This Is the Hair Color You Need to Be Wearing Now!

rainbow hair trend

Summer is almost here, and there’s no better time to experiment with a new cut or colour. And along with rainbow brows and lashes, pastel hair is turning out to be the hair colour trend of the moment!

Behold, pastel colored hair.

Apparently, colorful hair isn’t just for punk rockers anymore, and lots of women (including celebs) are ditching the normal hues for all sorts of stunning baby pink, blue and purple shades.

Aside from looking insanely awesome, these vibrant dos pretty much make you look like a mythical unicorn or a siren of the sea.

How I Discovered I’m Asexual And What That Means To Me


I’m among a subset of the asexual community who experience rare sexual attraction exclusively to people I have forged deep, intimate emotional bonds with. 

I didn’t use the word “asexual” until I was a senior in college. I didn’t so much use the word as I slurred it, in between a long drunken ramble, to my girlfriend and our best friend in our apartment’s small kitchen.

A few hours earlier, at the party we were hosting in our apartment, a friend had shared intimate details of her sex drive — more like sex overdrive. Later in the night, a friend asked if it was weird that she didn’t feel the urge to have sex very often. And there I was, spewing my guts in an alcohol-fueled rage against poor sex education and poor media representation to two of the people I’m closest to.

To this day, they’re the only people who have ever heard me use the label “asexual.” I’m among a rare collection of people: at 22, I’ve been with the same romantic and sexual partner for seven years now. I talk about my sex life openly to the point where my friends were unsurprised when I wrote a Cosmopolitan piece about role-playing in bed. How, then, can I be asexual?

Asexuality, for me, has always been a spectrum. There’s no doubt in my mind that, from puberty onward, I’ve had less desire to have sex than most of my close friends, and that I’m attracted to significantly fewer people. I’ve only had one sex partner and haven’t been put in the position of looking for another, but if I did, it would be pretty damn impossible for me to find one.

I’m among a subset of the asexual community who experience rare sexual attraction exclusively to people I have forged deep, intimate emotional bonds with. That doesn’t sound bad — and for the most part, it isn’t. If I were single, it would prevent me from considering one-night stands without thinking about the consequences. Unless, of course, the one-night-stand was with one of my closest friends after a long, passionate discussion — in which case, consequences be damned.

The only reason I even realized I was capable of sexual attraction was that, in eighth grade, I fell for one of my best friends. She and I would have lengthy sleepovers where we did everything but sleep — we talked late into the night about our futures, our fears, our lives, and then we cuddled through Final Destination 3 and burst into laughter at South Park. It was the first time a crush had ever escalated beyond just thinking the person had a nice personality. I knew every inch of her mind, so I finally felt something I’d never felt before: I wanted to have sex with her.

By the end of high school, I could count on one hand the number of people I’d found myself sexually attracted to. In fact, one of the reasons my initial feelings for my girlfriend were so impossible to ignore was because our emotional connection was the strongest I’d ever had — so strong, in fact, that I’d even dream about passionate make out sessions while she was sleeping over my house. Sometimes, the make outs even led to more.

As we navigated the early stages of our relationship, I learned what I’d always known to be true: my perception of sexuality and sexual attraction was different than other peoples’. Even in a long-term relationship, it was difficult for me to see her and jump right into a sexy situation, even though the emotional connection always existed as a foundation. It was as if my brain needed to be reminded. The best foreplay, for me, was sitting out by the docks on the water, discussing fantasy book series at length and laughing at inside jokes. It wasn’t that I didn’t find her aesthetically pleasing —it was the fact that I’ve always been incapable of finding anyone, even a celebrity, sexually attractive without the emotional bond.

I can’t even muster sexual attraction to celebrities unless they are playing a character I find myself very deeply connected with, like Emma Watson as Hermione Granger. I can look at an aesthetically pleasing celebrity and comprehend their sexiness, but I don’t actually feel it. For this reason, fictional characters in books are an ideal solution: not because I can imagine their appearance any way I want, but because it seems as if I know them on a deep, personal level after spending hundreds of pages in their worlds.

