I've never really liked change. I try to be adaptable in most cases, but I'm very stubborn. I'm the oldest of four kids. My parents always put me in charge of my brothers and sister and I think I've developed a bit of a control-freak personality. Because of this, change is something I need to be prepared for.
Take for example, my theories on parenting Dawson. I generally rule when it comes to anything related to my son. Poor Doug is often left behind when it comes to my opinion of "My Way or the Highway".
I don't do it to be mean or spiteful; I just always feel that I'm the "better" parent, even though Doug is a wonderful father.
I even have these moments of stress where I get angry that he doesn't take more control of the parenting reigns only to dislike, even dread the way he handles certain situations with Dawson.
I don't know why I act that way! Is it genetics? My mother was the primary caregiver because my father worked hard and often long hours. Is it instinctual? Do women feel that we have to be the rulers of our children and our mates are incompetent sidekicks?
Maybe it's a disease I've become infected with? Maybe it's the "Super Mommy Syndrome" and we can't cure it. We just have to have everything perfect and in its place and our children need to be dressed perfectly and disciplined well and perfect manners to boot?
I admit my two year old has no capacity for manners. He doesn't know the word "please". But in my delusional Super Mommy World, I feel he's the image of perfection.
Things will never change. I'll always think that I have to be in control. I'll never change. Change can be good, but yet I can't handle it. Even the slightest shift in parenting power -- giving a bit more control power to Doug -- it may kill me. What ever will I do? Do other mother's feel this way, too?
*Dana resides in (cold!) Wisconsin with her husband Doug, two-year-old son Dawson and a Boston Terrier named Murphy. She blogs about anything and everything at The Dana Files. You can find Suzanne at her place today!
Click here to check out other posts this month, and get more info on the Blog Exchange
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Happy New Year to You Too, Motherfucker
listen lady the point of sexy underwear is to take it off, you're not gonna keep it on for very long so shave your cunt and shut upThanks for your articulate comments. Next time, please leave a name. Even a fake one is better than insulting me under the veil of total anonymity.
On the other hand, I sort of relish these weird little insults. There's nothing as fun as provoking morons. However, as the year draws to a close, I'd like to thank all the awesome people who have actually read and comprehended my ideas, even if you don't always agree. Good debate is important to me, and there are at least a few instances in which people who left thoughtful comments (off the top of my head: Logan, Jane, Queen of Spain) in disagreement caused me to reconsider my position on some of the issues. The positive feedback I have received has been inspiring and made me glad to be part of the blogosphere. Those of you whom I met in person (or email with) are fantastic, and I'm lucky to know you.
That's enough cheese (and vinegar) for to close out the year. Have a happy last day of 2006.
Saturday, December 30, 2006
2006: The Good, the Bad, and the Shaved Snatches who Didn't Wear Undies
Hard to believe, but 2006 is almost gone. As every year is, it was chock full of change, progress, and unfortunate events. I thought a quick recap of some of the important things that happened this year under the rubric of Feminism & Gender – the topic for which I became a contributing editor at BlogHer this summer - would be enlightening as we look toward 2007. Without further ado, in no order whatsoever, I present 2006:
Plan B was finally approved for over the counter sales after years of political delays that prioritized the religion of some over scientific evidence that the medicine was safe and that it would help thousands of women. While this was a huge step in the right direction, the next hurdle for many women is finding a pharmacy that stocks the drug.
Katie Couric became the first female evening news anchor. Her publicity photo was airbrushed to take off a few pounds. Ratings were initially high, but dropped off over time. It seems that women are as boring as men when it comes to delivering the news. Yay, equality!
New York City announced a plan to make it easier for transgendered people to change the sex on their birth certificate. Weeks later, the plan was rescinded because of conflict with Department of Homeland Security rules and regulations. However, the decision to allow transgender people to use the restroom for whatever gender they consider themselves to be at Metropolitan Transit Authority rail stations (Long Island Railroad, MetroNorth, and subways) stands.
Lawrence Summers finally gets the boot after repeatedly insisting that women are biologically unable to excel at math or science. I hope the door did not hit his ass too hard on the way out. Or, perhaps such a sharp rap would have knocked some sense into him, as his thinking seems to emanate from that region. You know how men are.
A vaccine against HPV was introduced for young girls. While overall good news, manipulative advertising led consumers to believe that this will prevent cervical cancer, which is not entirely true. Fanatics protested that the vaccine will cause young women to be more promiscuous because it is obvious that one of the main reasons girls decide against premarital sex is fear of cervical cancer. Right.
The Dixie Chicks came out with a new album and documentary about their right to free speech and the controversy that ensued after they told concertgoers that they were ashamed that Bush hailed from their home state of Texas. Despite lack of radio play, the album sold 1.8 million copies and was nominated for five Grammys. Karmic victory.
The Duke rape case. Charges of rape were ultimately dropped against the three white lacrosse players from privileged backgrounds. The alleged (not my choice of term, but the charges were dropped, so I suppose I need to use it) victim was a black student who was hired to strip at a party at the team’s campus house. A nasty smear campaign was launched by the defense from day one. Regardless of the outcome, I’d like to know why there was not much outcry over alcohol-soaked parties featuring strippers for sports teams. In other rape news, the Pakistani legislature considered repealing Hudood laws, which requires women to have four male witnesses to prove she was raped; the UK launched a ridiculous ad campaign to remind men that rape is wrong; it was reported that girls in Cameroon are subjected to “breast ironing” to slow down their breast development so that they will not be raped; women in London protested lenient sentences on convicted rapists stemming from judges’ “blame the victim” mentality; and several cops in New Zealand were acquitted of raping a woman repeatedly, including with their police baton.
Nicaragua followed the example of El Salvador and banned abortions to save the lives of the mother. Isn’t it great that women’s lives somehow don’t count as life?
Britney Spears followed the very bad fashion advice of Lindsay Lohan and wandered around sans coulette. My eyes bled, yet like zillions of other people, I could not look away from the photos of her baldness. Amy Poehler became the hero of all women who fear dangerous objects like sharp razors, hot wax, or scary lazar beams near our crotches by delivering a wonderful monologue on Saturday Night Live promoting the joys of pubic hair.
Democrats won the majority of seats in the US House and Senate, and elected Nancy Pelosi as the first female Speaker of the House.
Several shooting incidents continued the fine tradition of angry men taking their rage out on random women for whatever slights or injustices they feel the world has inflicted upon them. These killings were not reported in the mainstream media as hate crimes, but ho-hum, another-dead-woman incidents. Yawn.
Madrid and Milan banned undernourished models from fashion shows. I ate a cupcake (OK, several) to celebrate.
Important women’s voices were lost when Betty Friedan, Ann Richards, Octavia Butler, and Ellen Willis died. Other women’s voices unfortunately scraped my eardrums and made them bleed: Ann Coulter, who attacked a book by a Sept. 11 widow criticizing the Bush by insisting that the author’s husband would have left her anyway had he not died first; Caitlin Flanagan, a writer with a maid and a full-time nanny who takes care of her offspring, insisted that women belong at home with the kids doing housework, and that feminists have ruined everything for women. Fortunately, we still had the Dixie Chicks.
Barnyard, an abrasive animated movie featuring male bovines with udders that also enforces gender stereotypes, grossed almost $100 million worldwide. It is probably the most gender-confused movie in history. Well, it confuses me anyway.
The battle around contraceptives gained new attention. As pharmacists around the nation refused to fill women’s prescriptions for birth control pills due to religious beliefs, Illinois (my state of origin) Gov. Rod Blagojevich took a stand and filed an injunction demanding that all women have the right to have their prescriptions filled in a timely fashion. In my current home state of New York, the State Court of Appeals upheld a law that requires employers – including religious organizations – who offer prescription drug coverage to their employees to include contraceptives. However, the year saw no new developments on Viagra, Levitra, and other erection drugs, reminding us that men’s sexual pleasure is a right, even if it might kill them.
Forbes ran a disturbing opinion piece ranting against career women and their unsuitability as wives under the category of “news.” Oh please. There’s nothing new about that – how long have we known that smart, ambitious women are unloving, frigid hags? At the same time, the Census found that 1/3 of married women were now the breadwinners in their families. I guess this emasculation of American men explains why Viagra is so popular that most insurance plans cover it.
The JonBenet Ramsey case was solved. Then it was not.
The South Dakota government banned abortions. The voters overturned the ban. Sometimes the people know what they are doing. Other times, they elect George W. Bush as President. I can’t explain it.
On the personal front, I quit my nicely paying job as a do-gooder a few months earlier than anticipated to attempt to forge a new career as a writer. It is thrilling and scary and enjoyable and depressing (at times, but then again, my old career was always depressing…) Husband also started a new job, but one that actually comes with a pay check. This is nice because he is very generous, thus I do not have to sleep on the street or eat trash although I make a whopping$100-$500 a month these days. He also does not need to listen to me complain. OK, not as much, anyway.
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I know that this was not remotely comprehensive, so please add any issues or happenings that you found significant this year.
Here’s hoping for a great 2007 for all! (OK, not all. I hope Bill O'Reilly, Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter, Michelle Malkin, George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, and other people lacking souls, morals, or any sort of conscious who contribute to making the world a worse place will have a terrible year. The first of many, even.) Happy New Year!
Plan B was finally approved for over the counter sales after years of political delays that prioritized the religion of some over scientific evidence that the medicine was safe and that it would help thousands of women. While this was a huge step in the right direction, the next hurdle for many women is finding a pharmacy that stocks the drug.
Katie Couric became the first female evening news anchor. Her publicity photo was airbrushed to take off a few pounds. Ratings were initially high, but dropped off over time. It seems that women are as boring as men when it comes to delivering the news. Yay, equality!
New York City announced a plan to make it easier for transgendered people to change the sex on their birth certificate. Weeks later, the plan was rescinded because of conflict with Department of Homeland Security rules and regulations. However, the decision to allow transgender people to use the restroom for whatever gender they consider themselves to be at Metropolitan Transit Authority rail stations (Long Island Railroad, MetroNorth, and subways) stands.
Lawrence Summers finally gets the boot after repeatedly insisting that women are biologically unable to excel at math or science. I hope the door did not hit his ass too hard on the way out. Or, perhaps such a sharp rap would have knocked some sense into him, as his thinking seems to emanate from that region. You know how men are.
A vaccine against HPV was introduced for young girls. While overall good news, manipulative advertising led consumers to believe that this will prevent cervical cancer, which is not entirely true. Fanatics protested that the vaccine will cause young women to be more promiscuous because it is obvious that one of the main reasons girls decide against premarital sex is fear of cervical cancer. Right.
The Dixie Chicks came out with a new album and documentary about their right to free speech and the controversy that ensued after they told concertgoers that they were ashamed that Bush hailed from their home state of Texas. Despite lack of radio play, the album sold 1.8 million copies and was nominated for five Grammys. Karmic victory.
The Duke rape case. Charges of rape were ultimately dropped against the three white lacrosse players from privileged backgrounds. The alleged (not my choice of term, but the charges were dropped, so I suppose I need to use it) victim was a black student who was hired to strip at a party at the team’s campus house. A nasty smear campaign was launched by the defense from day one. Regardless of the outcome, I’d like to know why there was not much outcry over alcohol-soaked parties featuring strippers for sports teams. In other rape news, the Pakistani legislature considered repealing Hudood laws, which requires women to have four male witnesses to prove she was raped; the UK launched a ridiculous ad campaign to remind men that rape is wrong; it was reported that girls in Cameroon are subjected to “breast ironing” to slow down their breast development so that they will not be raped; women in London protested lenient sentences on convicted rapists stemming from judges’ “blame the victim” mentality; and several cops in New Zealand were acquitted of raping a woman repeatedly, including with their police baton.
Nicaragua followed the example of El Salvador and banned abortions to save the lives of the mother. Isn’t it great that women’s lives somehow don’t count as life?
Britney Spears followed the very bad fashion advice of Lindsay Lohan and wandered around sans coulette. My eyes bled, yet like zillions of other people, I could not look away from the photos of her baldness. Amy Poehler became the hero of all women who fear dangerous objects like sharp razors, hot wax, or scary lazar beams near our crotches by delivering a wonderful monologue on Saturday Night Live promoting the joys of pubic hair.
Democrats won the majority of seats in the US House and Senate, and elected Nancy Pelosi as the first female Speaker of the House.
Several shooting incidents continued the fine tradition of angry men taking their rage out on random women for whatever slights or injustices they feel the world has inflicted upon them. These killings were not reported in the mainstream media as hate crimes, but ho-hum, another-dead-woman incidents. Yawn.
Madrid and Milan banned undernourished models from fashion shows. I ate a cupcake (OK, several) to celebrate.
Important women’s voices were lost when Betty Friedan, Ann Richards, Octavia Butler, and Ellen Willis died. Other women’s voices unfortunately scraped my eardrums and made them bleed: Ann Coulter, who attacked a book by a Sept. 11 widow criticizing the Bush by insisting that the author’s husband would have left her anyway had he not died first; Caitlin Flanagan, a writer with a maid and a full-time nanny who takes care of her offspring, insisted that women belong at home with the kids doing housework, and that feminists have ruined everything for women. Fortunately, we still had the Dixie Chicks.
Barnyard, an abrasive animated movie featuring male bovines with udders that also enforces gender stereotypes, grossed almost $100 million worldwide. It is probably the most gender-confused movie in history. Well, it confuses me anyway.
The battle around contraceptives gained new attention. As pharmacists around the nation refused to fill women’s prescriptions for birth control pills due to religious beliefs, Illinois (my state of origin) Gov. Rod Blagojevich took a stand and filed an injunction demanding that all women have the right to have their prescriptions filled in a timely fashion. In my current home state of New York, the State Court of Appeals upheld a law that requires employers – including religious organizations – who offer prescription drug coverage to their employees to include contraceptives. However, the year saw no new developments on Viagra, Levitra, and other erection drugs, reminding us that men’s sexual pleasure is a right, even if it might kill them.
