God help me, I actually enjoyed reading Ivana Trump’s dishy, ridiculous, semi-autobiographical 1992 novel, For Love Alone. Except, of course, for the parts where I kept picturing Donald Trump in the throes of orgasm.
About a year ago, I got botulinum toxin injected into my face for the first time. As a woman of the aughts, this seemed almost like an inevitability, especially once I moved to Los Angeles, the land of face modification and cheap med spas. Here, you can walk into a clinic and get Botox on demand for around $10 a unit,…
I’m not going to subject you to the umpteen millionth permutation of the opening line of Pride and Prejudice, so let’s just lay it out there: Holy shit, there are so many Jane Austen souvenirs.
I was folded forehead-down, sweating like a pig in a truly incompetent child’s pose, when onetime boy-band idols Nick and Drew Lachey rolled into a Manhattan yoga class.
This past weekend, I went to see The Longest Ride, the latest Nicholas Sparks movie, all by myself.
"Oh fucking shit," Julianne says to me. We've been at this New York magazine-sponsored wedding expo for half an hour, and somehow it's taken us this long to notice the massive open bar in the middle of the room. What could have possibly distracted us from the promise of endless free alcohol?
On Monday evening at about 5:20 I was wearing a cream-colored sweater and nothing else, lying back on a medical table with my feet in stirrups, breathing like my 80-pound dog when she's having a stress dream. Between my legs was a young and pretty OB/GYN with a short blonde ponytail and an air of capable kindness.…
It's Thanksgiving evening, roughly 7:30 p.m. "Are you sure you don't want to bail?" my mother-in-law asks, with barely concealed concern, as we approach the exit for the Secaucus, New Jersey Walmart. I promise I'll text updates and swear that if something goes hideously awry and I'm marooned in a sea of big-box…
This week, three Jezebel employees were invited to join Wendy Williams, the talk show host and media personality, in a special intimate session of SoulCycle, despite none of said employees having worked out in the past two months to a year. Wendy's prospect was to promote her debut as this year's Soul Train Awards…
I'm sitting across from Jean at a table outside of a Brooklyn Starbucks that feels way too narrow, like a bodega compared to its imposing neighbor, the Barclays Center. Steve Harvey arranged this date, which has so far exceeded my low expectations.
What wouldn't a woman of a certain age do to preserve her dewy youth? Take it from this burgeoning crone: There may be good reason Chelsea Handler took that spray of piss in the face from Jason Biggs like a champ, and it may have more to do with vanity than good sportsmanship.
