It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs, The Tabloids

The Dangers of Online Bikini Shopping

April 27, 2017

I hate online shopping. I don’t understand how people do it. The clothes never look as good as they did online, or they don’t fit, or they arrive two weeks later than they were supposed to, or all of the above. I avoid online shopping at all costs, and would much prefer to waste hours at the mall in order to find several items that I am 100% sure about buying, than to spend 20 minutes accidentally spending crazy amounts of money on 4 pairs of shoes that I most likely won’t be able to squeeze my feet into and will consequently have to return. Also! I hate returning things. Why has no one invented a high-tech solution where you can just snap your fingers and get your money back and be freed from the object you don’t want taking up space in your room. Like are you seriously telling me I actually need to repackage and re-mail this thing I don’t even want all by myself, in order to get my own money back??! The inhumanity.

Well, recently I discovered there is something even worse than online shopping, and that would be online bikini shopping. Last month, with spring break around the corner, I joined many college girls across the country in making the horrifying realization that I have absolutely zero bikinis. (Yeah, yeah you USC/Tulane people don’t have these problems and the rest of us losers in the arctic tundra are not at all jealous of you). With barely a week until break, I was up to my neck in midterms and knew that I wouldn’t have time to make the dreaded trip to the mall. So, I began the endeavor of scouring the world wide web for 2 pieces of polyester that would rack me up (ha ha punny) some Instagram likes, because as we all know likes are the only thing that matter in defining self-worth.

Well, enter a certain bikini website that shall not be named, but may or not be an incorrect spelling of a geometric shape. After identifying my favorite $90 bikini, I proceeded to checkout only to find that they were out of my size. More specifically, they were out of my size in the top but not the bottoms, which somehow made it a much more annoying, glass-half-empty type of situation. Now, I was about to do the normal thing and “X” out of this page and move on to a new website, when I noticed a little “chat” box in the bottom left corner. I could chat with a customer sales rep! Right now! And they would help me! So exciting.

So I did. First, I was asked to enter my first name, and in a really weird and semi-embarrassing moment, I decided to use a fake name. I use my real name on literally everything I do all day long, so I could not tell you why I felt that the one time I should protect my ~sacred identity~ was on a bikini website that only asks for your first name.

So I said my name was Kylie (I told you this was embarrassing) because I thought it sounded like the name of a girl who might buy a bikini online from a company named after a geometric shape. Like can we be honest for a sec, any name ending in -ie or -ee or -ey or -eeey or -ieie is like def better bikini material than my really generically spelled name.

“Kylie” was soon connected to a rep named Maggie, who followed her script by apologizing profusely for not having my size, and then asking me if I was sure about my size. It occurred to me that, never having tried on one of these mystical bikinis, I was not in fact totally sure about what size I would be. I relayed this info to Maggie.

Maggie asked me if I had a tape measurer that I could measure myself with. I said yes! Of course!

Disclaimer: I do not own a tape measurer. After 30 seconds of texting my roommates I learned no one in our house did either. But not wanting to disappoint my new friend Maggie, (I mean had already lied to the poor girl about my name – I needed to redeem myself somehow), I proceeded to scour my apartment for anything I could measure myself with.

Ten minutes later I found myself wrapping a piece of floss around my body. Meanwhile, every 3 minutes Maggie would message me “Are you still there?” “Hey Kylie – still there?” as if I was a victim of a deathly accident, on the verge of losing consciousness, instead of a girl standing alone in her room trying to determine how many inches a piece of dental floss was.

Eventually, I came to terms with the fact that a piece of floss could not tell me what my bikini size was, and I had to bid farewell to Maggie. Maggie told me she would email me if my size arrived sooner, and asked for my email, which I gave her. My email definitely contains the name “Abby” and not “Kylie.”

Maggie did not comment on the discrepancy.

A few days later, I found myself rushing to the mall in between classes to find a suitable (ha another pun) bikini. The irony, I know. I could have skipped lying about my name and wasting all that dental floss.