Forbes ran a disturbing opinion piece ranting against career women and their unsuitability as wives under the category of “news.” Oh please. There’s nothing new about that – how long have we known that smart, ambitious women are unloving, frigid hags? At the same time, the Census found that 1/3 of married women were now the breadwinners in their families. I guess this emasculation of American men explains why Viagra is so popular that most insurance plans cover it.
The JonBenet Ramsey case was solved. Then it was not.
The South Dakota government banned abortions. The voters overturned the ban. Sometimes the people know what they are doing. Other times, they elect George W. Bush as President. I can’t explain it.
On the personal front, I quit my nicely paying job as a do-gooder a few months earlier than anticipated to attempt to forge a new career as a writer. It is thrilling and scary and enjoyable and depressing (at times, but then again, my old career was always depressing…) Husband also started a new job, but one that actually comes with a pay check. This is nice because he is very generous, thus I do not have to sleep on the street or eat trash although I make a whopping$100-$500 a month these days. He also does not need to listen to me complain. OK, not as much, anyway.
---------
I know that this was not remotely comprehensive, so please add any issues or happenings that you found significant this year.
Here’s hoping for a great 2007 for all! (OK, not all. I hope Bill O'Reilly, Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter, Michelle Malkin, George W. Bush, Dick Cheney, and other people lacking souls, morals, or any sort of conscious who contribute to making the world a worse place will have a terrible year. The first of many, even.) Happy New Year!
Another Hole for 2007 to Fill
Yesterday at the dentist we said nasty shit about Rudy Giuliani while the dentist poked at my teeth quickly. He said that he was glad that Husband and I were his last two appointments of the year because we were in such great shape. I assumed that meant that my filling was not falling out. I should not assume things. I know that. But I also admit that I was in a hurry to get out of there since Dianne and her kid were waiting for us, so I left it alone and assumed all was well.
Once again, let me state I should not assume things. I should also not chew gum when I know in my heart of hearts that my filling is falling out. Oh, and it is a holiday weekend. I know you know what happened next. I did fish the filling out of my gum and put it in my pocket, although I have no idea why.
I guess 2007 will find me in a new dentist's chair. In the meantime, I need to keep my hole clean. Heh heh.
Once again, let me state I should not assume things. I should also not chew gum when I know in my heart of hearts that my filling is falling out. Oh, and it is a holiday weekend. I know you know what happened next. I did fish the filling out of my gum and put it in my pocket, although I have no idea why.
I guess 2007 will find me in a new dentist's chair. In the meantime, I need to keep my hole clean. Heh heh.
Another Anonymous Nerve Touched
So I found this comment about Victoria's Secret in my email today:
My point about Victoria's Secret is that although I am in fact in decent shape and overall very average sized (meaning: there's some junk in my trunk, like most women), the underwear does not look nearly as flattering on me because it is not made for real women to model. We all have a bit of flab. I realize that most men (and many women) don't want to see underwear on real women with acutal bodies, but I can still complain about the unrealistic expectations that are out there. It's funny how sensative people are when I protest the unattainable standards all women are measured against. Have a cupcake and relax. Yeesh.
Thanks for your (lack of) insight, though, Anonymous!
They're just doing their job, they were hired to wear the stuff and I bet if you had their bodies and you were hired to be an angel I'm sure you would. Im sure you would strut their stuff down that runway with the rest fo them. So please back off victoria secrets. Its not their problem that you can't stay in shapeActually, I am in decent shape. However, like 99% of women, I am not six feet tall. And if I were six feet tall, I would, like most women, probably weigh more than 115 pounds. Even if I were, I am not sure that "lingerie model" is a good profession for me. For one, it seems to require lots of waxing. A bit more reading of the "Campaign for Unshaved Snatch" might indicate that I am not so into that, which would be a major obstacle to a modeling career.
My point about Victoria's Secret is that although I am in fact in decent shape and overall very average sized (meaning: there's some junk in my trunk, like most women), the underwear does not look nearly as flattering on me because it is not made for real women to model. We all have a bit of flab. I realize that most men (and many women) don't want to see underwear on real women with acutal bodies, but I can still complain about the unrealistic expectations that are out there. It's funny how sensative people are when I protest the unattainable standards all women are measured against. Have a cupcake and relax. Yeesh.
Thanks for your (lack of) insight, though, Anonymous!
Friday, December 29, 2006
The Hilarious Picture that Isn't and a Non-Hilarious Anecdote about Evil Dentists
I wanted to post a hilarious picture of a back massager that my mom received from another teacher at her school for a holiday gift, but Husband seems to have misplaced the camera. The picture remains in the digital brains of the camera, so withouth it, I am shit out of luck. If an uproarious picture is taken and the camera is lost before anyone can see it and laugh, does it exist? How existential.
Today I am fortunate enough to be spending my day with the super talented Dianne (if you have a kid and live on the east coast, you need to hire her to paint a mural in your kid's room - seriously) and her precocious and entertaining 5 year old daughter. We are going to look at holiday decorations. I am excited, although just thinking about the adventures to be had is making me a tad bit tired.
Also, I am going to my flaming gay dentist who also takes care of John Waters and a good portion of the staff at a non-profit organization that I worked at six years ago. I like him a lot, but he does a terrible job filling cavaties. Happily, I don't get that many any more, but I think one of my existing fillings is falling out, so I am rather displeased. At least he is not unscrupulous. Sister's Husband and Dr. P were both badly abused by dentists who drilled out all of their teeth, despite a suspicious lack of cavaties, when they were kids. Just thinking about that enrages me.
Today I am fortunate enough to be spending my day with the super talented Dianne (if you have a kid and live on the east coast, you need to hire her to paint a mural in your kid's room - seriously) and her precocious and entertaining 5 year old daughter. We are going to look at holiday decorations. I am excited, although just thinking about the adventures to be had is making me a tad bit tired.
Also, I am going to my flaming gay dentist who also takes care of John Waters and a good portion of the staff at a non-profit organization that I worked at six years ago. I like him a lot, but he does a terrible job filling cavaties. Happily, I don't get that many any more, but I think one of my existing fillings is falling out, so I am rather displeased. At least he is not unscrupulous. Sister's Husband and Dr. P were both badly abused by dentists who drilled out all of their teeth, despite a suspicious lack of cavaties, when they were kids. Just thinking about that enrages me.
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Party On!
Thanks everyone for the kind birthday wishes! I had an awesome time yesterday, first waiting 90 minutes to drop off my visa application at the Indian Consultate, then meeting Hanah for tea (I gave her a fake name in yesterday's post, but she reminded me that I wrote about her already when she lost her cat and can use her real name) although we were not able to do Japanese tea, as their website gave the wrong times. Hanah took me through the Whitney Museum and I learned at lot about modern art (she has a master's in art history) and I loved the Kiki Smith exhibit, especially the giant glass jars that look like canisters used for flour and the like, but were engraved to say semen, pus, urine, blood, vomit, and other hilariously gross things. Then we went back to the Consulate to pick up my visa and waited another hour. Later at fondue, Dr. H told me that I was lucky I went in winter because last time she went, it was the summer and the place was not air conditioned. She almost fainted from the body odor. I can only imagine....
On Saturday night, I went out with Sister, Sister’s Husband (SH), and Husband for an early birthday celebration. (Yes, I am milking this one. Festivities started with an amazing Cold Stone Creamery ice cream cake on Dec. 17 at my in-law’s house, and have taken place on and off since.) There is a very fun rock ‘n’ roll dueling piano bar in downtown Chicago, and so we headed there. Sadly, my granny’s ulcerative colitis was acting up, so she was unable to join us. (She has gone a few times in the past and is the toast of the bar, with frat boys offering to buy her drinks and asking her to dance. It’s good times!)
Usually, there is a line out the door, but it seems like Christmas weekend is not great for business at rock ‘n’ roll dueling piano bars in downtown Chicago, so we headed right in and even found a table. I noticed two things right away: Chicago is full of smoking savages and women in Chicago really are larger than women in NYC (read: they look like normal human beings who eat on a daily basis). Also, the guys were all rather short. I am very spoiled by NYC’s progressive ban against smoking anywhere except for the street and private residences, so the smoke was killing me. On the other hand, I felt much more comfortable in my own skin when not surrounded by matchstick women. After an 90 minutes, I could no longer breathe (and not because I was sucking in my gut all night as I usually do), so I suggested we head out.
At that moment, a birthday dedication that Sister and SH had put in when we arrived was announced, and I was asked to join the stage with one other woman and two guys also out for their birthdays. The piano players then played “The Hokey Pokey.” (Yes, we found that weird, too.) I got into it a bit (two diet Cokes will do that to me – ha!) but when the women were asked to put their “ta-tas” in, I was a bit stumped. Under my thick wool sweater, I didn’t have much to strut. The other woman was much more voluptuous than I and had no problem with the request. Thinking quickly, I stuck my chest out as far as it would go and tried my best. Just after “shaking it all about,” it occurred to me that I should have just lifted my shirt up. I used to do that all the time after my breast reduction surgery, and Husband always tries to fling himself in front of my to behind my honor, which is hilarious. I bet the frat boys at the table in front of me would have loved that. Too bad I didn’t think fast enough. Oh well.
Anyway, good times and thanks again to all who contributed thus far to my extended birthday celebration.
On Saturday night, I went out with Sister, Sister’s Husband (SH), and Husband for an early birthday celebration. (Yes, I am milking this one. Festivities started with an amazing Cold Stone Creamery ice cream cake on Dec. 17 at my in-law’s house, and have taken place on and off since.) There is a very fun rock ‘n’ roll dueling piano bar in downtown Chicago, and so we headed there. Sadly, my granny’s ulcerative colitis was acting up, so she was unable to join us. (She has gone a few times in the past and is the toast of the bar, with frat boys offering to buy her drinks and asking her to dance. It’s good times!)
Usually, there is a line out the door, but it seems like Christmas weekend is not great for business at rock ‘n’ roll dueling piano bars in downtown Chicago, so we headed right in and even found a table. I noticed two things right away: Chicago is full of smoking savages and women in Chicago really are larger than women in NYC (read: they look like normal human beings who eat on a daily basis). Also, the guys were all rather short. I am very spoiled by NYC’s progressive ban against smoking anywhere except for the street and private residences, so the smoke was killing me. On the other hand, I felt much more comfortable in my own skin when not surrounded by matchstick women. After an 90 minutes, I could no longer breathe (and not because I was sucking in my gut all night as I usually do), so I suggested we head out.
At that moment, a birthday dedication that Sister and SH had put in when we arrived was announced, and I was asked to join the stage with one other woman and two guys also out for their birthdays. The piano players then played “The Hokey Pokey.” (Yes, we found that weird, too.) I got into it a bit (two diet Cokes will do that to me – ha!) but when the women were asked to put their “ta-tas” in, I was a bit stumped. Under my thick wool sweater, I didn’t have much to strut. The other woman was much more voluptuous than I and had no problem with the request. Thinking quickly, I stuck my chest out as far as it would go and tried my best. Just after “shaking it all about,” it occurred to me that I should have just lifted my shirt up. I used to do that all the time after my breast reduction surgery, and Husband always tries to fling himself in front of my to behind my honor, which is hilarious. I bet the frat boys at the table in front of me would have loved that. Too bad I didn’t think fast enough. Oh well.
Anyway, good times and thanks again to all who contributed thus far to my extended birthday celebration.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
Go Suzanne! It's My Birthday!
I like turning 31 way more than I did 30. Husband pointed out that 31 is a prime number. Another friend noted that Baskin Robbins is known for their 31 flavors. This is all good.
As I was getting ready to take a shower earlier, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and noticed a gray/white hair. Further inspection revealed lots of dandruff (as I had not washed my hair since Saturday) and two more gray/white hairs. They glittered nicely in the light. I’m 31, so having gray/white hair is cool.
At 31, I am only one year away from 32, when the average woman hits her sexual peak. Ha! (I'm not sure what my point is, but that never stopped me before. Watch out, Husband? I'm only getting crazier?) Still, I don’t always look my age. Last week while I visited the Sauce in Pittsburgh, her housemate’s friend thought I was his age. He is 23, and one of my new favorite people. (He also said that I look like I weigh about 2 lbs. This guy really knows how to butter up an older woman, and I’m pretty sure that he was not trying.)
Today, I shall celebrate my birthday by first going to the Indian Consulate and applying for a visa for my upcoming trip to India. I’ll be traveling with my friend Ray, who I have known since I was in 6th grade, and other teachers and adult friends and family from the high school she works at. (Which, incidentally, is where Hilary Clinton and Harrison Ford were schooled in the ways of the world and carpentry.) We are going to be there for a week at the end of March, spending time in Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur. I am incredibly excited, although sad that Husband cannot go because he must work to support me and my non-income producing writing career. (OK, really, it’s because he just began his job in September and can’t get the time off, which SUCKS!) The only upside to this is that we will not both be in a hotel room with shit geysers of diarrhea, which I fully anticipate getting and I am certain that Husband would too.
After what I hope will be a quick process at the Consulate, I am meeting my friend Chava, who I know from high school. We will have tea at the Japanese tea room in the basement of a ridiculously fancy Japanese department store, and then head to the Whitney to see art by Kiki Smith, whom I have never heard of but Chava thinks I will like. Just like I have never been 31 before, I have never been to the Whitney. Good times ahead!
Finally, I will wrap up the epic day by meeting a group of friends for cheese and chocolate fondues. Hurray for my 31st birthday!
As I was getting ready to take a shower earlier, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and noticed a gray/white hair. Further inspection revealed lots of dandruff (as I had not washed my hair since Saturday) and two more gray/white hairs. They glittered nicely in the light. I’m 31, so having gray/white hair is cool.
