I know it's been a while...

And I guess this has been something of an abandoned project for me. But I'm bringing it back. Why? For a variety of reasons, none of which are all that interesting.

To tide those of you over who still have me on your rolls or subscriptions, until I get some new things to say, here is something I posted on my myspace blog a bit ago, and then updated today. It's a full life.

List of things that Cosmo thinks are sexy but are in fact not (updated!).

1. Wigs. A big Cosmo sex tip has always been "wear a wig in bed so he feels like he's with another woman!" If this works for you, I feel like you have a lot more problems than it can possibly solve. Number one being the fact that a wig stays on your head the whole time. I had enough trouble keeping the wig on my head this Halloween just walking around bars. Obviously, you're doing something wrong. Also, you're dating someone who can keep a straight face while you're wearing one, when any normal person would not be able to. People look stupid in wigs. Frankly, if he wants to do someone else that much, he can go ahead and do so. Really, knock yourself out buddy. I'm not wearing a freakin' wig.

2. Notes. This is another big one. Once upon a time they even had these little cards that you could cut out of the magazine and put into your boyfriends pocket or whatever, that said "I'm not wearing any underwear" or "I'm totally gonna do you later" and various things to that effect. First of all, you put something like that in someones pocket, and things can go terribly wrong. Like when they pay for coffee that morning. I bet there are a lot of very confused baristas waiting on the boyfriends of Cosmo subscribers. Also, I don't see how the thing about not wearing underwear really helps anyone who is not present at the time.

3. Striptease classes. Jen and I were just discussing this yesterday. This is another issue of taking yourself waaay too seriously. I once took a burlesque class at the gym, and totally lost it when they started making us crawl around on the floor. You'd also have to figure that anyone you were doing this for has already seen you naked before (otherwise that might just be the most hilarious one-night stand story ever, next to mine about the guy who tried to slow dance with me to "Lady in Red"), which means it's not like he's going to see anything new, unless you've grown another nipple over night or something. Which would not be that sexy.

4. Edible underwear. The logic of edible underwear has long perplexed me. You can't just happen to have it on beforehand, because it would get all linty and gross, and I imagine it would not be all that comfortable walking around all day with a fruit roll-up in your pants. Either you'd have to be all "oh, let me change into something a little more comfortable" and come out wearing it, or put it on during... I don't get it. It's all too complicated and tedious. I also don't think eating a fruit roll-up is all that awesome of a time.

5. Jen reminded me about this one... This one time, Cosmo suggested you put a donut on his man parts and eat it off. I don't even know where to begin with this one, except to say that a) Donuts. Not hot. and be b) if the donut fits... I wouldn't expect a great time otherwise.

6. Naughty Jenga. Yup. Naughty...Jenga. Roll that one around your head for a moment. I bought the new issue of Cosmo last night, and this was one of the ways to become "closer to your man." By writing "naughty suggestions" on the Jenga blocks, and then playing Jenga... or something, I don't know. It's Naughty Jenga! And you lead an unbelievably sad life!

7. Ok, this is my theory. The editors of Cosmo are just really, really hungry. They are STARVING. Otherwise, there is just no viable explanation for the bad erotica in the back this month. What Cosmo calls its "red hot read." Which is about some dude who totally loves this girl that he just met five minutes for her awesome self and not her 80 bajillion dollars, who chases her out of a party in order to make sure she is ok, and then proceeds to break out.... the ice cream.

"He really is going to make me into his own personal sundae! Dani thought, and then gasped."

NO! No no no no no no no.

8. They give you a schedule of what to talk about with "your man:"

1) On Friday night, ask him how his buddies are doing
2.) Saturday, in bed, ask him to spill his "in the sack" fantasy.
3.) Sunday morning- "Lounge in bed while planning next weekend"

Oy! Ok, here is a tip. If you need a magazine to help you schedule talking to another human being, you need to be in a sheltered workshop. Seriously. In fact, if you read Cosmo for any other reason than the fact that it is totally fucking hilarious, you need to be in a sheltered workshop. It's pretty much a fact.

Gimme, gimme less, gimme less Ms. Shitney Spears.