Lo and behold the only acceptable one was designed by KYLIE Jenner. Am I psychic?? Yes, obviously. I clearly predicted my fate. Everything in my life was supposed to lead up to this moment. So I bought the bikini and brought it to spring break. Also it was like $30 instead of $90 so thanks @ kylie jenner.

The moral of this tale is to avoid online bikini shopping, and floss, and overly eager sales reps that you meet via a chat feature, and also maybe lying about your name.

Images viavia, and via.

Life & Other Drugs, On "The Hill"

Presenting: The Mailroom

April 24, 2017

Brown can be a self-selective place. If you’re a freshman, you’re probably hanging out in Keeney or on Pembroke. If you’re involved in Greek Life you can be found on Wriston, if you’re an athlete or an otherwise ~athletic~ person you’ll often be in the Nelson, and if you’re a senior who’s like “so done with college” you probably can’t be found because you’re holed up in your off-campus apartment.

Even the most popular spots on campus are self-selective. The Ratty is made up of mostly underclassmen, the Blue Room is full of people willing to spend too much money on a breakfast sandwich (me), the Sci Li is full of sciencey people and the Rock is flooded with Humanities kids (also me).

There is one, and only one, place on campus that is a total intersection of everyone who attends this fine university. It is mystical and unique, and there is no other place quite like it.

Presenting: The Mailroom.

Figure 1: Actual Real Life Image of the Mailroom

Everyone gets mail (shout out to moms and Amazon!) so everyone must go to the mailroom. I moved off campus this year, and I still use the mailroom because of the sheer familiarity of really bad music, extremely long lines, and most importantly, the convenience of being able to “forget” to pick up your package for several days with the knowledge that it’s being held safely in your campus box.

On a side note, has anyone ever seen these elusive campus mailboxes?? How do we know we really each have our own mailbox? Mine is 8720 (subtle call to send me ~fan mail~ guys) but how can I know if it even exists if I’ve never seen it?! Seeing is believing, as they say.

Anyway! Going to the mailroom is a multi-step process. The most exciting part, (in mine and everyone else’s opinion), is the ID swipe before you enter the mailroom, in which a v modern and cool screen informs you of how many packages you have to pick up. After you swipe, you can press “pick up now” and then enter the main room.

However! There are two catches here. One is that there is another v modern and cool screen inside the mailroom, which performs exactly the same operation, yet people seem to be unaware of its existence, causing the line for the first machine to be longer than necessary.

Second, is the underrated devastation of swiping your ID only to find out that you have “no packages at this time,” and the following sense of despair you feel as you walk out of JWW instead of through the mailroom doors.

Figure 2: Another Genuine Photograph of the Mailroom

Assuming you do in fact have a package, you make your way into the mailroom. You join the other couple dozen students in the room who are standing silently, facing towards the front desk, and waiting for their names to be called. During this time, you jealously watch other students who arrived before you receive their packages, while simultaneously listening to the worst playlist you’ve ever heard (we’re talking Taylor Swift circa 2011).

And also during this time, you can’t help but observe the students that surround you. Last weekend you and your friend complained (for the umpteenth time) that this school is too small and you know like everyone. Looking around the mailroom, however, you feel the exact opposite way. How do you know zero out of the 30 or 40 people standing here? Who are they? Where did they come from? Where have they been hiding? Is it possible that ~gasp~ you only think you know a lot of people, when in reality there are literally hundreds of students at this school you have never met?  Has the mailroom – the one and only true intersection of students on campus – caused you to have an identity crisis and question everything and everyone you have ever known???

The true magic of the mailroom lies in this moment: each one of these students takes different classes, are part of different organizations, have different concentrations, come from different cities –and yet: we all use the same mailroom. Guys, if this isn’t beauty I don’t know what is.

Images via.

