You know I have a thick skin -- I love making fun of virtue signaling, regressive feminism, whiny little babies, and social justice warriors. 

But I canNOT stand the disgusting rape song that is "Baby, It's Cold Outside." When it comes on, I literally wait outside until the song is over. 

A recent article in The Harvard Crimson complained that scholarship recipients felt "uncomfortable" and "out of place" at an annual Scholarship Dinner, where students had the opportunity to network with billionaires and millionaires (many of whom were, themselves, scholarship recipients in their days at Harvard) while eating delicious food.

Last Saturday, as I was writing my review of Broadway by the Bay's Into the Woods, an episode of Malcolm Gladwell's Revisionist History began playing. Within seconds, I was able to summarize the entire episode in a few sentences: 

"They're going to say that Olympic silver medalists feel worse than bronze medalists, because silver medalists upward social compare ('I could have been the best in the world, but I'm not,') and bronze medalists downward social compare ('I'm so happy I got a medal!')."

As I've mentioned in several recent posts, I've been traveling around Southeast Asia the last few months -- and one of my favorite things about travel is exploring cultural differences. 

One that keeps popping up this year... is sex. Specifically, sex taboos. 

Travel is... a lot of things. Amazing. Disgusting. Enlightening. Disheartening. But one thing I love about it is that it feels like kindergarten, college, and adulthood, all at once!

I travel alone. A lot. It's super fun. It's never lonely. You're free to do whatever you want without worrying about other people's fears or physical limitations.

People say it must be "empowering" to travel alone as a woman. But, honestly, I've always found it way more empowering to backpack alone with my dog.

Yesterday, I wrote about how there's a difference between helping a depressed friend and enabling an abuser. My intention was to inform those whose friends suffer from mental illness to be compassionate... but remember to think critically about your actions and the effects they may have on your friend and his/her partner. 

Today, I'm writing a quick reminder to those who are, or may be, affected by mental illness:

Your partner is not your emotional slave.

The difference is consent.

It's Christmas -- so let the "annual debate" about Baby, It's Cold Outside commence. 

Victoria's Secret's CEO, Jan Singer, is stepping down -- and Forbes speculates it may be connected to rival brand ThirdLove's open letter in the New York Times about inclusion.

Singer, a female CEO, will be replaced John Mehas. (I don't mean to "assume his gender," but I'm pretty sure he's a dude -- I thought it was cool when a lingerie company had a woman at the helm.)

I'm not sure what this means for the future of VS... but part of me is worried about the future of the Victoria's Secret and its fashion show.

One of the most ridiculous (not rediculous) things you hear about dating is the absurd claim that "girls like jerks" and "nice guys finish last."

The reality is that, sure. Some girls like guys who are kinda jerks. But they don't like them because they're jerks. They like them in spite of it. 

Most likely because they have so much else to offer.