Women, and “The Body” Issue

So you’re sitting down in a cafe with your friend… take it, she’s not the brightest bulb in the box, but you tend to love her nonetheless… she’s sort of glaring at a muffin she just picked up from the counter. You’re finishing off your piece of lemon pie without shame, and here she is still staring at this little old muffin.
A muffin, you observe, that doesn’t even have butter on it.
So you put down your fork and you kind of raise an eyebrow and ask if she’s going to eat the damn muffin, because it’s not a life or death situation.
She whines and tosses it down and says the dreaded phrase that no sensible woman wants to hear from a girl-friend:
“I’m so fat.”
All you can do is roll your eyes, and not respond to that comment.
You don’t want to hear it, not again.
It’s gotten to a point where she pulls this shit and says stuff like that so that I’ll look at her, appraise her with a fake smile, and tell her that she’s perfect in every way. That her body is so thin you can see her bones through her tank top.
You can look at her and clearly see that she isn’t fat… but in all honesty, she isn’t a waif.
Would that upset her, if you told her she wasn’t a waif? If she was healthy in appearance? If she was the perfect weight for her frame?
No.
No, no, no.
Women want to hear that they’re “Skinny”, and they want that word precisely.
What the hell is this whole misconception coming from?
In my eyes, personally, I think a woman’s beauty comes from more important factors than WEIGHT.
I’ve read more than a few books concerning body image. It wasn’t because I was looking to feel good about myself, because I do every day. I read these books so that I could understand from the P.O.V of other women, why is it so important to look a certain way? Why is it so crucial to fit into a mold of what consumer-driven assholes want you to look like?
I mean, sometimes I have to physically bring myself in front of a mirror and slap myself in the face and say out loud “hey, you’re beautiful. Just the way you are.” But that works for me!
I’m always brought back to the idea that I don’t look like your average girl.
I’m not skinny, and I like it.
I have skin, and I have muscle, and yes I have fat, but that’s healthy!
I’m comfortable with myself… and I think I’d enjoy female company better if most of them thought the same way.

My Life Is A Fucking Dolly Parton Song: Part 1

My Own Personal Jolene

Women are insane.
I ought to know.

We will kill for love, among other things.

But what happens when you’re a gung-ho southern woman who can’t hold onto her man?
I found myself in the middle of a Dolly Parton song, about a year ago.
God, I hate to even reminisce about it, it was such a silly sort of juvenile position to put myself in… I mean, seriously, when a girl begins to date a guy she ought to prep herself for the worst, right? Yeah, well, I was “in love” and when you’re young and “in love” your vision of True and False becomes distorted.
It began towards the end I suppose. We’d be dating for an awfully long time, me and this fellow, and we acted as if we had been married for a good ten-fifteen years: dinner, sitcom, bed.
Yeah, it was as bad as it sounds. We had no common interests anymore, but out of curtesy we didn’t want to bring the issues to the forefront. No one wanted to be the bad guy in this sort of situation…yet…
Count on the idiot bozo to go and fuck it up even more, eh?
Well, I knew that my boyfriend at the time (we’ll call him “Athol”) had waning affections. Yes, his affections were waning quite quickly, and I found myself pulling back with force. I felt like I loved him, sure, and I didn’t want to lose him.
Well, Athol had other plans.
In fact, I discovered he didn’t even care about how I felt as all of this unfolded.
While we were still in a committed relationship, he was introduced to a little girl (and little is true, she was a good deal younger than him) that he began to regularly correspond with over the computer, phone, and the like.
I didn’t really like it, but there was nothing I could do about it without going psycho.
Then came the fateful day when he proposed that we “take an undisclosed break”.
Fine.
Athol and I parted ways, and made a “vow” to get back together in good time, once we had reasoned things out a bit for ourselves.
Hmph. Sure.
I’m a little antsy, because I know that they’re talking to each other. And this little girl looked like she could hold her own around a guy. I’m not saying I’m ugly, but out of my own general spite I began to refer to her as the “belle petite fille”.
I was bitter.
I wanted to know what was going on, because by his short telephone calls and inattentiveness to me in the days that followed, I knew he was becoming less interested in getting back together with me- and more interested in this little harlot who had just paraded onto the scene and busted my nice little domestic bubble.
Well, about a week later, I’m still optimistic about seeing Athol at a concert that we were supposed to go to. We were going separately, but meeting amongst a group of mutual friends.
The day rolls around, and I’m excited.
So I show up, and he’s not there yet, I’m hanging out with a group of friends.
And then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world… In swaggers Athol with the little girl on his arm… They’re clinging to each other as if it’s Armageddon and they’ve got .9 seconds to live…
My stomach grows sick, but out of courtesy, I decide to approach them both and be as unassuming as I can manage.
I start by greeting him with a hug, and then turning my attentions to the little auburn-headed, eyeliner-clad youngster at his side.
I say
“Hi, I’m Ash! I’m so ready for tonight, they have amazing bands playing.”
I proceed to list the bands, while she stands there looking at me with glazed eyes as if she’s bored out of her mind.
I’m finished talking, and I’m waiting for her to say something.
So that little hot mess looks at me, and rolls her eyes, and says in a staunch, haughty tone-
“Oh… well I don’t know any of the bands playing here.”
I smile as cheekily as I can manage through clenched teeth and reply
“Yes, well, they were popular before you were old enough to get in here.”
I turn, as my friends come up to me, in a desperate attempt to get me away from the scene. But before I do, I glance back, and reassure her with a last line:
“You should really take a look in the mirror after playing in your crayon box all day.”
I added a nice hair flip, for measure.
Then I went home and drank my weight in vodka.



Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene… I’m begging of you-
TAKE MY LEFTOVERS, YOU DESERVE THE CHEATING BASTARD!

The Ultimate Intellectual Woman's Mancandy: James McAvoy

Name: James Andrew McAvoy

Nationality: Scottish

Birthday: April 21, 1979

Current Age: 29

How Many Years Older He Is Than I: 9

Does That Mean It Would Be Creepy If We Married: No

Qualities That Make Me Love With Him:

- Intelligence

- True Humor

- Wicked Cute Scottish Accent

- Insanely Beautiful Blue Eyes

Notable Roles:

- The Chronicles of Narnia

- Becoming Jane

- Atonement

- Rory O'Shea Was Here

- Penelope

- Wanted

Is it really, really evil of me if I hope his wife randomly falls in love with another man and leaves him desperately starved of love and in need of attentions?... Attentions from an ambitious American female, nine years his junior, full of life and looking for love?...

Got Milk?: Opinions on the Homosexual and Bisexual Agenda

Upon finishing the movie Milk, starring Sean Penn...


The other day it occurred to me, everyone is going Bi.
Bi is the new black.
I, personally, prefer the male anatomy, thusly concluding that I am, indeed, straight. But it’s sort of unfortunate that I’m hetero, because I find women to be absolutely stunning.
There’s something about the female form that has a way of being alluring- no matter what orientation you are.
Here’s the break-down:
Since I was very little I was taught it was a grave and dangerous sin for one person of sex to have feelings for/sensually love/and/or be drawn to a person of the same sex. I was raised in a very traditional Catholic household, and so of course I felt weird about the whole ordeal, noticing more and more of the people i know making out with their own gender.
It only proved to fascinate me more than frighten me.
That’s when I sort of began to rethink how important it is for these sort of things to be addressed.
It doesn't bother me at all to believe that persons of the same gender can fall in love, and want to be together. In fact, I believe that every person, at one point in their life, is drawn to a person of the same sex. It's only human. As a person who often considers themselves a pseudo-psychologist, I believe it is simply a part of our mind state, and is NOT something we should be ashamed of.
Another thing, I choose to detest those people who believe that treating gay, lesbian, and bisexuals with little or no respect. It's cruel. It's wrong, and it's NOT something I support in the least of respects. I dislike people who are so closed-minded and immature about the situation at hand. Those people who think this is dangerous to our society are wrong as well, it’s not dangerous.
I would rather for Abortion (which, in my opinion, is actually murder) to be illegalized, and Same-Sex Marriage to be legalized.
Abortion is TAKING AWAY LIFE, and Same-Sex Marriage, in my opinion, does nothing but PROMOTE commitment, and love.
I mean, really, what's the world coming to?! I'd prefer to see two men holding hands in public, than a topless girl whoring herself on public television, like CBS or ABC.
So yeah, let’s let people make out and hold hands.
And stop killing fetuses instead.