Life & Other Drugs, On "The Hill"

Hi, I Totally Don’t Know Who You Are!

December 11, 2016

We’ve all done it. You meet a friend of a friend at a party, or your cousin’s new boyfriend, or your roommate’s brother. After talking for several minutes, you extend your hand and say something, like,

“I’m Abby, by the way.”

To which they respond,

“I’m Tom, nice to meet you.”

But you knew you were talking to Tom the whole time, you sneaky thing, you. And you don’t just know Tom’s name. You also know what town he’s from, that he ran track in high school, where he went on vacation with his family this summer, and, if you’re really feeling creepy, where he ate dinner for his 22nd birthday (hey, the location is tagged on his fourth most recent profile picture! It’s not your fault he’s sharing this info with the world!).

Social media is definitely responsible for most I-know-you-but-will-introduce-myself-as-if-don’t-introductions. Ah, the joys of the 21st century.

What’s even worse than just knowing who someone is, is letting them know that you know who they are. This is a confusingly complicated sentence for a simple concept: the accidental like. At one point in your life, you have found yourself accidentally giving that double-tap to your ex-boyfriend’s sister’s 2013 Instagram pic of her dog. You texted her a ~cute apology~ with the embarrassed face emoji, and jokingly told her you missed the dog (you weren’t joking, but whatever). You’ve also probably been on the receiving end of this: like when you woke up to a notification that the guy in your lab who’s literally talked to you twice in your life liked your Facebook status from 2010 (it went something along the lines of “omg so bored, wish there was a Bat Mitzvah this weekend”). 

And these experiences are coming from me — someone who goes through month-long phases of deactivating social media accounts to focus on studying, and religiously uses SelfControl (the app not the actual ability – in case you were impressed). So I can’t even imagine what it’s like for people who are avid social media stalkers. Do you accidentally “like” stuff all the time? Or are your fingers just more nimble than mine? 

On college campuses, the fake introduction often extends beyond social media creepiness. You find yourself at a pregame with the girl you sat across from every single Wednesday in your History seminar last semester, and introduce yourself as if you don’t know exactly what laptop stickers she has. You sit through hours of your friend complaining about her weird Spanish partner, only to innocently exchange names with said weird lab partner at a recruiting event. I know that your sister goes to Columbia, and that you got a B- on your last exam, you think deviously to yourself. This even filters into friend groups, which is honestly really bizarre. Your friend Becca finally introduces you to her friend, Ashley, who she’s been dying for you to meet. You proceed to make small talk as if you don’t already know everything about Ashley, and as if Ashley doesn’t already know everything about you.

I wish I could suggest that we should all be totally honest. Like yaaa let’s tell each other every single thing we know about each other when we meet, right?! No, obviously not. If you’re thinking this is social suicide, congrats, you’re probably correct. But isn’t that a tiny bit depressing?

So, I have a more realistic suggestion. What if we dropped the saving-face, cooler-than-you act, and had a tiny bit of humility. You could say something like, “Oh hey, Ashley, Becca has told me so much about you!!” This is not a weird thing to do. THIS IS NOT WEIRD. This is what grown ass adults do, guys! I promise you will not be any less cool if you admit that you know who Ashley is. In fact, you will probably become friends with her faster.

But yeah, I’m gonna say that this still doesn’t apply to social media. So if you ever happen to see your friend from elementary school’s mom’s cousin’s teacher’s ex-husband shopping at Trader Joe’s with his new wife, you should not run up to him and ask him how his trip to Cambodia was last summer. Just a suggestion.

Image via

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs

Hello, Adult Coloring Books

November 27, 2016

In many ways, college is a lot like preschool. You nap in the afternoon, eat mediocre food, and spend a lot of time missing your mom.

In the past year or two, a fad has taken over that has added to this list of similarities: coloring books. The real question is why adult coloring books didn’t exist sooner.


