I was in an exceptionally foul mood yesterday afternoon when I went to a meeting. At first, the proceedings only pissed me off further, but as it progressed, things began looking up. By the end of the meeting, I no longer felt like calling certain people in power fucking retards and stomping out of the room.
As we were wrapping up, my boss cheerfully noted how great it was that we came to consensus, as the “people around the table are coming from different places.” My first impulse was to blurt out, “I’m from Uranus!!!” Fortunately, I was able to stop myself from doing this and barely conceal the hysterical laughter that welled up inside.
Friday, March 31, 2006
No Shit, Sherlock
Summary and quote from an article in Friday’s New York Post:
“Their Bra Cups Runneth Over” - Three women are suing plastic surgeon Brad Jacobs for giving them ginormous breast implants when they only wanted medium ones:
Rosenbaum said she thinks Jacobs is obsessed with large breasts.
The good “doctor” has performed over 11,000 breast implants. What would give anyone the idea that he is obsessed with big tits?
(Full story at http://www.nypost.com/news/regionalnews/61766.htm. Thanks to D. for forwarding this to me.)
“Their Bra Cups Runneth Over” - Three women are suing plastic surgeon Brad Jacobs for giving them ginormous breast implants when they only wanted medium ones:
Rosenbaum said she thinks Jacobs is obsessed with large breasts.
The good “doctor” has performed over 11,000 breast implants. What would give anyone the idea that he is obsessed with big tits?
(Full story at http://www.nypost.com/news/regionalnews/61766.htm. Thanks to D. for forwarding this to me.)
Chivalry is Not Dead
On Friday, we stopped for a few hours at Great Stirrup Cay, the private island owned by Norwegian Cruise Lines. (Yeah, I love how one-fifth of our port calls were to places that are completely culturally devoid and of no interest to me whatsoever.) To get to the island, the ship anchors away from the shore and you take a smaller boat. The waters were choppy as hell as we headed out in the morning (I watched some little girl spew all over her mom, which splashed the stranger sitting next to her, before we even left), and even worse as we came back from the beach. After we hit several waves, people were jittery. When we finally connected with the ship, everyone made a mad dash to get off the little boat. Mother-in-Law half-jokingly said, “Whatever happened to women and children first?”
If there is any one sentiment I loathe, it is “women and children first.” It is a chivalry that has to die, and one that never really made any sense any way. In Victorian times, you save the women and children. Of course, once the husbands died, the women and children feel into abject poverty for the most part since women had severely limited employment options. Even today, women and children are among the poorest groups in our society. The men should stay with the kids so that they at least can live a decent life.
The other thing I hate about “women and children” is that women are considered as helpless and innocent as children. For example, in war, people seem to get bent out of shape when “women and children” are killed, but not men. Why the fuck is it OK to kill men, but not women? I am as much as an adult as a man, I have as much ability to defend myself, and unlike children, who should be defended as innocents who have not yet had a fair chance to live, I have grown up. Being lumped in with the kids is insulting and infantilizing. It justifies all the “protective” laws passed that enable companies to discriminate against women because of our ability to bear children and our connection to children. Fuck that.
If there is any one sentiment I loathe, it is “women and children first.” It is a chivalry that has to die, and one that never really made any sense any way. In Victorian times, you save the women and children. Of course, once the husbands died, the women and children feel into abject poverty for the most part since women had severely limited employment options. Even today, women and children are among the poorest groups in our society. The men should stay with the kids so that they at least can live a decent life.
The other thing I hate about “women and children” is that women are considered as helpless and innocent as children. For example, in war, people seem to get bent out of shape when “women and children” are killed, but not men. Why the fuck is it OK to kill men, but not women? I am as much as an adult as a man, I have as much ability to defend myself, and unlike children, who should be defended as innocents who have not yet had a fair chance to live, I have grown up. Being lumped in with the kids is insulting and infantilizing. It justifies all the “protective” laws passed that enable companies to discriminate against women because of our ability to bear children and our connection to children. Fuck that.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Get that Shit Dick Away from Me, Please
I had dinner with Dr. P and Future Dr. H on Monday night. Future Dr. H is starting her OB/GYN residency in June, and Dr. P is completing a surgery residency with an eye towards colorectal surgery, so you can imagine how exciting dinner conversations are between the three of us. I suggested that in the future, Dr. P and Future Dr. H should open a practice together. That way, women can have both ends taken care of at one place. I even offered my services as the office manager. What better way to use a public administration degree than managing the operations of a cooch and ass practice? I'm serious!
Anyway, I was very intrigued but not surprised to learn from Future Dr. H that anal sex is practiced among heterosexual couples at much, much higher rates than publicly reported. It seems, however, that heteros are fucking stupid assholes when it comes to coming in the asshole. Many people don’t use nearly enough lube, which causes some serious ass damage to women. Others don't use an enema or condoms, leading to nasty dick infections, not to mention doody dick.
I'm not sure why people would not think about these concepts, but it certainly is another good argument for comprehensive sex education. It's a futile argument at this point, given the Bush administration's public hatred of anything except abstinence and missionary-position "normal" sex between married couples. Not that most of the adminsitration practices what they preach, but they are all shit dicks anyway.
Anyway, I was very intrigued but not surprised to learn from Future Dr. H that anal sex is practiced among heterosexual couples at much, much higher rates than publicly reported. It seems, however, that heteros are fucking stupid assholes when it comes to coming in the asshole. Many people don’t use nearly enough lube, which causes some serious ass damage to women. Others don't use an enema or condoms, leading to nasty dick infections, not to mention doody dick.
I'm not sure why people would not think about these concepts, but it certainly is another good argument for comprehensive sex education. It's a futile argument at this point, given the Bush administration's public hatred of anything except abstinence and missionary-position "normal" sex between married couples. Not that most of the adminsitration practices what they preach, but they are all shit dicks anyway.
Not All Pink is Girly
When I left work last night, I was feeling pretty low. I had just read a depressing article online about some new potential TV pilots based on blogs. Three out of four of the blogs present a certain obnoxious image of women in the Sex in the City vein, only missing out on the aspects of Sex in the City that made it a show watched by people who I respect. (I could never get over the shopping and fashion aspects myself.) As usual, women who live (or try to live) out clichés about being young, female, and single in an urban area are getting showered with attention. I freely admit that I am completely jealous of their successes, but it also depresses me that only a certain type of female writer (chick lit) seems to matter.
Anyway, as I was wallowing in self-pity (I’m very good at that) on the subway on my way home, I read in Entertainment Weekly about the new Pink song and video in which she mocks Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, and Mary-Kate Ashley for being vacuous. In the article, Pink explains, “None of these girls are stupid. They’ve dumbed themselves down to be cute. I just feel like one image is being force-fed down people’s throats. There’s a lot of smart women. There’s a lot of smart girls. Who is representing them?” While I disagree that none of the aforementioned people are stupid, Pink’s feistiness heartened me. She also has a new song on her album about how George Bush was a cokehead. How cool is that?
It’s great to remember that there are people like Pink and Sarah Vowell, who are successful and original, and that not everyone who gets ahead is a hack.
Anyway, as I was wallowing in self-pity (I’m very good at that) on the subway on my way home, I read in Entertainment Weekly about the new Pink song and video in which she mocks Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, and Mary-Kate Ashley for being vacuous. In the article, Pink explains, “None of these girls are stupid. They’ve dumbed themselves down to be cute. I just feel like one image is being force-fed down people’s throats. There’s a lot of smart women. There’s a lot of smart girls. Who is representing them?” While I disagree that none of the aforementioned people are stupid, Pink’s feistiness heartened me. She also has a new song on her album about how George Bush was a cokehead. How cool is that?
It’s great to remember that there are people like Pink and Sarah Vowell, who are successful and original, and that not everyone who gets ahead is a hack.
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
Scenes from a Cruise
Not that anyone was clamoring for more cruise details, but I want to share some great pictures.
The super powerful toilet in our cabin:
Our two favorite plants at the botanic garden in Road Town, Tortola, BVI:
Theo kicking it back. (Isn't he handsome?)
My favorite onboard activity.
The super powerful toilet in our cabin:
Our two favorite plants at the botanic garden in Road Town, Tortola, BVI:
Theo kicking it back. (Isn't he handsome?)
My favorite onboard activity.
Just Call Me Glamorpuss
It always takes me about two weeks to adjust to a haircut, and my super short cut is no different. I love it! I decided that short hair is great because I look either spunky, impish, or like an angry dyke depending on my mood.
My hair grows fast, though, and I think I am almost ready for a trim. This is what I do not like about my new short cut at all. It is going to be costly to maintain if I need to get a trim every four weeks. Also, since it is growing in, it ironically takes me more time to style than it did when I had hair. I seem to need to wet it every morning and fix the part, otherwise I look like George Clooney did when he had that nasty Caesar bowl cut in the ‘90s. Really, who wants to look like George Clooney on a bad day?
My hair grows fast, though, and I think I am almost ready for a trim. This is what I do not like about my new short cut at all. It is going to be costly to maintain if I need to get a trim every four weeks. Also, since it is growing in, it ironically takes me more time to style than it did when I had hair. I seem to need to wet it every morning and fix the part, otherwise I look like George Clooney did when he had that nasty Caesar bowl cut in the ‘90s. Really, who wants to look like George Clooney on a bad day?
What If They Gave A Protest and No Media Came?
What a difference two years can make. When the March for Women’s Lives happened in April 2004, it drew one million people from around the country and was the largest march on Washington ever. The media barely covered it. This week, I've seen extensive coverage of a demonstration in LA over the weekend that drew an estimated 500,000 protesters against punitive legislation on illegal immigration passed by the House. The media is covering protests in Detroit and other cities as well.
Is the media more responsive to progressive issues these days? That would be nice. While I agree that illegal immigration is a problem, I think the proposed law Congree is currently debating a stupid piece of shit that would accomplish nothing. (If you want to stop people from coming here illegally, you have to stop the assholes who provide jobs for them because they don’t want to pay people a fair wage. If people can’t get jobs, they won’t come. Not only would this actually work, but it would be a much cheaper solution than border patrols and all the rest of it that hurts the job seekers, not the powerful industries that break the law to offer the low paying jobs.) I find the demonstrations very inspiring, actually. People need to tell Republicans and Bush that they fucking suck.
Yet I can’t help but be cynical. Deep down in my heart, I am sure that if the March for Women’s Lives took place today, and 1 million people again showed up, we’d be ignored. Feminism and self-autonomy are just not cool these days. Man, it’s sad to be part of a movement that is declared “dead” by the media every few years.
Is the media more responsive to progressive issues these days? That would be nice. While I agree that illegal immigration is a problem, I think the proposed law Congree is currently debating a stupid piece of shit that would accomplish nothing. (If you want to stop people from coming here illegally, you have to stop the assholes who provide jobs for them because they don’t want to pay people a fair wage. If people can’t get jobs, they won’t come. Not only would this actually work, but it would be a much cheaper solution than border patrols and all the rest of it that hurts the job seekers, not the powerful industries that break the law to offer the low paying jobs.) I find the demonstrations very inspiring, actually. People need to tell Republicans and Bush that they fucking suck.
Yet I can’t help but be cynical. Deep down in my heart, I am sure that if the March for Women’s Lives took place today, and 1 million people again showed up, we’d be ignored. Feminism and self-autonomy are just not cool these days. Man, it’s sad to be part of a movement that is declared “dead” by the media every few years.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
No, You Cram Your Ass into These
One of the dangerous things about the cruise was the all-you-can-eat mentality that existed in not only the buffets, but the restaurants as well. I cannot resist overeating in these situations, and before departing, I feared (not entirely unrealized) a return to my status as an overweight short woman. In my previous life as an overweight short woman, I used to go crazy trying to find clothes that fit. I assumed that the only difference between a size 14 and a size 14P pants is that the legs would be shorter. I mean, a size 14 is a size 14, regardless of height, right?
As usual, I was wrong. It seems that a short person who is a size 14 has hips and a waist that somehow are automatically ½ to 1 inch smaller than an average person who is a size 14. My dilemma became whether to buy a pair of pants I could zip and breathe in but that came with a crotch that was at my mid-thigh or lower and legs that covered my entire foot, or buy a pair of pants in which the crotch was actually at my crotch and the legs were more or less the right length but I could not close the pants over my gut and ass.
Why would people assume that those of us who are slightly vertically challenged have less meat on our bones than our normal sisters? Do they think we have smaller bodies and thus eat less because we require fewer calories to get our stunted bodies through the day, or do they assume that we burn more calories since our short legs need to work harder to keep up with taller people as we walk anywhere? Perhaps people believe we absorb fewer calories because we have a faster digestive process since our stomach is closer in a truncated body to our intestines, which in turn are closer to our asses, so we just excrete stuff faster.
I don’t know, but it is all wrong. I like to eat junk food as much as the next person, but I have less body to distribute the fat over, so it bunches up more. Clothes for shorties should actually be made wider, not narrower.
At the height of my weight problem, I really could not find anything to wear. Many manufacturers will make clothes up to size 16 for regular women, but obviously a short person would never need a 16, so they don’t bother making them. Some don’t even make clothes above a size 12 for short chicks. It’s like there is some sort of natural law that short women must also be thin or they offend society and thus should have nothing to wear. I decided that some day I would open a store for petite women who were overweight, and I would call it Short & Fat. It would be a mecca for women in my situation. (Husband’s opinion on the matter was that no matter how true it is, very few women want to shop in stores that call them fat.) Ah, to dream!
As usual, I was wrong. It seems that a short person who is a size 14 has hips and a waist that somehow are automatically ½ to 1 inch smaller than an average person who is a size 14. My dilemma became whether to buy a pair of pants I could zip and breathe in but that came with a crotch that was at my mid-thigh or lower and legs that covered my entire foot, or buy a pair of pants in which the crotch was actually at my crotch and the legs were more or less the right length but I could not close the pants over my gut and ass.
Why would people assume that those of us who are slightly vertically challenged have less meat on our bones than our normal sisters? Do they think we have smaller bodies and thus eat less because we require fewer calories to get our stunted bodies through the day, or do they assume that we burn more calories since our short legs need to work harder to keep up with taller people as we walk anywhere? Perhaps people believe we absorb fewer calories because we have a faster digestive process since our stomach is closer in a truncated body to our intestines, which in turn are closer to our asses, so we just excrete stuff faster.
I don’t know, but it is all wrong. I like to eat junk food as much as the next person, but I have less body to distribute the fat over, so it bunches up more. Clothes for shorties should actually be made wider, not narrower.
