On the Pornification of our girls

Further to this entry about duck lips unsexy, I decided to do a little investigative reporting in order to answer my hypothesis that: So Many Girls Suck.

My investigative reporting took me to Myspace sites and the photos of my friends on FaceBook. Pointing and clicking is exhausting; my hat's off to Amanpour.

Although there are many in my judgey view respectable young girls, I did note there to be an unprecedented display of asshattery in most girls < 30something.
This asshattery usually consists of in my judgey view trash photos of young women sexing the camera, or sexing one another, or sexing nothing in an attempt to look 'sexy' and clearly show the audience that they are capable of sexing anything you throw at them, including but not limited to scissors, water bottles, and small furry animals.

It is, like duck lips, a hyper-sexualization of their women's nether regions showing on their faces (I could really use the help of a romance novelist's thesaurus here). And as we all know, sexy = "I'd like to get fkd by you, or her, or them, or that camera, or that homeless guy in the corner, or I'll even take on The Republicans because I hear they're pros at fkng people".

The art of subtlety is lost on the next generation, the duck lips popular because it is in your face sexing, screaming: I AM SEXING EVERYTHING I CAN GET MY HANDS ON SO SUCK ON THAT (BUT NOT BEFORE I SUCK IT!).

They are pornified, but in the most false and plastic of ways because they clearly have not been told the two simplest secrets between men and women: (1) there is nothing sexier than what happens behind closed doors; and, (2) a man will always be more intrigued by the woman who leaves a question in the air rather than the scent of her former lay. As equally important is that sexy can never be feigned or put on - as both Jessica Biel & Scarlett Johanson so clearly illustrate with her shit acting and hilarious 'sexy'. You either are, or you are not. You are either born with it, or you are clown-like in your attempt to reproduce it, it is really that simple and that clear. (Really. Ask your mum - unless she's a slut, of course.)

(And - is it any wonder that so many of the girls you meet have such shit self esteem, when one considers much of their identity is premised on their own objectification of themselves as sexual objects? Imagine the kind of useless sex-sac one must see in the mirror when their largest claim to identity is: pornification (even if they don't see it as such - it is in fact this exact thing in my judgey opinion), rather than intelligence or creativity or hilarity or any one of a million other possibilites when seeing who and what we represent.)

It is almost as though the females have been buried in the basement and shackled to goats, newly released and carnivorous for peni. Like their entire identity centers on their sexing track record and capacity. Almost as though, notwithstanding that we have much to thank of the North American feminist movement, it has failed its girls.

It has failed because there is nothing more facile than getting laid.
And if this is what our young women are becoming, then we are in serious stinky diarrhetic shit - both our girls who are behaving in this way, and the boys who see nothing more than a few holes when they ogle a girl.

To recap.
Hypothesis: So many girls suck.
Deduction no 1: Yes. Yes they do. But not all is lost, just yet.
Deduction no 2: Fk and pornify yourself all you want; just don't kid yourself about the reality of the world that we live in. Also, don't tell me it is 'empowerment' to get laid, you stupid git - at least not in this part of the world. Maybe Afghanistan, yes, but they have bigger problems at the moment and so getting off with whomever will have to wait.

NEWS BULLETIN to All Females

Only because I have been seeing one too many photos of women of all ages with this facial expression. (NSFW)

That facial expression (best articulated by offspring of pimp parents), is ridiculous not sexy, Daisy Duck not Angelina, laughable not lubricious.

I have yet to meet a man interested in sexing it up with a woman who looks like her lips are caught within one of these:



And in case I wasn't clear: You look stuipd. (And I can't fkn spell.)

You're welcome.

**********
By the way - the photo is of Queen of the Ridiculous Daisy Duck Laughables, M**** Cyr*s. I must bleep her name out as I don't wish to have her equally stupid fans descend upon this interWeb home, taking their q from those crickets or whichever insect that attack a town in the version of the Bible I can not remember...maybe 7.3?. (I am really much too lazy to Google - that's how much I give a shit about her brand of Jesus Lovin' (as she grinds her ass against a stripper pole in front of an audience).)

Also, I am not spell checking this post. Take that, M#$@%.

Not Lives of Girls and Women

I've just dined with Alice Munro. It was relatively quiet as I didn't say one word and instead let her letters slip off the page and create for me an alternate universe.

Every once in a while, I would be pulled from her pages by the loud voices of two late 20-something young women seated at the table next to me.

"I was with David Friday night."
"Whose David?"
"The guy I'm dating. He's why I couldn't see you Saturday. We spent Friday night together, went out for breakfast Saturday and rented movies and hung out with, like, his dog that night. It's what we do...but it's not a relationship. The sex is GREAT! And then there's Andrew."
"Whose Andrew?"
"The other guy I'm dating. He's perfect. He's a homeowner, he owns a vehicle and has an excellent job. He's tall, too, and the sex with him is GREAT also."

Pause. Check bberry. Look out window at protestors (Sri Lanka / tamil), and ask "who the fuck are they?"
"Who cares. They, like totally held up traffic last week. You're in Canada! God. Get over it, right?"

Pause. Check bberry, then continue
"Anyway. So like whatever happened to Mikey?"
"Sex with Mikey is even MORE awesome. I'm seeing him tonight."

Pause. Check bberry, then yell "WHAT!"
"Omg what's wrong?"
"READ!"
"Omg. Mikey has a girlfriend?"
"Yeah!"
"You're, like, The Other Woman. That's slammin' cool."
"And he's breaking up with her. Right. Now!"
"Awesomeness. You're a rockstar!"
"To the max, yo. I'm totally updating my FaceBook status to tell everyone about this...f*ck YEAH!!"

Droooooooone.
Focus on white tuna.
White noiiiiiiiiise.
Your daughters will not be like this.
Ugggggggggggh.
Tataki. Tataki. Tataki.
Huuuuuuuuuurrl.