At 31, I am only one year away from 32, when the average woman hits her sexual peak. Ha! (I'm not sure what my point is, but that never stopped me before. Watch out, Husband? I'm only getting crazier?) Still, I don’t always look my age. Last week while I visited the Sauce in Pittsburgh, her housemate’s friend thought I was his age. He is 23, and one of my new favorite people. (He also said that I look like I weigh about 2 lbs. This guy really knows how to butter up an older woman, and I’m pretty sure that he was not trying.)
Today, I shall celebrate my birthday by first going to the Indian Consulate and applying for a visa for my upcoming trip to India. I’ll be traveling with my friend Ray, who I have known since I was in 6th grade, and other teachers and adult friends and family from the high school she works at. (Which, incidentally, is where Hilary Clinton and Harrison Ford were schooled in the ways of the world and carpentry.) We are going to be there for a week at the end of March, spending time in Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur. I am incredibly excited, although sad that Husband cannot go because he must work to support me and my non-income producing writing career. (OK, really, it’s because he just began his job in September and can’t get the time off, which SUCKS!) The only upside to this is that we will not both be in a hotel room with shit geysers of diarrhea, which I fully anticipate getting and I am certain that Husband would too.
After what I hope will be a quick process at the Consulate, I am meeting my friend Chava, who I know from high school. We will have tea at the Japanese tea room in the basement of a ridiculously fancy Japanese department store, and then head to the Whitney to see art by Kiki Smith, whom I have never heard of but Chava thinks I will like. Just like I have never been 31 before, I have never been to the Whitney. Good times ahead!
Finally, I will wrap up the epic day by meeting a group of friends for cheese and chocolate fondues. Hurray for my 31st birthday!
PETA Says: Women Should Be More Like Bald Eagles
My delightful, wonderful, awesome friend Mara, who is 9 months pregnant, braved the Christmas crowds to take a photo of an incredibly offensive poster from my pals at PETA:
Mara said it best in her email to me:
Mara said it best in her email to me:We love the fact that PETA thought to illustrate the fact that the only thing worse than killing poor little animals to appease the fashion gods is having an unshaved snatch. I guess that makes all of your disciples no better than those people who club little baby seals to death, or eat tuna that is not dolphin friendly. . . . .I am not surprised either that PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) would engage in using such ridiculous image and offensive tag line, as they often do these kind of things. (The most recent issue of Bitch magazine had a very good article on this exact topic.) I have long loathed their sanctimonious asses. They LOVE saving innocent non-human animals from exploitation while sexualizing and exploiting human woman animals, who incidentally, are naturally hairy. Can you imagine them advocating for a sheep in a bikini to be shorn? Nope, that would be an outrage against nature! Glad that us homo sapien ladies have fewer rights than sheep when it comes to a wooly coat.
You may note from the photo that I took the liberty of prying part of the poster from the wall so that the whole text was easily seen in the photo. I am not a fan of PETA. While I am all for having conviction in your beliefs, I am also for having respect for other people’s beliefs, and not doing things as nutty as, say, sending women dressed in lettuce bikinis to conservative Muslim countries to try and endorse the eating of vegetables, or dancing on the graves of people you do not like.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Christmas is about Reproductive Rights
Many people around the world are celebrating Christmas today. Of course, December 25th has nothing to do with the [supposed] birth of the son of God, but the early Church needed to find a way to snooker more people into joining their cult/new religion. Don’t believe me? According to All About Jesus Christ:*
Speaking of interpreting Bible stories, I thought today would be a good day to talk about the forced childbirth movement. People who participate in forced childbirth activities don’t like to talk about it that way, preferring innocent terms like “pro-life,” but they care about as much about people’s lives as they do about social justice.** Proponents of forced childbirth insist that women are baby-making machines, that sex is only for making babies, and nothing can interfere with this. Birth control of no kind is permissible because sex is not to be done for purposes of pleasure or mere intimacy. If you play with fire, bitch, you better be prepared to take the punishment.
Members of the forced childbirth movement like to idolize Mary, the New Testament mother of Jesus. However, I think that Mary is actually the perfect symbol for reproductive freedom. Basically, you can look at her story in two ways, and either way, there is some level of choice involved.
Interpretation 1: God thinks about who should bear His progeny. He could have chosen any number of quality, virtuous virgins, but He deliberately selects Mary, in part because he knew that she would agree to the plan. There was no coercion involved here. God didn’t want to knock up someone who would not be cool with dealing with an unexpected child.
Interpretation 2: God chooses Mary and sends the angel Gabriel to tell her. Mary asked how this would happen, and Gabriel told her, "The Holy Spirit shall come upon thee and the power of the most high shall overshadow thee." Mary then said: "Let it be done according to Thy will." I’m directly quoting the Anglican Parish of Camp Hill with Norman Park, part of the Diocese of Brisbane, Australia on this next part: “This one simple action of saying "Yes" to God changed everything. Mary became the mother of the Lord.” Mary made a choice. In her case, she said she’d be willing to have a child that she didn’t plan, but it was still a choice.
So this Christmas, I am making the (potentially blasphemous) argument that if Mary was allowed to make a choice as to whether she’d be willing to carry God’s baby to term, all women are allowed to determine what is best for themselves. No one has the right to force any woman to bear a child. Even God abided by that principle, and if it is good enough for God, it should be good enough for his people. Merry Christmas!
*Seriously, did you ever think a link like that would be used at CUSS? Me neither. It makes me laugh a lot to think about it.
**Meaning: some of the members of this movement really do try and make the world a better place, like the anti-choice liberation theologists, but most just like punishing women for daring to have sex and then reminding the resulting kids what worthless trash they are since they came out of sin by denying them health care, quality education, decent places to live, and adequate food.
It wasn't until A.D. 440 that the church officially proclaimed December 25 as the birth of Christ. This was not based on any religious evidence but on a pagan feast. Saturnalia was a tradition inherited by the Roman pagans from an earlier Babylonian priesthood. December 25 was used as a celebration of the birthday of the sun god. It was observed near the winter solstice.I don’t think that a site “All About Jesus Christ” would make that shit up. Perhaps interpret it differently, but that’s another story.
Speaking of interpreting Bible stories, I thought today would be a good day to talk about the forced childbirth movement. People who participate in forced childbirth activities don’t like to talk about it that way, preferring innocent terms like “pro-life,” but they care about as much about people’s lives as they do about social justice.** Proponents of forced childbirth insist that women are baby-making machines, that sex is only for making babies, and nothing can interfere with this. Birth control of no kind is permissible because sex is not to be done for purposes of pleasure or mere intimacy. If you play with fire, bitch, you better be prepared to take the punishment.
Members of the forced childbirth movement like to idolize Mary, the New Testament mother of Jesus. However, I think that Mary is actually the perfect symbol for reproductive freedom. Basically, you can look at her story in two ways, and either way, there is some level of choice involved.
Interpretation 1: God thinks about who should bear His progeny. He could have chosen any number of quality, virtuous virgins, but He deliberately selects Mary, in part because he knew that she would agree to the plan. There was no coercion involved here. God didn’t want to knock up someone who would not be cool with dealing with an unexpected child.
Interpretation 2: God chooses Mary and sends the angel Gabriel to tell her. Mary asked how this would happen, and Gabriel told her, "The Holy Spirit shall come upon thee and the power of the most high shall overshadow thee." Mary then said: "Let it be done according to Thy will." I’m directly quoting the Anglican Parish of Camp Hill with Norman Park, part of the Diocese of Brisbane, Australia on this next part: “This one simple action of saying "Yes" to God changed everything. Mary became the mother of the Lord.” Mary made a choice. In her case, she said she’d be willing to have a child that she didn’t plan, but it was still a choice.
So this Christmas, I am making the (potentially blasphemous) argument that if Mary was allowed to make a choice as to whether she’d be willing to carry God’s baby to term, all women are allowed to determine what is best for themselves. No one has the right to force any woman to bear a child. Even God abided by that principle, and if it is good enough for God, it should be good enough for his people. Merry Christmas!
*Seriously, did you ever think a link like that would be used at CUSS? Me neither. It makes me laugh a lot to think about it.
**Meaning: some of the members of this movement really do try and make the world a better place, like the anti-choice liberation theologists, but most just like punishing women for daring to have sex and then reminding the resulting kids what worthless trash they are since they came out of sin by denying them health care, quality education, decent places to live, and adequate food.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Scenes from a Family
Scene 1:
This afternoon, my mom showed Sister, Sister’s Husband, Husband, and me some of the holiday loot she received from other teachers at the school at which she works.
Sister: Oh, what did you get them?
Mom: I went to Crate and Barrel and bought those memo clips that you can put on your desk to display pictures or whatever. But then I thought more about it and returned them. Instead, I decided to use the money as a donation to the scholarship fund for the kids of a teacher who died suddenly this summer.
Me: That’s a nice idea. Did you do it with the names of the people the gifts were for?
Mom: No. I did it in my own name.
Scene 2:
The family – Husband, Bubbe, Granny, Dad, Mom, Sister, Sister’s Husband, and me – gather around the chipped dining room table to eat cake and celebrate my birthday. Conversation turned to other people, including someone we know who came home one day and found his fiancé dead on the floor.
Bubbe: She’s lucky she died before she found out what she was marrying.
Everyone else: (horrified laughter)
Granny: What?!?! That is a terrible thing to say! You don’t say things like that!
Bubbe (scowling and muttering to Sister’s Husband as if Granny is not sitting right there): She only defends him because she is also that way. A weirdo!
Scene 3:
Family is still gathered around the table.
Bubbe: We used to sing this song [referring to “Yankee Doodle”], “Stuck his finger in the ass and called it macaroni”
Dad: What? Stuck his finger in the pony?
Everyone else: (hysterical laughter)
Bubbe (annoyed): No! In his ass.
---------------
Other conversation during the course of the day involved the need for doody-scented candles instead of other scents that cover up the smell of feces after a big dump and the unique phallic shape of a back massager that my mom received as a gift from another teacher. (Pictures to follow with more details.)
Click your heels together and repeat after me, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home….”
This afternoon, my mom showed Sister, Sister’s Husband, Husband, and me some of the holiday loot she received from other teachers at the school at which she works.
Sister: Oh, what did you get them?
Mom: I went to Crate and Barrel and bought those memo clips that you can put on your desk to display pictures or whatever. But then I thought more about it and returned them. Instead, I decided to use the money as a donation to the scholarship fund for the kids of a teacher who died suddenly this summer.
Me: That’s a nice idea. Did you do it with the names of the people the gifts were for?
Mom: No. I did it in my own name.
Scene 2:
The family – Husband, Bubbe, Granny, Dad, Mom, Sister, Sister’s Husband, and me – gather around the chipped dining room table to eat cake and celebrate my birthday. Conversation turned to other people, including someone we know who came home one day and found his fiancé dead on the floor.
Bubbe: She’s lucky she died before she found out what she was marrying.
Everyone else: (horrified laughter)
Granny: What?!?! That is a terrible thing to say! You don’t say things like that!
Bubbe (scowling and muttering to Sister’s Husband as if Granny is not sitting right there): She only defends him because she is also that way. A weirdo!
Scene 3:
Family is still gathered around the table.
Bubbe: We used to sing this song [referring to “Yankee Doodle”], “Stuck his finger in the ass and called it macaroni”
Dad: What? Stuck his finger in the pony?
Everyone else: (hysterical laughter)
Bubbe (annoyed): No! In his ass.
---------------
Other conversation during the course of the day involved the need for doody-scented candles instead of other scents that cover up the smell of feces after a big dump and the unique phallic shape of a back massager that my mom received as a gift from another teacher. (Pictures to follow with more details.)
Click your heels together and repeat after me, “There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home….”
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Fooled Again!
Thursday night, I attended Husband’s office holiday dinner. It was very nice and I was on my best behavior. I managed to refer to people on general as “fucking assholes” only twice over the course of 3.5 hours. Not bad, right?
During dinner, I sat next to Husband’s boss’s wife. We chatted about family, and I told her that other than my cousin, who attends college near NYC, my whole family lives in the Chicago-area and the Midwest. Fortunately, I explained, I am very lucky to have a mother-in-law who is very kind to me and who regards me as her own (albeit insane) daughter. Boss’s wife said that of course my MIL accepts me; I’m “very sweet.” Good god lady, you have so misjudged me based on our two meetings in life, and both times I had to keep my foul mouth gritted in a smile since I didn’t want to hinder Husband’s career.
This is the second time this year, though, that someone has met me and decided that I am “sweet.” On mother’s day, Future Sister-in-Law’s parents met me for the first time. Over the course of the day, I cracked many offense/inappropriate jokes and little comments. Yet they later called FSIL and raved about how “sweet” I am.
Perhaps I am sweet like brown sugar. Every time we buy a box of brown sugar, it hardens into a rock within a few days, rendering it sweet, but useless as an ingredient as well as dangerous because it could knock someone out. I was going to say that I am as sweet as a sugar cube covered in mold, but I am not sure that sugar actually can get moldy.
Anyway, I am heading home to Chicago for the weekend, where many people think that my grandmother is sweet until she calls them cunts. What can I say? It obviously runs in the family.
During dinner, I sat next to Husband’s boss’s wife. We chatted about family, and I told her that other than my cousin, who attends college near NYC, my whole family lives in the Chicago-area and the Midwest. Fortunately, I explained, I am very lucky to have a mother-in-law who is very kind to me and who regards me as her own (albeit insane) daughter. Boss’s wife said that of course my MIL accepts me; I’m “very sweet.” Good god lady, you have so misjudged me based on our two meetings in life, and both times I had to keep my foul mouth gritted in a smile since I didn’t want to hinder Husband’s career.
This is the second time this year, though, that someone has met me and decided that I am “sweet.” On mother’s day, Future Sister-in-Law’s parents met me for the first time. Over the course of the day, I cracked many offense/inappropriate jokes and little comments. Yet they later called FSIL and raved about how “sweet” I am.