At the height of my weight problem, I really could not find anything to wear. Many manufacturers will make clothes up to size 16 for regular women, but obviously a short person would never need a 16, so they don’t bother making them. Some don’t even make clothes above a size 12 for short chicks. It’s like there is some sort of natural law that short women must also be thin or they offend society and thus should have nothing to wear. I decided that some day I would open a store for petite women who were overweight, and I would call it Short & Fat. It would be a mecca for women in my situation. (Husband’s opinion on the matter was that no matter how true it is, very few women want to shop in stores that call them fat.) Ah, to dream!
Monday, March 27, 2006
Things that Suck
The only thing worse than an insincere rejection letter is a late insincere rejection letter. Also, whatever the latest and “greatest” version of Microsoft Word is. Nothing can bring on tears of frustration faster than any of the above. Just a thought.
The Results are Less than Hairy
The Hairy Chest Contest was not quite what I expected. Based on the name, I expected that it would be a contest in which the person with the hairiest chest would be declared a victor. Does that not sound like a reasonable expectation? Of course, what I was led to believe and what the Hairy Chest Contest actually was were two different things. Not terrible, but strange. Most annoying, though, is that contestants did not face the audience, making photography a bit tricky.
Things seemed odd when Ricky the Cruise Director (below) called for contestants and their wives or girlfriends. (Sorry, Scott #1 – it seems that this was a hetero Hairy Chest Contest, which is probably why it was not as good as it should have been.)
It seems that Hairy Chest Contests on the Norwegian Dawn are not about who has the hairiest chest, but about whose wife/girlfriend can identify him by blindly rubbing said hairy chest. To that end, as depicted below, the women were lined up and blindfolded. They were then guided down a gauntlet of men, whose chests they rubbed. Once a woman thought she felt up her husband, she said so and was placed across from him.
You’ll be thrilled to know that all the women correctly identified their guys, thus no men were eliminated in the first round. The second round commenced. Men were told to make Tarzan whoops into Ricky’s microphone and dance like a caveman. The audience then cheered for the “manliest,” who was then declared the winner of the Hairy Chest Contest. This method actually produced a victor who in fact, had the least hairy chest of all the contestants. He is on the far right with the goatee facing the camera. (He did have the hairiest face of all of the contestants, but this was not a Hairiest Face Contest.)
That, my friends, was sadly one of the highlights of the entertainment offered by the ship.
Things seemed odd when Ricky the Cruise Director (below) called for contestants and their wives or girlfriends. (Sorry, Scott #1 – it seems that this was a hetero Hairy Chest Contest, which is probably why it was not as good as it should have been.)
It seems that Hairy Chest Contests on the Norwegian Dawn are not about who has the hairiest chest, but about whose wife/girlfriend can identify him by blindly rubbing said hairy chest. To that end, as depicted below, the women were lined up and blindfolded. They were then guided down a gauntlet of men, whose chests they rubbed. Once a woman thought she felt up her husband, she said so and was placed across from him.
You’ll be thrilled to know that all the women correctly identified their guys, thus no men were eliminated in the first round. The second round commenced. Men were told to make Tarzan whoops into Ricky’s microphone and dance like a caveman. The audience then cheered for the “manliest,” who was then declared the winner of the Hairy Chest Contest. This method actually produced a victor who in fact, had the least hairy chest of all the contestants. He is on the far right with the goatee facing the camera. (He did have the hairiest face of all of the contestants, but this was not a Hairiest Face Contest.)
That, my friends, was sadly one of the highlights of the entertainment offered by the ship.
Sunday, March 26, 2006
There's No Place Like Home (Especially Since My Home is NYC)
Damn, I love being home. Solid ground is wonderful!
While I generally loathed my cruise, I did enjoy the time I was privileged to spend in the British Virgin Islands, St. Martin, and Puerto Rico. The dead time on the ship also afforded me the opportunity to finally catch up on my magazine reading, and I polished off four issues of my beloved Entertainment Weekly and the 10th anniversary issue of my favorite feminist pop culture magazine Bitch. Plus I was able to finish two books, Beasts of No Nation and Striver’s Row, for two of my three book clubs, and to make a serious dent in The Power Broker, which I am reading for my third book club. (Yes, I am somewhat overcommitted but I just get so excited when people ask me to join their activities that I can’t say no. It’s a sad long-term effect from being a super dork as a youth. At any rate, I figured that I have been traveling so much that I have lots of time for reading, and it has been true.)
I loved Striver’s Row, which is about Harlem in 1943, racism in America, Malcolm X before he was Malcolm X, and a minister. Books like this always impact me deeply. I cried my eyes out, and was depressed by the horrors of racism so eloquently described. It also reminded me that the North has a sordid history that is as bad as the South, and in some ways worse. On the other hand, I still feel justified in my scathing hatred of the South, as a disturbing number of white Southerners embrace “confederate pride.” Yes, Northerners were evil too, but no one up here seems to think our past policies and legacy of racism, abuse, and discrimination are things we can be proud of and celebrate. I do think that we need to be more aware of our past, though.
As for The Power Broker, I am still early in the book (the Al Smith years of the early 1920s), but I am sure that it is going to tie very nicely into some of the historical fiction that I absorbed in Striver’s Row, and add to my frustration. Robert Moses is such a mixed figure. Mostly, I can’t stand what he did, especially to low income neighborhoods, but he also brought parks to many [middle-class] New Yorkers who otherwise would not have had access to outdoor space. I should have read this book ages ago, because as its introduction says, Bob Moses made modern New York what it is. It is disturbing and fascinating.
It is ironic that the effect of both of these books, which I would not have had time to read except for the cruise, made me think a little bit differently about the City I call home. New York is so damn complicated, and means something different to everyone, depending on class, race, gender, religion, etc. Good and bad, I am so glad to be back home, and even happier that I spend my working days trying to do some good for people, even if I mostly don’t succeed.
While I generally loathed my cruise, I did enjoy the time I was privileged to spend in the British Virgin Islands, St. Martin, and Puerto Rico. The dead time on the ship also afforded me the opportunity to finally catch up on my magazine reading, and I polished off four issues of my beloved Entertainment Weekly and the 10th anniversary issue of my favorite feminist pop culture magazine Bitch. Plus I was able to finish two books, Beasts of No Nation and Striver’s Row, for two of my three book clubs, and to make a serious dent in The Power Broker, which I am reading for my third book club. (Yes, I am somewhat overcommitted but I just get so excited when people ask me to join their activities that I can’t say no. It’s a sad long-term effect from being a super dork as a youth. At any rate, I figured that I have been traveling so much that I have lots of time for reading, and it has been true.)
I loved Striver’s Row, which is about Harlem in 1943, racism in America, Malcolm X before he was Malcolm X, and a minister. Books like this always impact me deeply. I cried my eyes out, and was depressed by the horrors of racism so eloquently described. It also reminded me that the North has a sordid history that is as bad as the South, and in some ways worse. On the other hand, I still feel justified in my scathing hatred of the South, as a disturbing number of white Southerners embrace “confederate pride.” Yes, Northerners were evil too, but no one up here seems to think our past policies and legacy of racism, abuse, and discrimination are things we can be proud of and celebrate. I do think that we need to be more aware of our past, though.
As for The Power Broker, I am still early in the book (the Al Smith years of the early 1920s), but I am sure that it is going to tie very nicely into some of the historical fiction that I absorbed in Striver’s Row, and add to my frustration. Robert Moses is such a mixed figure. Mostly, I can’t stand what he did, especially to low income neighborhoods, but he also brought parks to many [middle-class] New Yorkers who otherwise would not have had access to outdoor space. I should have read this book ages ago, because as its introduction says, Bob Moses made modern New York what it is. It is disturbing and fascinating.
It is ironic that the effect of both of these books, which I would not have had time to read except for the cruise, made me think a little bit differently about the City I call home. New York is so damn complicated, and means something different to everyone, depending on class, race, gender, religion, etc. Good and bad, I am so glad to be back home, and even happier that I spend my working days trying to do some good for people, even if I mostly don’t succeed.
Saturday, March 25, 2006
The Cruise - Riding the Waves Home
Some time within the last few months, I vaguely remember reading that a cruise ship was hit by a super ginormous rogue wave. It turns out that that ship happens to be the one I am on now, the Norwegian Dawn. Yesterday while we were sitting on the pool deck eating lunch Mother-in-Law mentioned that she learned that there were previously two additional hot tubs on the ship, but they were obliterated by the rogue wave. For some reason, this knowledge makes me respect the ship a whole lot more.
I mention all of this because we are on some mildly rough waters as we speed back to New York. The waves are fascinating. I sat in my cabin for the last few hours watching them, waiting for one to hit my window. So far, only one or two have. Yet it’s the most fun I’ve had onboard this entire trip. I’m not sure if that says more about me or the quality of the entertainment offered by the ship.
No matter how interesting the waves are, I’m really looking forward to getting home tomorrow afternoon. Husband and Theo are looking forward to it as well. Being on solid ground for more than a few hours a day will be great. It will also be nice to give Tycho, my giant pet rabbit, a pat on the head. As Dorothy said, there’s no place like home!
I mention all of this because we are on some mildly rough waters as we speed back to New York. The waves are fascinating. I sat in my cabin for the last few hours watching them, waiting for one to hit my window. So far, only one or two have. Yet it’s the most fun I’ve had onboard this entire trip. I’m not sure if that says more about me or the quality of the entertainment offered by the ship.
No matter how interesting the waves are, I’m really looking forward to getting home tomorrow afternoon. Husband and Theo are looking forward to it as well. Being on solid ground for more than a few hours a day will be great. It will also be nice to give Tycho, my giant pet rabbit, a pat on the head. As Dorothy said, there’s no place like home!
Friday, March 24, 2006
The Cruise: Who Knew that Capitalism Floats?
The thing I hate most about cruises is the amount of selling that is done to captive passengers. Everything is about getting us to spend money and to buy shit. The daily events include numerous seminars in which products of all sorts – from teeth whitening to weight loss to jewelry and watches – are pitched. You can’t go anywhere without some crew member trying to take your picture, which they will gladly sell to you for a mere $19.99 later that day. Small maps of the shopping areas near the ship are distributed when we pull into port. Earlier today, we were at the private island owned by the cruise line. Even there, “locals” were selling souvenirs, hair braiding, and other crap. What fucking “locals” live on NCL’s private island? Do they import people just to sell crap, or worse, are people actually unfortunate enough to have a cruise line as their landlord?
It’s buy, buy, buy, and it disgusts me. I seriously doubt that most of the people on this ship can afford all the crap that they are lining up to buy like suckers. Very sad.
It’s buy, buy, buy, and it disgusts me. I seriously doubt that most of the people on this ship can afford all the crap that they are lining up to buy like suckers. Very sad.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
The Cruise - A Recap of the Trip Thus Far
Now that it is almost over, I am definitely adapting to being on a cruise. I’ve really enjoyed the port calls that we made so far, although, as I bitched before, I think only a few hours in a place is criminal. It strikes me as fucked up that you spend days traveling to a place and then have such minimal time there. You can barely experience anything, which is what most cruise enthusiasts seem to love. They want a quick taste of something and then it’s time to head over to the next destination. Cruises are Epcot on water. Oh well. Maybe I will get back to some of these places another time. At least I got to go for a little bit, which is more than most people will ever have the chance to experience. I know that I am lucky in that sense. Anyway, a quick recap of where I visited over the past four days:
St. Thomas (US Virgin Islands) - Actually, I do not regret that our port call at St. Thomas was so short. I found it to be a grotesque mix of poverty and extremely high end retail. All of the stores in the downtown area sold mega fancy jewelry and Swiss watches, as well as expensive fashion items. The one thing that I enjoyed about St. Thomas was the synagogue, which was a cool Caribbean pastel set of small buildings. Unfortunately, it was closed on Sunday, but I would have loved to see how the inside was different from other synagogues I’ve been to. (Visiting/seeing synagogues in foreign places has become a strange hobby of mine in the past few years. I just really enjoy seeing how Jewish traditions blend with local ones.)
In St. Thomas, I also went with Husband and Brother-in-Law on a shore excursion to Coral World, a cheesy small outdoor aquarium. We participated in Sea Trekkin, which is a 30 minute walk on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. We were outfitted with special 72 lb. helmets (fortunately, they were only 15 lbs. underwater) which were designed for deep sea divers (or possibly astronauts) and walked with a guide along a path 10-20 feet under water. I held a sea urchin and some weird thing that looked like a spider. Fish swam right by our faces. It was cool. I hope I can post some pictures when I get back.
Tortola (British Virgin Islands) - I loved Road Town, the tiny main town in Tortola, an island of only 10 miles. It was adorably quaint and super laid-back. I would have loved a few days to explore the island and also to travel to the other British Virgin Islands. Alas, in the 8 hours were allotted, Husband and I only had time for a historical walking tour, which included two poorly curated and totally charming museums, two trips to the famous post office (to buy stamps and to mail a post card to my folks that I filled out over lunch), lunch, a visit to the botanic gardens, and a break for some seriously delicious gelato. I had to forgo a trip to the other side of Tortola to the North Shore Shell Museum because there was not enough time.
People on the island have a great combination of Caribbean calm and British sensibilities. I so love almost anything British!!! Oddly enough, the accepted currency in the British Virgin Islands is the US dollar, not the British pound. Since the current exchange rate is about $2 for £1, that makes the island much more affordable. I would love to go back.
St.Maarten/St. Martin - I also loved St.Maarten/St. Martin, a 37 mile island split by the Dutch and French. In the morning, Parent-in-Laws rented a van, and Husband, Brother-in-Law’s Girlfriend, and I piled in with them for a drive around the island. It is fairly undeveloped, with some small towns sprinkled between Marigot (the French capital) and Philipsburg (the Dutch capital). The drive was pleasant, although when I urgently needed a bathroom between Grand Case (a town with tons of gourmet restaurants) and Marigot, this was difficult. Eventually, we pulled into a strip mall on the outskirts of Marigot. After searching for 15 minutes, we learned that the small outdoor bar had the bathroom key. The bathroom itself was very isolated and behind a bunch of buildings. They key opened the padlock that kept random people from using it. Fortunately, I had already dealt with a similar situation in the DR, so it did not freak me out as much as it otherwise would have. The family took turns using the bathroom and standing guard.
