Fight the media, Feminist!

With shows like Drop Dead Diva and Tool Academy blazing through the media, I think we could all use a bit of a reality check.

Women. Women, women, women. 

1) You are beautiful. You boobs aren't too small, your thighs are not thunderous, your hair is not out of control, your arms are not too saggy, and yes, you can leave the house without makeup. I'm not bullshitting you. I really believe that.

2) Skinny does NOT equal Love. We as a nation seem to have this convoluted idea that being fat is worse than being dead. Just look at that god awful "overweight bachelor" show. All these poor women talk about is how lucky they feel to finally get a chance at love because this wonderful man is willing to overlook they're fatal flaw of not fitting into a size 2. Come ON America. This is ridiculous. These women are not only intelligent, caring, and funny, but they're also REALLY PRETTY! They don't need him!

 Oh, and let's talk about Drop Dead Diva. Ok, So a model dies and her soul is put in the body of (god forbid!) a larger brunette. And so now she has to... what deal with being large and brunette? That is the conflict?! 

That shouldn't even be an issue. It's really NOT that big a deal. It's not a curse. It's just a different body. Love it and be glad ya not dead.

3) You deserve loving, loyal boyfriends.  You should know how wonderful you are, and you should demand that anyone who is lucky enough to be wanted by you knows that too. If he doesn't, you don't need him; you can do so much better. He should think your beautiful, he should think your body is perfect as it is, and if he says he's committed to you then he better be committed to you. If this is not the case, don't try to change and BY GOD do not accept the situation. I'm not sayin great guys are everywhere (I haven't met a whole shit ton of them) but I will say, you're WAY better by yourself than you are with the next contestant of Tool Academy.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is, with all of this media bullshit invading our homes it's difficult to remember how important is is to love ourselves. Now, I'm no authority, but I happen to think the curves of a woman are beautiful. I happen to think that our capacity to communicate is truly special. I feel so lucky to have my breasts and my hips and to be able to communicate with both sides of my brain. I am a woman who truly loves being a woman. That's what being a feminist means to me: A woman who truly loves being a woman. 

I just wish there were more of us. 

4am and i'm still awake writing a song

Alright men, it's 4:23 am, i'm drunk, and i've got some beef.

I've tried saying it every modern way i can so maybe i should try some old english.

WHY DOEST THOU FUCK WITH US?

You know exactly what I'm talking about. Just when we're in a divine place, once we've finally centered ourselves, entered healthy relationships and felt good about the paths we've chosen you come in like a fucking tornado and jumble shit up. i mean i may be short, but this ain't Oz. Chill out. Maybe leave us alone? We may not want you to because we're confused and involuntarily open-hearted, but he-who-plays-mind-games causes damage. He-who-fucks-with-heads fucks people up. And we've worked SO hard not to be bitter. We've done SO much soul searching not to be cynical. And just when we can feel the eastern religious views of meditation and mindfulness flowing through our veins, one or two, or multiple people in my unique case barge in and fuck shit up. Making our back muscles tense and our jaws tighten. Making our eyebrows furrow and our hearts "crust," as good ol' Siddhartha would say.  And usually it's the people who know we're a little fucked up who like to kick us when we happy. Usually it's the people who know our prior confusion who like to confuse us when we've finally got our shit together. They swoop in like flying monkeys, invading our brains and shaking our very new foundations. Isn't that a form of evil-- to dissolve newfound solidity? Isn't that some branch of horrid? 

And if that's the case, then when you're in a drunken state of honesty at 4:23 am, how can you not be bitter?

Is She Really Dating Horse Shit?

This morning, as I ate my toast, I made the horrible mistake of choosing MTV over Bravo.  I was enticed by a series I had never seen before "Is She Really Going Out With Him." The description reads "Beautiful, sweet young women date obnoxious guys."

A recipe for obscenity. 

Ok, so I typed that on a commercial break and the show just ended. I want to throw up. I literally want to vomit.

SO. This girl michelle is a beautiful soft-spoken blonde who works full time as a nurse. She is intelligent kind and articulate.

Blake is her live-in boyfriend. He is a piece of shit. 

Blake has been unemployed for months and isn't looking for a job because he thinks he's too good for it (really, fucktard? because I'm pretty sure sitting of your fat ass watching Japanese  action films with subtitles you probably can't even read doesn't exactly market you as a highly competitive member of the workforce. Ya dickwad.) 