They’re an excellent de-stressor and a great way to waste your time. You can color in endless patterns of mandalas and mosaic-y things with the few colorful pens you found at the bottom of your backpack, instead of doing all of the homework you’ve been assigned! You can color while you’re watching Netflix, because you’re such a competent ~multi-tasker~, or you can even color with your friends!

You could have a coloring party! A coloring wedding!! K maybe not though because you wouldn’t want to risk your dress getting marker on it. Remember in preschool, when you just perpetually had ink on your hands at all times? What was the deal with that anyway?? See, this would happen if you had a coloring wedding, except the ink would be on your dress.

Anyway, back to the books. If all of this isn’t enough, there are Facebook pages and Instagram accounts entirely dedicated to adult coloring books.

Is this fad weird? Yes, yes it is. But that doesn’t make it any less fantastic. The world is kinda stressful sometimes, (and especially stressful now #election2016 #stillwithher) but knowing that you can go home to your coloring book makes things better for some people!

The first time I filled out a page in an adult coloring book, I was in my friend’s dorm room. She ripped out a page from her book and handed it to me, and a rush of immeasurable excitement washed over me. I could finally try this cool new~trend~! Would my creation be insta worthy?! I was especially excited because she had all these pretty pens and stuff that she had bought specifically for this purpose.


But oh. my. god. it. was. so. boring. How did people do it? I picked this nice looking tree that had about 20,000 leaves and after I had colored several in with a turquoise marker, I was like bored out of my mind.

Why was this an activity that people chose to do?! That was the only thing I could think as I suffered through the first five or six leaves. But I pushed through and discovered that boredom can actually be kind of nice. Shocking, I know. It turns out that when you’re juggling 5 classes, 4 student orgs, and a bunch of crazy friends it’s kinda nice to not do anything.

So in conclusion, I support coloring books! It’s a better use of your time than most de-stressing activities, and you can develop your artistic skills instead of slumping in front of the TV/laptop/etc. Sometimes it’s nice to ignore the evil orange man on the TV and instead focus on the orange marker in your hand, which is filling in the lion that you’re coloring, very…very…very…slowly.

Images via Emma Butler, via and via.

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs

The Double Edged Sword of Uber Ratings

November 3, 2016

I made a truly life changing discovery recently. Ready for it? Brace yourself.

You can SEE your own Uber Rating.






These are just some of the many words that might be coming to your mind right now. I know, you will never be the same. I understand, because I went through this same metamorphic experience myself recently.

Seeing your own Uber rating is actually very (VERY) easy. It’s literally right in the app for you! But before I tell you how to see it, you have to read this whole article! Woo!

Ok, so first of all, yes, you have an Uber rating. Isn’t that terrifying? Uber could really promote this as an incentive for us to be better passengers, but it seems like a lot of people aren’t even aware that the whole ratings system is a two-way street.

We all know about rating our own drivers, and about Uber driver guilt. I personally used to be one of those people who would almost always give a 5/5 rating, unless something disastrous happened. But now I have a new technique.

I like to call it “karma,” and I have used it ever since discovering my Uber score was 4.65. This was extremely concerning news because I’m always friendly and punctual. I will happily engage in conversation when the driver wants to, but am otherwise fine sitting in silence. So what was I doing wrong?!

This karma technique involves waiting for the ride to be over, then checking my score to see if it went up, down, or stayed the same. If my score went down (meaning that the driver gave me less than 5 stars), you can bet I’ll be giving him or her less than 5 stars too. Does this make me a terrible person? I don’t really think so…I mean, hey if you help me out with 5 stars, I’ll reciprocate. Seems fair enough.

Weirdly enough, my rating has actually gone down since I made this discovery. Maybe the driver can feel my paranoia. Sometimes when I’m a passenger now, I send telepathic messages to the driver to give me a 5. This is totally normal behavior, which you will also likely now exhibit after having discovered (via my article, u r welcome) that you can see your rating.