Marigot was very interesting. It is full of designer shops, bars, and restaurants. We browsed in the open air market. I split an amazing pan au chocolat with BiLG. It was the best bargain on the island at only $1. (Another interesting discovery we made is that the exchange rate between dollars and euros, the official currency, is 1:1, which is absolutely not the real exchange rate, as euros are stronger than dollars. So that also worked out well.)
We completed our drive around the island by driving up a mountainside with a stunning view and returned to the ship. Parent-in-Laws and BiLG picked up Brother-in-Law, who had been on a morning power snorkel excursion, and went shopping in Philipsburg. They reported that it was very nice. If there was more time, I would have loved to walk around Philipsburg myself, but Husband and I had signed up for a shore excursion to Rhino Riders, which are some sort of hybrid two person boats. The plan was to motor out with a guide through Simpson Bay, past the zillion dollar yachts parked in the harbor, under the cute bridge dividing the Dutch and French sides, and out into the sea, chugging up the coast of the island past Marigot to Happy Bay for snorkeling. Happy Bay is what our amusing guide referred to as a “nudie beach.”
Our start was quite slow, literally, as the engine on our boat was not working. Guide called in a replacement boat, which we transferred to in the middle of the water. Exciting! The new boat actually worked, so we were soon speeding our way up the coast of St. Martin. It was incredibly fun. (I think that Husband should get a motorcycle when we get back as I imagine it would be very similar.) When we arrived at Happy Bay, we tied our boats together away from the shore. (I noticed a nude person, but we were a bit far off the beach, and I could not tell if the person was male or female. I did notice that he/she was disturbingly tan.) We strapped on the snorkeling equipment, which was the first time I ever snorkeled. I loved it! I like having my face in the water yet being able to breathe. It was way better than Sea Trekkin, too. I saw tons of fish of various sizes and colors.
San Juan, PR - I spent our 5 hour port call in Old San Juan with the family. We went to El Morro, an amazing fort built by the Spanish several hundred years ago. I also convinced everyone to go with me to a re-created house and pharmacy of a 19th century Puerto Rican family. I loved the old pharmacy, although it did not have very many objects, and even fewer disturbing ones. The house was very interesting. Everything was written in Spanish, which none of us read well, but it was a very pleasant visit anyway. We shopped for a while and had lunch at a hole-in-the-wall type of place. It was crowded with Puertorriqueños, so we knew it had to be good. I had the best mofongo con cerdo (mashed boiled plantains with pork, a traditional dish in PR and the DR) ever. Fuck, it was tasty. And that was pretty much all the time we had in PR.
Today we are back at sea for the day. The big event on the ship is the Chocolate Buffet from 11:15 pm to midnight. This should be a sight to behold, and of course, eat like a pig. Tomorrow we arrive at Norwegian Cruise Line’s private island in the Bahamas. It is the only day that I will go to the beach, as there is nothing else to see or do. BiLG’s birthday is tomorrow, so we shall do something special at dinner. Then we’ll be at sea again all day on Sat. I plan to do lots of writing and reading.
St. Thomas (US Virgin Islands) - Actually, I do not regret that our port call at St. Thomas was so short. I found it to be a grotesque mix of poverty and extremely high end retail. All of the stores in the downtown area sold mega fancy jewelry and Swiss watches, as well as expensive fashion items. The one thing that I enjoyed about St. Thomas was the synagogue, which was a cool Caribbean pastel set of small buildings. Unfortunately, it was closed on Sunday, but I would have loved to see how the inside was different from other synagogues I’ve been to. (Visiting/seeing synagogues in foreign places has become a strange hobby of mine in the past few years. I just really enjoy seeing how Jewish traditions blend with local ones.)
In St. Thomas, I also went with Husband and Brother-in-Law on a shore excursion to Coral World, a cheesy small outdoor aquarium. We participated in Sea Trekkin, which is a 30 minute walk on the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. We were outfitted with special 72 lb. helmets (fortunately, they were only 15 lbs. underwater) which were designed for deep sea divers (or possibly astronauts) and walked with a guide along a path 10-20 feet under water. I held a sea urchin and some weird thing that looked like a spider. Fish swam right by our faces. It was cool. I hope I can post some pictures when I get back.
Tortola (British Virgin Islands) - I loved Road Town, the tiny main town in Tortola, an island of only 10 miles. It was adorably quaint and super laid-back. I would have loved a few days to explore the island and also to travel to the other British Virgin Islands. Alas, in the 8 hours were allotted, Husband and I only had time for a historical walking tour, which included two poorly curated and totally charming museums, two trips to the famous post office (to buy stamps and to mail a post card to my folks that I filled out over lunch), lunch, a visit to the botanic gardens, and a break for some seriously delicious gelato. I had to forgo a trip to the other side of Tortola to the North Shore Shell Museum because there was not enough time.
People on the island have a great combination of Caribbean calm and British sensibilities. I so love almost anything British!!! Oddly enough, the accepted currency in the British Virgin Islands is the US dollar, not the British pound. Since the current exchange rate is about $2 for £1, that makes the island much more affordable. I would love to go back.
St.Maarten/St. Martin - I also loved St.Maarten/St. Martin, a 37 mile island split by the Dutch and French. In the morning, Parent-in-Laws rented a van, and Husband, Brother-in-Law’s Girlfriend, and I piled in with them for a drive around the island. It is fairly undeveloped, with some small towns sprinkled between Marigot (the French capital) and Philipsburg (the Dutch capital). The drive was pleasant, although when I urgently needed a bathroom between Grand Case (a town with tons of gourmet restaurants) and Marigot, this was difficult. Eventually, we pulled into a strip mall on the outskirts of Marigot. After searching for 15 minutes, we learned that the small outdoor bar had the bathroom key. The bathroom itself was very isolated and behind a bunch of buildings. They key opened the padlock that kept random people from using it. Fortunately, I had already dealt with a similar situation in the DR, so it did not freak me out as much as it otherwise would have. The family took turns using the bathroom and standing guard.
Marigot was very interesting. It is full of designer shops, bars, and restaurants. We browsed in the open air market. I split an amazing pan au chocolat with BiLG. It was the best bargain on the island at only $1. (Another interesting discovery we made is that the exchange rate between dollars and euros, the official currency, is 1:1, which is absolutely not the real exchange rate, as euros are stronger than dollars. So that also worked out well.)
We completed our drive around the island by driving up a mountainside with a stunning view and returned to the ship. Parent-in-Laws and BiLG picked up Brother-in-Law, who had been on a morning power snorkel excursion, and went shopping in Philipsburg. They reported that it was very nice. If there was more time, I would have loved to walk around Philipsburg myself, but Husband and I had signed up for a shore excursion to Rhino Riders, which are some sort of hybrid two person boats. The plan was to motor out with a guide through Simpson Bay, past the zillion dollar yachts parked in the harbor, under the cute bridge dividing the Dutch and French sides, and out into the sea, chugging up the coast of the island past Marigot to Happy Bay for snorkeling. Happy Bay is what our amusing guide referred to as a “nudie beach.”
Our start was quite slow, literally, as the engine on our boat was not working. Guide called in a replacement boat, which we transferred to in the middle of the water. Exciting! The new boat actually worked, so we were soon speeding our way up the coast of St. Martin. It was incredibly fun. (I think that Husband should get a motorcycle when we get back as I imagine it would be very similar.) When we arrived at Happy Bay, we tied our boats together away from the shore. (I noticed a nude person, but we were a bit far off the beach, and I could not tell if the person was male or female. I did notice that he/she was disturbingly tan.) We strapped on the snorkeling equipment, which was the first time I ever snorkeled. I loved it! I like having my face in the water yet being able to breathe. It was way better than Sea Trekkin, too. I saw tons of fish of various sizes and colors.
San Juan, PR - I spent our 5 hour port call in Old San Juan with the family. We went to El Morro, an amazing fort built by the Spanish several hundred years ago. I also convinced everyone to go with me to a re-created house and pharmacy of a 19th century Puerto Rican family. I loved the old pharmacy, although it did not have very many objects, and even fewer disturbing ones. The house was very interesting. Everything was written in Spanish, which none of us read well, but it was a very pleasant visit anyway. We shopped for a while and had lunch at a hole-in-the-wall type of place. It was crowded with Puertorriqueños, so we knew it had to be good. I had the best mofongo con cerdo (mashed boiled plantains with pork, a traditional dish in PR and the DR) ever. Fuck, it was tasty. And that was pretty much all the time we had in PR.
Today we are back at sea for the day. The big event on the ship is the Chocolate Buffet from 11:15 pm to midnight. This should be a sight to behold, and of course, eat like a pig. Tomorrow we arrive at Norwegian Cruise Line’s private island in the Bahamas. It is the only day that I will go to the beach, as there is nothing else to see or do. BiLG’s birthday is tomorrow, so we shall do something special at dinner. Then we’ll be at sea again all day on Sat. I plan to do lots of writing and reading.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
The Cruise - Day 6 and It Smells Like Bacon Frying
Husband and I noticed an alarming number of people with extremely bad sunburns who continue to spend enormous amounts of time in the sun without protection. I thought that in the spirit of the Hairy Chest Contest, perhaps the ship could host a contest for the Worst Sunburn. Husband suggested that the winner could get a hearty slap on the back.
Anyway, Husband and I had a lovely morning driving around St. Martin/St. Maarten with Parent-in-Laws and BiLG while B-i-L went Power Snorkeling. In the afternoon, Husband and I had an inflatable motorboat outing and snorkeling adventure. I was pleased by all the cute fish I saw. Husband didn’t see squat because he refuses to wear contacts and glasses do not fit into goggles. Too bad for him.
Tomorrow we are heading back to the good old U.S. of A. (Gag.) We’ll be in San Juan, Puerto Rico for a whopping 8 hours. That probably makes sense, since clearly there would be nothing of value to observe and experience in a cultureless place like Puerto Rico. Yeah. Whatever.
Anyway, Husband and I had a lovely morning driving around St. Martin/St. Maarten with Parent-in-Laws and BiLG while B-i-L went Power Snorkeling. In the afternoon, Husband and I had an inflatable motorboat outing and snorkeling adventure. I was pleased by all the cute fish I saw. Husband didn’t see squat because he refuses to wear contacts and glasses do not fit into goggles. Too bad for him.
Tomorrow we are heading back to the good old U.S. of A. (Gag.) We’ll be in San Juan, Puerto Rico for a whopping 8 hours. That probably makes sense, since clearly there would be nothing of value to observe and experience in a cultureless place like Puerto Rico. Yeah. Whatever.
Monday, March 20, 2006
The Cruise - Day 5: Tortola Sounds Like Dessert. Yum.
This morning the ship arrived on the island of Tortola in the British Virgin Islands, also known as BVI. Is it just me, or does BVI sound like some sort of new STD? (As in, “I’m sorry to tell you, but you’ve got BVI. You’ll have flare-ups for the rest of your life, or until they find a cure. In the meantime, here’s a topical ointment for now.”) Regardless, the small amount of BVI we saw today is fabulous.
Husband and I spent 5 hours wandering around Road Town on the island of Tortola. We went to two poorly curated but charming museums and a botanic garden. We also visited the post office, which is known to philaleists (or however you spell the technical word for “stamp collector”) world-wide for its excellent stamp designs. I don’t want to give too much away, but we did get a special sheet of stamps for Steph for her birthday. (Not to imply that she is a nerdy stamp collector, but she will definitely appreciate these babies.)
We ate lunch at Pussar’s, which is some hilarious rum company that claims to have supplied the British Navy with rum. (I don’t know why they would make that up, but I don’t have enough internet time to do advance research to verify whether or not they were the official Naval rum before I post this). Pussar’s also runs a company store selling strange items like tin mugs ($1 extra for ones with Admiral Nelson’s portrait on them) as well as clothes and touristy junk. We had lunch in the pub. I ordered a flying fish sandwich (Husband had jerk chicken) and find it scary that I ate half of what they brought me without noticing that it was not, in fact, fish. Right after I commented to Husband that my sandwich was quite tasty, the waitress came up to me with another staff member, pointed to what I was eating, and yelled at her for giving me chicken. If she this incident had not occurred, I would not have realized I was not eating fish, but chicken. Scary!!! I’ll just blame it on the severe cold from which I am recovering.
Tonight the family will be participating in some sort of mystery dinner theater, which I partially dread as all the entertainment the ship has offered thus far has been of scraping-the-bottom-of-the-barrel quality (other than the Hairy Chest Contest, obviously). On the other hand, these types of dorky things generally appeal to me, so hopefully it will be fun.
Tomorrow we arrive in St. Martin and will be taking a small road trip in the morning. In the afternoon, Husband and I are signed up to go on some tour that involves two-person inflatable motorboats, while in-Law Family continues on to a clothing-optional beach that Father-in-Law suggested. With some luck, we will all make it back in one piece.
Husband and I spent 5 hours wandering around Road Town on the island of Tortola. We went to two poorly curated but charming museums and a botanic garden. We also visited the post office, which is known to philaleists (or however you spell the technical word for “stamp collector”) world-wide for its excellent stamp designs. I don’t want to give too much away, but we did get a special sheet of stamps for Steph for her birthday. (Not to imply that she is a nerdy stamp collector, but she will definitely appreciate these babies.)
We ate lunch at Pussar’s, which is some hilarious rum company that claims to have supplied the British Navy with rum. (I don’t know why they would make that up, but I don’t have enough internet time to do advance research to verify whether or not they were the official Naval rum before I post this). Pussar’s also runs a company store selling strange items like tin mugs ($1 extra for ones with Admiral Nelson’s portrait on them) as well as clothes and touristy junk. We had lunch in the pub. I ordered a flying fish sandwich (Husband had jerk chicken) and find it scary that I ate half of what they brought me without noticing that it was not, in fact, fish. Right after I commented to Husband that my sandwich was quite tasty, the waitress came up to me with another staff member, pointed to what I was eating, and yelled at her for giving me chicken. If she this incident had not occurred, I would not have realized I was not eating fish, but chicken. Scary!!! I’ll just blame it on the severe cold from which I am recovering.
Tonight the family will be participating in some sort of mystery dinner theater, which I partially dread as all the entertainment the ship has offered thus far has been of scraping-the-bottom-of-the-barrel quality (other than the Hairy Chest Contest, obviously). On the other hand, these types of dorky things generally appeal to me, so hopefully it will be fun.