Ok so everyone has blogged about it and more but I feel I need to at least talk about poor old '(You Drive Me) Crazy' Shitney Spears. Now to say Britney was bad is an understatement. I felt like I was at a nightclub were a Bachelorette Party had decided to come in and they made the bride-to-be strip down to her underwear and get up and "perform" with the strippers. Oh wait, I forgot to say the bride got a terrible weave before she went out AND took some Valium and drank at least three bottles of champagne.

YIKES!

As far as why would Shitney be allowed to perform? Well from a producer stand point it was win-win. If she was terrific everyone would talk about her "comeback" (even though saying "comeback" is ridiculous since she didn't go anywhere. It just seems like if you haven't done anything for the last six months you can get a "comeback") and say she was amazing and blah, blah. blah. If she was terrible, everyone would STILL be talking about her and everyone would be talking about it. Ta-dah! Press for MTV either way.

I've never liked the comparisons of Shitney to my girl Madge. Albeit there are some similarities but for good or worse (more often times worse) Madonna usually sings live and if she doesn't it's hard to tell. Shitney didn't even attempt to open her mouth for most of her performance. Again it was like someone dared her to get on stage and then she did...

Anyways, so yeah to me Shitney is more like Paula Abdul. Both known more for the looks and dancing abilities. Both have limited if no vocal abilities. They are both crazy, though we didn't learn that until later. They both had huge hits, made lots of money, were admired and imitated by little girls and... (drum roll) BOTH had HUGE bombs on the MTV Video Music Awards.

Does anyone remember Paula's Vibeology performance? YIKES! Oh and of course the be and end all to a career: a change in management. Nothing is faster, except Lindsay Lohan to a bag of coke, then changing your management team that helped make you a star. Hello? Tom Cruise jumping up and down on a couch? When they don't have the proper people reining them in, we get to see what they are really like. And no one really wants that. We say we do but we don't. We never needed to realize that Shitney is probably one generation away or maybe just a cousin from poor white trash. She did much better when we never heard her speak.

By the look of that stripper-wanna-be number she doesn't even have a career at that. Well, strike that, some podunk town will hire her to work the 2-4-1 Pabst Blue Ribbon night.

morning constitutional

Our refrigerator is broken. I did all I could last week, including attempting to defrost it with a hair dryer, but to no avail. However, I like juice of some sort in the morning, and I also like that juice to not be room temperature. Call me crazy. So I go to the Jalisco.

On my way there, I notice that the 50 year old, um, pleasantly plump lady who usually wears the "I'm Bringin' Sexy Back!" T-shirt, is now sporting the somewhat less braggy "Flirtologist" T-shirt. She has not, however, discarded the hot pink booty shorts. I feel like she's living a lie. And if she isn't, I feel frightened. If she is indeed bringing sexy back, it was not just in hiding, but buried six feet under and will eat your brains if you try to hug it. Or maybe I just watch a lot of zombie movies.

Since my last incidents at the Jalisco, the owner has talked to the morning counter guy about the whole creepy pervert thing. Are you not updated? Well, he kept trying to hug me after purchases, asking me if I'd take him to New York with me and staring at my boobs while saying "you look verrrrrrry nice today. I like your shirt veeerrrrry veeerrrry much" You know, usual pervert stuff.

He also kept showing Jen and I pictures of some 18 year old blonde model and saying it was his girlfriend in New Jersey. Totally. So anyway, the owner talked to him and he doesn't pull too much of that anymore and just takes my money and gives me my stuff like a normal counter person. But today, while I'm there purchasing my vitamin water, he starts talking about the new product they have behind the counter... "pre-paid internet porn cards" with naked lady silhouettes on the front.
Oh yes.

"These are for...(insert creepy smile)...internet. You use them on the internet... You like one? (insert creepy smile again.)"
"I'm good with this, thanks"
"Are you sure? (creepy smile, wink wink)"
"Yup. I'm good. Have a nice day."

Ok, that's it. I guess it's rather anti-climatic, but hey, it was five minutes. It's not all that often that I get offered porn cards at 9am by the guy who works at the Jalisco. It's a new experience. Oh well.

It's been a while, sure

But I've been ever so busy slaving over hot... Diane von Furstenberg wrap dresses all day to bother with this. It's important work, I tell you.

