stranger watches. I mean, they’re definitely judging you. If not the size of your areolas, your dexterity. They’re there tapping their foot while you’re fuddling along with some necklace that never effing clasps when you want

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