Tomorrow we arrive in St. Martin and will be taking a small road trip in the morning. In the afternoon, Husband and I are signed up to go on some tour that involves two-person inflatable motorboats, while in-Law Family continues on to a clothing-optional beach that Father-in-Law suggested. With some luck, we will all make it back in one piece.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
The Cruise - Day 4: Land Ho!
I had hoped to share the thrill and excitement of yesterday's Hariy Chest Contest, except the crap internet service is not enabling me to upload my pictures. So I will post them when I return.
Anyway, things are looking up, although I still have a vile cold that developed on Thursday. (I am finally hacking up the infected mucus, so I hope to be better by Wed.) Yesterday, I took in the Hairy Chest Contest, read, and generally relaxed today. Even better, today we arrives at St. Thomas. Husband, Brother-in-Law, Brother-in-Law’s Girlfriend (BiLG from now on), and went on a cool excursion involving a 72 pound helmet that resesmbles those worn by deep sea divers and a 30 minute walk along a path 10-20 feet underwater. Lots of fish swam by and I held all sorts of odd sea creatures. Pictures to come.
The best thing I learned today is that there is a sea critter called the Donkey Dung Sea Cucumber. Yes, it looks exactly like a big turd. But it is very velvety to touch. I suspect donkey and other dung is not, but hope I will never found out.
I also decided today to get over my stupid body image complex and deal with the fact that it is OK that I do not have a perfect figure. It was very nice. We'll see how long it lasts.
Tomorrow, we are arriving in the British Virgin Islands and Husband and I are are signed up for a walking tour of Road Town. Looking forward to it.
Anyway, things are looking up, although I still have a vile cold that developed on Thursday. (I am finally hacking up the infected mucus, so I hope to be better by Wed.) Yesterday, I took in the Hairy Chest Contest, read, and generally relaxed today. Even better, today we arrives at St. Thomas. Husband, Brother-in-Law, Brother-in-Law’s Girlfriend (BiLG from now on), and went on a cool excursion involving a 72 pound helmet that resesmbles those worn by deep sea divers and a 30 minute walk along a path 10-20 feet underwater. Lots of fish swam by and I held all sorts of odd sea creatures. Pictures to come.
The best thing I learned today is that there is a sea critter called the Donkey Dung Sea Cucumber. Yes, it looks exactly like a big turd. But it is very velvety to touch. I suspect donkey and other dung is not, but hope I will never found out.
I also decided today to get over my stupid body image complex and deal with the fact that it is OK that I do not have a perfect figure. It was very nice. We'll see how long it lasts.
Tomorrow, we are arriving in the British Virgin Islands and Husband and I are are signed up for a walking tour of Road Town. Looking forward to it.
Saturday, March 18, 2006
The Cruise - Day 3, or Sucking the Marrow from an Otherwise Dry Bone
I have learned that purgatory is a cruise ship. Think about it: you are trapped on the boat for days with no place to go. Most of the others on the boat are cheesy senior citizens in matching jogging suits, big-haired middle-aged women from New Jersey and their guido husbands, and skanky teenagers. It’s actually a little like being in Times Square, a place I generally avoid because I hate tourists who stop in the middle of the sidewalk to stare at everything, thus causing pedestrian congestion. At least you can leave Times Square and walk to some place civilized.
On the bright side, I am beyond psyched for the HAIRY CHEST CONTEST (it was in bold and all caps in the program for today’s going ons) this afternoon. I shit you not. This is my kind of cheese. Photographic evidence will be presented later this afternoon, so you will not have to wait in suspense over the results for long. (Thank goodness for technology!)
Unfortunately, the rest of the day’s events are more along the lines of (as typed in Freestyle Daily for Sat. March 18): OOOOH MY ACHING FEET, ARTHRITIS & PAIN SEMINAR, and Bridge Card Lecture. The main entertainment for the evening, with a showing at 7:30 and 9:30, is SOUTH BEACH RAVE (“Norwegian Cruise Line is proud to present “South Beach Rave,” featuring the Jean Ann Ryan Company. Don’t miss an opportunity to meet the cast after the show.”) The most gag inducing must be the PUB CRAWLERS UNITE at 9:00 pm. (“Join your Cruise Director’s Staff & Rowdy Pub Crawlers as we party our way through some of our favorite Pubs & Bars onboard.”) Seriously, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at things like this.
Two large ironies on a cruise:
1. A significant number of people on the ship are living on the larger side of life, if you get my drift. A cruise offers a non-stop food fest, with all you can eat buffets and restaurants where they don’t blink an eye when you order two main entrees (as my Brother-in-Law did at dinner last night on advice from Big O). Yet the bedrooms are as small as it can get. The beds are singles. You can push them together, but two large people will probably not find that to be a comfortable solution. The shower stall is extremely narrow, and even the toilet in the bedroom is contained in a very small stall. It must be excruciatingly uncomfortable for many of the cruise ship’s guests. Not uncomfortable enough, though, to help folks resist the lure of all the junk food constantly thrown at us.
2. To get to the ship’s fitness center, you may wind up walking past three buffets, a bar, an ice cream stand, and an Italian restaurant, depending on what part of the ship you are coming from. I have seen several people grab a cookie (or five) and then head into the gym.
Ah, the joys of cruising. At first, I worried that my bad attitude going into the trip would prevent me from having a good time. Then I remembered that I often dread events (like bridal or baby showers, weddings, brisses – just kidding on brisses!), and when I go I almost always have a great time. I think the main problem I have with cruising is how contrary it is to what I love about travel. I really enjoy going to a place where I can wander around and experience a different culture. I like museums, walking around cities, and eating with the locals. I love foreign grocery stores. Even a roadtrip to some cheesy site is cool because it is a way to try something new. Being at sea does not offer any of this. It is like a resort in the Catskills in the early 1960s, only slightly worse because there is not even stable ground under me. At least I have the Hairy Chest Contest to look forward to. I’ll take what I can get here.
On the bright side, I am beyond psyched for the HAIRY CHEST CONTEST (it was in bold and all caps in the program for today’s going ons) this afternoon. I shit you not. This is my kind of cheese. Photographic evidence will be presented later this afternoon, so you will not have to wait in suspense over the results for long. (Thank goodness for technology!)
Unfortunately, the rest of the day’s events are more along the lines of (as typed in Freestyle Daily for Sat. March 18): OOOOH MY ACHING FEET, ARTHRITIS & PAIN SEMINAR, and Bridge Card Lecture. The main entertainment for the evening, with a showing at 7:30 and 9:30, is SOUTH BEACH RAVE (“Norwegian Cruise Line is proud to present “South Beach Rave,” featuring the Jean Ann Ryan Company. Don’t miss an opportunity to meet the cast after the show.”) The most gag inducing must be the PUB CRAWLERS UNITE at 9:00 pm. (“Join your Cruise Director’s Staff & Rowdy Pub Crawlers as we party our way through some of our favorite Pubs & Bars onboard.”) Seriously, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at things like this.
Two large ironies on a cruise:
1. A significant number of people on the ship are living on the larger side of life, if you get my drift. A cruise offers a non-stop food fest, with all you can eat buffets and restaurants where they don’t blink an eye when you order two main entrees (as my Brother-in-Law did at dinner last night on advice from Big O). Yet the bedrooms are as small as it can get. The beds are singles. You can push them together, but two large people will probably not find that to be a comfortable solution. The shower stall is extremely narrow, and even the toilet in the bedroom is contained in a very small stall. It must be excruciatingly uncomfortable for many of the cruise ship’s guests. Not uncomfortable enough, though, to help folks resist the lure of all the junk food constantly thrown at us.
2. To get to the ship’s fitness center, you may wind up walking past three buffets, a bar, an ice cream stand, and an Italian restaurant, depending on what part of the ship you are coming from. I have seen several people grab a cookie (or five) and then head into the gym.
Ah, the joys of cruising. At first, I worried that my bad attitude going into the trip would prevent me from having a good time. Then I remembered that I often dread events (like bridal or baby showers, weddings, brisses – just kidding on brisses!), and when I go I almost always have a great time. I think the main problem I have with cruising is how contrary it is to what I love about travel. I really enjoy going to a place where I can wander around and experience a different culture. I like museums, walking around cities, and eating with the locals. I love foreign grocery stores. Even a roadtrip to some cheesy site is cool because it is a way to try something new. Being at sea does not offer any of this. It is like a resort in the Catskills in the early 1960s, only slightly worse because there is not even stable ground under me. At least I have the Hairy Chest Contest to look forward to. I’ll take what I can get here.
Friday, March 17, 2006
The Cruise - It's Only Day 2....
[Incidentally, The Cruise is an excellent documentary about a brilliant mentally ill man who works as a tour guide in New York City. I highly recommend it.]
Anyway, my cruise so far has been both uneventful and also slightly disturbing. It is the first cruise I have been on, and it is a lot like a floating Disney World. Everything feels like a contrived version of reality. Each nightclub is stylishly decorated, yet feels so forced in its attempt to be cool that it is laughable. The “ethnic” restaurants feature wait staff in stereotypical “ethnic” outfits. I can only get WiFi on three floors and out on one deck. Why the fuck not in my room? Sigh.
When I arrived in my room, I noticed a sticker on the toilet lid warning that any refuse flushed down the toilet other than TP can “RESULT IN SERIOUS BLOCKING OF YOUR TOILET and will affect up to 50 other toilets on the same pipe line.” (That was a direct quote.) Later last night, I had a serious digestive explosion that I was a bit worried would result in “SERIOUS BLOCKING” of my toilet and another 50 toilets. Of course, the thought made me laugh hysterically. Can you imagine explaining to the crew that the “SERIOUS BLOCKING” was the result of a ginormous turd and its entourage? Fortunately, it flushed OK.
The most exciting thing I have encountered thus far is a meeting scheduled at 1:00 pm today for the Masons. How crazy is that? The Masons really are everywhere. (Maybe they are behind the black helicopters that nutty conspiracy theorists are always insisting will declare martial law and take over the country...) I really want to go to the meeting. Is it completely wrong that the thing that excites me most thus far about a cruise to the Caribbean is an onboard Masons meeting?
Anyway, my cruise so far has been both uneventful and also slightly disturbing. It is the first cruise I have been on, and it is a lot like a floating Disney World. Everything feels like a contrived version of reality. Each nightclub is stylishly decorated, yet feels so forced in its attempt to be cool that it is laughable. The “ethnic” restaurants feature wait staff in stereotypical “ethnic” outfits. I can only get WiFi on three floors and out on one deck. Why the fuck not in my room? Sigh.
When I arrived in my room, I noticed a sticker on the toilet lid warning that any refuse flushed down the toilet other than TP can “RESULT IN SERIOUS BLOCKING OF YOUR TOILET and will affect up to 50 other toilets on the same pipe line.” (That was a direct quote.) Later last night, I had a serious digestive explosion that I was a bit worried would result in “SERIOUS BLOCKING” of my toilet and another 50 toilets. Of course, the thought made me laugh hysterically. Can you imagine explaining to the crew that the “SERIOUS BLOCKING” was the result of a ginormous turd and its entourage? Fortunately, it flushed OK.
The most exciting thing I have encountered thus far is a meeting scheduled at 1:00 pm today for the Masons. How crazy is that? The Masons really are everywhere. (Maybe they are behind the black helicopters that nutty conspiracy theorists are always insisting will declare martial law and take over the country...) I really want to go to the meeting. Is it completely wrong that the thing that excites me most thus far about a cruise to the Caribbean is an onboard Masons meeting?
Thursday, March 16, 2006
You Can Learn the Craziest Shit by Reading Blogs
Recently, I read the comment below, which was from February and was in response to a pro-unshaved snatch comment I left in response to an interesting post about “Sexfoliation” on Jacqueline Mackie Paisley Passey’s blog:
Suzanne,
It seems to me that the logical response would be a Campaign for Not Giving Women Oral Sex Anymore Because Pubic Hair Is Irritating to the Face and It's Really Embarrassing When You Get It Stuck Between Your Teeth (CNGWOSABPHIIFITEWYGISBYT), or "The Campaign" as I call it.
Phil W.
I guess Phil W. won’t be eating me out any time soon, which I’m sure Husband will be happy to hear, and which, quite frankly doesn’t bother me too much, either. I do wonder a bit why a stray pube is that horribly embarrassing, unless you happen to wander around afterward without checking your teeth. In her awesome memoir, Beth Lisick has a gut bustingly funny story about going to a neighborhood holiday party hungover and with a pube caught in her teeth, and while that was embarrassing, I would think it is easy enough to prevent before going out by looking in a mirror quickly. If you pick it out in front of your partner, it should not be that big a deal. I mean, your face was just in his/her crotch - what right does he/she have to be horrified by a pube?
Anyway, here's my response:
Phil - I assume that you shave your pubes before you expect women to give you oral sex then, which is very considerate of you. If I am incorrect, then I guess you are just a big hypocrite, since it is no less irritating for women to deal with men's pubic hair than it is for men to deal with women's.
His response:
I dunno, Suzanne. Maybe you really like to deep throat it, or maybe the men you've been with just have small penises, but for the most part, the average male penis is 5.5 inches long while the average mouth is only 3-4 inches deep. Seems like a decent trim is all we men need. Seems like a fair tradeoff to me. Men get conveniently located external genitalia and lower life expectancies, while women get less convenient internal genitalia but better, multiple orgasms.
I was originally going to make fun of Phil, but now that I saw his response to my query, I actually feel sorry for him. I guess no one has ever licked his balls or his low on his shaft or by the base or anything like that. After I tried to make peace with some bullshit response along the lines of whatever floats your boat blah blah blah, he felt the need to educate innocent little me about cocks:
Well, the head of the penis *is* the part that can be stimulated to orgasm...
Yeah, thanks for the 411 on blowjobs. Hopefully, people aren't turning to him for sex advice too frequently if these are the nuggests of wisdom he dispenses. I did some further investigating and took a look at Phil’s blog. He has a very nice picture of himself (which is more than I can say for little old me at this time). I could not help but notice, however, the patch of scratchy-looking hair he’s got on his chin. Somehow, I don’t think that would feel comfortable on an unshaved crotch or rubbing against a thigh. Maybe my initial annoyance with his attitude was spot on.
Anyway, as noted above, Beth Lisick seemed to get a guy's pubes caught in her teeth, so oddly enough, it can happen when giving a good hummer. If you have such low expectations for oral sex for yourself, I should not make fun of you. At any rate, I hope his comment on multiple orgasms means that he works to help his partner be the best that she can be, which is very nice.
