Winona Dimeo-Ediger

"But I'm your friend! I'm like your cool big sister that makes you feel insecure and unworthy 99% of the time!"

How does that old cliché go? “Love is not a noun, it’s a verb”? Loving your body is a verb. It’s an action — and in many ways it’s a sacred and defiant one.

Now, it may seem like the NRA is comprised of emotionally stunted gun fetishists with a shriveled up copy of the second amendment where their hearts should be, but that’s simply not true. They totally cry about stuff! Not mass shootings of children, but other stuff. Just to be clear, here are 10 things worth crying #REALTEARS, according to the NRA.

Make a u-turn into the darkest recesses of your psyche. Wonder about your life purpose: Were you put on earth to stare at computer screens and pay bills and die? Cringe while imagining what your idealistic college self would think of you now. Conclude that your life lacks creativity and meaning and simple joys.

Clothes can be altered. Clothes can be sold. Clothes can be swapped with friends. In the meantime, you have to get dressed every day, and you might as well love the clothes you have right now.

...canning stuff is the best. It makes you feel like a badass pioneer woman preparing for the Oregon Trail except in this scenario you’re making orange basil marmalade for brunches rather than sustenance and you have unlimited access to a shower.

As much as I love the holidays, there are a lot of chores and errands this time of year requires that are, let’s say, less than fun.

The Real Househusbands of Beverly Hills: See how the stay-at-home husbands of the most powerful women in Beverly Hills truly live! Watch these “men of leisure” shop, do brunch, plan opulent parties, and get in fistfights over insinuations that their lush heads of hair aren’t exactly all-natural. Scandalous!

Also worth considering: Beyonce on vacation, Prince George, your mom in the '70s.

"These days, I don’t shop at the mall very often, but every once in a while when I find myself at a mall — any — I’m overcome by a wave of nostalgia for my salad days (although perhaps “Sbarro calzone days” would be a more fitting expression here). In many ways, I grew up in these chain stores and pretzel kiosks. And sometimes I feel compelled to write melodramatic poetry about it."