I hate girls.
Also, I wish to run into the hills and hide.

Toddlers & Tiaras

This spotlights one of the reasons why I think our world is going to sh*t. (P.S. While you're sl*tting up your babies, your government is r*ping you and other countries.)

“A Guidebook for the Mindless Insecure Female: How to entrap an insecure man and marry him!”

I was recently going through a friend’s bookshelf and among a deeply disturbing volume of this genre’s nonsense, I stumbled upon: Why Men Marry Bitches: A woman’s guide to winning her man’s heart.

I paused.
Took a very deep breath.
…& proceeded…

[Aside: A few years ago, a girlfriend moved out of the country and I inherited a stack of books, among which were a few of this sort. Mostly, they were tips for dating that were relatively hilarious. Unlike my girlfriend (who I adore), I’ve never been a big dater because I tend to find it annoying and boring, ergo, the books amounted to fodder for fun. (Another aside: This is not to say I don’t date, but rather, it is to say that I only date when my interest is very peeked and that doesn’t happen very often because I would rather spend time alone than on a date with a dummy.)]

Plot
During the short time it took me to rip through this book, I found myself physically reacting to it by turning the pages with such force that I may have ripped a few pages. Perhaps.

Forget about the offensive title; as in this day and age, that a woman would refer to other women as ‘bitches’ and consider it a compliment boggles the mind. (This a personal belief that stems from my perspective on empowering oneself through the embracing and owning of words that were once used to attack said individual such as the use of the ‘n’ word. I am deeply offended when I hear it, no matter who may be using it. Clearly, I do not engage in standpoint epistemology.)

Moving past the title, I’ll touch on the two caricatured genders within the book:
A: Men are one-dimensional insecure creatures who will never be honest with a female and who only react to mistreatment and game-playing.

The proof is in the pudding(!), as follows:
1) Men are manipulative even though they don’t really know what they want. Case in point: Men like a good cook in the kitchen. You can feign being a good cook by buying a lot of pots and pans and always leaving them out. He’ll marry you and he’ll never notice that you can’t cook. Instead he’ll start cooking!

2) Men are simple and only need the following: sexual escapades in the bedroom (and please do not tell him the truth about your past. And if the ‘truth’ is in fact…true…then he won’t believe you anyway. A 34 year old virgin? WHO ARE YOU KIDDING?)

3) Men are disrespectful and must be ‘put in line’ by your glorious ‘bitchiness’. When this happens, you will then be able to change the true nature of the man , turning him into a pussy because that's what he secretly wants.

4) Men are not honest and are mean-spirited so you must always be on the alert for such behaviour and you must always be able to ‘give as good as you get’. This is called ‘information gathering’ and it is called ‘being sassy’. Never mind that you’re reading this book, ergo are mindless, ergo wouldn’t understand sass if it bent you over the couch backwards and had its way with you. Please don’t be direct and ask him if something’s up – instead, play games because you are a pathetic creature and your number one hobby is How Can I Manipulate A Man Into Marrying Me?. Better still, go to Hawaii for a weekend of fun in the sun with your girlfriends and feed off of one anothers’ pathetic-ness.

5) Always take a man at his word. I love that you're too dumb to notice that this is one of the many blatant and opposing viewpoints within this book.

6) Men are weak and on this weakness one must play in order to hook and sink said ‘man’; this is the true nature of 'love and marriage'.

7) Men only want a ‘fun’ girl so never show him your ability to bring down the hammer when necessary; don’t ever have a difficult moment, just be ‘fun’. Furthermore, you must refrain from behaving "emotionally", since that is your weakness, Female. Finally, please remember that it is in Male nature to be difficult and when that happens, accept it and roll with it while you place a beer in the fridge for him. Give him time to cool off; he will respect your level headed response because he doesn't expect that from a female. (Sub-section to point 7: Always keep him guessing!)

B: Women are one-dimensional insecure creatures who are not allowed to be engaging, passionate, honest and real. Instead, they must only be reactionary and strategic in their approach to ‘the man they love’ (because when you’re in love with a man, your natural female instinct is to be a c*nt; don’t fight it because it’s inbred since Eve).

Generally, a female must:
Play games.
Manipulate.
Lie.
React.
Entrap.
View men as both the enemy, as well as prey.
Believe that Dolly Parton, she of the unnatural body and face, is a role model to which one must aspire.

Specifically, a female must:
Never tell a man she misses him (or risk being a downer and needy).

Stroke the man’s ego by saying things such as ‘I feel safe with you’ – don’t worry about the truth or merit of that statement. He’s stupid enough to never see through your games. You are brilliant; pat yourself on the back.

Never tell a man you like him. Make sure he says it first, and then that way you will be the one who has control and power over him, rather than the other way around (because there’s no room for equality between a male and female, most especially not in a relationship. Remember: You’re at war, so keep your eye on the ball: INSEMINATION!).

Always remember that every action he takes is about you, and you must react accordingly. While you're at it, please ask him to reiterate his fondness of you by constantly providing you with reassurance that you're The One...just like in The Matrix.

Important! NEVER ASK A DIRECT QUESTION. (Or maybe I've already mentioned that?)

Critically, a female must:
Never tell a man she likes him, finds him interesting or is looking forward to learning more about him.
Just don’t do anything that would be engaging. Instead, let him do the work because that is the only way he will appreciate you.

Because he, in the same fashion as you, is a mindless insecure freak of nature.
Because he, just as you, is a fkn incompetent socially inept individual.
Because he, just as you, likely spends all of his time fixating on everyone else’s actions and trying to then react to said actions…
Because. Because. Because it is easier to follow and to react than it is to possess confidence…know what you want…and make a point of going for it.

After all, who needs self respect and honesty when one can play games?

Glaring Aporia Within The Plot
The premise of this book is to ‘make yourself gone’ and know that ‘you don’t need to be married to be okay’; to have a full life is when you will ‘make him chase you…until you catch him’.

