I woke up today, still fuzzy-headed from last night's leaving drinks. Steve left the computer switched on, as usual, with the London weather page loaded so I could pick an appropriate outfit for work. But I'm not going to work today. It's 9:30 am and I'm sitting here in my underwear and my Ke$ha concert t-shirt writing about not working.
Potentially I will look back at this time in my life and see it as a destructive, insane period where I sabotaged my grownupness and ran away from life. Or it will be the greatest thing I have ever done. I have to believe it will be the latter. I am leaving my home, my friends and most importantly my beloved husband. I will board a plane and land in a new country where I know no one. Where I don't speak the language and where I will sleep in someone else's house. The thought of it makes my lungs freeze as they struggle to free themselves from icy rubber bands of doubt. My hands shake and I sweat a little more when I think about how high I am jumping and that there is no net to catch me. But I am hopeful I'll make some new friends, that I will like my host family, but most of all, I hope to make a change and everything else I'm worried about kind-of feels like superficial bullshit, but it's not. It's what I've worked so hard to have, only to give it away.
I'm finally getting some recognition for a job well done at work, I have an incredible group of close friends whom I love and value, I have Steve, who is an unbelievably wonderful and supportive partner in life and I finally feel like London is my home. I know that these things will not change when I am gone. That when I land; the air will still smell familiar, that my friends will still be amazing, that I can go back to my job. But will I have changed? What will I want when I return? Who will I be?
I'm not as resilient as I once was. I'm no longer the girl who packed all her worldly belongings in one suitcase and moved to NYC without knowing anyone; with tunnel vision and gripped by a fierce dream. Today I'm not sure I'd arrive in London alone and have the courage to wander the streets looking for a hostel and then sleep in a room crowded with 11 other weary bodies. I feel like I've outgrown her. That I've become cynical, materialistic and co-dependent. I'm worried about how much I'm worrying and that worries me even more.
Without others to vouch for me I often make a dubious first impression. People find me curt and abrasive, though it is never my intention. I just lack patience and don't suffer fools gladly. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my face will never lie to you. These are things I work on every day, but what if I'm the one no one wants to eat lunch with? What if I put people off with my overly-tactile compulsions and my jagged-edged accent? I hear only too often from people that "I didn't like you at first, but..." and of course there was my TV debut where I was voted out after spending 5 minutes with the people who did the deed. I worry that I won't be liked. That I'll be the oldest one there, everyone will know and that I won't be given a chance. I tell myself that these anxieties are natural, that when I get there
everything will be fine and I have to believe that. I just have to.
Friday 19 July 2013
Thursday 11 July 2013
Hasa Diga Eebowai
So Tuesday I did birthday like a professional. It was, courtesy of my incredible husband, one of the best birthdays I have ever had. We strolled around London, ate huge portions of cheese and drank delicious wine in the sun. After that we stumbled upon a tiny shop selling American goods, so I treated myself to a can of A&W Root Beer. Yum! We pottered round M&M World an had our picture snapped with some poor bastard dressed up as a giant peanut M&M before heading to T.G.I. Friday's (I know, I can see you shaking your heads) for cocktails and then we finally took our seats to watch The Book of Mormon.
Tickets to this show are like gold-dust. I deliberately avoided any of the media surrounding this show from last year because I knew that somehow I was going to see it and I wanted to be surprised. The only thing I knew was that it was about Mormon missionaries trying to help an AIDS-ridden area of Africa with their tales of Joseph Smith, and of course, that it was written by Trey Parker and Matt Stone.
I was expecting to be offended, to be grossed out and to be slightly ashamed of my fellow countrymen as often happens when being exposed to spectacles that near the knuckle, but I wasn't. I was in tears from laughing and my cheeks ached from smiling. My heart was jubilant and I was in some tantric state of bliss by the time the final curtain fell. I have never wanted something not to end so badly. When it was time we gave a standing ovation, I whooped and hollered until my throat hurt, and then we adjourned back to T.G.I. Friday's (it's a treat here, OK) for more cocktails.
I was halfway through my second margarita when the guilt kicked in. I turned to Steve and asked him "do you feel at all guilty about the fact that loads of white people were just packed into a space where we were amused and brought to tears with laughter about how horrendous the living conditions are in some parts of Africa?" Steve looked at me and shrugged. "It's South Park, isn't it?" While I still maintain it was the best musical I have ever seen and that if you don't get tickets you will regret it, I still feel a little off about it today.
I've been working in the Charity Sector for over 7 years now. Talking to people daily about children dying from cholera and huge percentages of populations suffering with AIDS is part of my job every day. I never thought I'd find it funny. Uganda in a particular has a notoriously sketchy human rights record and one of the highest AIDS populations in Africa. I suppose this is what makes them an easy target for satire.The situation in Uganda couldn't be less comical, but the South Park boys managed to make it so. How?