I'll end with a few questions: Are chin pubes better or worse than snatch pubes in terms of level of potential irritation? How embarrassing is it really to get a pube in your teeth? Why is Beth Lisick's book NOT on the bestseller list? These are the things that keep me up at night (along with shaving so that I look decent on the cruise my in-laws paid to take me on). OK, maybe not, but they are good questions that deserve answers, damn it!
Bon voyage for now - I'll check in from the cruise ship!
Suzanne,
It seems to me that the logical response would be a Campaign for Not Giving Women Oral Sex Anymore Because Pubic Hair Is Irritating to the Face and It's Really Embarrassing When You Get It Stuck Between Your Teeth (CNGWOSABPHIIFITEWYGISBYT), or "The Campaign" as I call it.
Phil W.
I guess Phil W. won’t be eating me out any time soon, which I’m sure Husband will be happy to hear, and which, quite frankly doesn’t bother me too much, either. I do wonder a bit why a stray pube is that horribly embarrassing, unless you happen to wander around afterward without checking your teeth. In her awesome memoir, Beth Lisick has a gut bustingly funny story about going to a neighborhood holiday party hungover and with a pube caught in her teeth, and while that was embarrassing, I would think it is easy enough to prevent before going out by looking in a mirror quickly. If you pick it out in front of your partner, it should not be that big a deal. I mean, your face was just in his/her crotch - what right does he/she have to be horrified by a pube?
Anyway, here's my response:
Phil - I assume that you shave your pubes before you expect women to give you oral sex then, which is very considerate of you. If I am incorrect, then I guess you are just a big hypocrite, since it is no less irritating for women to deal with men's pubic hair than it is for men to deal with women's.
His response:
I dunno, Suzanne. Maybe you really like to deep throat it, or maybe the men you've been with just have small penises, but for the most part, the average male penis is 5.5 inches long while the average mouth is only 3-4 inches deep. Seems like a decent trim is all we men need. Seems like a fair tradeoff to me. Men get conveniently located external genitalia and lower life expectancies, while women get less convenient internal genitalia but better, multiple orgasms.
I was originally going to make fun of Phil, but now that I saw his response to my query, I actually feel sorry for him. I guess no one has ever licked his balls or his low on his shaft or by the base or anything like that. After I tried to make peace with some bullshit response along the lines of whatever floats your boat blah blah blah, he felt the need to educate innocent little me about cocks:
Well, the head of the penis *is* the part that can be stimulated to orgasm...
Yeah, thanks for the 411 on blowjobs. Hopefully, people aren't turning to him for sex advice too frequently if these are the nuggests of wisdom he dispenses. I did some further investigating and took a look at Phil’s blog. He has a very nice picture of himself (which is more than I can say for little old me at this time). I could not help but notice, however, the patch of scratchy-looking hair he’s got on his chin. Somehow, I don’t think that would feel comfortable on an unshaved crotch or rubbing against a thigh. Maybe my initial annoyance with his attitude was spot on.
Anyway, as noted above, Beth Lisick seemed to get a guy's pubes caught in her teeth, so oddly enough, it can happen when giving a good hummer. If you have such low expectations for oral sex for yourself, I should not make fun of you. At any rate, I hope his comment on multiple orgasms means that he works to help his partner be the best that she can be, which is very nice.
I'll end with a few questions: Are chin pubes better or worse than snatch pubes in terms of level of potential irritation? How embarrassing is it really to get a pube in your teeth? Why is Beth Lisick's book NOT on the bestseller list? These are the things that keep me up at night (along with shaving so that I look decent on the cruise my in-laws paid to take me on). OK, maybe not, but they are good questions that deserve answers, damn it!
Bon voyage for now - I'll check in from the cruise ship!
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Getting Ready for a Caribbean Vacation is Exhausting
Last night, I was up until 1:30 in a feeble attempt to epilate off all the hair on my legs and in my pits so that I would not have to think about it again for most of the cruise. This was bad because I really needed sleep last night, as I was up late the night before chatting up Steph and mocking others, and I was involved in leading all day trainings on Tuesday and Wednesday. Today I also had to go to a board meeting after the training, so I needed a fuckload more sleep than I got.
My experience last night reminded me of my theory about pay inequality for the sexes. I have long suspected that women earn less than men performing the same job because we are too tired to argue for what we deserve. Men are supposedly more aggressive in negotiating salaries with their employers. I think women would be more aggressive in asking for what they deserve if they hadn’t been up all hours of the night before removing body hair so that they can look respectable in a skirt for the interview.
Yes, I know that men shave their beards every day, blah blah blah. However, shaving a bread only involves the chin, (face) cheeks, and in some cases, the neck. There is far more surface are that needs to be covered when shaving legs. Plus, it involves splaying out all over the place to reach the back of the ankle and behind knees. It is dangerous and uncomfortable. Husband can shave in 5 minutes, and he is a fairly hairy fellow. I could maybe do a good job on my calf in the same amount of time.
By spending scads of time on shaving (or waxing), women have less time to sleep, assuming that other activities are not sacrificed. Thus we go to interviews with less energy, and do not negotiate as well. Hey, it’s theory!
My experience last night reminded me of my theory about pay inequality for the sexes. I have long suspected that women earn less than men performing the same job because we are too tired to argue for what we deserve. Men are supposedly more aggressive in negotiating salaries with their employers. I think women would be more aggressive in asking for what they deserve if they hadn’t been up all hours of the night before removing body hair so that they can look respectable in a skirt for the interview.
Yes, I know that men shave their beards every day, blah blah blah. However, shaving a bread only involves the chin, (face) cheeks, and in some cases, the neck. There is far more surface are that needs to be covered when shaving legs. Plus, it involves splaying out all over the place to reach the back of the ankle and behind knees. It is dangerous and uncomfortable. Husband can shave in 5 minutes, and he is a fairly hairy fellow. I could maybe do a good job on my calf in the same amount of time.
By spending scads of time on shaving (or waxing), women have less time to sleep, assuming that other activities are not sacrificed. Thus we go to interviews with less energy, and do not negotiate as well. Hey, it’s theory!
Beware the Ides of March!
Man, I could use a Tiresias in my life right about now. Things have been ridiculously busy at work and home these past three weeks. I just would like a heads up about where all this effort will take me.
Even though I bitch about the cruise because I am a horrible person, I am a bit glad that I will be getting away. I guess my real problem is the length of time. I am worried that some of the stuff I am working my ass off on will come close to fruition while I am gone, and I might miss a good opportunity. I just have to keep my fingers crossed and buck up. I hope some time in the sun will help me relax. (I must stay away from the ship’s ice cream bar, though…)
Even though I bitch about the cruise because I am a horrible person, I am a bit glad that I will be getting away. I guess my real problem is the length of time. I am worried that some of the stuff I am working my ass off on will come close to fruition while I am gone, and I might miss a good opportunity. I just have to keep my fingers crossed and buck up. I hope some time in the sun will help me relax. (I must stay away from the ship’s ice cream bar, though…)
Cruises, Schmoozes!
Tomorrow I am leaving on a 10 days cruise, courtesy of my in-laws who wanted to take the fam on a trip to celebrate their 35th weedding anniversary. I've been dreading it a bit, and feeling like a horrible ungrateful little wretch, but now is really awful timing for us to be gone for 10 days at sea. For one, Husband sent me the following disturbing information regarding internet access on our cruise ship:
The Internet Cafe has 17 terminals; NCL also offers wireless access.
Passengers can bring their own laptops or rent one. Rates at the cafe
itself are industry standard -- 75 cents per minute. Packages are
available (100 minutes for $55, 250 minutes for $100); there's a $3.95
activation fee. Wireless fees vary. A wireless card rental costs $10 a
day and then there are time packages (250 minutes for $100, 100 minutes
for $55 and 33 minutes for $25).
Despite the potential need to refinance my apartment to pay for internet access on the boat, I still aim to post at least once a day on CUSS and once every three days or so on blogher.org as a contributing editor to travel & recreation. (I told him that cruise ships have rampant incidents of rape. If they can’t literally rape you and get away with it, they will rape your wallet instead.)
While I am slightly more looking forward to the trip than I was a week ago, I am still stressed. Ten days is a long time to be on a boat with unlimited eating. Over the 10 days, we only have five port calls. I know these ships are ginormous, but I fear cabing fever. Did I mention unlimited eating and that there is an ice cream bar? This could be disasterous. The cruise business is an evil, evil industry.
Hopefully, I will relax a bit and enjoy myself. I am looking forward to analyzing the social mores of my fellow cruisers. I might find some good fodder.
The Internet Cafe has 17 terminals; NCL also offers wireless access.
Passengers can bring their own laptops or rent one. Rates at the cafe
itself are industry standard -- 75 cents per minute. Packages are
available (100 minutes for $55, 250 minutes for $100); there's a $3.95
activation fee. Wireless fees vary. A wireless card rental costs $10 a
day and then there are time packages (250 minutes for $100, 100 minutes
for $55 and 33 minutes for $25).
Despite the potential need to refinance my apartment to pay for internet access on the boat, I still aim to post at least once a day on CUSS and once every three days or so on blogher.org as a contributing editor to travel & recreation. (I told him that cruise ships have rampant incidents of rape. If they can’t literally rape you and get away with it, they will rape your wallet instead.)
While I am slightly more looking forward to the trip than I was a week ago, I am still stressed. Ten days is a long time to be on a boat with unlimited eating. Over the 10 days, we only have five port calls. I know these ships are ginormous, but I fear cabing fever. Did I mention unlimited eating and that there is an ice cream bar? This could be disasterous. The cruise business is an evil, evil industry.
Hopefully, I will relax a bit and enjoy myself. I am looking forward to analyzing the social mores of my fellow cruisers. I might find some good fodder.
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
An Early Warning Sign
I clearly remember walking around on my school bus on election day in 1984, trying to convince my classmates to get their parents to vote for Mondale since Regan was “bad for working people.” I was nine.
The point here is that nine year olds do not usually get involved in campaigning like that. My parents are not political people, although I am sure I heard them say shit about Regan and that is where I got the idea that he was bad. It is one of the first signs that I was destined to be frustrated in life.
The point here is that nine year olds do not usually get involved in campaigning like that. My parents are not political people, although I am sure I heard them say shit about Regan and that is where I got the idea that he was bad. It is one of the first signs that I was destined to be frustrated in life.
Expressing Concern for Others by (Metaphorically) Slapping Them in the Face
My dad’s little comment regarding my short hair cut and my need for Husband’s permission to keep it that way reminded me of something he told me a long time ago when I was in high school. Back in those days, I was on the more than just a bit chubby side of the body type spectrum, I dressed in some crazy clothes (like a plaid pair of pants with a striped shirt, for example), and I wore no makeup (which is no different today). I was also frequently depressed. Like many teenage girls, I was also eager to have a boyfriend, and not having one was often what led me to being depressed. (The other main cause for being depressed was my unhappiness at being fat.)
As an aside, I have to say that my outfits were so strange that people often stared at me when I was out and about. I am usually oblivious to these things, but my mom and sister always noticed. The funny thing is that usually teenagers are embarrassed to be seen with their families. That never bothered me, but my parents and sister had every right to be embarrassed to be seen with me. I think they just got used to it, though.
Anyway, one day I was minding my own business, doing some homework on the family computer. I vaguely remember wearing some outfit that had a long peasant skirt, which was certainly not fashionable at the time, but also not amongst the most horrifying of things I wore in those days. My dad came into the room and confidently told me that he was sure that I could get a boyfriend if I “just lost some weight, wore makeup, and dressed better.”
I know that he was only trying to help me, and give me some friendly parental advice that would lead to my happiness, which he desperately wanted me to be. I knew that back then, too. And at least he didn’t tell me to change my personality, right? Still, it was about the most insulting and hurtful thing you could say to an insecure teenage girl. It’s not like I didn’t already know I was a fat ugly weirdo. Sigh.
The moral of this sad story is that sometimes people mean well and have no idea how to express their concern properly. While my dad accepts me as a smart and opinionated person, I have learned to accept him as a loving parent who wants the best for me but sometimes shows it in odd ways.
As an aside, I have to say that my outfits were so strange that people often stared at me when I was out and about. I am usually oblivious to these things, but my mom and sister always noticed. The funny thing is that usually teenagers are embarrassed to be seen with their families. That never bothered me, but my parents and sister had every right to be embarrassed to be seen with me. I think they just got used to it, though.
Anyway, one day I was minding my own business, doing some homework on the family computer. I vaguely remember wearing some outfit that had a long peasant skirt, which was certainly not fashionable at the time, but also not amongst the most horrifying of things I wore in those days. My dad came into the room and confidently told me that he was sure that I could get a boyfriend if I “just lost some weight, wore makeup, and dressed better.”
I know that he was only trying to help me, and give me some friendly parental advice that would lead to my happiness, which he desperately wanted me to be. I knew that back then, too. And at least he didn’t tell me to change my personality, right? Still, it was about the most insulting and hurtful thing you could say to an insecure teenage girl. It’s not like I didn’t already know I was a fat ugly weirdo. Sigh.
The moral of this sad story is that sometimes people mean well and have no idea how to express their concern properly. While my dad accepts me as a smart and opinionated person, I have learned to accept him as a loving parent who wants the best for me but sometimes shows it in odd ways.
Monday, March 13, 2006
The Adventures of Itchy & Scratchy
Is there a point to shaving your bikini line if an itchy rash will appear on that very spot within two days? Hmmm… I didn’t think so, either. I can’t imagine why anyone would prefer giant red welts to hair.
As I was contemplating this, I was reminded of a story I read on The Life and Times of a Twenty-Something. Basically, our young hero went out with a girl who was coming onto to him like a drunk Modern Orthodox girl to a “lawyer” at the Matzoh Ball. He was all game to go until he noticed that she scratched her crotch the whole evening. Assuming it was crabs, he split before he got any action.
When I read this story, I laughed and laughed because it was funny. However, I now wonder if in fact she had merely shaved her bikini line/crotch in anticipation of the big night, and that is what caused her to scratch the snatch. It does make sense. A former male co-worker who sat on the other side of my cubicle at work once had a very long discussion with me about this by yelling over the cube wall that separated us about how bad it is to shave your crotch. My co-worker thought it would just be torturously itchy as it grew in. He’s correct.
I guess my point hair (ha ha) is if you notice someone engaged in a lot of cooch itching, don’t automatically jump to a conclusion about the cause. It could be one of two STDs – a sexually transmitted disease (crabs, pubic lice, scabies, etc.) or a socially transmitted disease (the urge to shave snatch when it will only look like crap any way).