I've got a week off, however- so I've got some time, despite the fact that the family is in town. The whole lot of them- the Queen mum, my dad, my sister and my Uncle who's not really my uncle but my dad's best friend (we're italian). They actually drove down. Which is amazing, considering my mother's chronic fear of cornfields and the creepy little aryan children dwelling therein. She doesn't do well in rural areas. It's true. Back in Rochester, we'd never go to the outlet malls too late, because they were out in Penn-Yan, which is chock full of Amish people. She'd hear the "clopity clop" of their buggies in the dark and start panicking. Because, of course, they were probably transporting meth.

There have been some adventures as of late, although I'm having some trouble recalling them at this hour. Except for the one about the creepy dude who claimed to be the bass player for The Lemonheads. Which he was not. If he were in fact the bassist for the The Lemonheads, I'm quite sure he would know who The Blake Babies were, and he did not. Don't mess with a girl who had a "Sassy" subscription in the early 90's.

Question- you know how they always have those ads like "Someone has a crush on you! Find out who now!" Do you think there are people who think it's real? I mean, that's kind of sad and almost cruel. I just always picture this like, big fat balding recluse dude wearing a shirt with a dragon on it pulled up over his belly seeing that ad and thinking some hot chick wants to do him, and then having his heart broken because really someone just wants him to buy ringtones or whatever. That would be sad if it were true, which it could be. I mean, people are pretty willing to believe things that are clearly total crap if it makes them feel good about themselves- otherwise how would you even begin explain Scientology?

Oh, and I found out the other day that dudes get calf implants. No, really. It's true! That totally kills me- I mean, I'm kind of on the picky side, but I don't think I've ever in my life said to myself "Damn, that fella is super dreamy...oh, wait... nevermind. His calves are just too skinny." That's never happened. Possibly because, if I can see a dudes calves he's probably wearing shorts, and that's a dealbreaker for me. Probably my biggest one, in fact. It goes along with my other major dealbreaker, which is "If I can easily picture you on a farm with a piece of wheat or straw or whatever hanging out of your mouth, it's not ever going to happen." I guess I share my mother's fear of rubes.

I'm kind of happy about it the idea of it though though- in the same way that I'm kind of happy about manorexia. Sort of a "Ha! Now it's your turn to feel crappy about yourselves!" kind of thing. I'm big on schadenfreude.

That is all for now.

I need a cigarette.

Generally speaking, I am almost always irritated by one thing or another. Double wide strollers taking up the whole sidewalk (and the fact that really, there are a few too many babies in the city these days, don't you think?), Crocs, the "comedy stylings" of Dane Cook, overly smug business school commercials, adults who find themselves adorable... these are just a few among the myriad things that annoy me. I'm a curmudgeon, I admit it. However, I have never gone so far as to spend a major portion of my life trying to get these things outlawed. Why? Because, well- I'm sure that there are quite a few things I do that annoy the crap out of others. In fact, I'm quite sure of it: I'm a smoker.

Yesterday, Governer Blagojevitch signed the Smoking Ban- which will make it illegal, starting in December, to have a cigarette in a bar. Another thing that will annoy me. Honestly, though- the thing that really drove me up the wall- was not so much the smoking ban itself, but all the dramatic descriptions in articles of "anti-smoking activists" hugging eachother and crying. The descriptions of how they have been working for years to get this ban in place.

And why is that the thing that really annoys me?

In a country where, at this very moment, we are currently stuck in an unjustified, and unending war in Iraq (4,000 American soldiers, and 8,000 Iraqi civilians), nearly a million people are homeless (40% of them families with children source and 200,000 of them in the Chicago area each year), 50 million people are without health insurance (and 18,000 will die each year because of that), and the Government currently thinks that torture sure is a swell idea (Guantanamo, The School of The Americas)... In a world where there are 3.9 million people dying of AIDS, where 6 year old children work 12 hour days just so you can have an ugly shirt from The Gap, where young girls are working in brothels, where actual SLAVES are mining your diamond engagement ring and harvesting your cocoa and coffee beans, where there is genocide in Darfur and Tibet, and a million other places that don't happen to have a healthy supply of oil, and all the other horrible things going on that I just don't have the time to name here.... the thing that bothers these people the most is that I, a 26 year old adult, could go into a bar- a place which is not only completely optional to go to, but allows only those 21 and over to enter- and smoke a friggin' cigarette.