Naturally, this begs the question: If you have a full life and don’t need marriage to feel complete, then why in holy hell are you buying a book that is all about entrapping a man in your efforts to be married? Because last I checked, you don’t eat a cupcake to reduce the size of your ass, and you don’t go to the gym, to thicken that same ass. And you most definitely do not purchase a book about entrapping men if you’re not interested in said fkn entrapment…unless, of course, you are in fact a degenerate retard and 2 + 2 = 17 in your world.

Curtain Called
Set aside the above blather and the glassy-eyed nature of the caricatured genders about which this book was written.

Clean your palette and pay very close attention to the following, please...

The only ‘rules’ you need (and this only pertains to the truly confident among you – male and female) are: A quality individual who is worth paying attention to and one worth engaging with will never be entrapped. More importantly, they will see right through the game playing (and if they didn’t, would you want to be with someone so stupid, anyway?).

A quality individual will never think you’ve called too many times or said too much or been too honest. A quality individual will be honest and will expect honesty, and if they can’t handle either, then you will find someone who can take you for all of you. (This should not, by any stretch of the imagination, be misunderstood as a green light for either the male or female to be psychotic; You can love and be loved and respect one anothers' borders. In fact, this may be the only way to love.)

Specifically, to women, let me say that in your efforts to be ‘strong’, you do not need to be an asshole and you most definitely do not need to be disengaged from the man who has peeked your interest because trust me when I tell you that it takes a strong woman to be weak in the right man’s arms. And if anyone tells you that wanting someone is a form of weakness, then you’re speaking with a needy individual and neediness is a far cry from wanting.

Though you’re a smart bunch, let me clarify: Wanting someone amounts to a realization that they are, indeed, someone who brings added value to your life. Wanting someone is extending a warm set of arms to a person because you wish to do so. Needing someone is because you feel incomplete alone; unfortunately, if you feel incomplete alone, no one will ever be able to fill that gap, marriage or otherwise. (Essentially: Loners are sexy for this very distinction, as they fall into the former category.)

Finally, I will say that being strong is not being a bitch. What it is is a clear awareness of the person that you are and what you bring to the table. No one can touch or shake that if it's solid within your own mind. Period.

Unlike the bile spewed by such books, the reality is that both men and woman are emotional creatures. The reality is that both men and women have their own brand of crazy; the nuanced approach is to learn about the crazy, embrace the crazy, don’t try to change the fkn crazy, and let the crazy run its course when it needs to. (If either the male or the female can’t handle the crazy, then you’ll find someone worth your salt who will love you and all of your crazy, and vice versa if you need someone with less crazy. Don’t try to change who you are to meet the fake breasted caricature of relationships created by offensive books such as these…please…)

All of the above to say: Please stop perceiving the opposite (or same, or either) sex as the enemy. The sisters will thank you, as will the boy bands.

Are you a Picasso?

Editorial note: I am, in fact recycling this from years past...because it's just that fkn good. Read. Enjoy. Comment. x

Recall how last year I told you about my need to be a Mayflower Madame for Halloween as a young child. Following that, I was a witch, another year a ballerina, and finally a ghost. The last time I was wh*ring around on Halloween was at the tender age of nine, pretending to be God only knows what (I called it "a lady"). Anything to prance around in my mother’s Crack and wear red rouge.

When I grew up, I dressed up once for Halloween, I was a bumblebee. I wasn’t sexy, I was a bumblebee. I was wearing a large barrel and would lay on my side with my arms awkwardly sticking out because I couldn’t actually sit. Anything I drank, I drank through a straw. My antennas rocked and I received a lot of compliments about my costume.

I’ve been speaking with several women about their costumes, and I am a little surprised by their intentions. Each one of these women is beautiful, successful, and intelligent. Add to that, each woman is using the occasion to show off her sexuality by being a “sexy (insert whatever pleases you)”. So, we have:
- A sexy bunny
- A Playboy bunny (way to move the sisterhood forward!)
- A sexy cowgirl
- A sexy nurse
- A sexy librarian

My male friends, on the other hand, are going to be:
- A gorilla
- A dead cowboy
- A seal
- A pirate
- A mobile telephone
- A plumber
…there is nothing sexy about any of the above male choices unless the gorilla decides to become a baboon and paint its ass red. Whereas none of the men declared “a sexy cowboy” or a “sexy pirate”, each and every woman did. And when I pressed further, I was told that it was the perfect opportunity for them to show off the fact that they are “sexy”.

And so this has left me a little disconcerted, without really understanding why it was upsetting me…until I finally realized that there are two layers to my personal distaste re the above. First, it is that these women – who have everything going for them – feel the need to illustrate overtly, their sexuality. None of them believe that by default and by virtue of the fact that they are women, they are already sexy.

They don’t need to take off their clothes or show a little more cleavage or a little more ass. They ARE sexy because they’re of the female sex. It is built in us, it is in the way we move and the way we touch our hair, look at you, smile at you, put on our lipstick, take off our glasses, stand, sit, walk, and dial the phone. I quite honestly believe that no matter the size of a woman’s ass or chest, she is stunning and sexy in all of her incarnations. It inhibits every aspect of us...and need not be brought to (often times debasing) attention (though in private and with one chosen, this story changes - but this I believe to be a privilege bestowed on few; and here I refer to the 'attention brought to' part of the sentence rather than the 'debasing' part).

The second red flag I see with the above is as follows…
When I asked: “Why is it important that you be perceived as ‘sexy’?”, none of the women were able to provide a straight answer, instead tip toeing around the reality that it’s for attention. What I hate about this is that – in terms of my personal beliefs – it’s the easiest and therefore most fleeting sort of attention. Several of the women kept stating how it would be “empowering” to play the sex kitten.

Really?
Really?