Trey Parker and Matt Stone have honed their craft to perfection. I was worried that BOM would end up like the South Park movie and peak too soon with something akin to Uncle Fucker. Instead this fantastic story filled with songs that haven't left my head for days could have gone on forever for me. I am a musical fanatic, so pleasing me with a book and score can be tricky. There is always one dud, but not here. From the opening "Hello" to "The Creepy Mormon Hell Dream" I was grinning ear to ear like an idiot. I'd have to toss a coin between "Turn it Off" and "Baptize Me" to choose my favorite, but it is all good. Really. ALL of it. Never have I left a musical that I enjoyed so much not in tears. Les Miz- tears, Sweeney Todd- tears, Wicked- destroyed, Miss Saigon-inconsolable. So imagine my surprise at leaving the theater skipping hand in hand with my husband singing "I Believe" into his ear and kind of wanting to be Mormon.
Another reason I have to give credit and not criticism to the Colorado boys is that although they are quite horrendously making fun of a horrible situation faced by desperate people, they are also acknowledging and providing real roles for actors that don't normally get as many opportunities in musical theater. Having so many parts for non-whites is something truly awesome and rare in musicals. Black actors are pretty screwed when it comes to musical theater. Porgy and Bess, The Lion King and roles in the ensemble is where they get sequestered to most of the time. We need more roles like Elphaba in Wicked, roles where it doesn't matter what color the actor is as long as they can sing their faces off.
Too often these musicals were written at a time where the characters were unlikely to have been inspired by someone with flavor. During the French Revolution for example, there were black soldiers, but it is not likely that the head of the police in Paris wold have been back. I commend the first director who cast a black actor to play Javert. It's historically impossible, but Norm Lewis was incredible in that role. Sure, the actors in The Book of Mormon are playing supremely unflattering caricatures of what white people assume they are like, but that's I guess, all part of the genius.
The Book of Mormon has the most incredible cast and the most incredible music. Go with an open mind. Prepare to be delighted and potentially slightly offended, but if you, like me, leave the theater with a residual feeling of shame my advice is to head to T.G.I. Friday's (it's right next door!) Order yourself a Barnamint Bailey's and just turn it off.
Tickets to this show are like gold-dust. I deliberately avoided any of the media surrounding this show from last year because I knew that somehow I was going to see it and I wanted to be surprised. The only thing I knew was that it was about Mormon missionaries trying to help an AIDS-ridden area of Africa with their tales of Joseph Smith, and of course, that it was written by Trey Parker and Matt Stone.
I was expecting to be offended, to be grossed out and to be slightly ashamed of my fellow countrymen as often happens when being exposed to spectacles that near the knuckle, but I wasn't. I was in tears from laughing and my cheeks ached from smiling. My heart was jubilant and I was in some tantric state of bliss by the time the final curtain fell. I have never wanted something not to end so badly. When it was time we gave a standing ovation, I whooped and hollered until my throat hurt, and then we adjourned back to T.G.I. Friday's (it's a treat here, OK) for more cocktails.
I was halfway through my second margarita when the guilt kicked in. I turned to Steve and asked him "do you feel at all guilty about the fact that loads of white people were just packed into a space where we were amused and brought to tears with laughter about how horrendous the living conditions are in some parts of Africa?" Steve looked at me and shrugged. "It's South Park, isn't it?" While I still maintain it was the best musical I have ever seen and that if you don't get tickets you will regret it, I still feel a little off about it today.
I've been working in the Charity Sector for over 7 years now. Talking to people daily about children dying from cholera and huge percentages of populations suffering with AIDS is part of my job every day. I never thought I'd find it funny. Uganda in a particular has a notoriously sketchy human rights record and one of the highest AIDS populations in Africa. I suppose this is what makes them an easy target for satire.The situation in Uganda couldn't be less comical, but the South Park boys managed to make it so. How?
Trey Parker and Matt Stone have honed their craft to perfection. I was worried that BOM would end up like the South Park movie and peak too soon with something akin to Uncle Fucker. Instead this fantastic story filled with songs that haven't left my head for days could have gone on forever for me. I am a musical fanatic, so pleasing me with a book and score can be tricky. There is always one dud, but not here. From the opening "Hello" to "The Creepy Mormon Hell Dream" I was grinning ear to ear like an idiot. I'd have to toss a coin between "Turn it Off" and "Baptize Me" to choose my favorite, but it is all good. Really. ALL of it. Never have I left a musical that I enjoyed so much not in tears. Les Miz- tears, Sweeney Todd- tears, Wicked- destroyed, Miss Saigon-inconsolable. So imagine my surprise at leaving the theater skipping hand in hand with my husband singing "I Believe" into his ear and kind of wanting to be Mormon.
