Sex Toys and Aliens: A Childhood Classic Ruined Forever

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To all my ladies out there who spend their nights fantasizing about getting it on with E.T., now you can finally take your fetish to the next level with this $900.00 “Erotic Plushie” E.T. sex toy!…. What? No takers? Huh. I don’t even know where to begin. I just have so many questions!

First and probably most importantly, WHY? I had an E.T. doll when I was younger, and even as a huge fan, it creeped the shit out of me. There is no part of me that is looking at this freestanding 22-inch tall doll and thinking hmmm I should light some candles and turn on some Marvin Gaye right now. E.T.’s face was literally modeled after Carl Sandburg, Albert Einstein, and a pug…let’s not even discuss the full-body shot, I’ll just say it’s the stuff nightmares are made of. I have a friend who was so scared of E.T. he couldn’t even go on the Universal Studios ride without crying. Although, to the shop owner’s credit, she really sells the appeal in her description of the item “You’ve grown up and so has E.T.! This alien visitor has personality and sass. His blue eyes are shockingly memorizing and his presence is undeniably realistic.” I’m not sure if she’s talking about the sex doll or the movie character, but either way I’m into sassy and mesmerizing (which is what I’m guessing she meant to say) blue eyes.

Next question: HOW? Like what are the logistics? I’ll admit that I am not particularly well-versed in erotic toys other than what I’ve picked up from TBS reruns of Sex And The City, but even if you were super in to the whole E.T. thing, this just doesn’t seem practical to me. I don’t know, I must have missed the episode of SATC where Samantha banged an ALF puppet. In case you were wondering what separates this from just any creepy alien plush, there is a vibrator in the tip of his finger. “E.T. phone home” may be AFI’s 15th best movie quote ever, but with this doll it’s more like “E.T. phone orgasm.” Oo0h… plus he’s “double stuffed for your pleasure.” Pretty sure there’s a joke here about him something-ing your Reese’s Pieces, but I can’t figure it out so let’s just move on to my next question…

HOW MUCH? Again, I am not an expert on vibrators, but I do know a thing or two about dolls and Universal movie merch, and I’m pretty sure $900 is a little steep for this. Still, the seller says it’s a great gift, which even putting price aside might be questionable. Maybe I just don’t have any friends close enough to drop a grand on a nostalgic 80’s pop culture inspired sex toy for me.

I guess my next and final question has to be, Will someone loan me $900 please?

UPDATE: In the less than 24 hours between writing this entry and posting it online, the item is no longer available. Which is extremely upsetting. I guess someone bought it? It wasn’t me, but if anyone knows the person who did, please give them my contact info, I would like to talk to them very much.

Photo taken from etsy.com 

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Uber Therapy: Embracing My Crazy

Look, professional psychotherapy is great. It’s not that I have anything against spending hundreds of dollars per hour to talk problems out with a professional; in fact, I see a psychiatrist myself. All I’m saying is that I can get just as much therapeutic release for the relative bargain $63, roughly the  rate for an Uber ride from Santa Monica to Beverly Hills.

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Basically…

Real talk: crying is the shit. We like to pretend we’re tough, but I think we can all admit nothing feels better than just letting loose and crying like  we’re Kristen Bell about to see a sloth. We all have our go-to cryfest movies, whether it’s Titanic, or The Notebook, or my personal fave (which is not really a cryfest in it’s nature, but more on that later) When Harry Met Sally. It doesn’t even matter what you’re crying about. There could be nothing really wrong and I could still just use a nice, long cry. Of course there are times when I’m crying for an understandable reason, but catch me in the right mood and simply getting a text that says “Ok.” instead of “kk” can set me off. Yeah, I sound fucking crazy right now, but girls don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.

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Not exactly Maxim material

For some people, crying in public is out of the question thanks to Ugly Cry Face. If you start to resemble Kim Kardashian or Carrie Mathison when you tear up, public crying might not be for you….unless you are comfortable enough with yourself, in which case, good for you– go for it. Personally, Cry Face is not my issue, but nonetheless, I feel self-conscious crying in public. Maybe crying at home alone is ideal, but when you’re still living with your parents, total isolation is pretty rare. It’s the same as crying with a friend, you’re going to get hugged and probably have to explain yourself and then listen to suggestions about how to fix the problem. I will say, while I’m a fan of crying in an Uber alone, crying in an Uber with other people is great too…significantly preferable to crying with friends while not in an Uber.

The thing with crying in an Uber is that more often than not, the driver will just leave you alone and let you just do your thing. A driver turning up the radio is basically the equivalent of saying “You do you, girl.” Plain and simple it’s just too awkward for them to ask what’s wrong. Chances are you’re not the only fare that driver has had cry in their backseat. You can bet your ass no matter how crazy you think you sound, that driver has heard weirder. Writer Mickey Rapkin recently spent a week driving for Uber* and detailed the experience for GQ. He wrote that “the thrill—and it is thrilling—is the semi-sanctioned voyeurism.” So yes, drivers are listening, but WHO THE FUCK CARES?? Sure, your driver may go home and tell his friends his fare cried the entire ride, the most he has to identify you is your first name.

As a driver, Rapkin observed “If there’s one thing these fares all had in common, it was the need to escape: a bad party, Mom’s house, a too crowded post-concert clusterfuck.” This, to me, is what truly resonates. Beyond a physical means of leaving, Ubers truly are a place to escape. If I spend the entire ride home crying, I can completely let go of whatever happened at my previous location by the time I step into my house.