Ok, so then my Q is: How hard is it to get a man’s attention with your boobs hanging out or when your ass is much higher than your pantline?
A: Not very, sweetheart so get a fucking grip, already, you mindless, needy, and infantile excuse for a woman and stop setting the god damn sisterhood back into the beds of Hugh fkn Hefner.

(Aside no 1: & let's touch briefly on what differentiates the men from the boys, because a quality man will always want a woman who not only has a brain, but a woman who actively ensures that her brain trumps all of the other attributes - this should never be seen as sidestepping the reality that a man will always look. He will always look at the female form - and likely even imagine what it would be like to bend it over the back of the couch - but that's not about you...and it is not a reflection on your self-worth. It's the male form. Acknowledge that and then set it aside, knowing fully well that a man engaged in mind and body is a man who would not act on those thoughts.

A man engaged in only one or other may very well act on that thought - and on that couch.

Take your pick, ladies. Decide rationally and logically and then take a step toward being the kind of woman you think you can handle.

Aside no 2: If your self esteem stems from the men in your life...well...then you've got big fkn problems. I recommend finding a hobby. Simply put: Get a life.

Aside no 3: And let's assume you've met a relatively interesting man with whom you delude yourself into believing there exists potential. You meet him dressed like a whore. The impression you're going to give him is that: you're a whore. Unless that's your gig, then don't be surprised when he starts treating you like one and don't feign malcontent & indignation when you're treated with disrespect.

Because it's about the whole package - and yes; of course clothes matter! OF COURSE THEY DO you knob.

And if I, to you, sound a little backwards and too traditional, well...that's something I am very proud of...especially when I see what's out there...and I can guarantee you one thing: If I ever choose to commit to a man whose chosen to commit to me, he will be a quality man that few dream of because he won't ever be the sort of man that would find a mindless set of tits and ass worth committing to because to approach me, a man would have to begin from a position of strength. That sentence right there? That's not arrogance, but rather, it is awareness of what I bring to the table. It's also passing judgement. Deal with it.)

There’s much to be said about our society stemming from the above reality; although you may be wondering why I would be upset by this, I do believe it lends itself to a much greater and deeper problem in our society. There’s MUCH to be said about the feminist movement as well, but for now (and just for today) I’m going to leave it at this: Empowerment does not come from your breasts, nor does it come from your ass. Most definitely it is not this strange belief that because we, as women, now have the right to f*ck as often and as frequently as men, we are therefore equal to them. (And if you would like to talk about the “empowerment” of females in the porn industry who “choose” their profession, please consider this an invitation to engage me and those who live here in the comments field of this entry.)

Empowerment comes from your accomplishments and your return to this world (and for those who believe, then also in your return to Him). Empowerment and strength are when you overcome the odds and the challenges blocking your way, and not when you use the easiest means accessible. Ergo, empowerment is not about using your God given sexuality that resonates in every single movement flowing through you, it is about taking the road less traveled and on the 31st of October, that means dressing up as a bumblebee or a cardboard box.

Aside no 4: I’d like to place one small thought into the minds of women reading this blog (all of the brilliant men, too, who will undoubtedly print this up and hand it to their daughters in 10 years). We possess the right to make a choice. What seems to have been lost in translation is that since we've been given a right which has always been ours, our only "choice" seems to have become: giving it up, and to put it crassly, it is to undress and sleep with dozens of men at our own whim. Otherwise, you may be perceived as frigid or "square". Does that then mean that your actions are in fact a "choice", or are you merely choosing not to act, but to avoid a specific label? (Ultimately, choosing the later is still a "choice" but it is most definitely not about equality and if that's what you choose, then at least own it like a real woman would. Don't lie and say it's about empowerment because you look like a fool...and not to me (because, really, to you, I don't matter; respect from your sisters isn't the issue, is it?), but rather to the dozens of men who understand that your confidence depends almost entirely on your sexual engagements.)

Few people talk about the following "choice", which is based on the belief that: Everything about you is unique, special, invaluable, timeless and rare.

You are among the world’s most treasured items. The items that hold these same characteristics and values are items we protect and to which the majority of humanity does not have access. The reason a Picasso is so valued is in part due to its (im)perfection but also because of the lack of access to it. Make this a reality of who you are and treat your bodies in this same vein because you truly are a work of art.

(originally published 10/27/07 at 1.04pm)

'Caramel'

Except for the occasional political one, I rarely recommend films on this blog. But if you are free tonight, this Thursday evening, tomorrow or Saturday and live in Ottawa, then please find the hour and a half needed to head over to the Bytowne Cinema where you can catch Caramel. (Tonight it's on at 5pm, Friday at 4.30pm & Saturday at 2.15pm.)

Later, I will insert here why I loved this movie as much as I did...check back.

Freedom!

Before you begin reading, please note that: Of course there is a middle-ground that below I’m not discussing. I’m speaking in the same extreme as that spoken by the window and the commercial mentioned. Understand that the state we are in is because of a backlash against the over interference of the Church and the moral arm and all of the history that has brought. But who the f*ck decided to throw the baby out with the bathwater? (I'm adding this as an after thought - Michelle pointed out that we can't point at only one thing here, and she's absolutely right. There are many factors to blame for our current state, only a couple of which are mentioned below.)

We went out recently, sat on a patio and I was this close to shooting myself.

One gem of an overheard conversation was the following:
“I just threw up in the bathroom.”
“But you still look good.”
“Thank God! I’m so lucky I can do that. Look. He said he thinks I’m cute and he wants to f*ck me.”
“AWESOME. He’s so hot.”
“Yeah. I think he likes me. I’m going to go with him.”
“What’s his name again?”
“Uhm. I can’t remember. Anyway, uhm, how are my chubs?”
“AWESOME. That’s totally why you picked up, bitch!”
“Right. I’m out.”

If I were to try and communicate either my pain or shame at overhearing this, I fear I may bring down my blog server.