The Rape of Sexuality

I always have very strong feelings about these sorts of things… don’t ask me why.
I’m shameless, sure, and unabashed, but if there’s something that I’m always clear about:
I have respect for myself, and I have respect for others.
So as I sit here, flipping through the channels on TV, ignoring my only class that I have on Friday (Political Science, fun stuff), I stop and stare in amazement. Why, it’s none other than Rock of Love: Bus on Vh1. I’m gazing at the television screen, fixed, and I’m completely distracted, but not in a good way.
The first thing I don’t understand; why are these women unloading music equipment in lingerie?
Second; why are grown women not only:
1.) doing this on a nationally-broadcasted reality show?
2.) competing for the love of Bret Michaels?!?!
Mmmmk, seriously, what is the world coming to…
I’m sorry, but where has the “New Attitude with Old Values” gone to?
Don’t get me wrong, I think that sexuality is very important. In fact, it’s huge.
I have no issue with moving forward, being daring, being SEXY! There’s nothing wrong with being aware of your natural sexuality! My god, sex appeal has really nothing at all to do with what a person wears; it’s how they protract their energy!
I just feel like the whole system is completely Fruged.
Women dress like sluts.
Men like women who dress like sluts.
That leaves no room for the rest of womankind that treats themselves with dignity, and esteem.
Mind you, there are a very small percentage of guys and girls who catch my drift, and I’d like to say to you: THANK YOU SMART PEOPLE OF AMERICA.
But, I suppose it’s whatever floats one’s boat.
I’m sorry, but I’d feel as if I was cheating myself if I felt like I had to take off my clothes and dumb myself down to attract a man…
Perhaps that’s why I’ve never really dated all that well.

Hello, Welcome to Chaos.

So, this is the beginning of the end I suppose…
I’m sitting here doing much of nothing and I figure it’s time for me to begin to voice a little piece of my mind that not many people hear from me.
This is good.
I guess I had better do something profound before I die.
Oh wait, shit, what was I suppose to say?...
Oh yeah, there’s more about me to go on about blah blah blah explaining why I’m doing this blog-thing…blah blah blah… there’s stupid music playing on the TV… blah blah blah… my tea’s too damn hot…
Fruge.
“Fruge” is a word I’ll use often…
It’s sort of like saying “Fuck” minus 99.9% of the profanity.
That’s a useless tactic, I don’t care about offending people, but oh well it’s a fun word.
I might just say it around at the supermarket sometime, and tell people it’s German for “condoms”.
Fun stuff.
In other news… I need a punching bag desperately.
My therapist says I have a lot of built up sexual frustration.
Lucky for him, he’s a fifty-something married to a twenty-something, so he doesn’t have this issue.


*Googles*
$200 for a punching bag.
Shit.

Prose Before Hoes: That Damned "Vampire" Series

Ten Reasons Why the Twilight Series is
(by far)
the Most Mediocre Bull I Have Ever Had the Misfortune to Read:

1.) The mundane storyline is washed-up, and sounds like a Danielle Steel novelia gone horribly, horribly wrong.
2.) Half-ass prose is a fantastic way to make money.
3.) Let's just take the base line of Anne Rice's epic personal narrative and turn it into a poorly-written yuppie tween fantasy!
4.) How dare people compare the Twilight series to Harry Potter?! Seriously, like there is even a DEBATE over this. J.K. Rowling put her heart and soul into the story of Harry and into the books she wrote. Clearly this shows, by the composure and the intelligent design of every single story she's written. In twenty years, people will still be fans of Harry Potter, this will not be the same about Twilight- which will fade into obscurity along with every book written in such a juvenile manner.
5.) The character of Edward is appealingly an oldschool romantic, but the identity crisis does nothing for his beautiful complexion.
6.) The character of Bella is less appealing in the idea that she's whiney, and rather pathetic, in her quest to obtain this insecure blood-sucking fool.
7.) Twilight, that is, the first book, was what I would deem "good". Every book afterward was like Gigli, ridiculously blown-up, and a sorry excuse for production.
8.) Let's give prepubescent children with bad home lives something to squeal about, eh?
9.) Oh no… they've made a movie…
10.) WHAT THE HELL IS UP WITH BELLA BECOMING PREGNANT… VAMPIRES DO NOT CREATE SPERM. WHEN THEY BECOME VAMPIRES, IT IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR THEM TO REPRODUCE. THIS CHILD WITH THE FUCKED-UP NAME SHOULD NOT EXIST!

Irregular P.O.V: A Humorous Observation of Dating

Dedicated to that oh-so-adorably idiotic Frat boy who attempted to lure me to his bed after a casual meal… thank you, you won me an A+ in creative writing.