Perhaps I am sweet like brown sugar. Every time we buy a box of brown sugar, it hardens into a rock within a few days, rendering it sweet, but useless as an ingredient as well as dangerous because it could knock someone out. I was going to say that I am as sweet as a sugar cube covered in mold, but I am not sure that sugar actually can get moldy.
Anyway, I am heading home to Chicago for the weekend, where many people think that my grandmother is sweet until she calls them cunts. What can I say? It obviously runs in the family.
Quick Pittsburgh Recap
Since my trip to Pittsburgh was not even a full 48 hours long, I think an equally quick recap is acceptable. I met up with my friend The Sauce. We have been friends for nearly 22 years now, and she is studying at Carnegie Melon University these days. (Last year around this time, I went to visit her in the Dominican Republic, which was fantastic. See the archives for December 2005 if you want to view the pictures and read about my insane adventure on a mountain in the back of a pickup truck with a cactus rolling around, perilously near Husband's crotch. Good times!)
Recently "actress" Siena Miller caused an uproar after filming a movie in Pittsburgh by referring to it as Shitsburgh. Siena Miller is not only a husband stealer, but she is also terrible at judging cities. Pittsburgh is really nice. We mostly wandered around, which I love.It is interesting and there seems to be a nice amount of culture there. Two days was enough to get an overview of it, but I look forward to going back to visit the Sauce and see more of the city again. I also hope to find my old college colleague Paul Snatchko next time I am there. Not because I actually want to see him, but just because I like saying "Snatchko" and he lives around there and is a failed Republican politician. ("Snatchko" is not a good name for politics, is it?)
Coming back to New York City removed all of my love for JetBlue, though. It seems that the people responsible for connecting the gate to the plane were too busy using the free wifi to do their jobs, leaving us stranded on the plane for 30 minutes. I was very crabby.
Recently "actress" Siena Miller caused an uproar after filming a movie in Pittsburgh by referring to it as Shitsburgh. Siena Miller is not only a husband stealer, but she is also terrible at judging cities. Pittsburgh is really nice. We mostly wandered around, which I love.It is interesting and there seems to be a nice amount of culture there. Two days was enough to get an overview of it, but I look forward to going back to visit the Sauce and see more of the city again. I also hope to find my old college colleague Paul Snatchko next time I am there. Not because I actually want to see him, but just because I like saying "Snatchko" and he lives around there and is a failed Republican politician. ("Snatchko" is not a good name for politics, is it?)
Coming back to New York City removed all of my love for JetBlue, though. It seems that the people responsible for connecting the gate to the plane were too busy using the free wifi to do their jobs, leaving us stranded on the plane for 30 minutes. I was very crabby.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Cussplaint
Whenever someone leaves a comment on CUSS, it is emailed to me. This is good because otherwise I would miss comments on older posts, but difficult because the email does not give me any clues as to what post the comment responded to. Yesterday, I received this nasty anonymous (the best usually are) little comment:
My advice to the anonymous: if you don’t want to talk about any of the topics covered here, just read something else. No need to chide me because my interests that don’t happen to match your boring ones. (I’m just assuming that you are a yawn because you spend your time criticizing me, but throw out no ideas of your own.) In fact, I dare you to send me some topics that you think would be more fun to discuss. I’m always open to new concepts, although there is the risk I may mock you if I think your “brilliant” ideas are fucking retarded. At least I have the hairy balls to be upfront about what captures my attention. There’s no point in getting all huffy if you can’t express what you think would drive conversation in the first place.
So there.
Sounds like someone is somewhat bitter and has an extreme case of jealousy. Quit ragging on the models and hairless vaginas, and give us something worthwhile to talk about.No, no, no! This comment is just all wrong. I am not somewhat bitter. I am extremely bitter. On the other hand, while I may be somewhat jealous of models (and never pretended that I wasn’t), I think any regular CUSS reader will agree that that I continue to be only 100% honest when I say that I harbor no secret hankerings for a hairless harpsichord. (Ha! Try saying that three times fast!) Nor is it like those are hard to come by if I did happen to want to defoliate the luscious CUSS forest. I could frequent any of the disturbing salons in New York and emerge hairless, $75 poorer, and in pain 60 minutes later.
My advice to the anonymous: if you don’t want to talk about any of the topics covered here, just read something else. No need to chide me because my interests that don’t happen to match your boring ones. (I’m just assuming that you are a yawn because you spend your time criticizing me, but throw out no ideas of your own.) In fact, I dare you to send me some topics that you think would be more fun to discuss. I’m always open to new concepts, although there is the risk I may mock you if I think your “brilliant” ideas are fucking retarded. At least I have the hairy balls to be upfront about what captures my attention. There’s no point in getting all huffy if you can’t express what you think would drive conversation in the first place.
So there.
Me and My Big Brown Furry Beaver
Husband bought the biggest beaver he could find for me for Hanukkah. He was particularly impressed by the beaver's big buck teeth and strong tail that can slap a person silly, if needed. (The blue circle is just Cussie's tag.)Everyone needs a beaver to love.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
I'm True Blue!
It is not yet 7:30 am, and I have already been on two subways, one monorail, and a shuttle bus. The gate from which my flight to Pittsburgh departs is in a construction site, no exaggeration. It is bizarre.
However, I just learned that JetBlue offers free wifi. It is my new favorite airline, even if I have 125,000 frequent flier miles on American with another 15,000 to be accumulated by the end of January. Quite frankly, those additional 15,000 are courtesy of JetBlue, too, in a roundabout way. JetBlue is beginning service to O'Hare in January, so American has to bribe people with bonus miles and cheap flights to retain them.
I may get ridiculous amounts of miles, upgrades, and free flights on American, but do they have free wifi? No, they do not. (OK, I am not permanently switching allegiances any time soon, but this free wifi is really warming my little heart in these wee morning hours.)
However, I just learned that JetBlue offers free wifi. It is my new favorite airline, even if I have 125,000 frequent flier miles on American with another 15,000 to be accumulated by the end of January. Quite frankly, those additional 15,000 are courtesy of JetBlue, too, in a roundabout way. JetBlue is beginning service to O'Hare in January, so American has to bribe people with bonus miles and cheap flights to retain them.
I may get ridiculous amounts of miles, upgrades, and free flights on American, but do they have free wifi? No, they do not. (OK, I am not permanently switching allegiances any time soon, but this free wifi is really warming my little heart in these wee morning hours.)
Beating a Dead Horse
Recently I mentioned that I came across two rants against my article on porn. When I spoke to Dianne last week, she suggested I reprint the whole thing here, which I am doing, but I hope that people will follow the link to the original post, too Part of blogging is directing the limited traffic one gets to other sites, right?
The very best part though: [Now Anonymous's] essay is 776 words, which is 226 more than Metro gives to its columnists. Perhaps I could have explored more issues as well if I had an unlimited word count, too. (Or should I save that for my Gender Studies Dissertation? Cackle.)
I have a few words to say to Suzanne Reisman regarding her article "Porn: It Might Cure What Ails Us" (Nov. 16): As an anti-porn feminist, I can attest to disliking mainstream porn not because I am puritanical, repressive, neo-Victorian, or anti-sex. I dislike it because of its complete and total disregard for women as anything other than body parts packaged and sold as 'sex'. Pornography is not an accurate depiction of true honest sexuality, or at least not a total summation of it. How can it be? Its too glitzy, too commercialized, too highly-marketed. Saying that it is part and parcel to 'open sexual discourse' is a big misnomer, Ms. Reisman. Afterall, if you want to get people talking, usually words work more effectively than images of gangbangs. Our success as a culture is not in creating more porn or learning to accept mainstream porn despite its clear disregard for women (don't believe me on that? Let's see: the focus is always on male orgasm and seldom on the female orgasm, men are hugely under-depicted in mainstream hetero porn and even our entire culture has brainwashed us into believing that sex=naked women, not naked men), its in creating REAL equality between the sexes, and gaining a better understanding of ourselves, of our desires, and of our bodies. Considering that something like 40% of women will never experience orgasm in their lives, I think that should be proof that our pornified culture is not working to their benefit. Despite growing amounts of pornography and porn-like media (including the television shows, ads for car waxes, and Britney Spears' videos you mentioned), women are no more in tune with themselves then they ever were. Mainstream pornography has only skewed our thinking of what normal sex and normal bodies are: we are now either fake blonde white girls with tans, french-tipped nails and silicone breasts, or else we are neatly subdivided into a long list of atrocious fetishes ranging from pregnancy, barely legal teens, rape conquests, housewives, etc. In fact, I believe that the reason why we have come to be so acceptant of violent sexuality against women on network television is because we've become so desensitized to it through our use of online porn.What I enjoy about this essay most is that it has almost nothing to do with what I wrote in my article. I never said that mainstream porn should be emulated. In fact, I said we need better porn than what is out there. So this whole response, while full of interesting points, has nothing to do with me. I am also fairly sure that I never accused anti-porn feminists of being dried up prudes. I quoted the wonderful Ellen Willis, who made an interesting point about Victorian viewpoints, but I didn't equate someone who hates Playboy with Anthony Comstock. The funniest part of the fire-and-brimstone righteous fury in this essay is that, at the end of the say, we have the same point: reform porn for better results.
If all we're given are the perpetuated falsehoods of our gender (that we're here to perform, to be available, to fulfill without necessarily being fulfilled), then how can we expect real equality outside of the bedroom or even in it? And no, the correlation between countries with more equality and their porn consumption is infactual. Every industrialized country in the world creates pornography. Japan, for instance, is an infamously huge manufacturer of pornography yet also has exceptionally high records of rape and sexual harrassment in their cities. Denmark has made a tourist trap out of prostitution, and despite being progressive, I don't believe that a culture that gladly accepts the selling of half naked women in windows like meat going out for slaughter is especially feminist. And a lesson for you: women in porn don't necessarily 1.) enjoy what they're doing, 2.) make a profitable livelihood from it, or 3.) do it because they want to. Sexual slavery is still alive and well, even in the United States. Considering that most of your mainstream online porn features girls barely over 18, it is doubtful that these young women are doing it because they "love it" or feel especially empowered by it. Most do it because they need two things: quick money and easy attention. They are preyed upon by a culture that has made the sexualizing of teens de riguer, and expecting them to simply fend for themselves would be senseless and sad.
Ms. Reisman, I wouldn't go burning any bridges with us anti-porn feminists just yet. Save your Gender Studies dissertation paper for your collegiates instead of the Metro, because the truth of the matter is that we would like a reform in pornography as much as anyone. We would love to see women represented as equals to men in the realm of sex and to finally have women's desires articulated in real, honest ways. But I don't think the mass consumption of flesh for money is really the answer. Nor is it wise to rally against us, since those of us who are against pornography are sadly in the minority. We are painted, even by women such as yourself, to be anti-sex instead of seeing us for what we mainly are: people who don't like our desires branded and sold to us, who prefer real sex instead of the bought variety, and who see pornography as symptomatic of a bigger cultural problem.
[Name removed at request of blogger, who doesn't like it that Google searches on her name bring up CUSS.]
The very best part though: [Now Anonymous's] essay is 776 words, which is 226 more than Metro gives to its columnists. Perhaps I could have explored more issues as well if I had an unlimited word count, too. (Or should I save that for my Gender Studies Dissertation? Cackle.)
Monday, December 18, 2006
This morning's workout
Want to know why this morning's workout made me crave a deli sandwich? The whole story is only a click away at The People Under the Stairmasters.
Incidentally, I tried a new workout that Des recommended to me this weekend. She said that she read that you can give your metabolism a super boost by doing 10 minutes of cardio to warm up, then weights, and then 30 minutes of intense cardio like running. Supposedly doing this twice a week is more effective than doing lots of wimpy workouts on a daily basis. Since I am making a quick trip to Pittsburgh to visit my old friend The Sauce, I won't be able to workout tomorrow or Wednesday, so I thought I'd try it out. I liked it enough. I'll do another cardio-weights-intense cardio workout on Thursday, and then I am off to visit the family in Chicago on Friday.
Perfect timing to teach an old dog new tricks. Woof.
Incidentally, I tried a new workout that Des recommended to me this weekend. She said that she read that you can give your metabolism a super boost by doing 10 minutes of cardio to warm up, then weights, and then 30 minutes of intense cardio like running. Supposedly doing this twice a week is more effective than doing lots of wimpy workouts on a daily basis. Since I am making a quick trip to Pittsburgh to visit my old friend The Sauce, I won't be able to workout tomorrow or Wednesday, so I thought I'd try it out. I liked it enough. I'll do another cardio-weights-intense cardio workout on Thursday, and then I am off to visit the family in Chicago on Friday.
Perfect timing to teach an old dog new tricks. Woof.
Now with Even More Hanukkah Fun!
On the second night of Hanukkah my true love gave to me an antiqued parchment stationery set. He decided that now that I am a writer, I needed a quill pen and inkwell. At the Liberty Bell Museum in East Hartford, CT (“an on-line or "virtual" exhibit of a private collection of memorabilia, relics and souvenirs gathered over a 20 year period” – hilarious!), he found even more than a quill pen.
I think his plan is for me to earn some income by forging documents.
I think his plan is for me to earn some income by forging documents.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Happy Hannukkah to Me!: Day 1
Last night was the first night of Hannukkah. My previous post indicating that we would screw a lightbulb into our electric menorah was inaccurate because I forgot that it broke a few years ago. Also, we went to have dinner at the home of a friend who is a real Jew, so we lit real candles and said real prayers. OK, more like we had no idea what two of the real prayers were, so we just repeated them after her. (Note: it was also Shabbat last night, so an extra prayer was required.) It was fun.