I’ve also noticed some weird patterns in my ratings. Uber drivers in California almost always give me a higher score than their East Coast counterparts do. Should we attribute this to warmer weather? A general friendliness? (They also tend to offer more snacks & fun stuff). The fact that Uber originated in San Francisco? TBD. Female drivers also consistently give me a higher score. My score usually seems to drop a bit after Saturday nights (understandable—driving a group of girls two blocks to a party because the temperature dropped below 50 degrees is unarguably really annoying).


So… how do you see your magic number?!

Open the Uber app, click Help in the left side bar, then under “report an issue” (don’t worry, you aren’t actually reporting an issue) tap on Account and Payment, then Account Settings and Ratings, and finally: “I’d like to know my rating.” Press Submit and voila: your worth as a human being in one number.

Images via the author, via, and via.

Life & Other Drugs

Peter Pan the Bus Line vs. Peter Pan the Movie

October 31, 2016

Forget Disney princess movies, Peter Pan is where it’s at. First of all, Tinker Bell is way cooler than a princess and the friendship she has with Peter Pan is so cute. Second of all, much like Harry Potter, Peter Pan gives hope to us Muggles—er, normal people. This hope comes in the form of Wendy, a totally normal girl who’s just chilling in her house one night when Peter Pan comes to her window and takes her on the sickest adventure ever. Harry Potter left me eagerly waiting for an acceptance letter on my 11th birthday, and Peter Pan left me hoping a stranger would come through my window and take me away!

Image result for wendy meets peter pan

But truly, Peter Pan is magical. Anyone who’s been lucky enough to go on the Peter Pan Disneyland ride can attest to this. The best part is the first room, when you board the pirate ship and soar above the night sky of London. You feel, like, so alive. Seriously, it’s awesome and worth the 45-minute wait time.Image result for line for peter pan disneyland ride


You know what’s not worth waiting for? The Peter Pan bus. Now when I first bought a ticket on this East Coast budget bus line back in February, I wasn’t quite expecting a perfect replication of the London sky, but I was expecting a few things that didn’t happen, such as punctuality, a super cheap price, and relatively normal passengers.

Image result for peter pan bus

Having now taken Peter Pan numerous times from Providence to New York City (holla at the regulars on the 3:10pm Friday busssss) I consider myself to be somewhat of an expert on this bus line. When I first saw the green Peter Pan letters whizzing past me on the highway, I wondered why this name had been chosen. I still don’t know the answer to this, but I’ve decided to formally compare them here, because after all, they do have the same name:

The buses are like so, so late

I guess it’s that whole business thing called a monopoly. Peter Pan seems to be the most popular bus line in the Providence area, and even if it wasn’t, I doubt any other bus lines run on a more efficient schedule. Usually they arrive about 10 minutes late, but what confuses me the most is the “estimated arrival times”- which are never adjusted, even when there’s traffic.

Do you think Wendy arrived late to Neverland? No, she didn’t, because time basically doesn’t exist in Neverland, hence why you can’t grow up.

Plus one for the movie, minus two for the bus line.

The Priceeee

Excuse me, but Wendy most definitely got a free ride to Neverland, and I would personally say that that experience is worth a lot more than this $29-$37 ride.

I will admit that it’s a lot more reasonable than the $200 Amtrak trip, which has the same exact travel time. Although, I have heard that the Amtrak trip has a prettier view than the Peter Pan bus route.

ALSO, I guess I am sort of glad this Peter Pan bus isn’t extremely cheap. Extremely cheap would be the $1 megabuses that occasionally explode into flames on the highway. So if you’re like me and don’t want to die in a fire (this really sounds like the worst possible way to go), then you can throw in a twenty-dollar bill or two and ride on a slightly less shitty bus that probably won’t spontaneously combust.