This is why you, my anti-smoking friends, are myopic asshats. I am literally appalled by the fact that, with all the problems in the world, this is the one you waste your time with.

I've never really quite understood why people give a shit about what other people do when they're not present. I don't understand bans on gay marriage, or on sex toys (or acts)- because, well- if the participants are willing, and you're not there when it happens, and you have the option of avoiding the circumstance entirely, I just don't see why it matters to you. I guess some people just can't sleep at night knowing that someone, somewhere, is having a good time.

Let's talk about boobs!

(I can't wait to see the search terms that will lead to this entry. Seriously. Also- this is going to be obnoxiously candid. I don't care.)

Ok- I'm a big giant hypocrite. I am such a major advocate of women going and getting sized for bras (85% of women are wearing the wrong bra size, seriously. And not wearing the right size can actually cause some health problems, in addition to not looking so swift), and yet, it's been a couple of years since I've done it myself. Why? Because, if you're me, it's terrifying. I almost don't want to know. I have weird boob issues. I know, I know- people probably want to hear me complain about my ginormous boobs as much as I want to hear people complain that "no matter how much they eat, they just can't gain weight!" But really, they suck and they're just... embarassing, really. I'd get a reduction, but, uh- considering how well I took to getting my wisdom teeth out, that's not so much of an option.

Anyhow, today, I sucked it up and went to "Intimacy" and got sized. I don't think I could possibly find the words to give that store the glowing reviews it deserves. I'm serious. It's on Michigan in that mall-ish thing with Bloomingdales and such. Honestly, every single woman who lives in Chicago (or New York City, or Atlanta, they have them there too) needs to go there, like yesterday. So I go in and do my usual "Ok, well, do you even carry 32DD's?" thing, looking a little bit like I'm dying. And the girl helping me said "oh, yeah, but that's not your size." So I go into the dressing room, and she looks at my bra, and boobs and such and dubs me a.... 30F. (yeah, it was weird, they don't even bust out the measuring tape there, it's like they're psychic!)

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck fuck. 30F? That in no way sounds normal. Clearly, I'm a freak of nature. I felt SICK. I mean- I've had enough problems trying to find the 32DD's. I usually just settle for 34DD's because- well, they actually exist in some stores. But not only do they actually have my new entirely freakish size there- they have like TONS of them! And they're all pretty! I mean, honestly- once you get above a C cup, you're usually stuck with the grandma bra's. The only thing that sucks is that none of them cost less than 50 bucks (except on sale- and the sales are great, actually). However, the awesome thing is that they are guaranteed for life, and they will alter them for you for *free* when they get stretched out (to explain- if you're bigger up top, you go through bras pretty quickly because they stretch out from the weight). So anyway, I bought two, and they are glorious! And I feel a lot less pressure on my shoulders as well, which is great. I'm so happy I could cry! Oh! And they didn't look at me like I was a freak, either! They were so nice!

So, honestly- go- even if you don't buy a bra there (if you're a normal size, you probably don't have to) and get your shit checked out!

But have they ever refused Viagra?

This happened to me.

About three years ago, when I first moved to Chicago, I thought I had strep throat. So I went to the hospital on Division (one of the Resurrection hospitals that they talk about in the article), about a block away (How convenient, I thought!) to get it checked out. Now, of course it was just a sore throat, and I'm a hypochondriac, and whatever. But while I was there I said to the doctor "Hey, since I'm here and all, do you think you could renew my birth control prescription for me?" I was told that they could not, because it was a Catholic hospital. I was pissed, and honestly, really surprised. I didn't know they could do that. You know, being that birth control is perfectly legal and all. You can bet your ass, I never went there again.

I do not think people should be allowed to become doctors (or pharmacists for that matter) if their moral religious beliefs will interfere with providing care for their patients. Women's health is not an "option." I mean, what if Christian Scientists doctors refused to give you medicine, or if Jehovah Witness doctors refused to give you a blood transfusion? Why is women's health care considered an option? PLEASE, PLEASE! Some feminist doctor or pharmacist somewhere! Refuse to dole out the Viagra! (Oh, and for god's opinion on Viagra, go here. My favorite line is:
"Throughout the Bible, having a hard and lasting erection is frequently equated with righteousness and Godliness.")