My real gift was the James Bond movie, though, which really was a gift because my friend Dr. F sent me an overly generous gift card for my birthday. (I owe you, Dr. F!!! You better let me do something nice for you soon.) HOLY SHIT is Daniel Craig hot in that. The whole movie was excellent. The only minor problem is that my friend made a non-traditional Hannukkah meal of cornbread pie with black beans. Thanks to Husband, I had to watch some of the movie through a mushroom cloud of stink. Husband is my hero, though. He is maybe not built quite as much as Craig, but he's got blue eyes, is strong, and is my hero.
When we arrived home around 2:30 am, it was time to exchange gifts. I gave husband an new neon pizza sign to replace the one that I bought him a few years ago and then accidentally broke when our floor was being redone. (Long, very sad story.) He gave me a giant beaver! It is very furry and stokable. I named it Cussie, and she will be the official mascot of CUSS. Photos to follow.
All in all, a wonderful night. Today I am going shopping with Des, then later to an Elton John sing along, which I am very excited about. It is organizaed by a group called Loser's Lounge, and they do really incredible productions. I've also been to their Queen and Blondie. v. the Pretenders tributes. Good stuff.
Happy Hannukkah or Saturday to everyone!
My real gift was the James Bond movie, though, which really was a gift because my friend Dr. F sent me an overly generous gift card for my birthday. (I owe you, Dr. F!!! You better let me do something nice for you soon.) HOLY SHIT is Daniel Craig hot in that. The whole movie was excellent. The only minor problem is that my friend made a non-traditional Hannukkah meal of cornbread pie with black beans. Thanks to Husband, I had to watch some of the movie through a mushroom cloud of stink. Husband is my hero, though. He is maybe not built quite as much as Craig, but he's got blue eyes, is strong, and is my hero.
When we arrived home around 2:30 am, it was time to exchange gifts. I gave husband an new neon pizza sign to replace the one that I bought him a few years ago and then accidentally broke when our floor was being redone. (Long, very sad story.) He gave me a giant beaver! It is very furry and stokable. I named it Cussie, and she will be the official mascot of CUSS. Photos to follow.
All in all, a wonderful night. Today I am going shopping with Des, then later to an Elton John sing along, which I am very excited about. It is organizaed by a group called Loser's Lounge, and they do really incredible productions. I've also been to their Queen and Blondie. v. the Pretenders tributes. Good stuff.
Happy Hannukkah or Saturday to everyone!
Friday, December 15, 2006
The Festival of Lights
I am ready for Hanukkah, which begins tonight at sundown. I will exchange gifts with Husband, then eat dinner with him and a friend, then see the James Bond movie (finally). I believe that this is the traditional way to celebrate the first night of this mostly insignificant holiday elevated to a higher status by its proximity to Christmas and retailers' needs to sell shit to everyone, even if they refuse to acknowledge that we don't all celebrate Christmas lest the Bible beaters continue their boycotts of places that respect diversity.
Oh, yeah, we'll also screw a lightbulb into our electric menorah.
Oh, yeah, we'll also screw a lightbulb into our electric menorah.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Farting is Fun and It Makes the Lap Dance Hotter
I, Asshole has the best links ever. I found the pictures of Britney's bare beaver through SJ, and now, she has a link to a stripper chat group or whatever they call those sites where people register and start threads and share their thoughts on a subject. Normally, I'd probably not be interested in such a site, but SJ tantalized me by noting that strippers fart on their customers. How I love the idea of some desperate horny guy practically coming in his pants while someone literally blows hot air in his face. Now that is some funny shit.
My favorite of the comments on farting while stripping is this:
My favorite of the comments on farting while stripping is this:
When guys used to ask me what the rules were, this was the usual dialogue...That woman is brilliant.
Customer: "What happens if I touch your pussy?"
Me: "I slap you in the face."
Customer: "What happens if I touch your breasts?"
Me: "I slap you in the face"
Customer: "I guess if I touch your ass, you'll slap me in the face"
Me: "No, I'll fart on your hand first"
Utterly Selfish Post about the Holidays, My Birthday, and Gifts
As some of you may know, Hanukkah begins at sundown tomorrow and my birthday is not even two weeks away from today. (I’ll be 31 on Dec. 27. As my friend Jen reminded me, “31 is special indeed. It is a prime number! Wasn't 17 awesome? Didn't it only make you excited for 19? And I bet 23 rocked.” I love it.) I received a few inquiries thus far as to what I might like to receive for these occasions. Sadly, the things that I really want are not givable:
- a writing career
- a teaching job for Sister
- to lose 10 pounds
- to not have elevated insulin resistance thanks to my cyst-ridden ovaries which are condemning me to a life devoid of baked goods, which I most adore
Otherwise, I’m pretty happy with everything I have. Still, here’s a mini list of ideas in case you really are compelled to give me something (and you shouldn’t be):
- anything from the Bad Ass line of products that Impossible Jane’s boyfriend designed. Nothing cracks me up like items featuring a beaver, donkey, cat, and rooster, all together.
- You can also buy some CUSS gear, which I do not make money from (long story), and then when and if I see you wearing it, I'll be really really really excited and it will be the best present ever!
-Make a donation to an organization battling for reproductive freedom, such as:
the National Network of Abortion Funds, which works with small funds around the country to help low income women pay for abortions; the National Abortion Rights Action League (NARAL), which fights to keep abortion and birth control legal (yes, there are powerful assholes out there trying to make birth control completely inaccessible); or the Haven Coalition, a group of which I help direct that provides shelter in volunteers’ homes for low income women forced to travel to New York to exercise their legal right to an abortion.
No need to really do any of this. You can just keep reading CUSS and it will make me super happy. I saying it just in case…
- a writing career
- a teaching job for Sister
- to lose 10 pounds
- to not have elevated insulin resistance thanks to my cyst-ridden ovaries which are condemning me to a life devoid of baked goods, which I most adore
Otherwise, I’m pretty happy with everything I have. Still, here’s a mini list of ideas in case you really are compelled to give me something (and you shouldn’t be):
- anything from the Bad Ass line of products that Impossible Jane’s boyfriend designed. Nothing cracks me up like items featuring a beaver, donkey, cat, and rooster, all together.
- You can also buy some CUSS gear, which I do not make money from (long story), and then when and if I see you wearing it, I'll be really really really excited and it will be the best present ever!
-Make a donation to an organization battling for reproductive freedom, such as:
the National Network of Abortion Funds, which works with small funds around the country to help low income women pay for abortions; the National Abortion Rights Action League (NARAL), which fights to keep abortion and birth control legal (yes, there are powerful assholes out there trying to make birth control completely inaccessible); or the Haven Coalition, a group of which I help direct that provides shelter in volunteers’ homes for low income women forced to travel to New York to exercise their legal right to an abortion.
No need to really do any of this. You can just keep reading CUSS and it will make me super happy. I saying it just in case…
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Sad News about a Funny Guy
I just saw that Peter Boyle died today. Man, he cracked me up on Everyone Loves Raymond, a show that, except for the hilarious Brad Garrett, otherwise was sort of loathesome. (Was Ray not the most whiney fuck ever? Is Patricia Heaton not a Republican nut job in real life who played a wenchy, sour puss wife? Marie was slightly amusing and I love the actress who played her, but suffocating mothers who abuse their daughter-in-laws verbally are irritating sterreotypes.)
I hope my run in with Jerry Stiller yesterday had nothing to do with this. Too many coincidences lately...
I hope my run in with Jerry Stiller yesterday had nothing to do with this. Too many coincidences lately...
What a Felcher!*
Oh sure he looks cute and harmless just sitting on the couch, but moments after this photo was snapped, I caught Tycho gnawing on Duct Tape Suzanne's ass! Repairs needed to be made as a result. Bad rabbit! *Back when I wrote the crappy sex column in NYU’s student newspaper, there was an even crappier column that the editor in chief wrote that, for all intents and purposes, was a gay sex column, which would have been fine if he was upfront about what it was, but he insisted what he wrote was “news.” Anyway, one day his column included something about butt licking, which he called “felching” and helpful defined for those clueless others out there as “eating ass.” A search on the always graphically informative site Urban Dictionary led me to understand that “eating ass” is a very tame definition of felching. Tycho does not meet Urban Dictionary’s higher standards, thankfully.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
The Divine Works in Unexpected Ways
Back in November, I summarized or reprinted in whole the five letters to the editor that Metro New York printed in response to my article calling for more, but better quality, porn. One of those letters was from a bloke named Steve Holt. Well, Steve has a Christian blog, Harvest Boston. And he blogged that my column disturbed him so much that he felt compelled to write his letter to the editor. This led to a many, many comments involving scriptural quoting and debating. Mostly, I found this debate tedious, and yet it amused me that it happened because of little old me.
Yet some things never change. On her [now defunct] MySpace blog, [Anonymous Former Blogger] says some very nasty things about me. Here's a favorite line of vitriol: "Save your Gender Studies dissertation paper for your collegiates instead of the Metro, because the truth of the matter is that we would like a reform in pornography as much as anyone." Not that I ever argued that other feminist who are against porn are frigid bitches or anything, but I can see how my little essay touched a raw clit, I mean, nerve. People sure read a lot of their own issues between the lines.
There I go, pissing off feminists and Christians alike. It's sort of delightful what strange bedfellows they make. Wouldn't that be a hot porn movie plot - scripture-spouting Christian and scripture-spouting feminist meet at an anti-porn rally, can't deny their chemistry, and have passionate sex?
Yet some things never change. On her [now defunct] MySpace blog, [Anonymous Former Blogger] says some very nasty things about me. Here's a favorite line of vitriol: "Save your Gender Studies dissertation paper for your collegiates instead of the Metro, because the truth of the matter is that we would like a reform in pornography as much as anyone." Not that I ever argued that other feminist who are against porn are frigid bitches or anything, but I can see how my little essay touched a raw clit, I mean, nerve. People sure read a lot of their own issues between the lines.
There I go, pissing off feminists and Christians alike. It's sort of delightful what strange bedfellows they make. Wouldn't that be a hot porn movie plot - scripture-spouting Christian and scripture-spouting feminist meet at an anti-porn rally, can't deny their chemistry, and have passionate sex?
The People Under the Stairmasters
So last week I read a hilarious post on going to the gym by the always entertaining Queen of Spain. I left one of my usual long rambling comments, which led tot an email exchange about how fun it is to watch other people at the gym, and off the cuff, I suggested starting a group blog called The People Under the Stairmasters. I frequently observe amusing or gross things at the gym. So far, the group blog members are all on the East Coast, but we encourage anyone forced to endure any gym around the world to contribute your stories.
Hopefully it is obvious that the blog will not exist to make fun of people who are overweight. That is not funny. Insane locker room behavior, sweaty men, and gym bunnies, however, are comical.
Hopefully it is obvious that the blog will not exist to make fun of people who are overweight. That is not funny. Insane locker room behavior, sweaty men, and gym bunnies, however, are comical.
C is for Controversy
Once, a few years ago, when I was bored during an all staff conference call at work, I decided to test my theory that if I was forced to eat foods only beginning with one letter for the rest of my life, that "C" is the best letter to select. (Examples: cookies, cake, chocolate, cherries, cheese, crackers...) The second best is "S," but that's another story.
Anyway, over at BlogHer, where I blog about Feminism & Gender twice a week, I opened up a ginormous can of worms with a seemingly innocuous post about whether there are any medical benefits to circumcision. I think there is evidence either way. Circumcision is interesting to me because while I generally am averse to major body modification for beauty purposes (ie - breast implants, liposuction), I personally prefer foreskinless dicks. (Not that I have so much experience handling penises...)
Some of the comments on that post likened circumcision to female genital cutting or mutilation, but I think that is overstating the effect of circumcision. If done properly (and the main risk is that it will get fucked up and was not necessarily needed in the first place), men seem to function fine after circumcision. If it really prevented men from enjoying sex, the entire Jewish population would basically have vanished centuries ago, as men could not have orgasms and impregnate their Jewish pussies. (Ha! Like how I sneaked in "Jewish pussy?") Incidentally, I was once accused of being anti-Semetic on BlogHer by someone who didn't like that I said that Israel was not perfect. If my accuser wants to see things that really verge on anti-Semetic, I suggest she read the nasty comments I got when writing about my cultural preference for circumcised dick.
Female genital cutting/mutilation, on the other hand, really destroys women's genitals, leading to pain, no ability to enjoy sex, and sometimes even death during child birth. It's like comparing getting a babies' ears pierced to lobbing off her entire ear. Not the same consequences at all.
My newest controversy involved a c-word is about c-sections, although I don't see why what I wrote is controversial at all. C-sections are serious surgeries and should not be taken lightly. Anyone who ever had to have one knows that. There are some brave women who shared their experiences with birth and c-sections who prove my point. Check it out.
Anyway, over at BlogHer, where I blog about Feminism & Gender twice a week, I opened up a ginormous can of worms with a seemingly innocuous post about whether there are any medical benefits to circumcision. I think there is evidence either way. Circumcision is interesting to me because while I generally am averse to major body modification for beauty purposes (ie - breast implants, liposuction), I personally prefer foreskinless dicks. (Not that I have so much experience handling penises...)
Some of the comments on that post likened circumcision to female genital cutting or mutilation, but I think that is overstating the effect of circumcision. If done properly (and the main risk is that it will get fucked up and was not necessarily needed in the first place), men seem to function fine after circumcision. If it really prevented men from enjoying sex, the entire Jewish population would basically have vanished centuries ago, as men could not have orgasms and impregnate their Jewish pussies. (Ha! Like how I sneaked in "Jewish pussy?") Incidentally, I was once accused of being anti-Semetic on BlogHer by someone who didn't like that I said that Israel was not perfect. If my accuser wants to see things that really verge on anti-Semetic, I suggest she read the nasty comments I got when writing about my cultural preference for circumcised dick.