So naive and "optimistic" Michelle gets this trashbag a job interview and buys him a 300$ suit. In true trashbag style, Blake gets all dressed up in the suit until Michelle leaves for work, ditches the interview and has a BBQ with his redneck friends, using Michelle's money to pay for the food. She calls him on the phone she bought him to wish him luck on the interview and he ignores her calls. She's so paranoid that she leaves work to go home and check up on him. She finds him in the height of his festivities and tells everyone to leave in an offensively calm and collected manner. His white trash friends don't leave until Blake tells them to leave. On his way out, Red Neck Friend #1 looks at Michelle and retorts, "you gonna clean this stuff up?" 

I gripped the arm chair.

The naive, "optimistic," and apparently self-loathing Michelle does manage to kick him out for a few days, but she takes him back, thinking everything will be different because he managed to land a sales job in the days he was gone.  "He's proven to me he really cares."

I felt my nails dig deeper into the cushion. 

I bit my lip.

HE CARES?! HE REALLY CARES?! Well done, Blake, you got a job. You're a member of society. You're doing what everyone else has been doing since they were 15. Well done, you pathetic mound of horse shit.

And you, Michelle! I'm sure you're a nice person, so I hate to be as harsh as I'd like to be, but you're kind of ruining our movement here. By appeasing pathetic mounds of horse shit, you're excusing behavior that is SO beyond inexcusable and your allowing yourself to be degraded and made a fool. In front of all the middle schoolers and myself watching MTV. 

I know the reality of all reality shows is questionable, but these people exist. These people live in THIS country. Women in THIS COUNTRY date men like Blake, who promise to take their long time girlfriends out to dinner and leave them with a $250.00 check.

I'm embarrassed to sing the same National Anthem as them.

Sex and Nacho Bell Grandes

When I've abandoned my blog for weeks there is always one thing that gets my fingers slamming on the key pad:

Sex And The City.

Tonight I indulged in one of the first episodes, in which Carrie is researching how to "have sex like a man." For those of you who didn't spend your high school years with your eyes glued to HBO on Demand, this entails "having sex and then feeling nothing." Carrie tries and walks out feeling like a million bucks, but when she runs into him again, he hardly felt fucked over. Figuratively, anyway. He was thrilled that she finally understood what he'd wanted all along.

"So any time I want to have sex, I'll call you," she half-heartedly stated with a sudden loss of confidence. 

Alright. If you live in New York and you're as busy as the next novel-reader on the subway, chances are you've got that acquaintance you call when you need a little... echem... stress release. And you actually really do care more about your orgasm than his lack of feelings for you.

I know what it's like to be stressed. No worries. 

But is that really the goal? It seems more like a rest-stop, a taco supreme on your 6 hour road trip to visit your cousin in Maine. Who's a chef. 

For better or worse, when I was 15 Sex and The City was my bible. When I inhaled I smelled their Cosmopolitans and when I exhaled I imagined their orgasms.

And I wasn't even sexually active yet. 

At the time, their characters seemed so real and their dilemmas  so oddly relatable. At 15, I was as bitter as Miranda and as over-analytical as Carrie. For the first time in my youth I felt like something was acknowledging feelings I had as a female and validating them.

Why then, at twenty years old, am I suddenly so turned off by it?

To "have sex like a man, you know, feel nothing" now bothers me in so many ways. Allow me to list them:

1) Despite prior beliefs, men do fall in love. So maybe they feel nothing with you, but they're gonna feel something with someone else. You're taco bell. If you're cool with that and they just so happen to be Mickey Ds, than go right ahead. Do yo thang. As long as you know. 

2) There are certainly times when women have sex and feel nothing-- just ask their casual acquaintances. It's not exclusive to men. Women do it all the time, they just don't make a big stink about it because honestly, who brags about downing a taco supreme. It feels great, but it's not exactly newsworthy. 

3) Alright Carrie, here me out: at the end of the episode you were bummed. You were bummed because this guy was just as cool with it as you were. AKA you were pissed because he didn't feel used and degraded like you did all the other times you hooked up with him. Revenge can never be a goal of meaningless sex. After all what could possibly be more chock full of meaning than revenge? You don't down a Nacho Bell Grande cause your pissed your taco supreme wasn't good enough. 

Well now that I've spent my night analyzing the life choices of a fictional character through a fast-food metaphor I should probably be off. 

But I'm sure I'll be back after my next Big Mac.