Another reason I have to give credit and not criticism to the Colorado boys is that although they are quite horrendously making fun of a horrible situation faced by desperate people, they are also acknowledging and providing real roles for actors that don't normally get as many opportunities in musical theater. Having so many parts for non-whites is something truly awesome and rare in musicals. Black actors are pretty screwed when it comes to musical theater. Porgy and Bess, The Lion King and roles in the ensemble is where they get sequestered to most of the time. We need more roles like Elphaba in Wicked, roles where it doesn't matter what color the actor is as long as they can sing their faces off.
Too often these musicals were written at a time where the characters were unlikely to have been inspired by someone with flavor. During the French Revolution for example, there were black soldiers, but it is not likely that the head of the police in Paris wold have been back. I commend the first director who cast a black actor to play Javert. It's historically impossible, but Norm Lewis was incredible in that role. Sure, the actors in The Book of Mormon are playing supremely unflattering caricatures of what white people assume they are like, but that's I guess, all part of the genius.
The Book of Mormon has the most incredible cast and the most incredible music. Go with an open mind. Prepare to be delighted and potentially slightly offended, but if you, like me, leave the theater with a residual feeling of shame my advice is to head to T.G.I. Friday's (it's right next door!) Order yourself a Barnamint Bailey's and just turn it off.
Wednesday 10 July 2013
Help a Sister Out
Look at that lady walking down the street. The one with the gunt hanging over her Umbros (yes, they still make those) and the horrendous home-made Italia shirt complete with bra-less nipples on show. Look at her walking with her friend, who makes for an interesting juxtaposition looking very well put together. Capris, boobs looking even; so clearly age-appropriate underwear is employed here, button-up shirt and sunglasses, most likely being used in the form of a disguise here.
Now, I think we all know that I am a feminist. So I'm not trying to hate on my fellow ladies, even the one who is dressed like David Lee Roth circa 1984. However, I am casting a judgmental eye over her friend. Girls, it is your duty to tell your friend when they are leaving the house looking like a tramp. True dat! We do it to our other halves all the time..."You're wearing that?!" "Are you really wearing that?!" "Where the hell did you find that?!" Let's not be coy, girls. We are good at bossing people around when it comes to fashion, but not always our friends.
Who out there doesn't have an incredible friend that insists on baring her midriff in the dead of winter when we've all got our hibernation layer of fat on? I AM that girl and to this day not one of my friends has told me to put it away. Why not? Is it a) because we are secretly loving the fact that our friend looks comparatively worse than us? Is it b) are we so embarrassed for them that we haven't the heart to say anything? Or are c) we all are just so highly evolved that it's live and let live? My money is on a with a bit of b. Sorry.
Now I don't want to perpetuate the myth that all women are bitches and that we will claw each other's eyes out any chance we get. Because that's just not true post 20, but I do think that sometimes we are so insecure that we will watch a beloved friend look like a tit on a night out to make us feel better about how we look ourselves.
Case and point Hannah Horvath from Girls. Yes, I know she is not real, but the relationships between the women on that show are scarily accurate. Of course Hannah is awesome, no doubt, but she always looks like the Disney Store's Under 10's department barfed on her mid-shower (before hair washing commenced) and none of her incredibly well put-together fiends says shit about it. This. Is. Wrong. Let's be friends not frenemies. The next time your friend tries to step out looking like menopausal Britney Spears, suggest an alternative. Don't be horrible about it, but help a sister out! Like this:
Me: Oh Hey, Hannah! I'm loving your jogging bottoms/ bralett ensemble, but that bralett would go amazingly well with those high-waisted palazzos you have. What do you think?
Worst case scenario, she says "go scratch" and she wears it anyway, but at least you tried and now your hands are clean.
Obviously I am fully aware that there are some of you out there, me included, who just won't listen, and to those girls: you only have yourself to blame. But for the rest of you, give it a go. In the girl code it says that we should always speak up if your girl has something in her teeth, her skirt tucked into her tights and now let's please add-a fucking terrible outfit on.*
*Be sensitive, ladies, only mention this if said friend then has the opportunity to go and change. If she showed up looking like a hot mess far away form an available closet, then keep schtum.That's what friends are for.
Now, I think we all know that I am a feminist. So I'm not trying to hate on my fellow ladies, even the one who is dressed like David Lee Roth circa 1984. However, I am casting a judgmental eye over her friend. Girls, it is your duty to tell your friend when they are leaving the house looking like a tramp. True dat! We do it to our other halves all the time..."You're wearing that?!" "Are you really wearing that?!" "Where the hell did you find that?!" Let's not be coy, girls. We are good at bossing people around when it comes to fashion, but not always our friends.