Female genital cutting/mutilation, on the other hand, really destroys women's genitals, leading to pain, no ability to enjoy sex, and sometimes even death during child birth. It's like comparing getting a babies' ears pierced to lobbing off her entire ear. Not the same consequences at all.
My newest controversy involved a c-word is about c-sections, although I don't see why what I wrote is controversial at all. C-sections are serious surgeries and should not be taken lightly. Anyone who ever had to have one knows that. There are some brave women who shared their experiences with birth and c-sections who prove my point. Check it out.
Monday, December 11, 2006
True Employee Confessions
Suebob at Red Stapler, my blog hero, is starting a new blog about crazy shit that happens to otherwise good people who are forced to work with vile imbeciles. I plan to contribute many stories from my past life as a gainfully-employed-but-filled-with-homicidal-rage-person. (Sure, I am still often filled with homicidal rage, but not constantly, like I was before.)
For details on how to participate in this therapeutic project, click on this link. Suebob promises that you will not get fired as she will anonymize your stories, and also that she will not sell your information to telemarketers or spammers. Cool.
For details on how to participate in this therapeutic project, click on this link. Suebob promises that you will not get fired as she will anonymize your stories, and also that she will not sell your information to telemarketers or spammers. Cool.
"Flashin' Beav is Part of the Game"
Oh, how I continue to love Amy Poehler. She delivered a fine comical rant on the benefits of unshaved snatch on Saturday Night Live that echoes many of the points discussed here at CUSS. I tried to upload it so people could watch it here, but my lack of techie skills prevented that from happening. Sorry. However, you can see it in all it's glory by clicking this link to YouTube. It'll take you right there.
I should send Amy a CUSS t-shirt.
I should send Amy a CUSS t-shirt.
Saturday, December 9, 2006
Douche Your Mind , Idiot - That's What the Rotten Smell Is
When Elli came to visit me on Friday night, she immediately handed me a copy of the latest issue of Cosmo. “I read this on the train, and you’ve gotta see this.” (Disclaimer: this was just junk food for her brain on the train ride.)
“This” was a very tiny blurb in the Beauty Q&A section:
Now that we’ve resolved my first beef with this blurb, let’s move on to the second. Why the fuck would anyone spray perfume on her snatch? It needs perfume about as much as it needs douche, which is to say not at all. Here’s some useful advice: if your crotch reeks, take a shower or bath. If it still is rank, go see a doctor because something might be wrong. Use the $12 you saved and buy a CUSS thong or something. Damn.
“This” was a very tiny blurb in the Beauty Q&A section:
Q: Is it safe to spray perfume down there?Oh, where to begin? First, what is that bullshit “down there? It’s got a name. Actually, the vaginal area has so many names that it is a crime to say “down there and then giggle and blush as if you were in 5th grade. May I suggest: snatch, beaver, pussy, cootch, cootie, crotch, cunt, poon, poonanie, vag, vajayjay, tunnel of love, birth canal, Bermuda triangle, squeeze box, clam, muff, box, “butter biscuit” (thanks Grandma!), daisy, hoo-ha, whim-wham, “eye that weeps most when best pleased,” fur pie, fuck hole, twat, honey hole, alter of hyman, chach, coochie, poontang, slit, tuna, vulva, or yoni. If I missed something here, feel free to add your favorite in the comments. I’m sure that UrbanDictionary also has a long list.
A:It’s not dangerous, just drying. Most scents are alcohol-based and can zap moisture levels, says urologist Jennifer Berman, of Brentwood, California. Instead, spritz on an alcohol-free essential oil, like SweetSpot Balancing Mist, $12.
Now that we’ve resolved my first beef with this blurb, let’s move on to the second. Why the fuck would anyone spray perfume on her snatch? It needs perfume about as much as it needs douche, which is to say not at all. Here’s some useful advice: if your crotch reeks, take a shower or bath. If it still is rank, go see a doctor because something might be wrong. Use the $12 you saved and buy a CUSS thong or something. Damn.
A 10 Lb. Reason Why I Do Not Look Like a Victoria's Secret Model
This is the ten pound Jacques Torres chocolate turkeythat Husband and I served at Thanksgiving, in addition to various other desserts, such as Future Sister-in-Law's mother's homemade chocolate ganache cake, which here looks like a turkey turd as it is behind the turkey's chocolatey ass, and Des's homemade vegan strawberry cheesecake. I did not eat the chocolate ganache cake, but the 3 lbs. of chocolate turkey that I swear I consumed and 3/4 of the cheesecake that I wolfed down were amazing.
Friday, December 8, 2006
Thursday, December 7, 2006
Unintended Consequences Can Be Good
“CURVES ARE BACK!” screamed the headline of a woman’s magazine displayed at my local newsstand. How nice that my body type – something of which I have no control over – is back in style. I have no idea how I ever got through the period of time when it was not “in.” My heart goes out to those women whose genetic codes are no longer in vogue, and for those still waiting their turn to be trendy. I recommend against attempting to change your genetic destiny, though, for the sake of fashion. What will you do if you get hip, breast, and/or butt implants when “curves” fall out of favor again?
I saw the exciting news that I (with the aid of a tummy tuck – there’s only so much curve one is allowed!) am “back” while I was walking home from a doctor’s appointment. The day before Thanksgiving, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) by a reproductive endocrinologist. It only took 12 years for doctors to confirm that I had cysts on my ovaries. Oh sure, I’d been to many “specialists” since I stopped menstruating at the ripe old age of 17, and none of them thought to do a transvaginal ultrasound, which is the only way to truly see whether there are ovarian cysts or not. But I’m not bitter or anything.
The week after the PCOS diagnosis was made, I went back to the doctor’s office for a glucose test, as PCOS often leads to insulin resistance which is the direct path to diabetes - a “Do not pass Go; do not collect $100” kind of thing. Here’s where my vanity comes into play. (I like to think of it as the top hat or Scottie dog Monopoly option.) Ever since puberty smacked me upside the head in a most painful way, I struggled to control my weight. By 1998, I was a smidge over five feet tall and 167 pounds. Clothes that fit me were not plentiful. I hated looking in the mirror, and getting dressed brought me on the verge of tears. Like most people, I got dressed every day, so this was not a happy time.
One day I decided that it was time to make a big change. As much as I hated exercising and loathed restricting myself to one dessert a day or eating vegetables, it was better than crying every morning. I found a gym with TVs and forced myself to go every night after work. In the first year, I lost 20 pounds. Another six came off when I had breast reduction surgery, as well as a tremendous amount of shoulder and neck pain relief. I worked on watching what I ate. Sometimes that meant watching as I shoveled crap down my gullet, but allowing myself to really enjoy things once in a while was part of my plan. I lost another 20 pounds. Shopping for clothes and getting dressed became much less torturous, although many of my body insecurities remain. And today, my body is even in style. Whoo-de-doo.
So what does this have to do with PCOS? As the doctor looked over my test results, he expressed surprise that my glucose level was only slightly elevated. He recommended diet and exercise to keep it under control, instead of drugs. When I undertook my diet and exercise plan almost nine years ago, I didn’t do it because I wanted to be healthier. I only cared about looking better. Fuck it if “curves are back.” It’ll be out again in a few months, but my vanity got me to the point where I can deal with my health issues with no dramatic intervention. That’s what matters.
I saw the exciting news that I (with the aid of a tummy tuck – there’s only so much curve one is allowed!) am “back” while I was walking home from a doctor’s appointment. The day before Thanksgiving, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) by a reproductive endocrinologist. It only took 12 years for doctors to confirm that I had cysts on my ovaries. Oh sure, I’d been to many “specialists” since I stopped menstruating at the ripe old age of 17, and none of them thought to do a transvaginal ultrasound, which is the only way to truly see whether there are ovarian cysts or not. But I’m not bitter or anything.
The week after the PCOS diagnosis was made, I went back to the doctor’s office for a glucose test, as PCOS often leads to insulin resistance which is the direct path to diabetes - a “Do not pass Go; do not collect $100” kind of thing. Here’s where my vanity comes into play. (I like to think of it as the top hat or Scottie dog Monopoly option.) Ever since puberty smacked me upside the head in a most painful way, I struggled to control my weight. By 1998, I was a smidge over five feet tall and 167 pounds. Clothes that fit me were not plentiful. I hated looking in the mirror, and getting dressed brought me on the verge of tears. Like most people, I got dressed every day, so this was not a happy time.
One day I decided that it was time to make a big change. As much as I hated exercising and loathed restricting myself to one dessert a day or eating vegetables, it was better than crying every morning. I found a gym with TVs and forced myself to go every night after work. In the first year, I lost 20 pounds. Another six came off when I had breast reduction surgery, as well as a tremendous amount of shoulder and neck pain relief. I worked on watching what I ate. Sometimes that meant watching as I shoveled crap down my gullet, but allowing myself to really enjoy things once in a while was part of my plan. I lost another 20 pounds. Shopping for clothes and getting dressed became much less torturous, although many of my body insecurities remain. And today, my body is even in style. Whoo-de-doo.
So what does this have to do with PCOS? As the doctor looked over my test results, he expressed surprise that my glucose level was only slightly elevated. He recommended diet and exercise to keep it under control, instead of drugs. When I undertook my diet and exercise plan almost nine years ago, I didn’t do it because I wanted to be healthier. I only cared about looking better. Fuck it if “curves are back.” It’ll be out again in a few months, but my vanity got me to the point where I can deal with my health issues with no dramatic intervention. That’s what matters.
To Make a Long Story Long...
I often find the backstory leading to my point to be as interesting as the point itself. This is why so many of my posts are practically novels. Just an observation.
Yesterday a friend who is a literary agent told me that he sold a book, which is coming out next week, about sexual euphemisms. Cool. Even better, he licensed the images and text from the book to a greeting card company and "now there is a line of unbelievably inappropriate greeting cards all about muff diving, the dirty sanchez, and other
euphemisms of that ilk."
I am giddy.
Yesterday a friend who is a literary agent told me that he sold a book, which is coming out next week, about sexual euphemisms. Cool. Even better, he licensed the images and text from the book to a greeting card company and "now there is a line of unbelievably inappropriate greeting cards all about muff diving, the dirty sanchez, and other
euphemisms of that ilk."
I am giddy.
Wednesday, December 6, 2006
The Best Fashion of All!
I was so busy finishing the duct tape Suzanne this week and then buying* all those fancy ridiculous lingerie items for her big fashion show last night and then staging the show and posting the pictures that I did not have a chance to mention that I was randomly chosen by Fussy for a National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) prize! I selected the fabulous beaver t-shirt picture at the left. How awesome is it that the amazing, talented and popular Mrs. Kennedy (sponsor of NaBloPoMo) supports fuzzy beavers? Swoon!To be honest, more valuable to me than the prize is that the announcement of the prize provides a link on Fussy to CUSS. As a result, many people who probably otherwise not stop by CUSS are taking a deep breath, trusting Mrs. Kennedy to not lead them to a complete psycho, and clicking on the link. This is very cool.
So thanks for the beaver shirt and for the credibility, Mrs. K! It means a lot to me. (Bah! I'm choking up now.)
*All the fine lingerie will be returned, unworn (at least by a flesh person), to Victoria's Secret tomorrow. I do not feel guilty because this is how celebrities do it when they wear fancy shit to red carpet events.
The CUSS Victoria's Secret Anti-Fashion Show: Lessons Learned
Stop the insanity of modeling! Look, I know that few adult women really believe that the purchase of a particular product will make her look like the six foot, 115 pound model that a company hires to hawk their wares. (In Victoria’s Secrets’s case, wares are also wears. Ba dum dum cha.) I also know, thanks to the Dove “Real Beauty” campaign (in which skinny, average, and above average sized women pushed cellulite reducing cream), that people like movie critic Richard Roeper object to seeing real women in their underwear. (As a reminder, he wrote: I find these Dove ads a little unsettling. If I want to see plump gals baring too much skin, I'll go to Taste of Chicago, OK? I'll walk down Michigan Avenue or go to Navy Pier. When we're talking women in their underwear on billboards outside my living room windows, give me the fantasy babes, please… If that makes me sound superficial, shallow and sexist -- well yes, I'm a man.)
Setting aside Roeper’s concept that the purpose of all lingerie advertising is to please men like him, I find these underwear models (and other models) rather useless at selling me things. I know that I am not going to look like those women in whatever they are wearing that I am supposed to buy. I am 5’1” and I weigh 125 pounds. While that makes my body mass index a tad under overweight, it also means that I weigh either the same or more than women who are at least 10 inches taller than me. There is no way I will look like they do, no matter what I wear, ever.
Thus, I have no idea at all what I might look like in do in the products they are selling, and worse, can only assume that I will look much less attractive than the models. If that is the case, why on earth would I buy those things? If Victoria’s Secret or other clothing purveyors really want to create a burning desire in me to buy their shit, than show me some people who are a reasonable facsimile of me. It doesn’t have to be an exact replica, as I have provided for the anti-Fashion Show, but something at least a bit more relatable. And if that is a problem because people like me don’t look good in anything your company makes, than I’d say we have a larger problem, don’t we? Perhaps you might consider designing things for women who have a little heft on their hips, stomachs, and thighs besides granny underwear.
Now that’s a million dollar concept, not some freaky chain-mail bra custom made with diamonds all over it.
Setting aside Roeper’s concept that the purpose of all lingerie advertising is to please men like him, I find these underwear models (and other models) rather useless at selling me things. I know that I am not going to look like those women in whatever they are wearing that I am supposed to buy. I am 5’1” and I weigh 125 pounds. While that makes my body mass index a tad under overweight, it also means that I weigh either the same or more than women who are at least 10 inches taller than me. There is no way I will look like they do, no matter what I wear, ever.
