Who are you trying to protect with that?
Are disclaimers catering to snowflakes? Let me give you some context so that question makes sense.
Are disclaimers catering to snowflakes? Let me give you some context so that question makes sense.

As a self-proclaimed dessert enthusiast, I'm always trying to elevate classic treats. Lately, I've been obsessed with perfecting the humble ice cream sandwich. (Cuz it's been hella hot here in WeHo.)
A trip to San Francisco wouldn't be complete without a visit to the Golden Gate Bridge. While most tourists long to drive or even walk across it, I decided to go underneath with our friends at Adventure Cat Sailing Charters on Pier 39.

I don't normally give these a title but here it is: Drew and the Case of the Crocodilian Calamity
My partner insists on mixing our groups of friends and I prefer keeping them separate. For instance (I'm making up these names): I'm friends with John and Mary, and he's friends with Bob and Susan. He wants us to get together as a group of six and do dinner or a night out somewhere. I have nothing against Bob and Susan but I just don't feel like mixing our friends. I feel like it'll be awkward because I have inside jokes and stories with them that the others wouldn't understand or find funny. They're just two different couples. It's not that I feel like they won't get along I just want my friends to be my friends and his friends to be his friends. What should I do?
I’ve heard it, you’ve heard it – it’s practically gospel in business circles: the food industry is the toughest game in town. The margins, they say, are razor-thin. Restaurants struggle to stay afloat, operating on mere pennies of profit per dollar.

Suck it up and get ready to work your fingers. It’s the last thing you want to be doing but you have no choice.
As a kid, did you ever pour chocolate syrup into your cereal to make it chocolate milk with your Lucky Charms? Anyone? Anyone?? OK, just me. Whatever.
For years, I’d heard the buzz about air fryers, but I was skeptical. Could a countertop appliance really deliver that satisfying crunch without all the oil and fuss of deep-frying? I envisioned yet another gadget gathering dust on the counter.
The irony struck me immediately. A guy named Lane having a motor museum in Nashville. And that's the case for Jeff Lane who started this local exhibition, called Lane Motor Museum.
My partner loves music and is a diehard concert-goer. I'm concerned about the money he's spending on concert tickets. It's not that he goes to the concert it's that he goes for the most expensive seating areas and says it's the full experience. He won't go for cheaper tickets at the back because you don't enjoy the concert the same. And depending on who the concert is, he might even travel to go see it or buy a bunch of souvenirs. So between that and the cost of tickets, he's spending so much. I'd rather he be saving money for our future (house buying to get out of our apartment, etc.).
If you've been following us on Instagram for a while, you've seen that one of our bosses ("Boss 1") has been an entertainment radio host for 20 years. (That's how he has a connection to Los Angeles, which is why we're here!)

Want me to do it? Want me to do it? No? Well, why are you teasing me?
Minding his own business, Tanner was having lunch while working on his travel content in Nashville. Sitting in the corner of a sandwich shop, Tan was hammering away on his laptop before heading to his next excursion. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a woman in her 60s approach his table. He looked over.
As a Los Angeles-area resident, I've grown to dread driving in the city. The congested roads, endless traffic jams and parking nightmares have made me a reluctant driver. And, public transit: not a chance.
Two things you don't normally combine: coffee and soup... until now! Really. Don't give me that look.
I find that I don't want to go to parties or social events with groups of friends because I don't want to end up in everyone's social media posts. As I scroll social media this summer, I see everyone's pool parties or beach days and all the unsuspecting people in the background. It's not that I'm up to no good but I just don't need everyone seeing where I am on the weekends. There should be designated phone and no-phone zones at these events. I don't want to be in the background of your photos while I'm shoveling my face with a plate of food behind you. Why are people inconsiderate about others' privacy? I feel like I am headed for a life of being anti-social.
BEHIND THE SCENES
Gas prices are through the roof and the cost of bacon is ridiculous. (Let's not get started on the price of eggs.) That was the consensus last weekend at a family celebration. Yes, we have deep conversations in our family.
On the way to Zoosiana in Broussard, La., near Lafayette, I was told we'd be spending a few hours with the owner of the zoo. Owner of a zoo? A private citizen can own a zoo? That can't be right. But, oh, it is! George Oldenburg is the owner and director of Zoosiana and if there's one person I've ever met who loves animals, it's George.
As someone who is perpetually hot (you've seen me -- you know!), especially at night, finding a body pillow that doesn't turn into a personal furnace has been a lifelong quest -- especially here in West Hollywood. Enter the Plufl Hugl Cooling Body Pillow, promising comfort and temperature regulation in one big, cuddly package.
You’re not a parent, you wouldn’t understand.
My partner lost his job and has been actively looking for work. (It was a layoff, it wasn't his fault.) It seems like he can't land a role in his field of expertise. I'm telling him he should just apply for anything in the short term because income is income and he needs to start pulling his weight. It's not for lack of trying it just seems like he's stubborn and feels that taking any other job is beneath him. Should I ease up? Am I being unreasonable?

Not that we're vain and caught up on looks (shut up) here at Buff Boy, but we do enjoy an embarrassing story when it makes a teammate look bad -- physically look bad.