And that's when things got weird

Never again Since reports detailing decades of alleged sexual harassment and assault by Harvey Weinstein were published last month, nearly 60 women have accused the Hollywood producer of sexual harassment and assault. While the number of allegations against Weinstein are staggering (and nauseating), they pale in comparison to the outpouring by women worldwide who are sharing their stories of being sexually harassed or assaulted in the workplace. With its virtual megaphone, the #MeToo social media movement is shedding light on the magnitude of sexual predation by men in positions of power. Oscar-winning actresses. Receptionists. Acclaimed writers and reporters. Waitstaff. Elected officials. It is happening to women of all walks of life who are just breaking into their professions, are in the peak of their careers, and everywhere in between. Many of us who have long remained silent about workplace harassment experiences feared retaliation, felt ashamed, or simply thought no one wou...

As I stood in line at Market Basket last week, the guy in front of me peered into my cart and asked: “You got a cat?” The visuals of my purchases — six cans of 9-Lives sliced beef in gravy, a 3-lb. bag of Friskies dry food and a store-made spicy tuna sushi roll (trust me on this: Market Basket sushi is good) — combined with my cat-hair-covered yoga pants made it pretty clear signs that I’m a cat lady. I was hungry and not in the best of moods (aka hangry), so I replied: “Nope, that’s my lunch.” As I turned away, I realized I was being a bit of a jerk so I reengaged. “I’m kidding. I have cats.” “Cats?,” he asked. “Yes, I have 12.” That response ceased all interest in his chatting me up, just as I intended. Call my actions anti-social, or just plain rude, but I think we’ve all found ourselves in situations where we don’t feel like making small talk with people we know, let alone strangers. And if you haven’t felt this way, you’re probably on a short list for sainthood. As for...

St. Mary's Lynn Class of 1992. That's me, seemingly about to fall and ruin the class photo.  My 25th high school reunion is next weekend. I have exactly nine days to find a suitor, get married, have 2.5 kids, adopt a puppy, install a white picket fence, and lose 20 pounds. Totally doable, right? If I start on the fence this afternoon, I may be able to pluck that off the list but the rest just isn’t going to happen before next Saturday night. And it likely never will (sorry to break it to you, Mom). Had our class reunited at 5 or 10 years out, I might have been able to pretend that I had actually accomplished some of what are considered life’s major milestones and 21- or 26-year-old me likely would have done so with elaborate tales of grandeur. However, the emergence of social media has completely obliterated the ability to pull something like that off today (which is probably a good thing). And the trend toward “social oversharing” has also eliminated a lot of the int...

A  colleague once took me to the driving range to teach me the basics. After a few swings and misses, I finally connected with the ball. It ricocheted off the divider and somehow sailed behind me, nailing him between the legs. As he folded toward the ground, I apologized profusely. I then gave away what remained of my bucket of balls while my friend tended to his. I never tried golf again. And not surprisingly, no one, especially my male friends, has since offered to teach me. Luckily, Essex Media Group has several skilled golfers on its staff who make up for my shortcomings by providing  North Shore Golf  readers with top-notch writing about the game. But having grown up in Lynn, I do know Gannon Golf Club very well. As a kid, I sledded the hills of the course, which was then known as Happy Valley. As a mischievous teenager, my friends and I would sneak onto the course at night with our backpacks filled with cheap beer for parties. And as an adult, I’ve attended man...

There is no need to wait for the  Topsfield Fair  to open this fall:  Hostess  is selling  deep-fried Twinkies  in the frozen food aisle through an exclusive partnership with Wal-Mart. The prepackaged, frozen Hostess treats, a sweet staple at carnivals and fairs, debuted yesterday at some of its stores and will go nationwide on Monday. I went to the Wal-Mart on the Lynnway on Friday in search of the ready-to-heat delicacies, which are available in two flavors, original golden and chocolate. But I came up empty. Unfortunately, they won’t be available locally until next week. The grand visions I had of popping the frozen  crème -filled snacks into the office toaster oven and providing a full review, breaking my diet, for the sake of the story, of course, will have to wait. But I did pick up a basket full of other Hostess products for the staff to tide us over until next week. The gesture sparked a heated newsroom debate: Which Hostess treat reigns suprem...

And I was down for lessons  By Beth Bresnahan  For the Summer 2016 issue of 01907 The Magazine I recently booked the trip of my lifetime: a two-week vacation to Hawaii with a group of friends. Almost  immediately after purchasing the tickets, I downloaded a Jack Johnson album and began fantasizing about how I  would soon be dancing the hula, frolicking in a bikini on the sandy beaches of Maui and catching waves  alongside champion surfer Kelly Slater.  The ukulele and chill lyrics of my new playlist helped me temporarily escape the reality that I have zero rhythm,  not to mention I’m Irish-girl pale and not quite in bikini-ready shape. Oh, then there's the issue that I had no  idea how to surf.  Now, I figured I could fake my way through the dancing with the help of a couple of Mai Tais, and a spray tan along with a few extra spin classes could help me get closer to my desired look. But pretending to know how to  surf woul...