Thus, I have no idea at all what I might look like in do in the products they are selling, and worse, can only assume that I will look much less attractive than the models. If that is the case, why on earth would I buy those things? If Victoria’s Secret or other clothing purveyors really want to create a burning desire in me to buy their shit, than show me some people who are a reasonable facsimile of me. It doesn’t have to be an exact replica, as I have provided for the anti-Fashion Show, but something at least a bit more relatable. And if that is a problem because people like me don’t look good in anything your company makes, than I’d say we have a larger problem, don’t we? Perhaps you might consider designing things for women who have a little heft on their hips, stomachs, and thighs besides granny underwear.
Now that’s a million dollar concept, not some freaky chain-mail bra custom made with diamonds all over it.
Tuesday, December 5, 2006
CUSS Presents: the Anti-Victoria's Secret Fashion Show
Baby, it’s cold outside, but things sure heated up in my apartment tonight as Duct Tape Suzanne modeled all of the sexiest fashions from my local Victoria’s Secret outlet! Some people may be glued to the TV tonight, watching half starved giantesses flaunt their wares, but here at CUSS we bring you “real” lingerie action! Is it sad that the proportions of a duct tape model are more achievable for most women than those of the live women on TV? Are they any sexier than my duct tape doppelganger? Remember: you are only as sexy as you feel….
First, some vital stats on the model for the model:
Height: 5’1”
Weight: 125ish
Bust: 35
Waist: 27
Hips: 37
The evening’s model, Duct Tape Suzanne, however, has no arms, legs, or especially head. We here at CUSS know what people really want to see when they view a lingerie fashion show, so why waste time with extraneous body parts? Speaking of wasting time, on with the show!
To kick off the evening, may I present the first sizzling number. The “Secret Embrace” is all over the Victoria’s Secret catalogues, ads, and in their store fronts, so we know it must be good.
Free of charge, this bra comes with two mini pillows in the cups, so you never worry about where to lay your head if you need a spur-of-the-moment nap. Perfect for narcoleptics! Some of the “Secret Embrace” bras are even reversible! (not the undies, though. You should still wash them between wear, especially thongs.) Unfortunately, it is also made of a material that feels like a weird foamy rubber. If I were Duct Tape Suzanne, I’d be picking that strange material out of my ass crack all day. But I’m not, and you probably aren’t either, so you can buy this set online if you want. Bra, $58 as pictured; thong; $16 but on sale 3 for $30. Whadda deal!
What is sexy? I think we all agree that pink is precious, but slightly naughty when paired with black! Wait til you see this innocent-yet-bad number as it digs into my soft flesh!
Yes, this hot little item from French designer Chantal Thomass can be yours for only $38 in stores! If you prefer getting your crotch patch online, or you want to see how Victoria’s Secret presents it on a woman with no tummy or body hair, you can order it online for only $28! The bra is only availabe in stores and can dig into your ribs for only $68. (Waxing and liposuction not included.)
Another fantastic and exotic store-only find is this Chantal Thomass black lace set.
Because who doesn’t find extraneous underwires jabbed you to be super hot, regardless of body type? The elegant thong nestles into my thighs and ass so perfectly.
Our next panties are perfect for people with digestive disorders, like me, or women who enjoy anal sex. (Not that I am relating the two.)
It’s like a little escape valve or emergency point of entry, when one just doesn’t have time to rip off her thong before the action happens. For our most urgent moments, buy this in stores for $16. Stock up if you get lots of sloppy action: 3 for $30. Why risk it?
If the thongs above are too much coverage for you, and the Chantal v-string a bit too pricey, no fears! You too can have a string in your ass all day long and no butt coverage for much less! Introducing the Angels v-string.
Note how it covers nothing on Duct Tape Suzanne, just like the more expensive designer one, yet has the fine feminine details we all crave on our crotch patches. You sacrifice nothing, since there is nothing to it, yet the Angels satin v-string is only $14! Click above and its only a credit card away. Marvelous!
Finally, to get into the holiday spirit, Giselle – the very same fashion model who dated Leonardo DiCaprio! – brings you the very same “skirt” she wore on the “cover of the Christmas Dreams and Fantasies Catalogue 2006”! (Yes, there is actually a high quality cream cardboard tag attached by safety pin to the skirt that assures me that this is true!)
I’m sorry to report that the bra on Duct Tape Suzanne is not the same one in the online catalogue on Giselle, and is only available in stores. Fortunately, this bra is scratchy as hell, constantly reminding you of its presence. You that you paid good money for that, you wouldn’t want to forget you were wearing it or something, would you? Actually, I almost think that Duct Tape Suzanne looks nicer in this outfit than Giselle does. She’s not wearing it as low on her hips as Giselle. Nor does Duct Tape Suzanne have legs, so it’s hard to see how hideous that would look on real Suzanne. Still, it is a nice way to end the show. Both items retail for $58.
Sorry Justin Timberlake was unable to perform, but I hope that Duct Tape Suzanne generated enough excitement on her own. As I am sure this was the most viewed fashion show on the web tonight, I’ll hold a press conference tomorrow morning to debrief.
Thank you for attending, and I hope you found what you were looking for in our hardworking Duct Tape Suzanne model!
First, some vital stats on the model for the model:
Height: 5’1”
Weight: 125ish
Bust: 35
Waist: 27
Hips: 37
The evening’s model, Duct Tape Suzanne, however, has no arms, legs, or especially head. We here at CUSS know what people really want to see when they view a lingerie fashion show, so why waste time with extraneous body parts? Speaking of wasting time, on with the show!
To kick off the evening, may I present the first sizzling number. The “Secret Embrace” is all over the Victoria’s Secret catalogues, ads, and in their store fronts, so we know it must be good.
 |  |
Free of charge, this bra comes with two mini pillows in the cups, so you never worry about where to lay your head if you need a spur-of-the-moment nap. Perfect for narcoleptics! Some of the “Secret Embrace” bras are even reversible! (not the undies, though. You should still wash them between wear, especially thongs.) Unfortunately, it is also made of a material that feels like a weird foamy rubber. If I were Duct Tape Suzanne, I’d be picking that strange material out of my ass crack all day. But I’m not, and you probably aren’t either, so you can buy this set online if you want. Bra, $58 as pictured; thong; $16 but on sale 3 for $30. Whadda deal!
What is sexy? I think we all agree that pink is precious, but slightly naughty when paired with black! Wait til you see this innocent-yet-bad number as it digs into my soft flesh!
 |  |
Yes, this hot little item from French designer Chantal Thomass can be yours for only $38 in stores! If you prefer getting your crotch patch online, or you want to see how Victoria’s Secret presents it on a woman with no tummy or body hair, you can order it online for only $28! The bra is only availabe in stores and can dig into your ribs for only $68. (Waxing and liposuction not included.)
Another fantastic and exotic store-only find is this Chantal Thomass black lace set.
 |  |
Because who doesn’t find extraneous underwires jabbed you to be super hot, regardless of body type? The elegant thong nestles into my thighs and ass so perfectly.
Our next panties are perfect for people with digestive disorders, like me, or women who enjoy anal sex. (Not that I am relating the two.)
 |  |
It’s like a little escape valve or emergency point of entry, when one just doesn’t have time to rip off her thong before the action happens. For our most urgent moments, buy this in stores for $16. Stock up if you get lots of sloppy action: 3 for $30. Why risk it?
If the thongs above are too much coverage for you, and the Chantal v-string a bit too pricey, no fears! You too can have a string in your ass all day long and no butt coverage for much less! Introducing the Angels v-string.
 |  |
Note how it covers nothing on Duct Tape Suzanne, just like the more expensive designer one, yet has the fine feminine details we all crave on our crotch patches. You sacrifice nothing, since there is nothing to it, yet the Angels satin v-string is only $14! Click above and its only a credit card away. Marvelous!
Finally, to get into the holiday spirit, Giselle – the very same fashion model who dated Leonardo DiCaprio! – brings you the very same “skirt” she wore on the “cover of the Christmas Dreams and Fantasies Catalogue 2006”! (Yes, there is actually a high quality cream cardboard tag attached by safety pin to the skirt that assures me that this is true!)
 |  |
I’m sorry to report that the bra on Duct Tape Suzanne is not the same one in the online catalogue on Giselle, and is only available in stores. Fortunately, this bra is scratchy as hell, constantly reminding you of its presence. You that you paid good money for that, you wouldn’t want to forget you were wearing it or something, would you? Actually, I almost think that Duct Tape Suzanne looks nicer in this outfit than Giselle does. She’s not wearing it as low on her hips as Giselle. Nor does Duct Tape Suzanne have legs, so it’s hard to see how hideous that would look on real Suzanne. Still, it is a nice way to end the show. Both items retail for $58.
Sorry Justin Timberlake was unable to perform, but I hope that Duct Tape Suzanne generated enough excitement on her own. As I am sure this was the most viewed fashion show on the web tonight, I’ll hold a press conference tomorrow morning to debrief.
Thank you for attending, and I hope you found what you were looking for in our hardworking Duct Tape Suzanne model!
Victoria's Secret Fashion Show: The Sneak Peak
To help me prepare for the headless, armless, and legless version of me as a lingerie model for tonight's big Anti-Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, I checked out the competition's online sneak peak. I learned three important things:
1. Obnoxiously loud techno music is featured at the real deal tonight, as well as "the breakout musical performance of the decade," which they seem to believe is Justin Timberlake "bringing sexy back." (Can you stop laughing at this idea? I can't.)
2. Although print ads and their own sneak preview shows last year's fantasy bra being modeled (my special investigation of the fantasy bra from last year, which involved calling the fantasy hotline, which is answered by a regular Victoria's Secret phone order employee, I was disappointed to discover - shouldn't it be a special line if you are going to spend millions of dollars on a bejeweled titsling? - revealed that although it will be custom-fit to the buyer, the 2005 was not sold), a quick search on the Victoria's Secret website revealed the brand new 2006 fantasy bra! You will be thrilled to know that it is over 800 carats and retails for $6.5 million. (Sorry, other holiday offers are not applicable to the fantasy bra.) Thank goodness there is slave labor in Africa to mine these diamonds, of which the sale finances horrible civil wars!
3. It is appropriate to wear a shrug with one's bra. (A shrug is usually worn on the shoulders with strapless gowns to keep the wearer's arms warm, but still show off the stylish dress because a shrug does not cover the torso like a plain old sweater does.) I do not understand this apparatus at all.
Now I am off to Vicky's to purchase some bra shrugs and other items for the anti-Victoria's Secret Fashion Show tonight. Stay tuned!
1. Obnoxiously loud techno music is featured at the real deal tonight, as well as "the breakout musical performance of the decade," which they seem to believe is Justin Timberlake "bringing sexy back." (Can you stop laughing at this idea? I can't.)
2. Although print ads and their own sneak preview shows last year's fantasy bra being modeled (my special investigation of the fantasy bra from last year, which involved calling the fantasy hotline, which is answered by a regular Victoria's Secret phone order employee, I was disappointed to discover - shouldn't it be a special line if you are going to spend millions of dollars on a bejeweled titsling? - revealed that although it will be custom-fit to the buyer, the 2005 was not sold), a quick search on the Victoria's Secret website revealed the brand new 2006 fantasy bra! You will be thrilled to know that it is over 800 carats and retails for $6.5 million. (Sorry, other holiday offers are not applicable to the fantasy bra.) Thank goodness there is slave labor in Africa to mine these diamonds, of which the sale finances horrible civil wars!
3. It is appropriate to wear a shrug with one's bra. (A shrug is usually worn on the shoulders with strapless gowns to keep the wearer's arms warm, but still show off the stylish dress because a shrug does not cover the torso like a plain old sweater does.) I do not understand this apparatus at all.
Now I am off to Vicky's to purchase some bra shrugs and other items for the anti-Victoria's Secret Fashion Show tonight. Stay tuned!
Monday, December 4, 2006
She's Alive! (or Something Like That)
Thanks to the wonderful leads I got from experienced crafters Minne and Elizabeth Perry and Debra Roby at blogher.org after I sought advice, I followed the easy instructions for making a duct tape mannequin at Threads. It cost about $12 for two rolls of 1.88" x 20 yards duct tape at Staples and $10 for polyester stuffing at some fabric store in Chinatown. I used a free t-shirt and a pair of old pajama bottoms, so those were either free or sunk costs.
First, I donned my tight fitting clothes. (As you can see, sacrificing these duds to the cause was no real loss.)
Not shown: the underwire bra I wore, no padded cups.
Next, Husband wrapped me with horizontal strips of duct tape. He is not particularly crafty (although very creative and clever), and was even able to do this while watching the Jets game on TV. (As Lingerie Model Suzanne will be wearing underwear, she needed a crotch and legs, so we deviated a bit from the instructions.)
Here I am after the entire first layer of duct tape was applied.
After all three layers were complete, it looked like this:
Husband cut down the back with chicken shears to free me from my duct tape armor, and I sealed it with more duct tape. Then I stuffed Lingerie Model Suzanne with polyfil, then sealed her arm, leg, and neck holes with pieces of cardboard and more duct tape. Viola!!! Now we are BFFs like Britney and Paris, except that we both we wear underwear.
For less than $25 and about 3 total hours of investment (not including the hair cut I got for unrelated reasons, making my hair look much better), I wound up with an amazing likeness of me that I can use for my anti-Victoria's Secret Fashion Show tomorrow! Of course, Lingerie Model Suzanne does not quite capture all the flab-hanging nuance of real Suzanne, but the odds are high that more women will be able to identify with a duct tape version of me than the real models on tomorrow night's show.
First, I donned my tight fitting clothes. (As you can see, sacrificing these duds to the cause was no real loss.)
Not shown: the underwire bra I wore, no padded cups.Next, Husband wrapped me with horizontal strips of duct tape. He is not particularly crafty (although very creative and clever), and was even able to do this while watching the Jets game on TV. (As Lingerie Model Suzanne will be wearing underwear, she needed a crotch and legs, so we deviated a bit from the instructions.)
Here I am after the entire first layer of duct tape was applied.