And by the way- not that it even matters, but birth control is also taken for reasons other than preventing pregnancy. I took it before I was even sexually active, because I have PMDD and debilitatingly painful cramps (seriously, I'd go fetal for the first three days and couldn't go to school. I took everything from Midol to Vicodin and nothing helped besides the pill), and another girl I know took it to regulate her period because, at 18, she only got it every four months. So, I'm just saying- there goes that argument.

Well, we must have priorities

This sounds like the lamest "Would You Rather" question ever, so I'll start out by posing it as one:

"Would you rather be the weight you are now, or five pounds thinner but be unable to control your bowel movements and have an oily discharge coming out of your ass?"

You'd think the answer would be obvious, but it seems that women are heading to drug stores in droves to buy the new FDA approved over the counter diet pill, Alli- which has just these side effects. In fact, the website reccomends that you wear black pants when taking the pill. Shudder.

Oh, and let's be honest for a second... Do they really think they're going to be Scarlett eating barbeque under the oak tree or something when they smell like shit and have stains on their asses? I'm pretty sure that most guys I know would agree that poo is hell of a lot grosser than being five pounds overweight or whatever. Most people I know, actually. Maybe I'll make a graph? Here, take my very important poll!

Which is more grossly unattractive?
	A person who shits their pants and has an "oily discharge" seeping from their ass
	A person who is five pounds heavier than that person, but is able to control their bowel movements
pollcode.com free polls

Morning snapshot

I woke up this morning looking exactly like a Victorian-era prostitute crossed with Marla Singer. I thought you should know. It's the whole wearing vintage slips to bed thing, and the whole forgetting to take my make-up off thing, and the whole hair standing up everywhere thing (my hair always makes it look like I had a way better time than I actually did), and the whole cigarette hanging out of my mouth thing. I wish I had taken a picture.

Oh, and I keep smelling Froot Loops. Does that mean anything? Like when you taste metal and it means you're going to have a heart attack? I mean, yesterday I smelled them on Wells on my way to work, and today in the kitchen it happened again. It was definitely Froot Loops and nothing else.

I should have some coffee.

Tank Girl Vibrators!

Sort of, anyway!

Oh man, when I was 13 and was like, so totally a riot grrrl... Tank Girl was seriously my hero(ine) (which, you know, explains some poor camoflauge based fashion choices back then), and now Jamie Hewlitt is designing dildo's! How fabulous is that? Well, it would be far more fabulous were they not like, $275 (Could I afford it if I sold all my old copies of the comic? Doubt it.)

Oh, and also, Alan Martin is coming out with a Tank Girl novel (Armadillo!) and two new TG graphic novels (not illustrated by Hewlitt, of course, since he's all busy with Gorillaz and stuff) this year... including one that I believe is coming out this month. Sweet.

You know... I'm thinking- the baby doll dresses are back... now if only Bikini Kill and Huggy Bear could get back together, and if Lisa Suckdog could start publishing Rollerderby again... hmmm....

For every fella who has ever told me the story...

You know the one. The one about why affirmative action is like, sooooo unjust? That I seem to hear from quite a few white men whenever the subject is broached? Well, if you haven't- it goes like this: "Once upon a time, a friend of a friend of a friend of mine, who was a white male, applied to Harvard. It was the end of the admissions process- and there was only one spot and two candidates- the friend of a friend of a friend, and (dun dun duuuuunn) a black person (often a woman). Amazingly, they had the exact same SAT scores, GPA, extra-curricular activities etc. But, when it came down to who got in, well... who did they choose? The minority!" (and usually they'll throw in that the white dude came from a poor family, you know, for dramatic effect)

Oh the horror! Oh.... yeah, and the white guys whole entire life was ruined as a result of this terrible injustice. Now, obviously, it's a ridiculous argument. First of all... how would someone even know that this occurred, it's not like they would put it in the rejection letter or something. Second, would it somehow be more fair if the white dude had gotten in instead? Third... legacies- what about the people who don't get in because they have to make room for someone who's daddy went to Harvard (or Yale) and contributed a whole shitload of money to the school? Much like our dear president? Oh, and not to mention that affirmative action has always existed- except that it's been white men hiring white men. Yeah, it's not the toughest argument to shut down.