Being asexual is like spending time in a room with a group of friends who just came back from an intimate trip together that you weren’t able to attend. You can hear them describe every painstaking detail, but you can’t create those memories. Your imagination can grasp the blurry edges of what their lived experience is like, but you won’t feel nostalgic when you look back on the trip six months later. I understand why people put Leonardo DiCaprio on their celebrity fuck lists, but I just can’t. Maybe someday, if he plays a somewhat shy, sarcastic journalist in a movie series who I can really connect with. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for that day to come.

Obama Slams Trump for Leaving Paris Climate Agreement


Obama was one of the supporters of the accord to condemn Trump’s move as an abdication of American leadership and an international disgrace.

Read Obama’s statement in full below:

A year and a half ago, the world came together in Paris around the first-ever global agreement to set the world on a low-carbon course and protect the world we leave to our children.

It was steady, principled American leadership on the world stage that made that achievement possible.  It was bold American ambition that encouraged dozens of other nations to set their sights higher as well. And what made that leadership and ambition possible was America’s private innovation and public investment in growing industries like wind and solar – industries that created some of the fastest new streams of good-paying jobs in recent years, and contributed to the longest streak of job creation in our history.

Simply put, the private sector already chose a low-carbon future.  And for the nations that committed themselves to that future, the Paris Agreement opened the floodgates for businesses, scientists, and engineers to unleash high-tech, low-carbon investment and innovation on an unprecedented scale.

The nations that remain in the Paris Agreement will be the nations that reap the benefits in jobs and industries created.  I believe the United States of America should be at the front of the pack.  But even in the absence of American leadership; even as this Administration joins a small handful of nations that reject the future; I’m confident that our states, cities, and businesses will step up and do even more to lead the way, and help protect for future generations the one planet we’ve got. 

Rhode Island House Votes to Ban Gay Conversion Therapy

State House

The House of Representatives has voted to pass a bill that would bar licensed health care providers from using so-called gay conversion therapy to change a minor’s sexual orientation or gender identity.

The House voted 69-0 to pass the bill Tuesday, with six legislators not voting. It now moves to the state Senate.

Nevada and Connecticut this month became the latest to ban the practice, joining New Jersey, California, Oregon, Illinois, New York, Vermont and New Mexico.

Rhode Island’s proposal would prohibit psychologists, social workers and other licensed health care professionals from using practices that treat homosexuality as an illness and try to cure it in children under 18 years old. Violations could be subject to disciplinary action or revocation of licenses by the state department of health.

Numerous national and international medical associations, including the American Psychological Association, the American Psychiatric Association, the American Medical Association Council on Scientific Affairs, the American Psychoanalytic Association, the American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry, the American Academy of Pediatrics and the American Association of Sexuality Educators, Counselors, and Therapists, have issued statements against or otherwise taken action against conversion therapy.

“Conversion therapy is worse than ineffective; it can be extremely harmful, especially in children,” said Rep. Edith H. Ajello (D-Dist. 1, Providence), the primary sponsor of the bill. “Sexual orientation, as well as gender identity, is widely recognized by science and medicine as simply innate to a person. It is no more a disease or a condition that needs to be changed than is race or eye color. Putting someone, especially a young person, through conversion therapy can lead them to a host of serious problems including depression, substance abuse, isolation and suicide.

Friends Swapped Rachel in an Episode and No-One Noticed

friends tv show

A blogger at Recently Heard spotted a hilarious error in an old episodeof Friends, thanks to Netflix.  In an episode titled “The One With the Mugging,” Jordan D’Amico  spotted an unfamiliar face where a very familiar one should have been.

During the beginning of the episode, Rachel Green (aka Jennifer Aniston) and Joey Tribbiani (aka Matt LeBlanc) go visit Monica Geller (played by Courteney Cox) in her kitchen to talk about Joey’s exciting new audition. It was during that scene when D’Amico spotted something surprising. Instead of cutting back from Monica at her table to Joey and Rachel standing together, there was someone else there.