Who out there doesn't have an incredible friend that insists on baring her midriff in the dead of winter when we've all got our hibernation layer of fat on? I AM that girl and to this day not one of my friends has told me to put it away. Why not? Is it a) because we are secretly loving the fact that our friend looks comparatively worse than us? Is it b) are we so embarrassed for them that we haven't the heart to say anything? Or are c) we all are just so highly evolved that it's live and let live? My money is on a with a bit of b. Sorry.
Now I don't want to perpetuate the myth that all women are bitches and that we will claw each other's eyes out any chance we get. Because that's just not true post 20, but I do think that sometimes we are so insecure that we will watch a beloved friend look like a tit on a night out to make us feel better about how we look ourselves.
Case and point Hannah Horvath from Girls. Yes, I know she is not real, but the relationships between the women on that show are scarily accurate. Of course Hannah is awesome, no doubt, but she always looks like the Disney Store's Under 10's department barfed on her mid-shower (before hair washing commenced) and none of her incredibly well put-together fiends says shit about it. This. Is. Wrong. Let's be friends not frenemies. The next time your friend tries to step out looking like menopausal Britney Spears, suggest an alternative. Don't be horrible about it, but help a sister out! Like this:
Me: Oh Hey, Hannah! I'm loving your jogging bottoms/ bralett ensemble, but that bralett would go amazingly well with those high-waisted palazzos you have. What do you think?
Worst case scenario, she says "go scratch" and she wears it anyway, but at least you tried and now your hands are clean.
Obviously I am fully aware that there are some of you out there, me included, who just won't listen, and to those girls: you only have yourself to blame. But for the rest of you, give it a go. In the girl code it says that we should always speak up if your girl has something in her teeth, her skirt tucked into her tights and now let's please add-a fucking terrible outfit on.*
*Be sensitive, ladies, only mention this if said friend then has the opportunity to go and change. If she showed up looking like a hot mess far away form an available closet, then keep schtum.That's what friends are for.
Tuesday 9 July 2013
It's Birfday
So here I sit having turned another year older and I have mixed feelings. On one hand, I feel no different and am happy in my life. I plod along day to day and try and keep my teeny corner of the world nice and tidy. On the other hand, I have a seemingly regressive circle of friends who are making me feel old just by breathing. Stop it, you bastards! However, it is less my beautiful, youthful friends and more the damn media that is making me feel like time is running out for me.
I've been reading lots of things lately about how 30 is the new 20 (written by 30-year-olds, of course) and how there is still time to "do stuff" after you're 30, to make your mark as it were. Phew! I thought this was it. That I'd already blown it. I think the only people making me feel shit about getting older are the people who keep trying to make me feel better about it.
Articles like- "How to Look Good in Your 30's" Ummm...how about the same damn way I did in my 20's! You don't suddenly lose the ability to put on makeup and exercise the older you get...do you? Shit...DO YOU?! How about "5 Tips for a Better Sex Life After 30." What the fuck happens to your vagina after 30?! Why would you suddenly need to figure out sex again?! That's terrifying! "Success After 30?!" Thank God there's still time for me to become successful and thank God you, you far away, impersonal author told me so as I never would have figured that shit out on my own.
I woke up all excited about a day filled with wine and cheese and musicals and have sat down at my computer now filled with anxiety. For what? I never felt like this when I turned 18. The media needs to stop putting so much pressure on us to be "more" or be "better" by a deadline. We'll do it in our own time and your article about that time running out can go kick rocks. It's like a Jewish Mother after you bring home your boyfriend for the first time. Relentless, unwelcome and everywhere just making you feel guilty...about nothing. Fuck off, Mom! It was just dinner!
I like the way I look. Sure, there's a few more lines on the forehead, but I'll get a fringe cut in (and then hate it.) I've become pretty accustomed to the way I shag and I'm sure as hell not holding out any hope that I'll become incredibly successful in the next 7 years, irrespective of what John Hamm did. LOOK at John Hamm! I'm pretty satisfied that I can get up every day, dress myself, go to work and maintain a small, but incredible group of friends. I am OK, you are OK and all of these articles telling us to go and be "more" are written by people just like us who are bossy and need a paycheck. How successful are all these women telling me to do more kegels? How good looking is the author of the article telling me to put a lamb's placenta on my face? Before I take anyone's advice I want to have a look at their faces, their bank accounts and their home-made porn. Deal?
Happy Birthday to me.
I've been reading lots of things lately about how 30 is the new 20 (written by 30-year-olds, of course) and how there is still time to "do stuff" after you're 30, to make your mark as it were. Phew! I thought this was it. That I'd already blown it. I think the only people making me feel shit about getting older are the people who keep trying to make me feel better about it.