But anyhow... read this. And then, you know- try that argument out again. According to the article- because women are out-performing men in school and on tests, the admissions are becoming tougher for them in order to keep a gender balance in the schools. I think after we hear more about this, the fella's will be complaining just a hint less about the unfairness of affirmative action.

Oh, and hopefully it will also put an end to the "The reason there is a wage gap is because men are harder workers/smarter" argument as well. Not to mention my favorite pick-up line "Gosh, you're smart for a girl!"

Gay Bomb

This is not to be confuddled with the Tom Jones hot "Sex Bomb," no sadly it's not as fun. Well, come to think of it, it is kinda fun. If you want to know more just google: gay bomb. Yes, that's right kids get to googling and you can come up with quite a few colorful articles on how our brilliant US Military was in talks to devise a kind of "gay bomb" which would make the enemy be so overcome with homosexuality that they scrumped each other faster than Whitney to a dime bag. The enemy would then be so incredible embarrassed and ashamed of there actions, it would cause chaos and the oh-so-fab US military could sweep in and set an different kind of bomb up their butt.

Oh what clever decrepit old men will think of when given millions upon millions of dollars to sit in a room eating smoked salmon and bagels. They also had briefly discussed a "bad breath" bomb so secret agents could easily be smelt. Unless of course it was Garlic Tuesday and we all know what we'd smell then. Speaking of smelling, they also have discussed since 1945 making a flatulent bomb. No not dropping a bunch of Taco Bell on a bunch of people but actually letting something rip that would cause everyone to get a major case of the toots. They nixed the idea because in some countries people actually like in shit. Like literally! Can you believe that some people actual have become accustomed to smelling feces? Gasp. I thought everyone walked around in air condition with fuzzy pink bunny slippers and a tiara. I mean that's what I'm wearing now while I write this and let out a few poofs from my gay tush.

New Playgrounds suck ass

I just have to say it. No swingsets- except for the ones made only for babies that look like diapers, no 20 foot metal slides (just these 5 foot tall plastic ones that aren't even slid-ey if you throw sand on them), no merry go-rounds, no see-saws, no jungle gyms, no monkey bars. Everything made out of plastic...


(this one has monkey bars- but look! They're only as tall as that kid standing next to them!)

If I was a kid, I'd be pissed. I mean, I get that safety is a concern and all- but they just look boring as hell. Kids should have scraped knees, they should puke from spinning around in circles, and have bruised butts from their friend jumping off the see-saw too soon. I firmly believe this. My mom didn't want me to be afraid to climb the jungle gym- she didn't want me to be afraid of anything- even getting hurt. I learned to laugh when I fell down instead of cry. I learned fearlessness, I learned to hang from my knees.

I think these things build character. If you have a bubble-wrapped childhood, I think it's possible you'll grow up to be a whiny bastard. I'm kind of grateful for every crappy thing that happened to me when I was a kid. It's why, at 26, I am such a ballsy-ass broad now!

I'm old and rickety!

Yes, today is my birthday, which should so be a national holiday.

So we're going shopping, then drinking, then more drinking.

It should be a swell time.

Child Rearing Techniques of the 80's: The Aftermath and the Male Privilege Cookie

You're remarkable, you really are
You're the only one like you!
The world is better just because you're here!
You should know that we love you!
'Cause you are special, special,
Everyone is special!
Everyone in his or her own way!

LIES!

While this Barney song wasn't around while we were growing up (Hey, I babysat a lot, give me a break! I had to watch a lot of that crap), the attitude definitely was. It's probably even worse now- I've heard they changed the lyrics of "Frere Jacques" to "I am special, I am special, Look at me! Look at me!" in Nursery Schools across the country. Parents were/are told that they have to constantly remind their kids that they are special in and of themselves without them actually doing anything. I've always felt that was pretty retarded (as I tended to be on the "existence precedes essence" side of things, even before I knew what it was)- but I'm even more annoyed with it now, as an adult.

See, I think it affected men more. Women my age were raised with that idea, but at the same time were told "You have to be ten times better to be considered half as good (as a man)" along with a lot of ideas about sisterhood- and I think that those things sort of counterbalanced the "You are special" doctrine in a lot of ways. I also think that, as a "minority," things were a bit tougher for us, which helped us build character.