That woman on the left pictured next to Joey in the scene is most certainly not the lovely Jennifer Aniston. (Although I’m sure that, whoever she is, she is also very lovely!) Again, you’ll find this in season nine, episode 15, right around the 3:20 mark (just after Monica gives her line about the possibility of the monkey being at the audition.)

Confused Mom Finds Son’s Shower Sex Toy And Asks The Internet What It Is

bathroom sex toy

This is amazing.

When Patty took to the Internet to find out what the strange contraption sticking from her son’s shower wall was, she got some answers she wasn’t necessarily looking for.

‘Patty Parsons’, the breathless mother who claims to have found the object in her ‘son’s’ bathroom, posted the picture on Twitter – which is totally what normal clueless mothers called ‘Patty Parsons’ would do – where she claimed to be completely baffled by it.

twitter screenshot

Because this is the Internet and the Internet Knows Sex Toys™, it was quickly pointed out that it’s a fleshlight with shower wall attachment. Fancy!

Be STRONG Enough To Let Go & SMART Enough To Know You Deserve Better

woman entering an ocean

by Emily Blackwood

It’s time to get real.

Change never seems to come when you’re ready for it.

The dreaded “we need to talk,” hurts even more when it’s out of the blue, and can make the whole process of breaking up feel like the end of the world.

But I promise, it’s not.

While it’s tempting to cling on the happy moments of the past, you’ll only prolong the inevitable. And you’re stronger than that. 

Whether your S.O. just dropped a major earth-shattering truth bomb, or you’ve been feeling some serious “this needs to end ASAP” vibes, the best thing you can do for yourself — and your happiness — is to go with the flow.

Don’t try to control the outcome. Don’t try to hold on to something that’s ending. 

Rather than fighting your fate, accept it. Recognize it when you feel yourself kicking and screaming for things to stay the same, and instead, take a deep breath and let go.

If you’re finding that process a little difficult because up until now you were super happy and you can’t completely fathom why your relationship is ending, then it’s time to get real with yourself.

Were you really happy? Was this really everything you’ve ever wanted? Or have you just been compromising your own happiness for the sake of not wanting to be alone? 

I’m A Woman With Facial Hair And I Love My Mustache


Author: Carolyn Castiglia

I’ve decided, as a rebellious act of self-love, to lose my inhibitions and keep my facial hair.

“Mommy … you know, I can see your mustache.” It was one of those innocuous things kids blurt out as they observe the world, not meant to be any more or less rude than pointing out how gross it is when people smoke or that the streets of New York are filled with garbage. Some things are just true: smoking’s gross, New York is filthy, and I have a mustache.

I laughed at my keen little kid and replied, “Yes, I know. I like it.”

She looked at me as if I were a sad puppy who just needed a little help better understanding the world and all of its complications. “No,” she said, quite seriously. “It’s bad.”

It still makes me laugh just thinking about it. Her implication was that if I didn’t do something about my visible mustache, something terrible might happen. Like the crashing of the patriarchy or the collapse of the beauty-industrial complex or – worst of all – other people might see it. Female + facial hair = certain death. I mean, we’ve all heard of bearded ladies, but have you ever actually seen one at the circus? I’m pretty sure those animals are extinct. From being hunted down. BY THE MAN.

I’m not sure why my mustache was so concerning for my 8-year-old daughter, or how she even knew visible facial hair on a woman is a no-no. It’s almost as if she was paying attention all of those times I wandered around our apartment with Nair on my upper lip, talking about how important it is to get the removal process just right. If you don’t leave the chemicals on long enough, the hair doesn’t fall out. If you leave them on too long, you get a chemical burn. Because I never did find the exact algorithm required for painless ‘stache removal, I quite often found myself left with a half-hairy lip and giant red scabs on each side of my mouth. AM I PRETTY ENOUGH FOR YOU NOW, AMERICA? Who wants to makeout with Scabby McScratchyface?!