Articles like- "How to Look Good in Your 30's" Ummm...how about the same damn way I did in my 20's! You don't suddenly lose the ability to put on makeup and exercise the older you get...do you? Shit...DO YOU?! How about "5 Tips for a Better Sex Life After 30." What the fuck happens to your vagina after 30?! Why would you suddenly need to figure out sex again?! That's terrifying! "Success After 30?!" Thank God there's still time for me to become successful and thank God you, you far away, impersonal author told me so as I never would have figured that shit out on my own.
I woke up all excited about a day filled with wine and cheese and musicals and have sat down at my computer now filled with anxiety. For what? I never felt like this when I turned 18. The media needs to stop putting so much pressure on us to be "more" or be "better" by a deadline. We'll do it in our own time and your article about that time running out can go kick rocks. It's like a Jewish Mother after you bring home your boyfriend for the first time. Relentless, unwelcome and everywhere just making you feel guilty...about nothing. Fuck off, Mom! It was just dinner!
I like the way I look. Sure, there's a few more lines on the forehead, but I'll get a fringe cut in (and then hate it.) I've become pretty accustomed to the way I shag and I'm sure as hell not holding out any hope that I'll become incredibly successful in the next 7 years, irrespective of what John Hamm did. LOOK at John Hamm! I'm pretty satisfied that I can get up every day, dress myself, go to work and maintain a small, but incredible group of friends. I am OK, you are OK and all of these articles telling us to go and be "more" are written by people just like us who are bossy and need a paycheck. How successful are all these women telling me to do more kegels? How good looking is the author of the article telling me to put a lamb's placenta on my face? Before I take anyone's advice I want to have a look at their faces, their bank accounts and their home-made porn. Deal?
Happy Birthday to me.
Sunday 7 July 2013
6 things you should already know about your vagina
1. Your vagina is not gross. Fact.
Since the dawn of time people have been telling you that your vagina needs cleaning, that it needs sanitizing and that it is something to be ashamed of.
Uh oh! Do NOT get in that crowded lift if you are menstruating. The ass-hat from accounting will smell your disgusting fanny. Untrue. And if you buy Vagasil or Femfresh you are contributing to the problem. Stop douching and leave your lady-cave alone. It's perfect.
2. Your vagina does not smell.*
Whether it's sour, salty, earthy or nutmegy those are not bad smells. Your vagina is not supposed to smell like cake. I don't want to think about my vagina when I'm blowing out my birthday candles.
I have never come across a fellow lady perpetuating the smelly vagina myth. If you know of one please stop speaking to her now. It's usually boys that try and convince you that vaginas smell. And Ladies, despite some of these boys having never even been close enough to one to have the slightest comprehension of what it could possibly smell like WE BELIEVE THIS SHIT. Seriously, the next time you see a product on the shelves that men are supposed to dip their balls in to sterilize and freshen them please let me know because errrrrmmm newsflash...balls stink! But you don't hear us going on about it all day long. Because really, who gives a fuck?! If you tell a girl her pussy smells, she will disappear into herself. However, tell a man his balls smell and he will most likely give a little tug on them and give you a shit-eating grin. Stop letting other people tell you that your smell is bad. It isn't * unless it could peel paint, then please don't be ashamed to go to the doctor and sort that shizz out.
3. Your vagina is a vessel of life
Actually that's a lie. Your uturus s a vessel of life, but the vagina is the gateway to the uterus and it's awesome. You can full-on grow a baby in there. A whole other person just chills out and then vacates through this holiest of holies. Don't ever let anyone make you feel bad about the fact that you bleed, that you get cranky, that you have a pube hanging out the side of your bikini, because you know what? You are a fucking vessel of life and that blood, those pubes and those mood swings are just preparing you for motherhood. Or not. Your choice.
On the worst day of my period I'm not half the irrational, crazy mess that Cersei from Game of Thrones is and everyone seems to think she's awesome (she totally is.) If people can have patience for crazy ladies on TV, then they can certainly save a bit of that generosity for the people in their actual lives. You.
4. Vaginas have pubes
Loads of em'. Pubes are there for you to do with that you wish. However, they have another, not purely aesthetic purpose. They help to absorb some of the shock form the pounding your vagina takes during intercourse. They also prove that you have gone through and come out the other side of puberty. I can't imagine asking a man to shave off his pubes. Why? Sure they absorb the smell from a long, hard day at work, but isn't that sexy? Of course there's also the obligatory pube-in-the-teeth occurrence which in my book is a right of passage. I'm concerned that this latest generation of men will never once know the joy of smiling at a sexual partner post-cunnilingus and having them point out the wiry souvenir in their teeth.