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Once I discovered this, Uber rides just became an invitation to deal with all my emotional shit. I remember getting into a car one morning on the way home from a sleepover. This particular ride started off with dry eyes. After getting my address, the driver turned on the radio to “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston. Maybe James could sense that’s what I needed, or, more likely, it was a coincidence, but the combination of the ballad and the safe comfort of the black leather seat pushed me over the edge and I began to bawl. I didn’t have the best time the night before but I ended up getting all my pent up emotions out during that 20 minute drive.

I highly suggest you try it one day. As you can see, I recommend Uber Therapy to all my friends. Why not just cry whilst driving yourself? That’s amazing too, but this is technically safer, and you have the added bonus of being able to curl up in fetal position should you so choose. It’s almost as if Ubers were made for crying. In fact, there should be a box of tissues in ever car. So next time you’re in an uber, sober or drunk, alone or with your crew, don’t be afraid to let it out. Just think of the backseat like a therapist’s couch, but instead of asking “and how does that make you feel?,” your therapist just turns up the surprisingly soothing tunes of KIIS FM.

* He actually drove for Uber X, a cheaper ride-sharing service offered by Uber to similar to Lyft

Ed Note: I feel like this post may take itself a little too seriously…whatever YOLO. I understand if after reading this you are truly concerned for my mental wellbeing (I’m looking at you mom), but I assure you it’s not necessary. No need to start slipping me Prozacs. I just figured if I was going to call this blog Crying In Ubers, I better fucking talk about crying in Ubers. At least I’m not doing drugs in Lyfts! (because ew!) If that ever happens, time to worry. xx

Confessions of A Tween Label Whore

2000I was deprived as a kid and tween. I never had a Kipling backpack or purse or pencil pouch and I still have nightmares about it sometimes. That was the first brand name I ever remember lusting after. I’m sorry mom, but was it too much to ask for something with a furry, plastic, freaking monkey hanging off it? I could spend an entire playdate sitting next to a friend’s bag, putting the monkey’s (did he have a name? or did you have to name him yourself?…see, it’s these things I missed out on knowing) thumb in his mouth. But for some reason, I just never became a member of the Kipling Kool Kids Klub.
I just wanted to tell you all that story so you can understand why I am such a tortured soul.Here’s why it was such a big deal… from about 4th to 6th grade brands were a big deal. They still can be, especially in girl world, but from 7th grade on it changes and gets way more expensive and over time thankfully I’ve matured and grown out of it….mostly.juicyThe height of my label whoring came in 5th grade with the introduction of the holy grail of pretweendom: the velour Juicy tracksuit. I mean, everyone was rocking velour hoodies, but if you had a J-shaped zipper, you were queen. By the time I figured this out, my mom already had the classic black tracksuit and after months of pleading let me wear it. Perfect, right? Wrong. Somehow, my mom had broken the “J” off the zipper. I finally was going to wear Juicy and no one was going to know about it. So the next logical option, being the superficial tween I was, was to just let the tag show as often as possible. I realized I could just role the pants over once and the tag would show (also a built in bonus of another 5th grade label staple: Hard Tails) and I could prove this was the real deal. I’m sure no one looked close enough to read the label, but I felt better. Eventually I got my own Juicy wardrobe, complete with real “J’ zippers, but by then everyone had them. Funnily enough, Juicy started putting their name huge on the butt of pants, which I’m guessing was someone’s solution to the tiny writing on the tag problem. (no? I’m the only one who tried that?)emmaThat same year, the new must-have “designer” trend was Ugg Boots. I had to wait to buy my first pair with birthday and Chanukah money because my mom refused at $100 a pair for boots in LA. The only options were Sand, Chestnut (or as I called them, Grocery Bag), or Black and they came in Short or Tall. I went Grocery Bag and Tall. There were knockoffs everywhere, but I had my real-deals and I was happy. Then, the next year, Ugg released the boot in Pink and Baby Blue. Code Red: I had to have them. But according to my mom they were just a fad and I ended up with pink Emus. I literally would press the backs of my ankles against walls so no one would see the label. Probably one of the most shameful moments of my life.And that’s my Throwback Thursday for you. Shout out to some of the other brand name items I had to have instead of the knockoffs: Rocket Dog wedge flip flops, Baby G watches, and Von Dutch trucker hats (okay I had one knockoff Von Dutch…sue me!)

The Oscars’ Greatest GIF (not the selfie!)

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Look, it took a lot of will power not to make last night’s epic selfie my Facebook cover photo. I mean, it literally broke twitter. But I’m not surprised because, well first of all, J-Law. Plus, the idea of A-Listers like Brad and Angie, other Bradley, Meryl, and Julia partaking in Kim Kardashian’s favorite pastime/form of artistic impression is priceless. The stills of Bradley snapping the selfie may be better than the pic itself the same way it’s more entertaining to see a girl holding up her phone mid-lecture than it is too see the duck face result. Plus, more Jared Leto, Samsung product placement, and poor Liza. Knowing that my Facebook feed would be overflowing with the selfie anyway, it was a lot harder to resist changing my cover to a still from Pharrell’s “Happy” performance. The above gif of Meryl Streep shimmying has to be the greatest thing to come out The Oscars this year. Did you ever think you’d hear Meryl Streep and shimmying in the same sentence? (at least with shimmying in the context of dance) In fact, Meryl shimmying was the only thing that could make me happier than the sight of Cinderella aka Lupita Nyong’o grooving just moments before:

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Have you ever seen anything more perfect in your life? (well… I thought not until Pharrell got to Meryl a few seconds later)

A quick note on winners: While I didn’t see many of the nominated movies, I was a bit disappointed not to see a win for Leo finally, mostly because I think that would have legit crashed the internet.