Plus one for the movie, minus one for the bus line (and minus 500 for megabus)

Your fellow passengers

Your companions are not a fairy and your two little brothers. (Also you are sitting not flying, so like minus one thousand points right there)

Image result for wendy and brothers


Instead, your companions are probably either a snoring man, a woman with an enormous statue on her lap (really, this happened to me) or a little boy who doesn’t stop whining the entire time.

Plus three for the movie.

Final Conclusion:

Guys, Peter Pan is honestly so lovely. Idk who thought comparing a bus to a magical boy—or for that matter, comparing Port Authority to Neverland–was a good idea, but I certainly do not.

So I think we have a winner here! Shocking, I know, but I’m thinking the movie is better than the budget bus line.

Although that being said, I do have to give some points to Peter Pan the bus for actually existing in my life. Unlike Peter Pan the boy, who never frickin’ showed up at my window, I can always rely on the bus on Friday afternoons….even if it shows up an hour late.

Images via,  via,  via,  via, and via.

It's a Girl Thing, Life & Other Drugs, On "The Hill"

Ode to Wearing Clothes That Are Not Yours

October 23, 2016

We’ve all borrowed clothes from friends. Maybe a dress for a party, a pair of black heels that matched way better with your outfit than any of your seven pairs of black heels, or (if you’re me) socks and underwear from your housemates when you’ve just been like so busy that you haven’t had time to do your laundry (ew, get it together plz, @myself).


Borrowing clothes isn’t that interesting. If you have a sister like me, or a mom who wears the same size shoes as you, or like, I don’t know—any friend at all—you’ve likely been doing this for a decade.


But a few weeks ago I experienced an entirely new and fascinating form of borrowing clothes.


I forgot to set my alarm because I fell asleep watching Shameless, so I woke up approximately 11 minutes before my 10 am was starting. My initial instinct was to jump out of bed and throw on any clean clothes in my sight, but this proved difficult due to an accumulating pile of dirty laundry in my hamper (see paragraph one).


It soon became apparent that I had practically no clean clothes, and it was impossible to make a cohesive outfit out of what was left. By the time I looked slightly presentable, it was 9:56 and I needed to leave. I couldn’t find my jacket, but luckily my friend had left her East Hampton sweatshirt on my couch, so I threw it on and ran out the door. Thus began a very interesting day.


It should be noted that I am from the West Coast, and have minimal experience with The Hamptons. I have nothing at all against these towns which comprise the eastern portion of Long Island. They’re filled with pretty white houses and pretty beaches, and they seem very nice, albeit a little strange to a West Coaster. If you can afford to have a beach home, why not just live in California…? (JK, you know you’re my second favorite state, New York.)


Over the course of my East-Hampton-sweatshirt-wearing day, I had several peculiar interactions. A girl in the dining hall asked me what street my family’s summer house was on, evidently wondering if we were neighbors. Two lacrosse players gave me a firm head nod of approval (seriously, on two separate occasions). And I got about 433 glares and eye rolls on my way to classes. Take note, I had never in my life spoken to any of these people.


What I learned from this experience is that you can literally shape your entire day by accidentally lying about your identity through what you choose to wear!! Pretty cool, huh?!


I decided to conduct several social experiments relating to this pressing discovery, and I highly encourage you to do the same. A few days later, as I made the many hour journey back home to California for the long weekend, I found myself changing planes in the Chicago airport. I chose the airport  as my laboratory, since I was bored and waiting for my connecting flight home, and because I didn’t feel Brown would be a great place to test my many fake identities, following the infamous East Hampton day.


Over the course of my layover I made several discoveries:

  1. If you wear your friend’s Red Sox sweatshirt…nothing interesting will happen.
    • Suggestions for improvement: Try to match the sports team with the current city you’re in…how fun would it be to get random high fives for wearing a Cubs jersey at O’Hare? Or better yet, wear the Red Sox sweatshirt at JFK and see what happens.
  1. If you take off this sweatshirt to reveal your own sorority shirt…a lot of blonde midwestern moms will smile at you, and you will get better service from flight attendants (I was equally annoyed yet unsurprised to discover this).
    • Suggestions for improvement: HIDE the srat tank when hot hipster guy walks past your aisle seat to avoid a painful smirk. Better yet, bring a mason jar and place it strategically on the tray in front of you to attract him.

