After a truly mortifying public restroom incident (and a shocking number of flushed tampons over the years amongst us all), we had to ask the girlies: What are your thoughts on menstrual cups or discs? Basically—how happy are you with your current period process?

The responses? Divided. An overwhelming majority of you fell into one of two camps: 38.5% said “thank you, next” (not worth the awkwardness), while another 38.5% said you’re intrigued and want to learn more. Only a handful of girlies had actually tried it, and much like you’d imagine, a sharp divide of either loving it or hating it.

Now we’re curious… is this generational? Geographical? Or just one of those universal girlie mysteries where not enough of us are talking about it? Either way, we feel a deep dive coming.

We are SOLD OUT for our show this week at The Bohemian (hi, can’t wait to see you there!) Didn’t get your tickets in time? Don’t miss the next ones. We have some exciting October events in the works, so you’ll want to mark your calendars for 10/16 and 10/22.

Carol: Tomorrow begins the most sacred time of the year: the ‘Ber months. I can feel my soul returning to my body. I can smell the holiday season. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s. Four months of themes, costumes, casseroles, and cheer.

Additionally, and possibly more importantly, Fall is a funeral for Summer. Let me be clear. Summer is a heavy Yeti cooler full of everything I hate: my thighs sticking to every seat, underboob sweat, the perpetual rusty ankles from my piss-poor self-tan, reviving friendships for boat access, and perhaps most disturbingly, everyone pretending to like the beach.

I know what you’re all thinking: “What? Carol, I LOVE the beach.” No you don’t. You’re lying to yourself.

You can’t tell me the beach is fun. First, I have to slather on a sticky, overpriced lotion to protect my ghastly pub-born English skin, now suddenly expected to survive on the surface of the sun. No matter how diligently I apply it, I’ll miss a spot that ruins my week. And inevitably, someone who “looooves the beach” will show up sunscreen-less, see me applying mine, and beg to borrow it. Which I will begrudgingly hand over.

Then it’s time to toss on a flip-flop, a shoe designed solely to catapult sand directly onto my Elmer’s-glue-coated body until I become a human churro.

Then comes the trek: carrying all of my worldly possessions through heat and humidity while my thighs chafe. I’ve got my towel, my chair, my tent. I’ve got snacks, water, the illegal-because-it’s-on-the-beach alcohol. I’ve got a football, a soccer ball, a spike ball, that velcro catch game, my grandmother’s ashes, and the comment my mom made about my arms when I was sixteen. I’ve got it all.

And I’m lugging this circus over a war-zone runway of a boardwalk, passing every miserable person exiting the beach, each one a walking advertisement of a reason to turn back. Every child is screaming. Every adult looks like they have survived something unthinkable.

Finally, I reach the end of the boardwalk only to be greeted by the hottest damn sand known to humankind. And then I’m there, face-to-face with all of humanity, because somehow every single person on Earth has chosen this exact patch of beach on this exact day.

I drop my gear, argue with my friends (the ones who don’t believe in astrology but suddenly know a lot about the moon) about the tide, and as all my supplies dangle off of me scraping the last of my sunscreen away, I’m forced to decide which strangers will get a free viewing of half my labia and most of my nipples. It’s the depths of hell.

And every time I share this opinion, people accuse me of “making it too hard.” “Oh my gosh, just take a towel and a book! You don’t need a tent!” Really? You mean to tell me the largest organ on my body doesn’t deserve protection from a literal planet of fire? You - YOU who requires a vitamin D supplement believe you can just raw dog the sun? You think YOU who has a preferred nut milk, are stronger than the sun?

And of course, it’s the same person who always tells me I’m “making it too hard” and insists “we don’t need the tent” who then asks to borrow my sunscreen.

So good riddance, lava sand. Farewell, all the balls no one ever played with. See you never, sun damage. Someone hit play on Practical Magic.

Skylar: 💍🇬🇧 I finally had time this week to start Love Is Blind UK and wow… once again reminded that I am literally one flight away from hearing the best phrases imaginable. I would kill to have the “banter” of a British girlie.