As I was contemplating this, I was reminded of a story I read on The Life and Times of a Twenty-Something. Basically, our young hero went out with a girl who was coming onto to him like a drunk Modern Orthodox girl to a “lawyer” at the Matzoh Ball. He was all game to go until he noticed that she scratched her crotch the whole evening. Assuming it was crabs, he split before he got any action.
When I read this story, I laughed and laughed because it was funny. However, I now wonder if in fact she had merely shaved her bikini line/crotch in anticipation of the big night, and that is what caused her to scratch the snatch. It does make sense. A former male co-worker who sat on the other side of my cubicle at work once had a very long discussion with me about this by yelling over the cube wall that separated us about how bad it is to shave your crotch. My co-worker thought it would just be torturously itchy as it grew in. He’s correct.
I guess my point hair (ha ha) is if you notice someone engaged in a lot of cooch itching, don’t automatically jump to a conclusion about the cause. It could be one of two STDs – a sexually transmitted disease (crabs, pubic lice, scabies, etc.) or a socially transmitted disease (the urge to shave snatch when it will only look like crap any way).
Father Knows Best
I emailed two pictures of myself with my new hair cut to my parents since I won’t see them until I go home in May for my dad’s 60th birthday celebration. I knew my dad would hate it, as he loathes short hair on women, and that my mom would love it, as she adores short hair on women. My mom sent an email right away telling me that – surprise, surprise! – she loved it. She wondered what made me do it and also what Husband thought of it.
My mom did not mention my dad’s reaction, and I did not get an email from him, so I called home yesterday to chat them up about it. When I spoke to my dad, he said he did not like it, but that he was OK about the situation since there was time for it to grow back a bit before he saw me in May. I asked him what he would do if I decided that I liked it and kept getting it cut short. There was a long pause. “You know I hate short hair on women,” he started, “but as long as Husband says it is OK for you to keep it like that, I’ll have to accept it.”
Yes – you read that correctly. My father told me that my husband has control over how I wear my hair. I am fairly certain that he didn’t quite mean what he said, but yeesh.
Sunday, March 12, 2006
Not a Double Entendre, I Swear
If anyone has a dying curiosity as to my other pastimes besides ranting, cracking off-color jokes, and blogging, see if you can catch “True Life: I’m A Competitive Eater” on MTV. The show is about Tim “Eater X” Janus, but I happen to have competed in the Nathan’s hot dog qualifying round featured on that episode. (I only ate 6.5 hot dogs in the 12 allotted minutes versus the 22 or so hot dogs that Tim consumed. However, as the only woman who competed that day, it did make me the women’s hot dog eating champ of that event. I managed to beat out a female court bailiff later that summer in the South Street Seaport hot dog eating contest, when I repeated my 6.5 hot dogs eaten achievement and bested her consumption of 5 hot dogs. We were both crushed by Eric “Badlands” Booker who ate 21.) I have not seen the show yet myself, but I hear that it is amusing to see me wedged in between all those men, all of us stuffing hot dogs in our mouths in a serious manner.
We All Conform Sometimes
I want to highlight a comment left on yesterday’s post about shaving:
Anonymous said...
I don't agree with you in general on the whole shaving issue but, given that your stance is what it is, why shave even if you are going swimming? If you truly believe that women should not shave their body hair, why comform just because some of that hair will be visible? Why not stick by your guns and go the way God made you? If this is going to be your crusade, you need to take some risks. Otherwise, you lose some of your right to criticize others (something you obviously very much enjoy doing).
That is a very good point, and usually I don't bother and I wear board shorts (which are really short) and hope for the best. In the future, I will wear trunks, which I am excited about. In this case, I feel that my in-laws paid for me to go on this trip and they are the type of people who would be somewhat mortified if didn't achieve some modicum of social acceptability and people stared at us. (I don't mean that they are bad people, I just think they’d be uncomfortable. Unlike my parents, who at this point are more or less resigned to the fact that they’re daughter is a freak and will generally do semi-socially unacceptable things, the in-laws are still getting used to it. Although they also have come a long way in accepting that I am just not going to conform to social norms, especially for people from Long Island, so I am not complaining about them, nor do I think they judge me harshly. I just figure I can try a little bit in this case.)
Plus, I personally have interest in walking around with pubes hanging out for all to see. I may not believe that people should shave their crotches (and that goes for men and women), but I don’t need to see it either. Men have great ways of hiding it (trunks) immediately available to them (although I wonder what men who wear Speedos do about the situations), but women are left with only revealing options. (Meaning: have you seen any bathing suits since the 1940s that cover the thighs? If so, let me know where I can get one, as I also hate having my giant stretch mark covered fat thighs exposed to the world.)
While I believe that this has come through clearly in my writing, I also want to point out that I may be quite critical of other people, but frankly, I am even more critical of myself. When I set the bar high for others, I expect myself to meet that standard and also exceed it. I certainly acknowledge that I am as flawed as any one else, and sometimes more so.
Anonymous said...
I don't agree with you in general on the whole shaving issue but, given that your stance is what it is, why shave even if you are going swimming? If you truly believe that women should not shave their body hair, why comform just because some of that hair will be visible? Why not stick by your guns and go the way God made you? If this is going to be your crusade, you need to take some risks. Otherwise, you lose some of your right to criticize others (something you obviously very much enjoy doing).
That is a very good point, and usually I don't bother and I wear board shorts (which are really short) and hope for the best. In the future, I will wear trunks, which I am excited about. In this case, I feel that my in-laws paid for me to go on this trip and they are the type of people who would be somewhat mortified if didn't achieve some modicum of social acceptability and people stared at us. (I don't mean that they are bad people, I just think they’d be uncomfortable. Unlike my parents, who at this point are more or less resigned to the fact that they’re daughter is a freak and will generally do semi-socially unacceptable things, the in-laws are still getting used to it. Although they also have come a long way in accepting that I am just not going to conform to social norms, especially for people from Long Island, so I am not complaining about them, nor do I think they judge me harshly. I just figure I can try a little bit in this case.)
Plus, I personally have interest in walking around with pubes hanging out for all to see. I may not believe that people should shave their crotches (and that goes for men and women), but I don’t need to see it either. Men have great ways of hiding it (trunks) immediately available to them (although I wonder what men who wear Speedos do about the situations), but women are left with only revealing options. (Meaning: have you seen any bathing suits since the 1940s that cover the thighs? If so, let me know where I can get one, as I also hate having my giant stretch mark covered fat thighs exposed to the world.)
While I believe that this has come through clearly in my writing, I also want to point out that I may be quite critical of other people, but frankly, I am even more critical of myself. When I set the bar high for others, I expect myself to meet that standard and also exceed it. I certainly acknowledge that I am as flawed as any one else, and sometimes more so.
Saturday, March 11, 2006
Danger! Slippery When Wet (with Shaving Cream) AND Curves Ahead!
Only five days remain until I depart with my in-laws and co. to the Caribbean. This means that I had to do something about my furry “winter” legs and arm pits. Worse, it meant I had to do something about my bikini line if I planned to swim. I so dreaded the thought of shaving that I considered forgoing the clear blue waters of the sea, but then realized I was being completely insane and had to bite the bullet to make the most of my trip.
As I shaved, it occurred to me how dangerous it can be on the bikini trail. Careful navigation with the tool is required. One little slip of the razor, and some sensitive parts could have some unpleasant cuts. I am glad I don’t have to put myself at such risk on a regular basis. I wonder why anyone else would unless they were frequent swimmers. On the other hand, if I was a frequent swimmer, I would definitely buy a pair of boys’ or small men’s swim trunks, wear them over my bathing suit or (gulp) with a bikini top, and avoid the problem completely. I should have done that for this trip, but of course only I thought of it now, and as long as I already subjected myself to the blade, I might as well just wear a normalish suit. Next Caribbean cruise I go on for my in-laws’ anniversary. Right….
As I shaved, it occurred to me how dangerous it can be on the bikini trail. Careful navigation with the tool is required. One little slip of the razor, and some sensitive parts could have some unpleasant cuts. I am glad I don’t have to put myself at such risk on a regular basis. I wonder why anyone else would unless they were frequent swimmers. On the other hand, if I was a frequent swimmer, I would definitely buy a pair of boys’ or small men’s swim trunks, wear them over my bathing suit or (gulp) with a bikini top, and avoid the problem completely. I should have done that for this trip, but of course only I thought of it now, and as long as I already subjected myself to the blade, I might as well just wear a normalish suit. Next Caribbean cruise I go on for my in-laws’ anniversary. Right….
Friday, March 10, 2006
It Takes Two
For no apparent reason, Husband was sent a free copy of Tango!: The Magazine about Relationships. I decided it would be a good read while I took an incredibly smelly and massive dump. I started by reading a ridiculous article about lingerie, skimmed the following article that was completely unmemorable, and then I got to the article about kosher sex.
The author was a nonreligious Jew for many years and then became Hasidic. The article was about how her sex life is much better because she is banned from sex during her period and for several days afterward until she is “clean” enough to go to the mikvah, a ritual bath meant to make sure that women don’t pollute their holy men.
The author insisted that the fact that she and her husband are forbidden to touch while she is in her filthy state, and the fact that men and women who are not married or related are never allowed alone in a room together (even the living room or kitchen), that they can never touch anyone of the opposite sex, even to shake their hands. makes their sex lives much hotter. She felt that the ban made things better because her husband “does not have to be grossed out by period sex.” Who the fuck was forcing him to have sex with her when he was so repulsed by it?
The article did point out one good thing about Judaism, women, and sex, and that is the marriage contract (ketubbah). The contract states that the husband must give his wife sexual pleasure (this does not only relate to Orthodox Judaism, not that the article mentions that), so that is cool. Otherwise, the hatred and demonization of women’s reproductive processes are vile. Shabbat shalom, assholes!
The author was a nonreligious Jew for many years and then became Hasidic. The article was about how her sex life is much better because she is banned from sex during her period and for several days afterward until she is “clean” enough to go to the mikvah, a ritual bath meant to make sure that women don’t pollute their holy men.
The author insisted that the fact that she and her husband are forbidden to touch while she is in her filthy state, and the fact that men and women who are not married or related are never allowed alone in a room together (even the living room or kitchen), that they can never touch anyone of the opposite sex, even to shake their hands. makes their sex lives much hotter. She felt that the ban made things better because her husband “does not have to be grossed out by period sex.” Who the fuck was forcing him to have sex with her when he was so repulsed by it?
The article did point out one good thing about Judaism, women, and sex, and that is the marriage contract (ketubbah). The contract states that the husband must give his wife sexual pleasure (this does not only relate to Orthodox Judaism, not that the article mentions that), so that is cool. Otherwise, the hatred and demonization of women’s reproductive processes are vile. Shabbat shalom, assholes!
An Important Beauty Tip
Last night, I went to get my hair cut and I took the plunge. I blame this on my friend, who looks fabulous in very short hair, who went with me. With encouragement from her and the guy who cuts me hair, I agreed to go very short.
There are a few things any woman should ponder before she decides to cut all her hair off. The first is whether or not she has facial hair. Not chin hair – that’s a different category. I mean sideburns or a lot of downy hairs along the jaw line. The second consideration is whether or not she has chin hairs. By chin hairs I refer to coarse hairs under the jaw line that have to be plucked frequently lest you become the bearded lady at the circus. The third consideration is how much of your face is taken up by your eyebrows and whether you do anything about it if in fact the answer is a lot. Finally, think about zits. How often do they plague you and how big and/or red are they?
If you answer yes to all of these things, you should probably not get a very short hair cut, as these little facial details became very, very obvious when you have no hair surrounding your face. I swear that all of this ran through my mind before I foolishly answered, “Yes, let’s do it!” when the guy asked me if I wanted it short. I mention all this so that others can learn from my mistake. Sure, it will grow back (which was what made me decide to do it for sure), but for the next two months at least, if you see a girl with a pixie hair cut, ginormous eyebrows and a zit the size of Mt. Krakatoa who looks like she could be the bearded lady at the circus, feel free to say hi to me.
There are a few things any woman should ponder before she decides to cut all her hair off. The first is whether or not she has facial hair. Not chin hair – that’s a different category. I mean sideburns or a lot of downy hairs along the jaw line. The second consideration is whether or not she has chin hairs. By chin hairs I refer to coarse hairs under the jaw line that have to be plucked frequently lest you become the bearded lady at the circus. The third consideration is how much of your face is taken up by your eyebrows and whether you do anything about it if in fact the answer is a lot. Finally, think about zits. How often do they plague you and how big and/or red are they?
If you answer yes to all of these things, you should probably not get a very short hair cut, as these little facial details became very, very obvious when you have no hair surrounding your face. I swear that all of this ran through my mind before I foolishly answered, “Yes, let’s do it!” when the guy asked me if I wanted it short. I mention all this so that others can learn from my mistake. Sure, it will grow back (which was what made me decide to do it for sure), but for the next two months at least, if you see a girl with a pixie hair cut, ginormous eyebrows and a zit the size of Mt. Krakatoa who looks like she could be the bearded lady at the circus, feel free to say hi to me.
Thursday, March 9, 2006
Why I Hate Living in Afghanistan, Oops, I Mean the US These Days
I try to be judicious in making these types of requests because so many bad things are happening lately, I don't want to burn people out. But this really scares me. If Sen. Michael Enzi (R-WY) has his way, insurance companies in almost every state won't have to cover birth control and they can pretty much screw us when it comes to gynecological care. Next week, the Senate will consider a bill introduced by Sen. Enzi that basically fucks women and leaves them knocked up with no access to prenatal care. Or, said in a more detailed and less metaphoric manner by Planned Parenthood:
… for years many insurance plans covered a wide range of prescription drugs, but refused to cover birth control pills and other prescription contraceptives for women. It has taken nearly a decade to convince lawmakers in 23 states to remedy this inequity. Now with S. 1955, this progress could be reversed.
Birth control is basic health care. Women of reproductive age spend 68 percent more in out-of-pocket care costs than men -- in part because of birth control supplies and services. This bill eliminates dozens of protections that have been enacted in nearly every state that make insurance companies treat women's health fairly and equitably.
Under S. 1955, people with private health insurance also could lose coverage for cervical cancer screenings, maternity care, mental health treatment, and dozen of other benefits they were guaranteed under state law.
Planned Parenthood has an e-letter that you can sign on to, politely requesting that your elected officials in the Senate tell MR. Enzi to fuck off.