See- the thing is- you've got these guys who were told they were special, precious, snowflakes. And they've got this world to deal with where there used to be this cookie of male privilege, which is being "taken away" by women who believe they should have equal rights, equal access, and equal pay. I think that this, on many levels, means that misogyny is even more poisonous than it was prior to women's liberation. And it's not necessarily that on a cognitive level that they disagree with this idea. Not most of them anyhow. But every so often you get these wafts of bitterness.

1) "It's NOT FAIR that women sometimes get free drinks by guys who are trying to get into their pants! I think *I* should get free drinks!" (such a SWEET deal, huh? We've totally got it made!)
2) "Since women are equal to men now, I think I should be able to hit a woman like I would a man."
3) "I don't see why I should have to put in any effort at all to attract a woman. It's NOT FAIR! Supermodels should just jump in my lap because they see that I am a special, precious snowflake and love me for me, and not care that I pick my nose, or that I never want to go anywhere, or that I don't have much to say." (not that they actually say this, but it's often implied.)
4) "It's NOT FAIR that women have an easier time getting laid than I do!"
5) Straight white men are the new minority! Why is it ok to hate us? (We don't hate you, we hate your privilege.)

With some exceptions (my very first straight male friend- Luke, my gays, pretty much all of the guys I know who are over 32, and a few others), I trust my female friends more than the men I know. There is more of a comradery, and you don't have any of that underlying bitterness to deal with. I know that they care if I'm safe, and I care if they are. It's a certain awareness we have, especially since, as women, we are obviously more prone to being attacked or raped. We make sure everyone has a ride, or gets into a cab at the end of the night. If I'm staying over someplace else, I let Jen know. I think maybe it's hard for men to understand that whole rigamarole, because it's not something they have to deal with? I don't know. I trust my girlfriends to have my back and stand up for me- while, honestly, most guys are a little wimpy in this area. They never get that it's not about "I need a man's protection"- but about "If I'm dating you, or if we're friends, it would be swell if you cared whether I live or die, or had my back once in a while."

(To sum up: My expectations of men are the same as my expectations of women. Unless I'm dating you, in which case there are obvious exceptions that really don't apply- that and I expect that you buy me dinner. Why? Because there's still a wage gap.)

I think it's just this... supreme self-centeredness that prevents them from seeing that. I think that sort of "sensitivity" is a lot more worthwhile than the kind where you cry all the time. I have to say- a pretty important issue for me and a lot of other girls I know is the "I've got bigger balls than any guy I know" problem. There's just not a lot of character or chutzpah going around, it seems. (Oh, also- I'm not saying *all* women are like this, just more of them than there are men, and I have an eye for finding them)

One really big thing I notice, is that almost every guy I meet freely talks shit about his mother. It's totally bizarre and offensive to me- and on a very real level, very misogynistic. I mean, extenuating circumstances aside, I do think that if a guy treats the woman who gave birth to and raised him like shit- you can get a pretty good idea of how he's going to treat you. It's also a pretty immature thing to do. I was raised, half-way, in that Italian-American culture, where there are these guys who are super tough and macho, but would never, ever say anything against their mother. Not in a million years. And they'd pretty much kill you if you ever said anything about their mother. And there is something I about that attitude that I always thought was super cool. And just think! These are the "You are a special, precious snowflake!" moms! Frankly, I think, what we're dealing with is basically, a whole crapload of spoiled brats.

It's been a weird morning...

I don't normally talk about my dreams- and I find it insanely annoying when other people talk about theirs- especially when they ask me what I think it means, and of course- seeing as how I am not Carl Jung, I have no idea. However- I have to tell you, I had a weird one:

First, Jen says to me "Have you met Cookies yet?" And no, no I haven't. She then brings out a baby leopard and says that she found him near the dumpster and that he's the same kind of cat as her cat (who is, somewhere down the line, part wildcat) so we have to keep him. I say he is a leopard and will probably kill us, and no one believes me. Then I go Christmas shopping with my mom and get kidnapped by this bizarre white trash man who says he traveled all the way up here from Arkansas to kidnap me, because I stole his favorite pair of Bermuda shorts from Old Navy. Which, by the way, I did not.