Link to: Behold what we’re selling our young women (Be) and to our young men (Expect):



The above is a display window of a very popular shop in Ottawa. Notice, her jeans and underwear are around her ankles. She has wine bottles in front of her and her head placed on the toilette, clearly denoting the sexy state of inebriation that induces vomiting. The two background figures are one male and one female and written on the mirror is: “For a good time call….”

I stood in front of the display staring with my mouth open when a young woman came out, looked at me and said: “I know! It’s so cool!”

Instead of taking her down for her stupidity, I instead turned slowly to face her and declared “Noooooo. There’s nothing cool about this. It’s demeaning and degrading and a TESTAMENT. To just how low we’ve landed.”

She looked puzzled, gave me an awkward smile and walked away.

Link to: The latest birth control pills that are being marketed to an audience of very young women. The interesting thing about these commercials is:
The girls appear to all be aged between 16 & 22.
There are no men in the commercials.
They’re representing carefree lives; girls running on the beach, eating dinner out together, having coffee in the middle of the day, lounging around at home with magazines (heaven forbid it be a book), running out for a first job interview. All of them are smiling, laughing, unburdened and beautiful young people.

The first time I saw these commercials, I thought they were for a clothing or make-up company and was taken aback when I realized it was for birth control. N & I were seated in a movie theater the second time I saw them and she declared “Holy CHRIST! The girls look like they’re about 12!!”

I don’t care how many partners you have sex with, or how many drunken one-night stands you’ve had or in which way and for how long you’ve been taking the pill. And I most definitely don’t care if you’re male of female. Your life is your own and your responsibilities and consequence to your body are yours for the choosing. But if you wish to declare that you can have sex without any emotional connections or blowback then to you I actually say bullsh*t, because our bodies, our skin have and hold memories. More importantly, they have rights over us and so inherent in that is the fact that your physical being is not an entity that you can – no matter how hard you try – detach from the rest of you. But that’s not what this entry is about – and if you are proud of the fact that you have casual sex without emotional connection, then it is your right to sell yourself so cheaply and there is no place for that on this blog.

Right. So what’s troubling me about the above is the greater theme of casual sex lifestyle void of worry and stress, when in reality, pregnancy may in fact be the least worrisome consequence of sex. ‘Least’ when compared to the psychological, emotional, spiritual, and sexual disease consequences of sex within the particular context presented by the above two references to ‘lifestyle’.

As already mentioned, there are no men in these commercials and so no hint at relationships. If, as adults, you wish to go out and have random sexual relations, then fine – but that’s not the audience being targeted. They are anything but adult. (I remember being a 16 year old ‘adult’ very well because that was the summer all of the girls in my high-school started having sex. I also recall – crystal clearly – the traumatic consequences most of them encountered because of that choice; None of them having anything to do with a pregnancy scare.)

I don’t think it would be insane or far-fetched to say that at that age one is completely vulnerable and their identity still being formed. As equally important are their perspectives on relationships and sex (be it within or without a relationship). Here I discuss both boys and girls.

To those of you considering someone like I a throwback to the Stone Age, I say better the Stone Age than what I’ve seen as of late. And please note: anything I say re girls, I argue equally for boys. If there were a pill for boys targeted in this fashion, I would make exactly the same arguments. If boys were being represented in shop displays in this manner, I would fight against that equally.

Speaking only for myself here, I will say two things. First, to those who are great advocates of the pill, I’ve read all of the arguments and understand them, though I don’t accept or agree with most of them. I have no problem denying entry into my body chemicals of the sort found in the birth control pill. What you choose to ingest is your business, but do not try to misrepresent the context of something that is so much more than a wee little pill to what are, essentially, children.

Second, I fully expect that the man who is going to love me isn’t a man who would want me to take the risks associated with birth control. (e.g. ‘Crazy girl’, ‘no sex drive girl’, ‘my body will never again be able to produce natural lubrication girl’, etc.) Just as it would be my duty to make certain he took care of his health and avoided harmful substances, I expect him to be doing exactly the same where I was concerned. These are my standards and mine alone, and this last bit - to me - would be one of the measures of a ‘man’.

But heaven forbid we hold ourselves to any sort of a standard that falls short of complete hedonistic freedom. People should have the “freedom” to have sex with whomever and whenever, at the age they choose. Because they should learn the meaning of responsibility…even though I am not exercising any. I’m so proud.

Proud enough to head back down to the store display and stand in front of it with a big banner that reads: YAY! I’M LIBERATED! I’M FREE! AND I DON’T CARE THAT MORE THAN HALF OF THE WOMEN IN THE WORLD OVER 15 CAN’T READ OR WRITE! I CAN SHOP, YO!

I DON’T CARE THAT WOMEN PRODUCE 80% OF THE FOOD ON THE PLANET BUT RECEIVE LESS THAN 10% OF AGRICULTURAL ASSISTANCE! I CAN GET TRASHED ON TONS OF LIQUOR, BABY!

I DON’T CARE THAT WOMEN ONLY OCCUPY 2% OF SENIOR MANAGEMENT POSITIONS WORLDWIDE! I CAN SLEEP WITH THE OTHER 98%! WOO-HOO! HURRAY FOR ME WITH MY PANTIES AND jeans…around my ankles? And uhm, whose that guy behind me? And is that my number? And is that my girlfriend looking over me? Not interfering because, uhm, that wouldn’t, like, be right to tell me how to behave, would it? I mean...would it? And will you come to the sex clinic with me because I’m bleeding and I don’t know why.

But heaven forbid…heaven forbid…we ever say ‘no to anything’ because ‘yes’ has brought us so much good.



*Thank you to Woman Kind.

Men are from Mars and Some Women are from Stupid

In 32 years, I've only ever cared for one person. Well...maybe one and a half, the half not really counting because in hindsight it's easy to see that it was little more than a very fun and exciting fantasy holding no water.