After all three layers were complete, it looked like this:
Husband cut down the back with chicken shears to free me from my duct tape armor, and I sealed it with more duct tape. Then I stuffed Lingerie Model Suzanne with polyfil, then sealed her arm, leg, and neck holes with pieces of cardboard and more duct tape. Viola!!! Now we are BFFs like Britney and Paris, except that we both we wear underwear.
For less than $25 and about 3 total hours of investment (not including the hair cut I got for unrelated reasons, making my hair look much better), I wound up with an amazing likeness of me that I can use for my anti-Victoria's Secret Fashion Show tomorrow! Of course, Lingerie Model Suzanne does not quite capture all the flab-hanging nuance of real Suzanne, but the odds are high that more women will be able to identify with a duct tape version of me than the real models on tomorrow night's show.
Nature and Glamour: At the Museum
Husband and I attended a fancy-schmancy event on Saturday night at the Museum of Natural History. (No, it wasn't Michael's Bar Mitvah. That was the other event at the museum that night. I shit you not.) We spent a fun evening eating and dancing in the Hall of Ocean Life. I was all gussied up for the evening, and even wore make-up and shit. Several nice photo opportunities presented themselves.
I could not wait to pose with the infamous sperm whale in epic battle with a giant squid.
When I mentioned it to one of Husband's acquaintences, he objected to the use of the word "sperm" in the whale's name. I asked if perhaps "jizz" whale, "splooge" whale, or "sputum" whale might be more acceptable to him. Husband was slightly horrified at first, but realized the guy was drunk and would probably not remember any of this.
I also posed next to parasites. My friend The Sauce was in the Peace Corps and actually shat these things out for several years during and after her return from the jungle.
Speaking of shit, here I am with Uranus.
Ha ha ha ha. That planet will never fail to crack me (and a busload of elementary school kids) up. After posing with Uranus, we passed by Michael's Bar Mitvah, where they were giving out free gourmet popcorn to guests. It seems that sniggering about Uranus makes people think that I am 13 a bar mitvah attendee, so I was asked which type of popcorn I would like. I chose the caramel chocolate of course. It was a better parting gift than the ones our event gave out, which were crappy metal bookplates. Husband was amused and pleased as we munched. A good time was had by all.
I could not wait to pose with the infamous sperm whale in epic battle with a giant squid.
When I mentioned it to one of Husband's acquaintences, he objected to the use of the word "sperm" in the whale's name. I asked if perhaps "jizz" whale, "splooge" whale, or "sputum" whale might be more acceptable to him. Husband was slightly horrified at first, but realized the guy was drunk and would probably not remember any of this.
I also posed next to parasites. My friend The Sauce was in the Peace Corps and actually shat these things out for several years during and after her return from the jungle. Speaking of shit, here I am with Uranus.
Ha ha ha ha. That planet will never fail to crack me (and a busload of elementary school kids) up. After posing with Uranus, we passed by Michael's Bar Mitvah, where they were giving out free gourmet popcorn to guests. It seems that sniggering about Uranus makes people think that I am 13 a bar mitvah attendee, so I was asked which type of popcorn I would like. I chose the caramel chocolate of course. It was a better parting gift than the ones our event gave out, which were crappy metal bookplates. Husband was amused and pleased as we munched. A good time was had by all.
Sunday, December 3, 2006
Update: Victoria's Secret Suzanne Model
This afternoon as he watched the Jets game, I donned some unflatteringly tight clothing and Husband wrapped me in three tight layers of duct tape. After about 90 minutes, he cut me free. Thus far, I am very, very pleased with the results. I need to buy more poly-fil stuffing tomorrow, and Victoria's Secret Suzanne Model will be ready for her sexy debut on Tuesday.
I think we will finally find the frightening answer to the Victoria's Secret age old question: "What is Sexy?"
Cackle cackle cackle.
I think we will finally find the frightening answer to the Victoria's Secret age old question: "What is Sexy?"
Cackle cackle cackle.
Saturday, December 2, 2006
No Way!!!!
If you use gmail as I do, you probably noticed that little ads and links appear on the sides and top of your monitor that are semi-related to what you email about. This is scary, but that's not my point. Usually ignore all that, but today as I checked my email, I noticed this link out of the corner of my eye:
Donkey Punch Clothing - donkeypunchclothing.com/ - Donkey Punch Clothing has Donkey Punch hats, and t-shirts.
Hilarious. Almost as hilarious as CUSS thongs,
but also far more disturbing. Incidentally, I love how the "Made in the USA" label appears next to the thong's crotch.
Donkey Punch Clothing - donkeypunchclothing.com/ - Donkey Punch Clothing has Donkey Punch hats, and t-shirts.
Hilarious. Almost as hilarious as CUSS thongs,
but also far more disturbing. Incidentally, I love how the "Made in the USA" label appears next to the thong's crotch.
Friday, December 1, 2006
If You Link to It, They Will Come (or Cum? Gross!)
Yesterday I had about 500 hits from people looking for Britney Spear’s waxed-but-stubbly beaver. Honestly, it sort of creeps me out. Not to worry, though – no one stayed to read the rest of my rants. It was all wham, bam, thank you for the link ma’am!
On another waxed snatch topic, I decided that while “slit and slat” is still a funny way to describe a Brazilian wax job, I like “snatch and hatch” much better. I already submitted “slit and slat” to UrbanDictionary for consideration, but I shall also go forth with “snatch and hatch.” When I submitted my first suggestion, I also signed up to receive their word of the day. This should bring many fractured gems to my inbox; blood diamonds of a different type, if you will.
As I was telling Husband about my new terms for Brazilian waxing, he reminded me that some time ago I came up with a great new comedy show. It’s about a waxing salon that opens in a war-torn area of the Middle East to help Westernize the women and “empowers” them. Much If set in Palestine, the salon (and show) will be called The Gaza Strip. If set in Iraq, it will be The Sunni Triangle. Side-splitting, is it not? What scares me a bit is that I could almost see a network thinking it would be a good idea, sort of like that awful show about Whoopi Goldberg running a hotel. I forgot what that was called.
Sadly, I myself must face the blade later today. Husband and I are going to his alumni dance tonight. It’s fancy and shit, so I gotta look respectable. That means no tufts of pit hair hanging out of my gown. Fortunately, I don’t have to bother with the wookie-like hair on my legs, as whichever bridesmaid dress I wear (either from Sister’s wedding or Elli’s wedding, depending on which looks less bulgy on me) will be ankle length.
Also, I hope to construct my Victoria’s Secret body double today, but it may need to wait until tomorrow. Either way, hilarious pictures of the process and final product will be shared.
On another waxed snatch topic, I decided that while “slit and slat” is still a funny way to describe a Brazilian wax job, I like “snatch and hatch” much better. I already submitted “slit and slat” to UrbanDictionary for consideration, but I shall also go forth with “snatch and hatch.” When I submitted my first suggestion, I also signed up to receive their word of the day. This should bring many fractured gems to my inbox; blood diamonds of a different type, if you will.
As I was telling Husband about my new terms for Brazilian waxing, he reminded me that some time ago I came up with a great new comedy show. It’s about a waxing salon that opens in a war-torn area of the Middle East to help Westernize the women and “empowers” them. Much If set in Palestine, the salon (and show) will be called The Gaza Strip. If set in Iraq, it will be The Sunni Triangle. Side-splitting, is it not? What scares me a bit is that I could almost see a network thinking it would be a good idea, sort of like that awful show about Whoopi Goldberg running a hotel. I forgot what that was called.
Sadly, I myself must face the blade later today. Husband and I are going to his alumni dance tonight. It’s fancy and shit, so I gotta look respectable. That means no tufts of pit hair hanging out of my gown. Fortunately, I don’t have to bother with the wookie-like hair on my legs, as whichever bridesmaid dress I wear (either from Sister’s wedding or Elli’s wedding, depending on which looks less bulgy on me) will be ankle length.
Also, I hope to construct my Victoria’s Secret body double today, but it may need to wait until tomorrow. Either way, hilarious pictures of the process and final product will be shared.
Give the Gift of CUSS This Holiday!
Seriously, Campaign for Unshaved Snatch (CUSS) t-shirts, sweatshirts, mugs, bags, and of course, undies (even thongs!) are now available to buy at the CUSS Store at Cafepress! What better way to show your friends and family that you care?
The cheapest t-shirt (shown above) is only $8.99 plus shipping. If that doesn't do it for you, there are lots of other styles. You know you want one.
Don't forget, stickers are still available for free by emailing me at cussandotherrants (at sign) gmail (dot) com.
The cheapest t-shirt (shown above) is only $8.99 plus shipping. If that doesn't do it for you, there are lots of other styles. You know you want one.Don't forget, stickers are still available for free by emailing me at cussandotherrants (at sign) gmail (dot) com.
Stubble Stumble
I swear there is a five o’clock shadow on Ms. Spears’s snatch. Stubble is one of the reasons I fear razors and wax. Forget crotches – I’m talking about legs and pits here. That shit itches as it grows back. It’s bad enough scratch, scratch, scratching your legs all day. Who wants to dig into the Fertile Crescent as it sprouts a new crop of hair?
Some men know what I’m talking about. Thanks to KidKate for the link to back, crack, and sack. Once again, UrbanDictionary.com comes through, providing edification to me and the rest of the masses. Those guys who don’t know the agony of back, crack, and sack but expect their ladies to undergo slit and slat (OK, I just made that term up, but it is slaying me) are unworthy of any poonanie.
Some men know what I’m talking about. Thanks to KidKate for the link to back, crack, and sack. Once again, UrbanDictionary.com comes through, providing edification to me and the rest of the masses. Those guys who don’t know the agony of back, crack, and sack but expect their ladies to undergo slit and slat (OK, I just made that term up, but it is slaying me) are unworthy of any poonanie.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Serendipity and Let the Molding Begin!
In order to create the Victoria’s Secret Model Suzanne, I will wear a form-fitting t-shirt and biking shorts or leggings, then be wrapped in duct tape. After three layers are applied, Husband or whoever helps me with my project will cut through the tape and clothes in the back, then I’ll tape it back together and stuff the form. Viola!
While rummaging through my pajama drawer for a reject t-shirt I could use for my exciting project, I found the perfect sacrificial lamb. As you may recall, after I cam back from the BlogHer conference at the end of July, I wrote a long rant about why I hated Elexa condoms. I recanted my beefs about the condoms themselves after being schooled by a more knowledgeable source on what the deal really is with them, but I remain irked that the t-shirts that they gave out during BlogHer were so tiny. Only someone with the figure of a Victoria’s Secret model could wear that shirt and look decent.
Click! The light bulb went on when I found the shirt buried in my drawer. It is very tight on me and perfect for making a body double cast that clearly shows my gut. So exciting! Now I just need a pair of bike shorts or stretch pants to cast my undergut and thunder thighs.
While rummaging through my pajama drawer for a reject t-shirt I could use for my exciting project, I found the perfect sacrificial lamb. As you may recall, after I cam back from the BlogHer conference at the end of July, I wrote a long rant about why I hated Elexa condoms. I recanted my beefs about the condoms themselves after being schooled by a more knowledgeable source on what the deal really is with them, but I remain irked that the t-shirts that they gave out during BlogHer were so tiny. Only someone with the figure of a Victoria’s Secret model could wear that shirt and look decent.
Click! The light bulb went on when I found the shirt buried in my drawer. It is very tight on me and perfect for making a body double cast that clearly shows my gut. So exciting! Now I just need a pair of bike shorts or stretch pants to cast my undergut and thunder thighs.
More on the Pubic Alert
As I finally drifted into a fitful slumber around 4 am (damn damn insomnia), I was still traumatized by the crotch pictures of young Brtiney Spears. (And also I forgot to hat tip the always delightful SJ of I, Asshole, which is where I first heard about the pictures.) Maybe 5 or 6 months ago, Lindsey Lohan had an incident where she was wearing a thong to the Kids' Choice Awards and her skirt was tangled in it or something and she flashed her ass to the audience of young impressionable minds. At the time, I wrote that this was one of those reminders that thongs are useless as underwear.
Back to Britney, as Suebob noted, who goes out in public with teeny skirts and no undies? At first I thought that maybe if she had been wearing her usual g-string, she could have avoided the worst of the situation. Then it occurred to me that the resultant photos could have been even more disturbing, with the string wedged into her pube-free cootch. That would have made some serious fetish photos. Suebob is also right that those gynerazzi are creepy to takes such pictures, and it is scary to think that this could happen to any one of us if we were famous and walked around with no underwear and what is essentially a long t-shirt.
Ultimately, the whole thing reminds me of my whole "Mother Nature" pubic hair theory of life: Think of pubic hairs as an organic warning system of sorts. It’s your guardian angel Mother Nature preventing you from humiliation by telling you to put some clothes on because you look obscene. I'm sure that Britney would not have gone out with no undies and a miniscule bottom if she had crotch hair hanging out all over the place. It would be protection from her own bad judgment and the vile photographers that took advantage of it.
Back to Britney, as Suebob noted, who goes out in public with teeny skirts and no undies? At first I thought that maybe if she had been wearing her usual g-string, she could have avoided the worst of the situation. Then it occurred to me that the resultant photos could have been even more disturbing, with the string wedged into her pube-free cootch. That would have made some serious fetish photos. Suebob is also right that those gynerazzi are creepy to takes such pictures, and it is scary to think that this could happen to any one of us if we were famous and walked around with no underwear and what is essentially a long t-shirt.
Ultimately, the whole thing reminds me of my whole "Mother Nature" pubic hair theory of life: Think of pubic hairs as an organic warning system of sorts. It’s your guardian angel Mother Nature preventing you from humiliation by telling you to put some clothes on because you look obscene. I'm sure that Britney would not have gone out with no undies and a miniscule bottom if she had crotch hair hanging out all over the place. It would be protection from her own bad judgment and the vile photographers that took advantage of it.
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