Landscape however you wish, but make sure it's your choice. If you like a baby-bare pun-tang that's your biz, just make sure that it's for you. I agree with removing your facial hair to conform to beauty norms, but anything below the neck is up to you. Personally I love big bush. I say go natural and have a disco-fro between your thighs. Saturday night fever all the way!
5. Your vagina is beautiful
Whether a discreet crease or an Arby's roast beef your shit is fly. Whether your labia is pink or brown or purple it's gorgeous. Whether it fits nicely inside like a little pouch or it spills out like a flower, it looks like it's supposed to look, so stop stressing about it. Look at it, learn it and bust it out whenever possible. Wear no underwear on a windy day and show it off, unless you're at a family picnic, that's not advisable. Stand over a mirror, buy a speculum, show your friend, watch porn! All lady-bits are pretty, and the more we tell each other, the less likely we are to get self-conscious about them. Complement your best friend's vagina. See what happens.
6. Grow a vagina!
I'm sick of hearing people talking abut growing a pair of balls. "Grow some balls!" They say. Why? Balls are vulnerable, cold and incredibly sensitive.Balls are the dangly equivalent of that relative who shows up at Christmas just to make you feel shit about yourself and then cry about it. A vagina is where it's at. It's tough, resilient, that shit is self-cleaning! If I had to choose a sexual organ to personify it would for-sure be a vagina. Get on board with me! The next time someone isn't acting tough or brave you tell them to "grow a vagina, dude!" See how that goes over. I'm going to try and get it to catch on.To quote the great Betty White "If you really want to get tough, grow a vagina, that thing really takes a pounding." Preach!
Since the dawn of time people have been telling you that your vagina needs cleaning, that it needs sanitizing and that it is something to be ashamed of.
Uh oh! Do NOT get in that crowded lift if you are menstruating. The ass-hat from accounting will smell your disgusting fanny. Untrue. And if you buy Vagasil or Femfresh you are contributing to the problem. Stop douching and leave your lady-cave alone. It's perfect.
2. Your vagina does not smell.*
Whether it's sour, salty, earthy or nutmegy those are not bad smells. Your vagina is not supposed to smell like cake. I don't want to think about my vagina when I'm blowing out my birthday candles.
I have never come across a fellow lady perpetuating the smelly vagina myth. If you know of one please stop speaking to her now. It's usually boys that try and convince you that vaginas smell. And Ladies, despite some of these boys having never even been close enough to one to have the slightest comprehension of what it could possibly smell like WE BELIEVE THIS SHIT. Seriously, the next time you see a product on the shelves that men are supposed to dip their balls in to sterilize and freshen them please let me know because errrrrmmm newsflash...balls stink! But you don't hear us going on about it all day long. Because really, who gives a fuck?! If you tell a girl her pussy smells, she will disappear into herself. However, tell a man his balls smell and he will most likely give a little tug on them and give you a shit-eating grin. Stop letting other people tell you that your smell is bad. It isn't * unless it could peel paint, then please don't be ashamed to go to the doctor and sort that shizz out.
3. Your vagina is a vessel of life
Actually that's a lie. Your uturus s a vessel of life, but the vagina is the gateway to the uterus and it's awesome. You can full-on grow a baby in there. A whole other person just chills out and then vacates through this holiest of holies. Don't ever let anyone make you feel bad about the fact that you bleed, that you get cranky, that you have a pube hanging out the side of your bikini, because you know what? You are a fucking vessel of life and that blood, those pubes and those mood swings are just preparing you for motherhood. Or not. Your choice.
On the worst day of my period I'm not half the irrational, crazy mess that Cersei from Game of Thrones is and everyone seems to think she's awesome (she totally is.) If people can have patience for crazy ladies on TV, then they can certainly save a bit of that generosity for the people in their actual lives. You.
4. Vaginas have pubes
Loads of em'. Pubes are there for you to do with that you wish. However, they have another, not purely aesthetic purpose. They help to absorb some of the shock form the pounding your vagina takes during intercourse. They also prove that you have gone through and come out the other side of puberty. I can't imagine asking a man to shave off his pubes. Why? Sure they absorb the smell from a long, hard day at work, but isn't that sexy? Of course there's also the obligatory pube-in-the-teeth occurrence which in my book is a right of passage. I'm concerned that this latest generation of men will never once know the joy of smiling at a sexual partner post-cunnilingus and having them point out the wiry souvenir in their teeth.
Landscape however you wish, but make sure it's your choice. If you like a baby-bare pun-tang that's your biz, just make sure that it's for you. I agree with removing your facial hair to conform to beauty norms, but anything below the neck is up to you. Personally I love big bush. I say go natural and have a disco-fro between your thighs. Saturday night fever all the way!