A few girls invited me out after work one evening and they were blathering on about their "tricks" with men because apparently, "a woman has to play games to get what she wants". I am about to divulge some sisterhood secrets and I don't mind doing this because thankfully, it is not to this particular sisterhood I belong. Most of the women were in their late thirties and single, having jumped from one bed to another.

True gems of wisdom imparted were:
"...cry - you'll get anything!"
"...yell! You have to yell to show him whose boss!"
"...break up with him first. YOU HAVE TO BREAK UP WITH HIM FIRST!"
"...jealousy is par for the course with a man, make sure to always keep him on his toes and guessing that you have other men on your a** always."
"...hold his ex girlfriends against him!"
"...play with his emotions by being temperamental and unpredictable."
"...never make him think he's totally got you or he'll take you for granted."
"...f*ck his best friend when you break up. It'll kill him!"
"...needle his most vulnerable psychology!"
"...be a b*tch, it's what all men secretly want."
"...never pay for anything or he'll expect you to always do it."
...and my personal favourite was when one of the women decided to lecture me on that you should really get out there and date because that's what men are for. Women's lib! We fought for this!(1) And really who cares if you wait until marriage when there's so much variety to be had and look at me I'm a tramp and I love it been with more men than I can count on all fingers toes and appendages and it doesn't matter that I now wear a diaper because I have zero muscle drone drone drone.

As to this woman, to some it would seem odd that in thirty two years I would have only said "I love you" once. To those who think I am a freak of incredible proportion I'll have you know that the more I look around me the happier I am about this particular aspect of my life. And in fact, the more respect I have for myself. I believe there's something pure and honest about it. Having dealt with T's recent PIGLET! lying and cheating husband, I realize that my reality means I don't take either the words or the sentiment lightly and that stands for something; no one can ever claim that part of me has been diluted by over usage. More important still is that with every time we give ourselves away, we loose something. We become dulled, we become more cautious, we become less giving the next time. And...I...I wish to be able to give all of myself to someone someday without hesitation, trepidation or fear because of tangible things such as a past encounter. I don't think that's far-fetched or unattainable (I don't actually believe in that word, but think it's the ideal excuse for not working harder); Absolutely challenging and filled with hard work, but fully attainable nonetheless.

I like that: I won't ever be someone who does dilute everything in their lives. Who jumps from one relationship to another, never mourning, never understanding, never learning, never growing. I don't want to be with someone for the sake of being with someone, to avoid boredom. I don't want to further disrespect the man I will marry by giving so much of me away today that there'll be nothing left to give him tomorrow. I don't want to be the fool who doesn't know how to be alone. Who doesn't value their body or their heart and hands both out at random. I refuse to belittle everything that I am just so I have the occasional date on Friday night and so that I'm not lonely because I fully believe that if we don't know how to be alone and enjoy our own company, we won't know how to let someone else share in that very company. I also refuse to fit into some bizarre prototype of 'modern female' because I don't much like 'her'.

More importantly, I like boys. I don't want to be cruel to them or play games with them or disrespect them. When I am with someone, I don't want to yell at him or make him cry or harm his heart and I want to believe that everything earthly is possible.(2) Instead of aiming to do these things I'll hope to do the exact opposite to the best of my ability. Inevitably, at times I'll fail, but I'll have at least attempted to avoid that failure. I want to love him fairly and completely. Understand his history and psychology, alleviate his fears, reinforce my love for him and forgive his weaknesses as I would expect to have done for me. I also want to like him enough to hold his hand when we're 85. I think women underestimate their capacity to hurt men and that's an absolutely terrible thing. Simply because men may not discuss their feelings, it doesn't mean they don't have them. I wouldn't want someone to play games with me or yell at me or be mean to me and so why would I ever inflict that sort of thing on another individual? Especially if it's someone I love?

And if you believe that you can be a shit to your partner and yet don't deserve to be treated in the same manner, then you need a lot of therapy and a kick in the ass. There's nothing uglier than a spoiled brat, male or female.

****************************************

(1) We fought for 'this? For the freedom to f*ck? And here I thought we were fighting for equality and respect. How shameful and backward of me to accuse the feminist movement of anything short of complete and full pornification of the female and her many fruitful usages and bendy ways. Oh! And while I'm on it...thanks very much for providing me the opportunity to CHOOSE having my brea*ts sliced to obtain a more 'womanly' figure, my lips injected for a sexier pout, my eyebrows tattooed to shave off 10 minutes of 'getting ready' time in the a.m., my ribs broken for a smaller waistline and my face expressionless and poison filled so as to appear 'younger'. Because deep down, I don't think I can get anywhere on brains alone, I'd like to thank the modern day Miss. Interpretation of 'feminism' by the greater sisterhood allowing me to indulge these very exceptional and MY CHOICE! actions. These choices make me liberated, Hurrah!

Liberated enough to look down my new perfectly shaped "Jennifer Aniston" nose in order to mock the Muslim woman and her head gear - because heaven forbid she force the world to listen to her rather than stare BY CHOICE! at her. (3)

(2) Except the wanking PIGS! and Cheaters.

(3) Yes, there is a happy middle way, but not with the likes of the women who were the catalysts for this entry.

Mr. Adjective

What follows does not stem from any particular experience I have had, but rather, it is from observing dear girlfriends go through what I am about to describe and reading emails sent from girls living at this blog who have also gone through the same thing. Am hoping that this entry may help some girls either avoid or let go of their own 'Mr.Adjective'.

Every once in a while, I post a personal opinion on straight men and the straight women with whom they interact.

Tonight, I’ve decided to discuss one such caricature of a man.

Society at large calls him A Player.
Women call him The Love of My Life.
Men call him Stud.
I call him Mr. Adjective.