… for years many insurance plans covered a wide range of prescription drugs, but refused to cover birth control pills and other prescription contraceptives for women. It has taken nearly a decade to convince lawmakers in 23 states to remedy this inequity. Now with S. 1955, this progress could be reversed.
Birth control is basic health care. Women of reproductive age spend 68 percent more in out-of-pocket care costs than men -- in part because of birth control supplies and services. This bill eliminates dozens of protections that have been enacted in nearly every state that make insurance companies treat women's health fairly and equitably.
Under S. 1955, people with private health insurance also could lose coverage for cervical cancer screenings, maternity care, mental health treatment, and dozen of other benefits they were guaranteed under state law.
Planned Parenthood has an e-letter that you can sign on to, politely requesting that your elected officials in the Senate tell MR. Enzi to fuck off.
Do Not Try This at Home
Here’s a fact that explains a lot about me: I had four head injuries by the time I was eight. I believe all were concussions and that’s what I’ve been telling people for years, so I am sticking to my story even if my mom corrects me. In order:
Concussion #1: One day at preschool we were playing an unsafe game of duck-duck-goose. I was running around the circle (not sure if I was the chaser or chasee) and in my zeal to catch the person/get away, I ran head first into a table and knocked myself out.
Concussion #2: Another day at preschool, I was in the multipurpose room. Another kid hit me with a Big Wheel and I went flying and hit my head on the concrete floor. (Yes, this place is still in business to this day despite the high rate of head injuries!)
Concussion #3: This one I remember more clearly than the other two, so maybe I didn’t have a concussion after all… Anyway, I was riding my trike on the backyard patio and my neighbor was riding his bike with training wheels. We were playing a game called “Tow Truck,” which involved me parking my trike at the edge of the concrete steps that led to the basement door of our house. My neighbor would pull up on his bike and “tow” my trike away. (Yes, you can see the accident coming from a mile away, can’t you?) I saw sitting on my trike when he hit me too hard and I went tumbling down the stairs with my trike. When I landed, I felt a bit woozy, but I was all set to get up until I saw blood oozing out of my head. Then I became hysterical. At first, I did not want to go to the emergency room as I feared getting stitches, but in the end I didn’t need ‘em. I do have a tiny scar on my forehead to this day.
Concussion #4: I went ice skating at my friend’s 7th birthday party. I loved skating. However, after a quick rest, I got back on the smooth ice and my feet just went right out under me. The back of my head hit the ice. After bawling for a while, I decided I wanted to skate a bit more. Things seemed fine and dandy until I got home. My bubbe and grandpa were there with Sveta, their neighbor’s daughter. I was pretty pysched until I suddenly got dizzy, barfed, and fell down the stairs. This one was definitely a concussion. At the hospital, I ran into my friend’s aunt who fell at the party and broke her wrist.
There is a moral to this tale, my friends: if you do not want your kid to grow up and be ornery like me, I suggest that they avoid as many concussions as possible. (I swear that just writing about all the times I hit my head has given me a headache!)
Concussion #1: One day at preschool we were playing an unsafe game of duck-duck-goose. I was running around the circle (not sure if I was the chaser or chasee) and in my zeal to catch the person/get away, I ran head first into a table and knocked myself out.Concussion #2: Another day at preschool, I was in the multipurpose room. Another kid hit me with a Big Wheel and I went flying and hit my head on the concrete floor. (Yes, this place is still in business to this day despite the high rate of head injuries!)
Concussion #3: This one I remember more clearly than the other two, so maybe I didn’t have a concussion after all… Anyway, I was riding my trike on the backyard patio and my neighbor was riding his bike with training wheels. We were playing a game called “Tow Truck,” which involved me parking my trike at the edge of the concrete steps that led to the basement door of our house. My neighbor would pull up on his bike and “tow” my trike away. (Yes, you can see the accident coming from a mile away, can’t you?) I saw sitting on my trike when he hit me too hard and I went tumbling down the stairs with my trike. When I landed, I felt a bit woozy, but I was all set to get up until I saw blood oozing out of my head. Then I became hysterical. At first, I did not want to go to the emergency room as I feared getting stitches, but in the end I didn’t need ‘em. I do have a tiny scar on my forehead to this day.
Concussion #4: I went ice skating at my friend’s 7th birthday party. I loved skating. However, after a quick rest, I got back on the smooth ice and my feet just went right out under me. The back of my head hit the ice. After bawling for a while, I decided I wanted to skate a bit more. Things seemed fine and dandy until I got home. My bubbe and grandpa were there with Sveta, their neighbor’s daughter. I was pretty pysched until I suddenly got dizzy, barfed, and fell down the stairs. This one was definitely a concussion. At the hospital, I ran into my friend’s aunt who fell at the party and broke her wrist.
There is a moral to this tale, my friends: if you do not want your kid to grow up and be ornery like me, I suggest that they avoid as many concussions as possible. (I swear that just writing about all the times I hit my head has given me a headache!)
Wednesday, March 8, 2006
"Wal-Mart Enlists Bloggers in Its Public Relations Campaign" (NY Times, 3/7/06)
Like, oh my God! Today, I so went to Wal-Mart and it was awesome. Everyone who works there is so happy, right? As soon as I went in the store, I was greeted by the nice man who was laid off from his previous job in which he made a decent living and who now drives 40 miles each way so he can work at Wal-Mart for minimum wage and all that. His smile is sooooo big, though! It totally can’t be just from gritting his teeth.
I wanted to get a tub of wax so that I could remove my nasty pubes and look feminine and sexy and all hott. Just like Paris Hilton in that video. I couldn’t find what I was looking for, so I asked the nice stockgirl who they repeatedly lock in the store overnight. She looked kind of tired, but she smiled a lot, too. Those low prices at Wal-Mart sure make people happy to work there for a pittance!
Anyway, speaking of low prices, I wanted a hott new thong so I could show off my hott prepubescent body, you know? Wal-Mart has the most awesome prices on thongs and other panties since they strong arm their suppliers into selling them items at unsustainably low prices or shut them out of the market altogether. As a result, only the most thrifty companies can stay in business. It really provides great opportunities for kids at sweatshops in China and Bangladesh to earn a couple of dollars a year for full-time labor. Sure the panties fall apart after a few washes, but who really expects quality these days? It’s sooooo old fashioned.
Anyway, the cashier who checked me out has been there for years. I heard she just got a 10 cent per hour raise! Shit, she’s like fuckin’ rich now, ya know? Maybe she’ll use it to fix her teeth. She was told she could never advance no matter how hard she worked because she’s too ugly with those snaggly teeth and all. Sure, Wal-Mart doesn’t provide health insurance, but they try to help employees with that by giving them Medicaid forms to fill out and stuff. It’s nice that they help employees get taxpayer-funded insurance. I mean, what more could people want, right?
OK, I’m off like a light. Thank God there’s a Wal-Mart nearby so I can get the supplies I need to be the best little woman I can! One stop shopping is the best! I mean, who needs stores owned by people in the community and all that!?!? Right?
I wanted to get a tub of wax so that I could remove my nasty pubes and look feminine and sexy and all hott. Just like Paris Hilton in that video. I couldn’t find what I was looking for, so I asked the nice stockgirl who they repeatedly lock in the store overnight. She looked kind of tired, but she smiled a lot, too. Those low prices at Wal-Mart sure make people happy to work there for a pittance!
Anyway, speaking of low prices, I wanted a hott new thong so I could show off my hott prepubescent body, you know? Wal-Mart has the most awesome prices on thongs and other panties since they strong arm their suppliers into selling them items at unsustainably low prices or shut them out of the market altogether. As a result, only the most thrifty companies can stay in business. It really provides great opportunities for kids at sweatshops in China and Bangladesh to earn a couple of dollars a year for full-time labor. Sure the panties fall apart after a few washes, but who really expects quality these days? It’s sooooo old fashioned.
Anyway, the cashier who checked me out has been there for years. I heard she just got a 10 cent per hour raise! Shit, she’s like fuckin’ rich now, ya know? Maybe she’ll use it to fix her teeth. She was told she could never advance no matter how hard she worked because she’s too ugly with those snaggly teeth and all. Sure, Wal-Mart doesn’t provide health insurance, but they try to help employees with that by giving them Medicaid forms to fill out and stuff. It’s nice that they help employees get taxpayer-funded insurance. I mean, what more could people want, right?
OK, I’m off like a light. Thank God there’s a Wal-Mart nearby so I can get the supplies I need to be the best little woman I can! One stop shopping is the best! I mean, who needs stores owned by people in the community and all that!?!? Right?
How Does This Work Again?
Today is the official Blog Against Sexism Day. While every day at the Campaign for Unshaved Snatch is blog against sexism day (not to mention stupidity and inanity, both leading contributors to sexism), I thought I’d use this opportunity for a rant against George Pataki, governor of New York, and laws that hurt women.Generally, George Pataki is a supportive pro-choice Republican. However, since he has decided that he is going to run for president (which is possibly the most self-delusional thing I can think of other than another George - Bush, of course - thinking that he is compassionate), he is suddenly much more repressive when it comes to legislation regarding women’s sexual rights and health. The New York State Legislature banded together to pass a great law enabling pharmacies to sell emergency contraceptive over the counter. Rock on! Our fabulous governor vetoed the legislation, though, because he worried that young girls might purchase it and not understand how to use it.
Huh? That means that no women have the right to access a medication in which timing is critical because some girls might not understand the directions? With that logic, we should probably ban ALL over the counter meds since any kid might misuse it. For example, how about Rogaine? Rogaine is a very powerful drug that can harm young boys if improperly used. Is it not conceivable that some boys might use it to try and grow chest hair or pit hair or pubic hair to prove that they are manly? Why are we not worried about protecting young boys? I think we should ban its sale without a prescription. Sounds ridiculous, right? How odd that only medication that women need would be subject to such scrutiny, and that the good of the many would be denied for the possibility of protecting the very few.
This is sexism, pure and simple. Men will always have all the sexual freedom they desire while women will always be restrained by fear of pregnancy with laws like these. The New York State Legislature understands how critical access to emergency contraceptives is and they are working on revising the law. George Pataki has already said he will veto it. This Blog Against Sexism demands that he reconsider his ill-advised sexist power play.
sexism
Tuesday, March 7, 2006
I Love You, Sarah Vowell!
Sarah Vowell read tonight at Borders Books in the contemptible Columbus Circle mall from her latest book Assassination Vacation, which is now available in paperback.. Assassination Vacation is about her travels to places associated with Lincoln, Arthur, and McKinley. Not only is this a brilliant idea, but her writing is gut bustingly hilarious. Seriously, she is amazing. She’s done some great op-ed pieces in The New York Times lately, too. This makes her my second hero named Sarah. (Sarah Silverman is my first.)
While my friends and I were waiting for the reading to start, though, a very non-amusing Borders employee kept enunciating loudly into the microphoned podium that there was still time to buy the book for “Sarah” to sign. She also noted that “Sarah” is so excited to be here, and “Sarah” can’t wait to meet you. She acted as though “Sarah” is her fucking best best friend ever. When she deliberately announced that “Sarah” will sign any book for which you have a Borders receipt with a personal message, I was seriously tempted to buy an Ann Coulter book and ask her to dedicate it to “My favorite antagonistic bitch” or something along those lines. Now that would be funny! In fact, I’d say the only thing that stopped me was the idea of actually buying an Ann Coulter book.
At any rate, Sarah Vowell rocks.
While my friends and I were waiting for the reading to start, though, a very non-amusing Borders employee kept enunciating loudly into the microphoned podium that there was still time to buy the book for “Sarah” to sign. She also noted that “Sarah” is so excited to be here, and “Sarah” can’t wait to meet you. She acted as though “Sarah” is her fucking best best friend ever. When she deliberately announced that “Sarah” will sign any book for which you have a Borders receipt with a personal message, I was seriously tempted to buy an Ann Coulter book and ask her to dedicate it to “My favorite antagonistic bitch” or something along those lines. Now that would be funny! In fact, I’d say the only thing that stopped me was the idea of actually buying an Ann Coulter book.
At any rate, Sarah Vowell rocks.
Lather Up
In January, I noted that when I used particularly yummy smelling soap, I have a strange compulsive urge to eat it. I wondered if anyone had the same experience. Feedback ranged from “No, I do not” to “No, you are a weirdo,” other than my mom, who noted that she had the same issue and wondered if it might be genetic.
I was inclined to go with the genetic theory until I went to a party at my friend’s house. Someone gave her a tub of pumpkin body butter, which was passed around for all the guests to admire. I tried to avoid it so that I would not have the desire to taste it, but it caught up with me before the party was over. I took a deep whiff and began salivating. As I passed it along to the next person (without first licking it, I might proudly add), I mentioned how it smelled good enough to eat. Another guest, who is a slightly older woman and is the chairperson of a university psychology department, nodded in understanding. She said that it is so tempting to her that she once could not stop herself from sampling some delicious-smelling shampoo. She did not seem to find that incredibly bizarre at all, but did not recommend doing so, as it still tastes like soap.
In the end I am glad to know unlike all my other genetic mutations (like the fact that I never developed adult second molars on my bottom jaw and never will), the desire to taste yummy smelling bath products is not at all unusual. Hurray!
I was inclined to go with the genetic theory until I went to a party at my friend’s house. Someone gave her a tub of pumpkin body butter, which was passed around for all the guests to admire. I tried to avoid it so that I would not have the desire to taste it, but it caught up with me before the party was over. I took a deep whiff and began salivating. As I passed it along to the next person (without first licking it, I might proudly add), I mentioned how it smelled good enough to eat. Another guest, who is a slightly older woman and is the chairperson of a university psychology department, nodded in understanding. She said that it is so tempting to her that she once could not stop herself from sampling some delicious-smelling shampoo. She did not seem to find that incredibly bizarre at all, but did not recommend doing so, as it still tastes like soap.
In the end I am glad to know unlike all my other genetic mutations (like the fact that I never developed adult second molars on my bottom jaw and never will), the desire to taste yummy smelling bath products is not at all unusual. Hurray!
The Big O's New Year's Big Bang
(I realize that New Year’s Eve was some time ago, but a good story is a good story. It just took me awhile to get around to telling it. Trust me, the wait was worth it.)