I’m into episode four and, much like the first LIB UK season, it really does feel like these contestants are more interested in actual love than in building their reality TV influencer careers, which is what the US version now feels like. Which is wild, considering they all have flawless face cards with what feels like a reasonable (not obscene) amount of filler and Botox.

I texted this to a girlie and she replied: “This is true! Their faces look sufficiently different and distinguishable—which is not something I ever thought I’d have to notice.” 💀

Too early to call which couples are endgame and which are toxic nightmares, but so far? I’m thoroughly enjoying the journey to the European altar. No spoilers, but is Kieran real life? He is giving the Freddie of this season. Need to discuss.

The older I get, the more I realize my high school AP English classes were basically glorified book clubs with a grade. Let me get this straight… You want me to read a critically acclaimed novel, develop original thoughts, come back after summer break ready to discuss and write papers defending my opinions? At 16? Girl, I was not coming up with a single original sentiment about The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver.

Flash forward to now and I will not shut up about Babb’’s Demon Copperhead. Back then, I tore through romance novels (with the occasional thriller for “balance”), less concerned with analyzing prose and more interested in imagining myself as the heroine of my own love story.

Fast forward to today and I would kill to have a discussion section on half the books I’ve been inhaling this summer. This past week alone I’ve been texting the group chat like a madwoman about what they need to read so we can debrief. Chief among them: Careless People by Sarah Wynn Williams, an explosive memoir about her career inside Facebook, the decisions that shaped world events, and the people behind them. I literally cannot recommend it enough. I’m dying to talk about what it all means and how Meta is dealing in the wake of it.

Also, thank you to the girlie who owns Trope Bookstore (shout out Katie Mitchell) who told me to get into Abby Jimenez. She was absolutely, completely, totally right. I’m deep into the third book of her first series and loving it. Trying not to OD on romance, though—so if you’ve read them, let me know: do I jump right into the Part of Your World series, or take a breather in between?

And finally: if there are any girlies out there who want to start a deeply specific book club that ranges from Pulitzer to page-turner, let me know. I’m ready. 📚✨

Sydney Sweeney dating… Scooter Braun? Does she just have the world’s worst taste or the world’s worst publicist?

Cracker Barrel returns to the old logo. Thoughts and prayers to this marketing t

This week marked an SNL Mass exodus. Some cast members had contracts that expired, others felt it was time to go. Most of them are people I feel like I’ve never heard of. But the big question remains…when will Lorne leave?

Dynasty Disaster. Football girlies know the last name Manning carries weight—and for the young Texas QB prospect Arch, this weekend it carried disappointment. The nephew of Eli and Peyton made his debut against Ohio… let’s just say, he did not hit the target. He came into this game with crazy high expectations, and my heart goes out to anyone who has a bad day on a stage that big.

Remember when “boundaries” first hit the group chat and felt revolutionary? We muted texts, skipped brunch, and embraced “no” as a full sentence. But somewhere between Pinterest quotes and TikTok therapy-speak, the line between self-care and selfish got blurry. 👀

This week we’re diving into boundary culture, the good, the bad, and the messy middle. Stay tuned.

Want more of our deep dives? Check out our substack.

Lately I’ve noticed a weird little trend in my “suggested friends” on Facebook: they’re… celebrities. And not like a fan page or parody account—like actual profiles (okay, probably bots, but still).

Now, I do have a lot of comedians as connections, so I’m not shocked when a random funny man above my station pops up (looking at you, Gary Gulman) or even a stray actor like James Cromwell from Babe. But this week, mid–scroll binge, the algorithm served me some truly bizarre recs and I was like… what is going on here?

Is it just me, or has anyone else been getting these random celebrity dupes on Facebook?

MASH was a very important part of our youth, and we want to bring it back. Other than the traditional categories (partner, #of kids, career, etc) did your friend group add any categories you remember? Send us a DM or an email.

We love to spill the tea at our live shows, and we want to hear from you. Have a juicy story that deserves an audience? Tell us. 

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