40 posts tagged xojane
Unless I take care of them, my feet are part-barnacle and part-monkey paw, and can never be uncovered or laid in a pedicurist’s lap.
In which I floridly complain about the “upsetting architectural features” of my feet, and tell xoJanedotcom how to turn one’s knobbly hooves into dozing puppies using Vaseline, plastic bags and bad language.
Hey, man. Have you sexy-health-checked your squeeze today? You could saving a life (this was a typo, but I like it so much that I’m leaving it in).
Join me as I flip back through my Mental Scrapbook of Deceased Friendships. It’s not creepy or weird at all! It’s got tea-stained decals on, look!
I hold down a full-time middle-management editorial job, a freelance writing career I mainly conduct during loo breaks and, for the last few months, I’ve been looking after my seriously ill mother. Something had to give.
Last week I quit my job because I couldn’t find my sports bra - by me, for xoJane.
Yep. By me, for xoJane UK.
“The Life of Pi - While people watched the film version and wondered “does this prove the existence of God?”, I just kept thinking “BUT WHERE DOES THE TIGER POO?”
“I think we ought to portmanteau EVERYTHING that we do by text. Imagine it. We could have ‘banxting’ (banking by text) or ‘voxfaxting’ (casting X Factor votes by text), or even ‘cunxting’ (dumping people by text). Behold the future!”
I solve the new Barclays advert with PhotoShop and swearing, for xoJane.
“I spend my days completing a five-hour rail London-Shire-London round trip, and hanging out in hospitals (on the plus side, I get to read all of 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami. No, I’m still not sure what it’s about. Everyone does a lot of yoga and slices up loads of daikon radishes, though, I can tell you that).”
Eight ways to style out a cold this Christmas - by me, for xoJane. I’m SORRY.
In any enclosed space outside my home – the train to my boyfriend’s house; the bus to my bar job - the world would pulse and warp, and a tremendous dam of nausea would build up inside me until I’d either faint, or be trapped inside a terrible vertiginous inertia.
I write about the four years I spent as a housebound agoraphobic with severe panic disorder in my early twenties - and subsequent recovery - for xoJane.
Plus I manage to crowbar in references to Whitesnake, Yoda, and shitting yourself. Hooray!
My VLCD has come to an end, so this is my final xoJane EXTREME DIETRY entry. I’ve basically lost the equivalent of two Maine Coons, but I’ve found my courage. Or something.
Look, it’s about a diet.
Panic in the streets of Robyn. Panic in the streets of Robynham…
THE EXTREME DIETRY OF ROBYN WILDER: WEEK 9
By me, for xoJane
HALLOWEEN SPECIAL: MISTY, THE 1970S HORROR COMIC FOR GIRLS
Spooky but groovy, like H.P. Lovecraft in flares and a training bra.
By me, for xoJane.
One afternoon I’m standing by the mirror with my T-shirt hoiked up, pensively poking the ever-shrinking empty pouch of my belly, and it hits me: there are only three weeks left of my diet.
THE EXTREME DIETRY OF ROBYN WILDER: WEEK 8
By me, for xoJane.