5. Your vagina is beautiful
Whether a discreet crease or an Arby's roast beef your shit is fly. Whether your labia is pink or brown or purple it's gorgeous. Whether it fits nicely inside like a little pouch or it spills out like a flower, it looks like it's supposed to look, so stop stressing about it. Look at it, learn it and bust it out whenever possible. Wear no underwear on a windy day and show it off, unless you're at a family picnic, that's not advisable. Stand over a mirror, buy a speculum, show your friend, watch porn! All lady-bits are pretty, and the more we tell each other, the less likely we are to get self-conscious about them. Complement your best friend's vagina. See what happens.
6. Grow a vagina!
I'm sick of hearing people talking abut growing a pair of balls. "Grow some balls!" They say. Why? Balls are vulnerable, cold and incredibly sensitive.Balls are the dangly equivalent of that relative who shows up at Christmas just to make you feel shit about yourself and then cry about it. A vagina is where it's at. It's tough, resilient, that shit is self-cleaning! If I had to choose a sexual organ to personify it would for-sure be a vagina. Get on board with me! The next time someone isn't acting tough or brave you tell them to "grow a vagina, dude!" See how that goes over. I'm going to try and get it to catch on.To quote the great Betty White "If you really want to get tough, grow a vagina, that thing really takes a pounding." Preach!
Saturday 6 July 2013
The evolution of the "Video Ho"
I've been threatening to write blog for years and never had enough sand in my vagina to do it. But alas, things have become a bit beachy down below and this may be the only balm to ease the discomfort.
Earlier in the summer- the child of the dad on Growing Pains released a horrendously catchy, dare I say delightful pop song complete with cowbell and Pharrell Willaims "Woooo"ing all over it. I admit I bobbed my head, I swayed my hips, I was into it. Until that is, I saw the video. The misogynistic machismo-fest that was all bare bouncing tits and flesh-coloured thongs. W.T.F.
Now I love a good tit. Hell, I love a bad tit. I am equal opportunity for tits. But this was tits for tit's sake. No reason, no message, no art, just buoyant titties strutting across the screen in comfortable footwear. On a side-note, this was the only upside to this raunchy sausage-tickler. At least these idiots had the good sense to appreciate that heels and tits haven't gone together since 1985.
Despite the good taste in footwear, at some point in this video, these bare-chested beauties walk across the screen next to a wall graffitied with the words "Robin Thicke has a big dick." Like fuck he does. This is as prophetic as the blowjob girl in high school (you know who you are) wearing a pink bejazzled t-shirt that said "Good Girl" on it. It was ironic and cute when we were 17. But a 36-year-old man who is this insecure in himself and his talents that to sell records he employs topless jail bait and professes to the world that he has a massive phallus is to me, one of the saddest things ever.
But wait! It gets better! Tween wet dream Justin Timberlake has just thrown down the gauntlet in an attempt to out-tit the original. In his newest video for Tunnel Vision there are tits everywhere. But what, I ask you is the fucking point? Why all the tits? Do they enhance the music? No. Do they serve the elevate the art of the singers or their videos? No. I'd also like to point out that none of these tits in JT's video belong to his wife. Not one of them. Why not? Jessica Biel has a banging body. I wonder if he asked and she refused on grounds it would ruin her career and devalue her into nothing more that a pair of dancing boobs or whether JT himself knew that this would be the case and therefore never considered asking her to be in it as he refused to objectify her. After all someone loved her, someone didn't want the world wanking over her tits. That person is him and that's why I know that these men know that this is wrong.
These men clearly know that what they are doing is deplorable. The only ones enjoying this are the same douches who would high-five each other after date rape and circle jerk at summer camp. There is no reason for these beautiful women to be half, well nearly all naked and I can't help but wonder why they would do it anyway. Money? Of course there's that. Exposure? Any more exposed and they would be in full-on porn. But surely these women don't think that this is a good career move. And if they do, we as women who know better should refuse to support this bullshit. Our kids (well yours, I have none) walk around singinng these songs. I bet you downloaded JT's new album for your teenage daughter. Look with he wants your teenage daughter to grow up to be. A pert nipple in his video. That's what these men are saying to us, to women and we are dancing mindlessly along.
In both videos all the men remain fully clothed. The women are entertaining them, teasing them with their bodies while the men sing "you know you want it" and "you're the best looking bitch in the place." Let me tell you, the second a man calls me a bitch my vagina closes up like an oyster and no amount of shucking will get that baby open again. Yet these topless automatons giggle and brush off the comment with a wave of their hands as if it was a compliment. It wasn't. Ladies, this is what we are selling to ourselves, our daughters, their daughters and it is a big ol' steaming bowl of bullshit. It needs to stop with us.