The man with the thesaurus
Mr. Adjective doesn’t have to be spectacularly beautiful, but he does have to be charming. He needs to know how to work a room and everyone in that room (male, female, straight, queer, undecided, fetishist, child, etc.). For the most part, Mr. Adjective does this by making every single person in said room feel like they are the very centre of his attention. This is often done by his undivided almost creepy concentration on and awareness of you when you’re in his face. He’s heavy with eye contact, will ask you intimate details about your life and may even share intimate details with you. (In hindsight and when you revisit his words, you’ll recognize that he didn’t really give you much of anything, let alone something honestly intimate.)

Mr. Adjective will tell you you’re ‘innocent’, ‘childlike’, ‘fragile’, ‘delicate’, ‘breakable’, ‘exposed’. Lines that are well practiced and well placed in Mr. Adjective’s game of seduction. He’s smart enough to understand these words evoke a need for protection, and who better to provide that protection than the very man seated before you telling you how strong and sexy you are. ”And yet, how oddly ‘fragile’ you appear to be.”

It’s relatively simple: He’s a predator, and he’s supreme at what he does.

I’ve been lucky because I’ve had one such experience which I recognised immediately and so was able to avoid (as it was being executed rather poorly by a man I am inclined to call a mental handicap).

A small aside to any women currently suffering the aftermath of Mr. Adjective: What he doesn’t know yet is that he’ll peek and then drop as soon as he hits 40, due to the repeated intake of antibiotics used to fight his many S.T.Ds.

Your role in Mr. Adjective’s game
The problem with Mr. Adjective is that whereas he may be playing you (& recall: “Players only love you when they’re playing”), Mr. Right will also throw adjectives around because he means it. Whereas the former is somewhat of a loser in need of validation received from throwing his d*ck in anything that moves, you will genuinely enthrall the latter (how could you not?). You have to learn to differentiate and to hold Mr. Adjective at arm’s length. For the most part, Mr. Adjective will make a killer friend because there’s a lot to learn from him in terms of male/female interaction (just as there is to be learned from Ms. Player where men are concerned).

Unfortunately, there’s no equation here. There’s no simple word or moment or indication that will help you differentiate between Mr. Adjective and the nice guy; it’s a matter of trusting your gut instinct & your intuition and ultimately, of learning how to be a good judge of character. If you’re Ms. Player, it’ll be easier for you to pinpoint Mr. Adjective, understanding his game and seeing his tactical moves before he does. Ms. Player will play it back in spades. (e.g. evoking what every man wants to hear about himself: strength, alpha, provider, protector, etc.)

Be the smarter woman and know what’s happening as it’s happening. While doing this, permit Mr. Adjective the illusion that you’re falling for his every word. Essentially, let him think you believe what he's saying to you (because being seduced by Mr. Adjective is really quite lovely). Then move on.

The aftermath of Mr. Adjective
If you fell for the seduction willingly or otherwise, your interaction with Mr. Adjective will be short lived. When all is said and done, he’ll do one very particular thing: he’ll insist that you call him. Over and over again, he’ll insist that you call him. This happened to F and I had to sit back and watch it without saying a word because she wouldn’t allow any of us to ‘slander’ the boy in question. The fall out from that situation was devastation where she was concerned, but she’s a better woman for it today.

Understand that he’s not asking you to call him because he wants you to call him. It most definitely is not because he wants any sort of a relationship with you. It is his way of pussying-out. And by ‘pussying-out’, I mean he doesn’t ever have to call you. You may call five times or maybe even ten times. Every time you speak, he’ll tell you how happy he is you called; he’ll tell you how great it is to hear your voice; he’ll tell you he’s sorry he’s not called but he’s been so busy that he’s not had a moment to “even” shine his ego. He’ll never commit to calling you, not even at the end of that conversation…instead, he will ask you to call him again.

Mr. Adjective never wants you to think ill of him. He never wants you to discover he's an asshole, and so he always wants you to walk away thinking he still wants you "if only". "If only" he had more time. "If only" he didn't have such a busy schedule. "If only" he got that rash cleared up. "If only" he wasn't such a gigantic enormous leech on your emotional well-being.

That’s his hook, because it validates what you were looking for: That he wanted to hear from you, and you can’t be angry with him because he was happy to hear from you. Wasn’t he? I mean, why would he ask you to call back if he wasn’t happy to hear from you?

There are two things Mr. Adjective can't handle: (1) you discovering that he's an enormous d*ck; and, (2) a woman sharp enough to know what he's trying to do. Re the former, if he showed you he really wasn’t pleased with your call, you’d think he was an asshole. Re the latter, he will immediately back off, not even attempting to pursue Her because she's not good for his ego. He won’t be able to seduce Her, and that would be a huge defeat where Mr. Adjective’s concerned.

He feels good when he seduces you.
He feels good when he wins at his own game. (He's a winner!)
He feels good when you call him.
He feels good because he never has to feel guilty.
He feels good because you pay him way much more attention than he ever deserved.

In closing…
If he wanted you, he would have come after you and nothing in the world could have gotten in his way. That’s the bottom line with men, and if they’re incapacitated and incapable of pursuing what they want (you), you don’t want them anyway. Don’t kid yourselves about Mr. Adjective; he’s a messy variation of ‘p*ssy’ because he doesn’t have what it takes to play you and walk away from you like a real woman. Instead, he half-asses it and plays you while still wanting you to like him and think he’s a nice guy. I actually can’t help but feel sorry for Mr. Adjective. But I’m arrogant that way.

Never believe that you’re the exception to the rule but always know that were he lucky enough to bag you for the long haul, no body else could compare.

Don’t sit around waiting for him, because he’s not thinking about you. (Sweetheart, he’s too busy trying to find an acceptable adjective for ‘underage’.) Believe what he says to you in the moment because you are all those things, including fragile and sexy and sensual. Because Mr. Adjective may have been lucky enough to hit the nail on the head thanks to his bedside thesaurus, it doesn’t make it’s reality any less true.

