The Geisler

I love being an Estate Agent. I know it sounds silly, but there's something incredibly validating about an adult (actual, not imaginary like myself) trusting me with their home, totally in spite of the fact that I look about 17 and I usually have my unruly hair thrown up into a bun on top of my head like a little Sikh boy. Landlords always ask me a lot of personal questions, which I love. "Do you live around here?" "Why are you always drinking orange squash?" "Is that glitter on your nails?" "Are you wearing a man's jumper?" etc, just normal stuff.. Funnily enough, one thing they always ask me once they get comfortable is if I have a boyfriend. No matter what kind of tenants I find, or what fee I'm charging they've just got to know if anyone is surveying MY property. Because "fuck no" and "does my dog count" aren't viable options, I just go for a simple "not at the moment" to app

I remember the first times a fuckboy ever broke my heart, my best friend said to me "they always come back." At the time, if I recall correctly, I was in our student house wearing a giant purple onesie with pools of eyeliner down my face and two cigarettes in my hand. Looking like what can best be described as  Barney the Dinosaur's cracked out ex-wife, I shouted back 'AS FUCKING IF'. Eloquent young lady I was. But seriously - as fucking if. As if some douchebag who shouldn't have won the race against the other sperm to join this planet was going to magically 'come back' and save the day. The thing is though...she was right. I have had all sorts of break ups. Messy break ups, clean breaks, break ups over MSN, WhatsApp, FaceTime and even once via my sister on the phone mimicking my voice. No matter what though, in some way or another they do always come back. There aren't many things I'm afraid of. Spiders? No problem - they're

In any 20-something year old girls life, there are a few things that will inevitably come out of her mouth, typically while holding a glass of wine: 1. I hate periods, I wish the men could suffer the same pain just once.  2. Look how skinny I was at 18 before my metabolism kicked in and the weed/Jaegerbombs wore off 3. I just want to meet a NICE guy.  No you don't hun. You absolutely do not.  Any girl that says she wishes men suffered periods, fair play, they should suffer. It feels like your ovaries are being pillaged by a small army carrying pitchforks shouting "death to white underwear!". It would be nice for them to understand that pain before they suggest you pop a Neurofen and cheer up.  Skinnier at 18? Yes you were. But you were also clueless as shit and also probably wearing dresses with cutouts all over them so considering your lowered BMI you were most likely very chilly also. At least your grown-up, desk job chub will warm you.  You wan

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I am a feminist. I have been raised by two strong parents who always encouraged me to be whatever I wanted, so the deeper I got into our world of gender separations, pay gaps and female victim blaming the more compelled I felt to take a stance. Sometimes I have been accused of being a knee-jerk feminist. This is the kind of person that waits around for someone to do or say something offensive so that I have an opportunity to get angry. Imagine like one of those angry little chihauhaus at the park who barks at the Dobermans for mansplaining how to chase a pigeon. My sister is equally guilty of this, if not more so. After a dignified Shabbat dinner last night, the Geisler family sat down to watch a hard-hitting series called 'Ex On The Beach'. You may not have heard of it, it's very serious. During this fine production, one of the leading characters discovered that his previous lover had visited the infamous 'penthouse&

Me after 2 days on a diet x I f there is one thing we are all doing this time of year, it is dieting.  Unless you're one of those bullshit people who naturally wake up looking like a Victoria's Secret model, chances are you're watching what you eat before squeezing into what is realistically waterproof lingerie in public. I have been doing a diet called KSFL , I know you don't give a fuck what it stands for, but it has been a hideous process. Essentially, I have been forced to cut out all the things I love: pasta, bread, chocolate, sweets, happiness... There was also a chapter on skipping out alcohol but I assumed it was a joke and kept restocking my psychotic tequila collection. *Of course this is organised in an orderly manner by strength, from "Wooo!" to "Has anyone seen my bra?" Only kidding, why would I be wearing a bra... ANYWAY So throughout this diet, I have been doing some crazy things. Eating chicken for breakfast, tearin

Have you ever been lured in by a really tempting shop window? That moment when you are walking down the aisles of Brent Cross, stupidly seasonal Frappucino in tow (don't expect me to take you seriously if your beverage has more than one adjective in it) and you see the big sparkly sign of a SALE . I don't know about you, but there are few things that get my heart racing. Brand new bottles of Patron, not yet unsealed by my day-drinking 'it's okay if I just have one in the morning and then some later' mother. Other people's puppies who are clearly making eye contact with me and run away together; and SALES. It's that feeling when you walk into the store and get to shove all the other bitches out the way to find the perfect something that you definitely don't need - but at half the price you were going to (not) pay beforehand. It's also the safest place to satisfy your urge to push strangers without being called out on it. Not that i'm int

'Hey you, how was your weekend?' Seems pretty harmless, right? This is in fact one of the most sinister messages that a girl can receive from a boy. Sure, it seems friendly and sweet but take my word for it, this shit is psychotic. Lock your doors and alert your small Jewish (guard) dog, because you have fallen victim to a Penpal... I know what you're thinking, "Aww Penpals, I remember those from school." I'm sure you have adorable memories from your little buddy Alfonso filling you in on what the bratwurst is like in Germany (wheey) but this is a far more serious matter. A Penpal is actually a hybrid breed of Fuckboy. Imagine, if you will, that they are the Skunks of the Fuckboy world. They seem cute and fluffy but all they do is surround you in a confusing stink. Let me break this text down for you: This is a text received by a Penpal after a weekend in which he didn't take you on a date. You probably haven't heard from him since Fr

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So you've started dating this new guy and you are absolutely convinced he's ~*the one*~. You know, because he is tall, good looking and you've pictured your wedding day on the first date and in that scenario he makes such a funny yet touching speech in his little tux. Just the normal stuff. The reality is, however, that more and more women every day are falling victim to the fuckboy. It's like cystitis of the heart.  What is a Fuckboy you ask? A Fuckboy is someone who acts like he wants something serious and just fucks you around for absolutely no proven reason. Sometimes it may seem that all they want is sex, but more often than not it is the pure joy of confusing you into thinking you're in love and then moving to 1 Yemen Road, Yemen.  Unfortunately Fuckboys aren't so easy to spot in the daylight, they're like Werewolves only not the sexy kind from that stupid Twilight movie that I pretended not to like. (Slow-motion stripping Werew

There are only a couple of things that can make my Jewish Grandma seriously pissed off. The first is not eating enough at Shabbas tea, "Is there something wrong with my strudel? Is it because you hate me? I'm not going to be around forever you know.." There isn't a tactful way to say "Actually I'm just really full from the bacon sandwich I had for lunch," without her bursting into tears/slapping my Dad. Other than not eating enough, which as all Jewish girls know comes hand in hand "you're putting on a bit of weight bubbula", there is the invetiable dating interrogation. "Are you seeing anyone? What's the family name? Is he Jewish?"  I can promise you wholeheartedly that my Grandma would rather I marry my dog than a non-Jewish boy. I won't lie to you, i wouldn't exactly be unhappy spending eterntiy with my dog Senor Mu, but I digress. There is a simply way to look at it, in that old people gene