surviving a millennial world


October 2015

How to Save “Gilmore Girls”

I am more excited about Gilmore Girls creating new episodes for Netflix than I was when my state legalized gay marriage, and yes, I am deeply ashamed about this. gg

Here’s what Amy Sherman-Palladino must do to redeem the show and revert it to all its former autumnal, quippy, and small-town glory:

  1. KILL APRIL. I don’t mean to sound harsh here, but it is the only way. It isn’t in Luke’s nature to give up visiting her, and it isn’t fair to viewers to keep this whiny little buzzkill around. Even though this new Gilmore Girls will be set many years later, April will still suck, and I never want to see her ever again.
  2. Reunite Rory and Jess. This isn’t even a matter of giving the viewers what they want (and yes, Amy, this is what they want) but more a matter of charisma. Complementing personalities. Attraction. Doing what is right for the world.
  3. Have Lorelai and Luke stay in Stars Hollow. Enough of this nonsense about selling her inn and traveling the world. Luke and Lorelai had better be married and dealing with no more drama than their daily banter about Lorelai’s health habits.
  4. Acknowledge Richard Gilmore’s passing. Don’t miss this opportunity to honor Edward Hermann for his steady hand in the show. Emily will be a mess without him, and unfortunately, this must be revealed.
  5. Let Michel come out. The show has always been careful to avoid any sort of outright statement about Michel’s sexuality, but it has hinted at it. Give Michel a tall, dark, and handsome french boyfriend.
  6. Give Christopher and Lorelai a relationship. I’m sure they are amicable, and that Rory and Gigi are quite close. Rory is probably a mentor to Gigi, inspiring her to apply to Chilton.
  7. Don’t have Rory live in Stars Hollow yet. It’s not realistic; she will be off working on campaigns or being a bad-ass journalist somewhere, but she won’t be in Connecticut, although she will visit often.
  9. Don’t let David Rosenthal anywhere near the script.
  10. Don’t pretend things haven’t changed. A new Gilmore Girls is magical, but it will also be a little heartbreaking, a little sad, to see that our childhood is gone and that our favorite show cannot be everlasting. And this is true: we must adjust our expectations to acknowledge the time that has passed, and the seventh season that cannot be undone.

Not Ready to Make Nice: How a Word Overshadowed Me


For the longest time, I was known as the “nice” girl. In my freshman dorm, I was referred to as “nice Molly” (there were two others: drunk Molly and crazy Molly, so I wasn’t complaining exactly) and I was always introduced to or referred to by others as “so sweet.”

Which was fine, I guess, except “nice” gradually became a placeholder for doormat. Boring. Passive. Spineless. Simple. I wanted to be the pretty girl, or the smart girl, or the creative girl, even the weird girl. But no—I was the “nice” girl.

And, also, if we’re being honest—I’m just not that nice. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a bitch or anything, but I definitely am not one to refrain from judgment, or to defend someone who doesn’t deserve it. I expect a lot out of people, and while I will be happy to drag a dead corpse across a dark alley for a good friend without asking questions first, you have to do some work to get there.

“Nice” seemed like such an innocent, gentle, innocuous word. But my freshman and sophomore years of college I slowly began to see it compromising my identity, my spirit, and my sense of self-worth. I was no longer fiery, or passionate, or excitable, or moody, or bossy. No one had a problem with me and no one ever chastised or vehemently disagreed with me. How could they? I was nice.

I’m not nice, I tried to convince myself, after I was referred to as that yet again by someone who scarcely knew me. I knew what “nice” meant as an identifier. Nice meant you couldn’t fight your own battles, you had nothing to say, you never drew attention to yourself. That couldn’t be me.

Then I began to realize: somehow, it was. That was exactly who I had let myself become here. I hated confrontation. I played the innocent card. I didn’t draw attention to myself. I didn’t take sides. I was at a new school, with new people who all seemed prettier and stronger and more sure of themselves than me, and I was too insecure to even show them even a glimmer of who I was.

Which is a girl who cussed out a group of girls twice as tall as me at the mall in 7th grade for photobombing my photo booth picture. A girl who was appointed play director in 1st grade, but was so bossy that everyone quit. A girl who made her friends act out her movies with professional vigor, who raced varsity ski team with no racing experience, who has come up with more revenge plots against friends’ ex-boyfriends than I care to admit. A girl who loves Avril Lavigne still, at 22, and would rather pregame to musicals than hip hop, and not only is not embarrassed, but actively tries to make others do the same. A girl who has always been largely incapable of holding back her opinions and her values, even when she should.

A girl I’d somehow lost sight of.

In the next few months, a lot of people said I “changed.”

“Wait, she’s so funny! I never knew.”
“I feel like she’s really come into her own.”“She’s so different from who she was a year ago.”

I didn’t change. I just allowed myself to surface, really surface, for the first time. I stopped conforming to the society-taught mold that girls should be sweet and sugary and pure in all of their eye-fluttering helplessness. I relaxed enough to let the frenzied, buoyant, creative, honest, and loyal girl out.

Turns out I’m not so nice after all.

Tuesday vibes


“All the animals in all the movies we used to watch when we were kids? Probably dead.” -Abbi Jacobson, Broad City

Thoughts I Had When I Was Pulled Over This Afternoon


  1. Oh, fuck.
  2. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
  3. Yes, I see you, I’m stopping, chill.
  4. Ok, this is good. I look like I’m 16 and I’m a woman. Those are like the two most privileged groups for getting out of tickets, right? Like the 1%.
  5. Wait, he’s cute.
  6. Really cute.
  7. …and he’s rude. Why are those two traits always interconnected?
  8. No, sir, I had no idea I was going that fast. I definitely do not usually speed on this road that leads to my house that never has cops on it.
  9. I wonder if I asked him out to dinner if he would just let this go. That kind of happens in Bridesmaids, right?
  10. Well, he’s not going to want to after seeing my license picture.
  11. He kind of looks like that prick that leaves Daya pregnant and in prison in OITNB. Such a jerk. I can’t believe he would do that.
  12. What is he doing is his car for so long? Sexting his girlfriend? Writing a to-do list? Listening to an entire mix-tape? Probably thinking of more ways to screw Daya over. Jerk.
  13. Actually, in all seriousness, I could have read three chapters of a Harry Potter book by now. Six chapters of one of the earlier ones.
  14. I bet I could eat an entire medium Papa John’s pizza in this time. With toppings.
  15. I’m so hungry.
  16. Annnnnnnnd he’s back. Hello, hello. Did you notice my new lipstick?
  17. He didn’t notice. Oh, he’s gonna let me off! He’s giving me a soft, doe-eyed expression. Yes. Yes. Say it.
  18. Damn it. Damn you. Don’t tell me “not to worry.”
  19. Poor Daya.

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