Entertain me with your smiles. Tell me lies so that I may, perhaps, over the placid expressionless demeanor of my face, I may be roaring with laughter within.
I can understand why you would lie.
I can understand how you wish me to believe that you are perfect.
I'd never blame you. I'd never even see it, were I not gifted with intuition. I'd probably think you were perfect, and without flaw. I'd sleep with you, and give you all of me. And when you'd call "us" off, I'd blame myself instead.
But you can see, quite comically, that this is not to be. Not for us.
See, I can tell you're an ego-driven jerk. I can read you and your intentions so listlessly.
Oh yes, I do think you're quite attractive! You're well-formed and all that; you hold yourself well and have a very magnetic smile.
But is it enough to move me?
I'm sorry to disappoint, but your beauty clearly isn't enough for me. I cannot let you touch my breasts if I thus dislike you.
I don't quite know you enough to hate you.
But it doesn't mean you aren't trying. Oh you are trying very hard indeed to have me like you.
You're telling me all of the "right" things, all the things you think will make me swoon. But I'm still laughing. See, you clearly haven't understood me when I said "I'm not like other women."
Compliments repel me. Don't call me beautiful, or say that my eyes "shine like diamonds". That may very well have me hate you.
Give me an insult instead; your honesty, unguarded and blameless, shall make me like you all the more. Tell me that my hair is frizzy, or, perhaps, that I am fat. I assure you, I won't slap you.
The worst you shall receive from me is a giggle: which means it was a poorly executed insult. I might ask you to never try that one again.
I don't mean to hurt you by saying you're not my type. I'd say it isn't you, out of some bullshit protocol, but, well, it is you. You're even more vain and eccentric than I thought at the beginning of this conversation.
I've known too many boys like you to not make my experiences applied.
As you can tell, I'm not easy. It's amusing because it appears this is making you try harder nonetheless. You're saying you're an ostentatious asshole. Yes, you are. You're saying you know you're one to always break hearts. Yes, yes, you probably are.
But you're willing to stop all of that for Me!
Oh, this is too funny now. You think that after outwardly expressing my disgust you'd get the point, right? Wrong.
I'm flattered, really, by your persistence. I must be a prize to be won.
Your willingness to kiss my ass is growing on me.
But oh, please, let's end this as cordially as we can manage without wounding your pride. I would hate for you to be bitter. After all, I'm perfectly certain there's more suitable game at the local pub or saloon.
Let's view this in a very sensible light:
You're a hunter, and I'm not willing to lay down and be your prey.
I do hope we can chat from time to time.
You are, after all, a valuable reference.

Let's Get Political: Personal Commentary on President Barak Obama’s Inauguration

For all of his political flaws and inexperience, I suppose it’s safe to say that President Barak Obama is a charismatic and moving speaker. His charming and unassumingly appealing way of presenting himself perhaps salvaged his triumph in the presidential election against the grey-suited hoard of Republicans: the ever-stuttering George W. Bush, the alarmingly conservative John McCain, and the staunch gun-advocate Sarah Palin.
To the sensible eye, putting another Republican in the seat of Commander in Chief would have been purely taboo, correct? It is quite safe of the American population to rest the burdens of an entire nation upon the shoulders of one man, a man unofficial termed as ‘the most powerful in the world’. Yeesh, it is without a doubt that a good number of Americans are more willing than not to cast a grumble or a look of disdain upon the term of President George W. Bush; a man who, for all of his positive convictions, couldn’t verbalize gracefully for his life!And then, alas, like a breath of fresh air… Senator Barack Obama announces that he is running for the Democratic Party. Halleluiah; I could almost hear the nation breathe a sigh of relief, and the notion of ‘let’s vote for him because he’s black, and he’s a democrat’ being sung from East coast to West coast.
Here we are, the beginning of a new year, and our new president is making himself cozy up on Capitol Hill. I sat through the speeches, the fanfare, the parade, and somehow I still can’t seem to grasp the concept that anything at all has changed in this country. The more I read, the more I realize that promises must be taken back, in order to please the laws of the party. I understand President Obama, as I sit here listening to him speak about peace and good for mankind, but I cannot help but feel like his promises are half-ass.
I may be completely wrong, but my feminine intuition tells me that my inner premonitions are only foreshadowing certain disappointments. I can only assume that if shit hits the fan during our new president’s administration, that the press, the American people, and the world will be gracious in their judgments of him. We wouldn’t want to end up like France; everyone knows what happened to Robespierre.
On another point, I found the sermon to be a bit overrated and wordy. The address by President Obama, while revitalizing and pseudo-Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., was deficient in the towering rhetoric he is best known for using in like speeches. I found myself thinking ‘have I heard this before, in different context’? and ‘Is it just me, or does he toot his own horn a little bit?’
Oh, who am I kidding, he’s a politician! Like the rest, he’ll say whatever he must to be the darling of American reform. He’s the leader of this country now; he’s doing his part to assure that the people are pleased. Without their help, he knows he’s good for nothing. I just hope that if he does, shockingly, reveal that he’s a human who makes mistakes, the whole world doesn’t hate him for it. I can almost hear President Obama, whispering, as he lays his head on his pillow at night ‘I sure hope I don’t end up like that Bush guy.’