And then I woke up. And I go to get coffee at Atomix and orange juice at the... Jalisco? I don't know, the convenience store across the street. With the guy who likes to touch me. He's a weird guy. The first time he saw my ID he freaked out because I was from NY. He said his girlfriend lives in New Jersey, and then made me wait for 5 minutes while he finds her picture in his phone, and then shows me this 18 year old super hot blonde chick (he's a 50 year old highly unattractive dude, I'm not buying it. I bet you it's a picture from a catalog or something.) He always asks me to go to New York with him. Which I am, of course, not going to be doing ever. Today, however, I purchase my orange juice and he cheers "You are my first customer today!" and starts shaking my hand and refusing to let go. "I'm really late," I say... "Oh, just give me a hug" says he... and then I pull my hand away "Nope, really, gotta go- see you later"

I don't know- something about the whole thing just creeps me out. So like, if I ever go missing, check the freezer at the convenience store across the street.

But, I do get to see the fam today, and that's pretty damned awesome, I think. They're pretty much the best ever.

It will probably be a lot like pulling teeth...

This week will involve two of the things I hate most in the world- airports and the dentist. I'm going back home to Rochester to finally have my wisdom teeth out. I am not happy about this for any reason whatsoever.

Although, I don't hate the dentist as much as I hate and fear dental hygienists (and am thoroughly weirded out that all the dental hygienists at my dentist's are named Judy... it's very Twilight Zone...). I honestly can't handle it when they talk to me and expect me to respond whilst poking around my mouth with sharp objects. It makes me panic. Especially because they're always really perky. I deal poorly with perky-ness.

Dental Hygienist: So, what have you been doing in Chicago?
Robyn: Allaghsighdksidh, dhdsisdich...ewqnjklvdhi...(drool...)

I don't hate flying because I'm afraid the plane will crash. I merely fear being annoyed at the airport. EVERY time, something obnoxious happens. I swear to god, I have no luck at airports. Ugh.

But Jerry Falwell is dead, and that's pretty swell. And I'll of course be glad to see everyone. Even though I won't look very pretty what with the swollen face and all...

Robyn answers search terms!

1. "How to Pronounce Sartre/De Beauvoir"- Sart, De Bow Vwah. Easy.

2. "Betty vs. Veronica"- Veronica

3. "People with birthdays in June"- Me!

4. "The Truth About Diamonds"- They are mined by slaves and you shouldn't buy them

5. "A guy told me i'm intimidating"- Good for you! I find being intimidating to be an excellent way of separating the wheat from the chaff. I mean, I figure, if a guy can't get the cajones up to talk to me, what chance does he have of dealing with me on a regular basis? Guys with balls= less pep talks and coddling. Always a good thing.

6. "Why are beautiful women always single? intimidating" Because we don't have low enough self esteem to deal with stupid dudes.

Oh god! I am so tired of this argument!

A post over at Feministing about the health problems high heels cause has of course turned into a discussion about whether or not high heels are feminist approved, or simply the medieval torture devices of the patriarchy.

I just have to say- I'm already a pretty tall lady- 5'8". If I was out seeking male approval, I would probably never wear heels! In fact I'd probably slouch! I just happen to like shoes. I like pretty things. This doesn't make me any less of a feminist. I'll never see the difference between rad-fems who say if you wear make-up or wear heels or shave your legs you're not a feminist and the Christian freaks that say if you do so you're a damned jezebel.

Also- like I've said before- most of these "beauty standards" are created and perpetuated by women. Women primarily dress up for themselves and for other women. Don't believe me? Go out looking like crap one night, and see how much more often you get approached than when you're all dolled up and look fabulous. Men have far lower standards than we give them credit for. Seriously- like my mom always says: "Don't drive yourself crazy, haven't you read Portnoy's Complaint? They'll screw a piece of raw liver if that's what's around." Most men could not tell the difference between a pair of Manolo Blahniks and a 10 dollar pair of shoes from Target if their lives depended on it!

So there.

Who could it be??? I don't know... perhaps... SATAN??????

Some things should really just stay on Saturday Night Live where they belong

Apparently, a Utah (are we surprised?) Republican is now insisting that "Satan" is responsible for illegal immigration. Yeah, no- it's a part of his plan for world domination- to bring down the United States with illegal immigrants. Really. Satan.