See diagram above.

  1. If you pull up your laptop to write this Rib article, and consequently broadcast your #I’mWithHer sticker to the world, you will get a lot of smiles, and a couple of glares.
    • Suggestions for improvement: For bonus fun, reveal your Hillary Clinton sticker at the Houston Airport instead. You might start an actual riot! Please contact me ASAP so I can hear about how it went.


So there you have it, my current discoveries pertaining to clothes and stolen identity. Turns out there are more innovative ways of borrowing clothes than just taking your roommate’s underwear.


Image via Emma Butler.

Life & Other Drugs, Love & Romance

5 Best Movie Sex Scenes to Watch Uncomfortably With Your Parents

October 10, 2016

While many of us learned about the birds and the bees from an older sibling, a parent, or a 4th grad Sex Ed. Class (If you were lucky enough to be in my class you would have seen a teacher stick a tampon in a glass of mysteriously fluorescent blue liquid for a demonstration), I learned about the secret three-letter word from another source entirely: Friends. No, not my own friends, I’m talking about America’s favorite friends: Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Phoebe and Joey. Remember that episode where Rachel and Monica fight over the last remaining condom in their bathroom drawer? These twenty-two minutes of comedic genius made up my entire sex education from age seven, when I watched this episode—unknown to my parents at the time–to age 9, when I quoted a line from this exchange between Rachel and Monica at our dinner table.

A few years later, I had the privilege of sitting through Titanic with my grandfather, who was hoping to watch a historically educational film with his grandchildren. Oops.

Then last summer, I had the unique opportunity of seeing Trainwreck in the theater with my best friend—and both of our dads. A father-daughter night gone slightly wrong, to say the least, although we probably should have seen that one coming.

Inspired by these meaningful events in my life, I have now crowned myself expert of the best (AKA worst) movie sex scenes to uncomfortably watch with your parents. Here’s the list:


  1. The Notebook

Ah, where to even begin with this one. Could it be the (almost) deflowering scene in an abandoned southern mansion in front of a steamy fireplace with the cops coming afterwards? Or maybe the legs-around-the-waist aftermath of the infamous rain scene. This is everyone’s favorite movie for a reason. Cringe.


  1. Gone Girl

Ok, so maybe you’re (too) close with your parents, and you don’t mind sitting between them on the couch during rom coms. So how about we throw in some blood and a psychotic murderer in to the mix? Watch a gallon of blood come gushing out of the poor guy’s slit neck in this scene.

  1. Game of Thrones

Everyone’s favorite fantasy show. Take the pilot: filled with beautiful royalty, palaces, and oh wait incest? There’s nothing better to cause friction during your Friday family night then the Lannister twins. Remember, when you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. Someone please kill me now.

  1. Wolf of Wall Street

We all love Leonardo Dicaprio, especially my mom. So what better movie to pick than this one for a mother-daughter movie night? 20 minutes in, we’ve got cocaine, infidelity and Margot Robbie spread eagle on her back. Safe to say, mom’s no longer a real fan. This clip seems to be ~restricted~ (another bad sign) so here’s the trailer instead!

  1. The Spectacular Now.

This movie deserves major props for depicting high school love in a realistically unglamorous way. A teenage bedroom, soft panting, and a complete and utter lack of background music. That being said, these are exactly the same reasons you won’t want to watch it with your parents. The only thing worse than a bad sex scene is a realistic sex scene.

So there you have it, five great scenes to stream for your next family movie night!


And to the boy who sat behind me in the library while I wrote this, this is evidence that all those sex scenes you just saw me watch were for a very legitimate and serious article.

Image via.