So that’s why, about 9 months ago, I decided to stop removing my mustache. I didn’t want to get chemical burns anymore, and I didn’t have any dates coming up, so there was no pressure for me to present myself anywhere as a supple, hairless creature. You know, like a Canadian Sphynx. Cute. Sweet. Demure.

After a month or two, a funny thing happened. A chicken/egg sort of relationship developed between my dating habits and my facial hair. I can’t tell which caused what, but the longer I waited to book another date, the more willing I was to sit with my mustache. And the longer I lived out in the world with my mustache WITHOUT DYING, the less willing I was to book another date, because I didn’t want to feel any pressure to wax/bleach/burn off my mustache. Growing out my mustache hair (and refusing to remove it) became symbolic for all of the changes that were going on inside me. It was an act of rebellion, meant to show the world that I was not going to emotionally contort myself any longer to accommodate what I feel are unreasonable expectations on the part of others. I am a human being. A woman with gorgeous, thick brown hair … on my head, and everywhere else. There is a very thin, not-too-dark-but-certainly-visible bit of hair on my upper lip. DEAL WITH IT. I will shave my legs and my armpits and even pluck the middle part of my eyebrows, but right now, at this moment in time, I don’t want to brutalize my precious, delicate upper lip anymore. Hopefully I can stay off of Nair for the rest of my life if I do all the steps and keep going to meetings. But, as they say, one day at a time.

I have yet to show up to a date with my Burt Reynolds on full display, but I plan to. I just revamped my dating profile on a paid site to reflect all of the ways I’ve embraced myself over this last year. I started making those profile changes as a joke, using my real sense of humor (both feminist and ridiculous) instead of trying to prove myself witty and clever, but I liked my answers so much I actually clicked save. As soon as I did, I got three messages within five minutes. I took that as a sign that the world is ready for me to be my true self, mustache and all. I’m ready to go on dates with strangers again and take trying to find love seriously, or at least as seriously as a lady comic with a villainous moustache can. I have a good feeling about finding someone who can accept and love me the way I now accept and love myself.

It’s possible I may decide to remove my facial hair again at some point, but I want that decision to come from me, and not due to any outside pressure or influence. If I come into a lot of money and/or a steady gig on television, I will probably laser it off and be done with it. Until then, though, I’ll keep it. Even if it’s bad, because I think it’s kinda great.

Carolyn Castiglia is a comedian and mother who lives in Brooklyn. For more about her career, check out her full YourTango profile. You can also follow her on Twitter or like her on Facebook.

This article was originally published at YourTango


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Dancing with the Scars

movie scene

By Rory Winston

”Where is all that fervour and fever? Spill it onto the page,” comes the eternal rebuke from the tormented narrator of Shaping Scars. But, luckily, both fervour and fever do one better for the Poet/Actress, Fern Beattie, as they spill from her mouth onto the landscape of contemporary dance, bursting between the frames of an art film –one that washes over the viewer like the disavowed tears of our own frustrated and frustrating affairs.

Directed by London-based Hungarian graphic designer and filmmaker SholtayShaping Scars lives up to its title. While its monologue attests to unrequited love’s slit-your-wrist moments, its choreography evokes the balmy moments of close proximity and the temporary scabs that form. Of course, both words and dance seem to agree on one thing: when those scabs do inevitably reopen, the wounds are more painful than ever. And they are twice as likely to leave a permanent scar.  Still, while all this heal and tear is going on in dialogue and dance, the film’s sensibility remains one of romantic reminiscence. It is a cinematic work whose sensibility manages to reshape each nick, gash and scar into an aesthetic object to be relished over time.

Playing the femme fatale of a lesbian duo, dancer Fanni Eszterhazy elicits an emotional duality – she is superficially powerful but internally frail, she is an ice queen born of a wallflower. This while the passionate and needy lover, dancer Mariann Hargital, does her best to undermine her aloof demeanor by trying to make sense of it for her and analyzing what may have gone wrong between them in an attempt to salvage their relationship.