It is sending a terrible message to both men and women that this is what life is like. Men, you deserve this beautiful, topless woman because Robin Thicke tells you that you do. Young women, your goal in life is to be a cum-dumpster for some guy who will treat you like a possession, but it's OK because he has a big dick (probably not). It is perpetuating the idea that women are nothing more than entertainment. I've heard both men and women I know comment that the women in these videos are "sluts" and "whores". No they aren't. But they are terrible role models. These videos are selling an unrealistic ideal that is dangerous. Plus it's Justin bad fucking taste (see what I did there). Come on ladies, let's stop listening to this shitty music, stop buying it for your kids and let's go play with our tits and enjoy them somewhere far away from these assholes.
Earlier in the summer- the child of the dad on Growing Pains released a horrendously catchy, dare I say delightful pop song complete with cowbell and Pharrell Willaims "Woooo"ing all over it. I admit I bobbed my head, I swayed my hips, I was into it. Until that is, I saw the video. The misogynistic machismo-fest that was all bare bouncing tits and flesh-coloured thongs. W.T.F.
Now I love a good tit. Hell, I love a bad tit. I am equal opportunity for tits. But this was tits for tit's sake. No reason, no message, no art, just buoyant titties strutting across the screen in comfortable footwear. On a side-note, this was the only upside to this raunchy sausage-tickler. At least these idiots had the good sense to appreciate that heels and tits haven't gone together since 1985.
Despite the good taste in footwear, at some point in this video, these bare-chested beauties walk across the screen next to a wall graffitied with the words "Robin Thicke has a big dick." Like fuck he does. This is as prophetic as the blowjob girl in high school (you know who you are) wearing a pink bejazzled t-shirt that said "Good Girl" on it. It was ironic and cute when we were 17. But a 36-year-old man who is this insecure in himself and his talents that to sell records he employs topless jail bait and professes to the world that he has a massive phallus is to me, one of the saddest things ever.
But wait! It gets better! Tween wet dream Justin Timberlake has just thrown down the gauntlet in an attempt to out-tit the original. In his newest video for Tunnel Vision there are tits everywhere. But what, I ask you is the fucking point? Why all the tits? Do they enhance the music? No. Do they serve the elevate the art of the singers or their videos? No. I'd also like to point out that none of these tits in JT's video belong to his wife. Not one of them. Why not? Jessica Biel has a banging body. I wonder if he asked and she refused on grounds it would ruin her career and devalue her into nothing more that a pair of dancing boobs or whether JT himself knew that this would be the case and therefore never considered asking her to be in it as he refused to objectify her. After all someone loved her, someone didn't want the world wanking over her tits. That person is him and that's why I know that these men know that this is wrong.
These men clearly know that what they are doing is deplorable. The only ones enjoying this are the same douches who would high-five each other after date rape and circle jerk at summer camp. There is no reason for these beautiful women to be half, well nearly all naked and I can't help but wonder why they would do it anyway. Money? Of course there's that. Exposure? Any more exposed and they would be in full-on porn. But surely these women don't think that this is a good career move. And if they do, we as women who know better should refuse to support this bullshit. Our kids (well yours, I have none) walk around singinng these songs. I bet you downloaded JT's new album for your teenage daughter. Look with he wants your teenage daughter to grow up to be. A pert nipple in his video. That's what these men are saying to us, to women and we are dancing mindlessly along.
In both videos all the men remain fully clothed. The women are entertaining them, teasing them with their bodies while the men sing "you know you want it" and "you're the best looking bitch in the place." Let me tell you, the second a man calls me a bitch my vagina closes up like an oyster and no amount of shucking will get that baby open again. Yet these topless automatons giggle and brush off the comment with a wave of their hands as if it was a compliment. It wasn't. Ladies, this is what we are selling to ourselves, our daughters, their daughters and it is a big ol' steaming bowl of bullshit. It needs to stop with us.
It is sending a terrible message to both men and women that this is what life is like. Men, you deserve this beautiful, topless woman because Robin Thicke tells you that you do. Young women, your goal in life is to be a cum-dumpster for some guy who will treat you like a possession, but it's OK because he has a big dick (probably not). It is perpetuating the idea that women are nothing more than entertainment. I've heard both men and women I know comment that the women in these videos are "sluts" and "whores". No they aren't. But they are terrible role models. These videos are selling an unrealistic ideal that is dangerous. Plus it's Justin bad fucking taste (see what I did there). Come on ladies, let's stop listening to this shitty music, stop buying it for your kids and let's go play with our tits and enjoy them somewhere far away from these assholes.
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