It’s very nearly Saturday evening and a nice guy is waiting for you to step into his life as Mr. Adjective sits at home and applies his ointment. Get out there and have some safe fun…

The Feminist Movement & Eric Balfour's Hoo Hoo

I like Eric Balfour. There's a 'je ne sais quoi' about this guy that makes him look as though he belongs in Madonna's Vogue video. (It helps that he has some serious moves on a dance floor.)

All over NY were posters for the film 'Lie With Me'...I'd never heard of the film prior to, nor have I heard of it since.

Based on both the posters and this weird affinity I have for Balfour (and the like: Billy Zane), I picked up the movie. I love the fact that it was shot in Canada (yay Shopper's Drug Mart!) at large, Toronto specifically (yay Bloor!). What I couldn't decipher was that the packaging had NA BC on it.

While chatting with the staff, we finally determined that the NA BC meant the film was not available for distribution in British Columbia. I didn't understand why this was so until we watched this SOFT PORN FLICK. (Or is it 'soft core porn'? Am unfamiliar with the porn vernacular, sorry.)

We got so much more of Balfour than we had hoped or cared for. Although not an X-rated film, it had REAL oral sex in it. Through hysterical laughter, blushing, pausing, rewinding, standing closer to the television set and slo-mo'ing, we determined that it may have even been REAL sex.

Is Hollywood going in a new direction vis-a-vis sexual representation in 'non pornographic' films? Is this the next step in Hollywood? Because. I don't like it. And now I'll never look at Eric Balfour without seeing his hoo-hoo first. WHY ERIC? WHY?

Why isn't it our inclination to enjoy the mystery of sexuality? When out there for all to see (much like Eric's hoo-hoo), the magic's gone. The innuendo's gone. That innuendo, the subtlety of it can be intoxicating; like catching a man watching you in a room filled with people...a man who has enough courage to meet your eyes and hold them.

Were Eric Balfour to be the man in my innuendo game, he'd probably moon me.

And worse still was the female in this movie. She was supposed to be a strong sexual presence; dominant of, driven by and in control of her sex drive. She comes off as nothing short of a ditz, a flake, a slut in a freak show. To those who know me, they understand it would take a lot for me to use the 's' label. But in the way this film portrays this female, that's the only word to use. There's this weird thing about the feminist movement, this belief that if a woman can f&*k like a man, then she must be equal to him. This is a school of thought to which I will never subscribe. And I've always found it comical and most definitely an unsophisticated argument that so much stress has been placed on this portion of the feminist movement, a portion which essentially and most definitely works to favor men. Last I noticed there weren't many men complaining that they could get laid a lot easier in this day and age.

I have no problem with or argument against women having sex at any frequency and with as many men as they may choose. The bottom line is, if a woman wants to have sex with a different man every night for the rest of her life, that's completely her business (& for this, there is the feminist movement to thank). But whatever you do, don't possess enough stupidity to insult the likes of me by telling us that particular action makes us equal to men. Our equality comes from the quality of work that we do, the level of education that we have, and the influence in both politics and society that we may strive for, not from the number of men we have sex with.

To Be A Girl Is, Like, Totally Awesomely

I overheard the following conversation earlier today between two boys, neither of whom is over the age of 18. One of these boys was excitable, whereas the other was not. They were the perfect ying to the other's yang.

"IGotARAISEMANtoLikeNINEDOLLARSanHour!"
"sweeeeeet"
"YEAHTOTALLYAWESOMEwithTheRaiseICanTOTALLYworkAllSummer
AndTOTALLYlikeSaveEnoughMoneyAndPAYFORSCHOOLifIHaveTo
AndThen..."
"hang out"
"NOMANjustMaybeBUYACAREVEN"
"sweeeeeet"
"ButThenIWasThinkingICOULDTOTALLYJUSTLIKEMOVETOCALGARY"
"and live with the farmers"
"WORKThereManCusLikeAtMcDonaldsInCalgaryTHEYPAYYOULIKE
30BUCKSANHOURMANthat'sLikeDOUBLEnoFOURTIMEStheAmount
OfMoneyTheyPayYouHereMAN!"
"sweeeeet"
"TOTALLYITHOUGHTWECOULDALLGOANDLIVEINAHOSTEL..."
"with european chicks"
"NOWE'DBEHANGINGOUTWITHTHEFARMER'SLET'SGOMAN!"
"sweeeeeet"
"DoYouKnowTheDrinkingAgeInCALGARYMan!"
"21"
"EIGHTEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!! EIGHTEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!! MAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! EIGHTEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"sweeeeeet"
"YeahAndCusWe'dBeLivingInAHostelWithTheFarmersWe'dSave
LikeAlmostALLOFOURMONEYMANCusInsteadOfHavingSEVEN
BARSToGetTrashedAtWe'dOnlyLikeHAVEONEBARDUDE!!!!"
"duuuuuuuude"

A lull of silence is suddenly broken by the sound of the quieter guy's thought worthy of 'magnum opus' labeling:
"dude. We could go to Calgary and prostitute ourselves."
"NO!"
"yeaaaaaaaaaa man. We could screw 1000 hot chicks and charge 50 bucks each. Or. Like, we could screw 50 ugly chicks and charge, like, A THOUSAND BUCKS EACH. That's like [I swear to God this was his math] FIVE GRAND MAN. Yeaaaaaa!"
"NOI'MNOTBIGONTHEPROSTITUTIONIDEA! WeHaveToWorkAtMcDicks!"
"Whatever dude. I'm goin' to Calgary. Tomorrow!"

Sad dumb creatures.

Wife Beating

I just found this out:

"Under Muslim Sharia law, if a woman wishes compensation for her suffering, her husband could either be ordered to pay damages or be given a beating of equal severity to the one he inflicted on his wife."

I really dig the latter option.