Although Hargitai is undoubtedly representing Beattie herself, Lajos Peter Turi’s insistent and unremitting choreography, together with Hargitai’s powerful presence as a dancer, makes us wonder what if anything would survive of Eszterhazy’s character were she to give in and stay. Reminiscent of works by Talia Favia for Mather Dance Company, Turi’s choreography constructs a vocabulary based on exaggerated versions of everyday human gestures. But what starts out as movements within the control of those employing them to express things soon evolves into a language that redefines its speakers, making them no more than subservient tools to sentences that have begun to live their own lives independent of the intended message.

Despite words to the contrary, the viewer is also convinced that few characters are strong enough to inhabit a world with someone as unforgivingly analytical and aware as Hargitai. Beattie’s petition-cum-lambaste-gone-lament is a vortex of poetic imagery and analysis. Listening to her speak to her lover is a verbal equivalent of watching Swan Lake’s Odile (played by Maya Plisetskaya, no less) doing an endless series of virtuoso level fouettés in a vain attempt to communicate with a down-to-earth Merce Cunningham dancer. After Beattie’s torrent of clever phrases and cutting insights, it is clear that Eszterhazy’s character is promised just about everything were she to stay except, of course, a moment to breathe or think.

With the help of the DP (Andras Kiss Gravi) and the editor (Csilla Zsely), Shotay achieves a soft fluid phrasing that is a dance of its own. It finds gentle beauty in abusive moments, quiescence in the midst of a war, sublime in the otherwise overstated. In a very clever way, Shotay undermines pathos by sporadically giving us glimpses of the narrator’s presence – these asides are a solid reminder that what we’re watching is a subjective version of history, a story that has been filtered through the writer’s own scars. Had Shotay allowed for a bit more divergence between the film and the story, we easily could have been left pondering if the two struggling dancers were no more than different parts of the same person.

Remaining faithful to the intentions of even the best authors doesn’t always serve the best interests of a film. Still, despite any minor shortcoming, the film manages to sustain tension while giving us frozen moments of true beauty. Slated for screening at the LGBT Toronto Film Festival as part of Pride Toronto as well as at the Los Angeles Dance Shorts Film Festival, Shaping Scars is starting to gain some well-deserved traction. The diverse talents responsible for this attention have in their own idiosyncratic way shown both flourish and finesse in their given fields. I have little doubt that each of them will go on to forge their personal experiences (both good and bad) into the beautifully shaped scars known as art. When it comes to fervor and fever, Shaping Scars – a short film that clocks in at just under 7 minutes – has ample amounts of both.

More about the Film Director

More about the Film Company

Entire Film:

Man Proposes to Boyfriend on Splash Mountain in Adorable Viral Photo

proposed in disneyland

Looking for a story to restore your faith in love again?!

Reddit user, Eugenius310proposed to his boyfriend Chris this past Monday on the Splash Mountain ride at Disneyland. Why Splash Mountain? Because it’s Chris’s favorite ride, duh!

“I quickly hid the sign away after the drop and when we exited the ride we walked to see our photo and he was shocked,” Williams wrote on Reddit. “I got down on one knee and asked him to spend the rest of his life with me.”

“He said, ‘Yes,’” Williams confirmed.

Williams and Chris, who met just over a year ago, are huge Disneyland fans.

The pair, who are both from Southern California, have been going to the park once a month together ever since.

Early in their relationship, Williams says, he learned that Splash Mountain was Chris’ favorite ride, which gave him the idea for the sign and proposal.

“I remember hearing a girl saying ‘OMG that’s so cute!’ And then a few people clapped when I got down and proposed and he said yes,”

Williams explained on Reddit that his mom, who hails from a traditional religious background, asked him not to post the photo on Facebook because she’s “ashamed” of him and was worried her relatives would “gossip.”

“I didn’t even receive a congratulations from my parents, so it was very heartbreaking for me,” he says.