Christian girl autumn may be cancelled, but you can still laugh, live, and love this fall. Join us at our next live show! Tickets are on track to sell out soon, so don’t wait until the last minute unless that’s your thing… then girl you do you.

See you at The Bohemian on 9/4.

Skylar: 😱 I’m not really a scary movie girlie anymore (though you better believe I wore out my Scream DVDs back in the day). But I just saw the trailer for a new movie called Good Boy, basically a horror story told from the POV of the world’s most perfect dog, Indy, a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever. Needless to say, I will not be watching. But apparently after the trailer dropped, Google searches for “does the dog die” spiked 2,000%. Are we surprised? I know there were some girlies out there who had their priorities straight and we know somebody had to ask the important questions. I will however be patiently waiting for the leaked audition videos of the dogs considered for the role of Indy.

Girl Code in the Wild. in the world. For example, when you compliment someone’s outfit, the quality of the response is everything. A simple “thanks” through a tight lipped Bella Hadid smile will absolutely make me pause. I want at least one follow-up line. Tell me it has pockets. Tell me where it’s from. Tell me if I should buy it too. Real girlies give you the deets. I was at an airport recently, standing in line to board the plan. We have nowhere to be and nowhere to go. I saw a woman carrying a book I had just read. I asked her how she was liking it, told her I had just finished, and got…. “nice” as a response 😮. Clearly I still have not recovered from this verbal lashing. 

Other clues I take very seriously? Your drink order. And while not every girlie orders an extra dirty gin martini with blue-cheese-stuffed olives, if you do? We’re instantly friends. Our tastes are aligned. I suddenly need your opinion on every decision I make.

Which is why, when I saw a clip of Charli XCX saying she avoids the women’s restroom in clubs “because of the drama,” my girlie radar went nuclear. The women’s restroom is one of the most supportive, affirming, life-saving places I’ve ever been. Charli is 33 years old, which firmly leads me to believe… if she’s still avoiding the women’s restroom, maybe she’s the one bringing the drama.

Carol: Every algorithm I have is still filled exclusively with orange glitter, and against all odds, I’ve suddenly decided I’m ok with shiny bugs (IYKYK). This week I obsessed with the all Anti Hero easter eggs. Alas, I will resist the urge to provide novel length diatribe about The Life of a Showgirl for the second week in a row.

Anyway…

👀 Last week I went to the eye doctor for my annual exam, and let me just say: eye exams were not built for people with the horrific combination of being hypercompetitive and riddled with anxiety.

It starts off basic, I’m asked to read the last line I can see. In this moment, I completely forget this is an appointment I made for myself with the sole purpose of aiding my daily vision. Instead, my hypercompetitive brain assumes I’ve been called in as a CIA recruit. Not for desk duty, no no, clearly this is the final round of field agent auditions. I will squint until I unlock the Da Vinci Code hidden at the bottom if it’s the last thing I do. They have to clarify “the last line you can see without squinting.” I said “well…technically that’s not the last line I’m capable of reading.” She was not impressed. Like, sorry for being excellent under pressure. I ask the tech to write down both the with and without squinting lines for “documentation of my abilities when pushed”….she does not. It’s unclear to me how The Farm will review my results accurately without all the details, but fine.

Then comes the true gauntlet: the lens options. Flip, flip, flip, flip. “Which is better, 5 or 6? 6 or 7?” This is where the anxiety kicks in. I can’t decide. Both options have their own merits! It’s the anxiety of picking where to go for dinner, but instead of regretting sushi vs. tacos, it’s: do I actually know what light is? Have I ever even KNOWN a crisp edge? I spent nine full minutes debating between two identical blurs on my right eye. The doctor told me it was a record. I asked if it was impressive that I could visualize such slight differences between options. He did not respond. After the longest appointment on record, he told me my vision had virtually no change and had not yet offered me a role with the secret service. I was bewildered.

For the final round of the interview, I’m brought out to the lobby and seated at a long desk that suddenly makes me feel like I’ve stumbled into a car dealership, and honestly, with the cost of frames, I might as well be signing a lease. Then comes my final act, the undercover agent performance. I politely feign interest in their $600 frames for a solid 5–10 minutes pretending I’m definitely not ordering glasses from Warby Parker the second I get home. They won’t catch me slipping at the end of this interview.

It’s been a few weeks and I’m just as shocked as you are to let you know I’ve yet to receive a letter asking me to fill in for Sydney Bristow. Perhaps it was my admission that my astigmatism still plagues my night vision.

We’ve all had the fantasy: a new city, a new coffee shop, a new version of you. ✨ We discussed it at our last live show, and we kept the conversation going. We asked the girlies “is moving to a new city the best way to reinvent yourself or are you running from your problems?” The answers did not disappoint.

The responses really range, and one girlie revealed “even if you are running, better to run toward reinvention and a new beginning then stay stuck in the past”

Read the full convo and see all the quotes on our substack.

After enough hype from my sister and a few other trusted sources, I decided a few months ago to try the menstrual cup life. And let me tell you: it has been the highest of highs and the lowest of lows.

The learning curve? Brutal. The first time I stared down that silicone baddie, I was instantly transported back to being 13, locked in a bathroom with a tampon, thinking: Surely this is some kind of mistake. I’m supposed to do WHAT with this? And just… trust my basic understanding of anatomy to make sure it’s correct? And then I had to put on a bathing suit and act like my day was just fine. 

Cut to me today, bending like I’m inventing new yoga poses, shaking with the fear that I was about to… well, I didn’t know exactly what, but I knew I didn’t trust myself.

And yet, I have to say, the wins were real. A few days under Diva Cup reign were bliss. No leaks. No awkward public restroom squats. No desperate “does anyone see a trash can??” searches. I felt like a new me.

Until… the margin for error course-corrected hard. I thought I was set for the day, working across from Carol at a coffee shop (thank god I was in a girlie safe situation), and immediately knew something was wrong. I sprinted to the bathroom and, uh, it was giving “could do a cameo in season two of The Pitt.” How was there that much blood everywhere? Cue multiple bathroom trips, the growing fear I was about to bleed through my cutoff shorts, and the possibility of being politely banned from ever returning to said coffee shop.

I left disheartened, back to tampons, and spiraling. How could I, an allegedly grown woman, have such a mortifying display of menstrual incompetence? My heart went out to every teenage girl dealing with this for the first time, and to the universal truth: all day, every day, women are just figuring it the f*ck out… one degree away from abject mortification with a side of cramps.

Since The Incident, I’ve gotten more tips, tricks, and even was sent a quiz from Period Nirvana (a former live show shout-out!). I’m not giving up just yet—but I am very curious where the girlies are at with this tough-to-talk-about experience.

Have a Trader Joe’s snack or hack you can’t stop talking about? An unhinged recommendation from the algorithm? email us at [email protected]   

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. 

If every one of our subscribers (that is you) told a friend to subscribe and join the chat or follow us on instagram, we would have…. listen I don’t want to do the math but it would be twice as many followers and twice as many girlies to give their input and unhinged recs.

Come join the chat with us in person on 9/4 at the Bohemian.