This past New Year’s Eve, our friend The Big O had had to scramble to find something to do when his friend canceled. The Big O had of late been interesting in finding a Jewish lass with whom he might spend some quality time, so he quickly researched a few parties with a young Jewish singles theme. Many of them had steep entry fees because of an all night open bar. The Big O needed to save some cash, so he was quite excited when he found a party that was only $40. There was very little information on the organization throwing the bash, so he called the bar it would be at and asked if they knew anything about it. The guy at the bar said he only knew the admission fee and that somewhere between 500 and 1,000 people were expected to attend. The Big O figured that a huge crowd would be a good bet. He hopped on the subway, prepared to woo the ladies with his suave charm.
When he arrived at the bar, he paid his $40 fee and went to the basement where the party was held. Immediately he noticed something very odd. He seemed to be the only male attendee not wearing a yarmulke. And the ladies? The ladies were wearing only the finest long skirts that covered their shoes, although some of the rebellious ones had pants on. “Oh no!,” he thought. Oh yes – The Big O was amongst the Modern Orthodox section of Jews for the evening.
It could have been worse. It could have been a Hasidic party. Actually, things turned out not bad at all for our young hero. While waiting in a ginormous line for the bar (turns out those MoDox sure like the Manishevitz), The Big O was able to strike up a conversation with one of the pants-wearing women. By the end of the evening, they were both completely wasted. She was practically licking him in front of everyone, which made The Big O a wee bit paranoid that everyone was staring at him. They took off, and he woke up the next morning in her apartment. Happy New Year!
Personally, I think he got a pretty good deal. Rarely does $40 and cab fare get anyone to the Promised Land…
This past New Year’s Eve, our friend The Big O had had to scramble to find something to do when his friend canceled. The Big O had of late been interesting in finding a Jewish lass with whom he might spend some quality time, so he quickly researched a few parties with a young Jewish singles theme. Many of them had steep entry fees because of an all night open bar. The Big O needed to save some cash, so he was quite excited when he found a party that was only $40. There was very little information on the organization throwing the bash, so he called the bar it would be at and asked if they knew anything about it. The guy at the bar said he only knew the admission fee and that somewhere between 500 and 1,000 people were expected to attend. The Big O figured that a huge crowd would be a good bet. He hopped on the subway, prepared to woo the ladies with his suave charm.
When he arrived at the bar, he paid his $40 fee and went to the basement where the party was held. Immediately he noticed something very odd. He seemed to be the only male attendee not wearing a yarmulke. And the ladies? The ladies were wearing only the finest long skirts that covered their shoes, although some of the rebellious ones had pants on. “Oh no!,” he thought. Oh yes – The Big O was amongst the Modern Orthodox section of Jews for the evening.
It could have been worse. It could have been a Hasidic party. Actually, things turned out not bad at all for our young hero. While waiting in a ginormous line for the bar (turns out those MoDox sure like the Manishevitz), The Big O was able to strike up a conversation with one of the pants-wearing women. By the end of the evening, they were both completely wasted. She was practically licking him in front of everyone, which made The Big O a wee bit paranoid that everyone was staring at him. They took off, and he woke up the next morning in her apartment. Happy New Year!
Personally, I think he got a pretty good deal. Rarely does $40 and cab fare get anyone to the Promised Land…
Monday, March 6, 2006
And the award goes to ... Speds!
Last night Husband I went to an Oscar party at our friends’ apartment. The couple had invited a few other people that we didn’t know. One of them was a very nice woman who taught bilingual special education kindergarten, a job that I do not envy her. We chatted amicably as the evening progressed, but I nearly did a spit take when she turned to another guest and complimented her dominatrix-looking books.
Now, I have nothing against interesting boots, but these were Wicked Witch of the East pointy toed stilled fake snake skin, fake lace up monstrosities that never, ever should have seen the light of day. The sweet woman herself was wearing some hideous pointy toed sling backs, and she noted that whenever she wore them to school, the kids would freak out because they thought the toes on her shoes would injure them.
The lesson here is that sometimes the people who are afforded the least voice in society are the ones who speak the truth most loudly.
Now, I have nothing against interesting boots, but these were Wicked Witch of the East pointy toed stilled fake snake skin, fake lace up monstrosities that never, ever should have seen the light of day. The sweet woman herself was wearing some hideous pointy toed sling backs, and she noted that whenever she wore them to school, the kids would freak out because they thought the toes on her shoes would injure them.
The lesson here is that sometimes the people who are afforded the least voice in society are the ones who speak the truth most loudly.
Cabbage Patch Kids Steal Children's Souls
Ask anyone who knew me back in the day (i.e. – before I was in third grade) and they will tell you I was the sweetest, shyest, nicest little girl in the neighborhood. Parents loved when their kids invited me over to play because I was so quiet and polite.
(Actually, when I am not yelling fuck or shit or asshole dildoface fucknuts!, I am still very polite. I always say thank you or excuse me.) So what happened to the shy sweet kid who played so nicely with others?
I got a Cabbage Patch Kid, that’s what happened. I am 100% serious, and my mom will verify this. As you may recall, back in 1984 the Cabbage Patch Kid craze was in full swing. My mom signed me up on the waiting list at the Toys ‘R’ Us. When they called one day to let her know that it was our turn, I was beside myself with excitement. Finally, my very own Cabbage Patch Kid! It was gonna be the best!
At Toys ‘R’ Us, we went in the back way into the warehouse. My Cabbage Patch Kid had brown hair in pig tails and brown eyes (just like me!), jeans, a light blue and white horizontal striped t-shirt, and a red windbreaker. Her birth certificate said that her name was Jocelyn Essie. Jocelyn. (How awesome a name is that?!?!) The people at Toys ‘R’ Us neglected to tell my mom that Jocelyn was a tool of the devil, though.
The problems began not long after Jocelyn came home with us. Like a ventriloquist uses his dummy to say mean and horrible things that the ventriloquist can pretend to be shocked at, Jocelyn channeled my nasty side. She was a bully. She ordered around the other Cabbage Patch Kids at school. I don’t remember the shit she pulled at home, but my mom told me that if Jocelyn didn’t start being nicer, she would have to leave. (Eventually, Jocelyn got her comeuppance. During our traditional day of lunch and Easter basket shopping – that’s another story - during spring break, I got sick after eating an egg salad sandwich at Marshall Field’s and barfed up all over the parking lot of Toys ‘R’ Us. I had been holding Jocelyn tightly between my legs as I heaved on the tar, but my mom was worried that I’d drop her, so she made me hand Jocelyn over, at which point my mom dropped her head-first into a pile of spew. Damn, was I pissed!)
Yet once my nasty side came out, it never went away again, even when Jocelyn was out of the picture. Would I be a nice person today if I had never had an evil Cabbage Patch Kid? I doubt it. Puberty probably would’ve ruined me if Jocelyn hadn’t done so first. All’s well that ends well, right?
(Actually, when I am not yelling fuck or shit or asshole dildoface fucknuts!, I am still very polite. I always say thank you or excuse me.) So what happened to the shy sweet kid who played so nicely with others?
I got a Cabbage Patch Kid, that’s what happened. I am 100% serious, and my mom will verify this. As you may recall, back in 1984 the Cabbage Patch Kid craze was in full swing. My mom signed me up on the waiting list at the Toys ‘R’ Us. When they called one day to let her know that it was our turn, I was beside myself with excitement. Finally, my very own Cabbage Patch Kid! It was gonna be the best!
At Toys ‘R’ Us, we went in the back way into the warehouse. My Cabbage Patch Kid had brown hair in pig tails and brown eyes (just like me!), jeans, a light blue and white horizontal striped t-shirt, and a red windbreaker. Her birth certificate said that her name was Jocelyn Essie. Jocelyn. (How awesome a name is that?!?!) The people at Toys ‘R’ Us neglected to tell my mom that Jocelyn was a tool of the devil, though.
The problems began not long after Jocelyn came home with us. Like a ventriloquist uses his dummy to say mean and horrible things that the ventriloquist can pretend to be shocked at, Jocelyn channeled my nasty side. She was a bully. She ordered around the other Cabbage Patch Kids at school. I don’t remember the shit she pulled at home, but my mom told me that if Jocelyn didn’t start being nicer, she would have to leave. (Eventually, Jocelyn got her comeuppance. During our traditional day of lunch and Easter basket shopping – that’s another story - during spring break, I got sick after eating an egg salad sandwich at Marshall Field’s and barfed up all over the parking lot of Toys ‘R’ Us. I had been holding Jocelyn tightly between my legs as I heaved on the tar, but my mom was worried that I’d drop her, so she made me hand Jocelyn over, at which point my mom dropped her head-first into a pile of spew. Damn, was I pissed!)
Yet once my nasty side came out, it never went away again, even when Jocelyn was out of the picture. Would I be a nice person today if I had never had an evil Cabbage Patch Kid? I doubt it. Puberty probably would’ve ruined me if Jocelyn hadn’t done so first. All’s well that ends well, right?
Sunday, March 5, 2006
Progress, Sweet Progress
March is Women’s History Month. While I was at the gym today, the movie Iron Jawed Angels was on one of the TVs. It is a great movie about the suffragettes, in particular Alice Paul, and their arrest, jail time, and hunger strikes. I am so cheesy when it comes to things like this that I literally was tearing up as the women rallied around Alice during her hunger strike. (Choking up and running is not a great idea, FYI.)
Anyway, as I was exalting in the amazing things that these courageous women did to fight for our fundamental right to vote, I looked at the TV right next to the one that I was watching. VH1 was on, airing that stupid show where women compete to see who can be more lascivious and win Flavor Flav’s “heart.” I looked at Iron Jawed Angels. Alice Paul was being force fed and her nose was bleeding. I looked at VH1. Two women were screaming at each other about who had bigger tits and whether it mattered if they were “natural DDs” or “fake, but perkier.”
Wow, it took less than a century for us to go from fighting for the right to vote to fighting for the right to show your tits on TV. It doesn’t get much more depressing than that.
Anyway, as I was exalting in the amazing things that these courageous women did to fight for our fundamental right to vote, I looked at the TV right next to the one that I was watching. VH1 was on, airing that stupid show where women compete to see who can be more lascivious and win Flavor Flav’s “heart.” I looked at Iron Jawed Angels. Alice Paul was being force fed and her nose was bleeding. I looked at VH1. Two women were screaming at each other about who had bigger tits and whether it mattered if they were “natural DDs” or “fake, but perkier.”
Wow, it took less than a century for us to go from fighting for the right to vote to fighting for the right to show your tits on TV. It doesn’t get much more depressing than that.
That Shaved Pussy Sure is Noisy
Before I went to Dianne’s yesterday, she warned me about her shaved pussy. She explained that they got a cat and he was shaved down because when he was rescued, his fur was all matted up. Dianne noted that, “At the moment, it looks like we own a mini lion.” When we saw him, we had to laugh. The way he was shaved his head was untouched and thus looked like a mane, and one puff ball of fur remained on his tail, just like a lion. It was pretty cool, except that Husband and I are allergic to cats (including mini lions), so he had to be locked in Dianne’s room while we were there. (It protested loudly the entire time. In fact, Dianne said that he is always yowling about something or other, and hence her 4 year old daughter named the cat Noisy.) At any rate, I was amazed that shaved pussy could look like that.
Friday, March 3, 2006
Mini Roadtrip Day!
Husband and I are going to be visiting my only "normal" college roommate, Dianne, and her family today. I say "normal" only because compared to my other roommates (for example, the crotch cloth chick who was obsessed with Danzig), she was completely average. On the other hand, we did cause a ginormous scandal by decorating the outside of our dorm room door with pictures we cut out from a Playgirl we purchased at a gay porn store in the West Village. (But that is another story for another time.)
Anyway, Dianne sadly had to leave NYU after I lived with her for a semester, which probably limited the trouble we could have gotten into if we had more time together, but still sucked. (Her replacement was a 17 year old who read Star all night and never went to class, also another story.) Dianne is an artist and she paints the most amazing murals and furniture. (Check her stuff out at Dianne... Designs. She's fucking talented, I tell you!)
After our visit with Dianne, we are heading into Philadelphia to see Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat at the behest of Brother-in-Law. I can't entirely understand how I came to agree to go, as I hate cheesy muscials, but everyone else was going, so it seemed like I should go too. Next time, I will stick more to my principles. I do love roadtrips, Dianne, and Philly, though, so I am sure that there will be fun to be had. Maybe I can nap or something during the show.
Anyway, Dianne sadly had to leave NYU after I lived with her for a semester, which probably limited the trouble we could have gotten into if we had more time together, but still sucked. (Her replacement was a 17 year old who read Star all night and never went to class, also another story.) Dianne is an artist and she paints the most amazing murals and furniture. (Check her stuff out at Dianne... Designs. She's fucking talented, I tell you!)
After our visit with Dianne, we are heading into Philadelphia to see Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat at the behest of Brother-in-Law. I can't entirely understand how I came to agree to go, as I hate cheesy muscials, but everyone else was going, so it seemed like I should go too. Next time, I will stick more to my principles. I do love roadtrips, Dianne, and Philly, though, so I am sure that there will be fun to be had. Maybe I can nap or something during the show.
Biological Weapon of Mass Distruction
A few days ago, I was at a meeting with some other do-gooder advocates discussing ways to fix some policy flaws that have plagued New York City for years. All day long, my gut had been churning, but of course there were no real problems until the meeting began. As lethal gas slowly leaked out of my ass, all I could think about was how unfortunate it would be if I suffocated the entire group and stymied the best chance for change that I’ve seen in a long time.
That led me to remember a big national meeting of advocates that I went to in November 2004. The second day of the meeting, I broke out in Hep A. I began to suspect that I was some unwitting plant the Bush administration used to take down the who’s who of do-gooder advocates in my field. I mean, what the fuck was I doing there in the first place? I was the youngest by at least 10 years and way out of my league. Then I learned I wasn’t contagious once I showed symptoms, and I remembered that the Bush administration could care less about my field anyway, since we have no power or money or junkets to offer.
That led me to remember a big national meeting of advocates that I went to in November 2004. The second day of the meeting, I broke out in Hep A. I began to suspect that I was some unwitting plant the Bush administration used to take down the who’s who of do-gooder advocates in my field. I mean, what the fuck was I doing there in the first place? I was the youngest by at least 10 years and way out of my league. Then I learned I wasn’t contagious once I showed symptoms, and I remembered that the Bush administration could care less about my field anyway, since we have no power or money or junkets to offer.
Family Values
Tuesday night, I got home around 11:00 pm. Due to my extremely bad judgment, I only slept two hours the prior night because I drank about a liter of Pepsi One right before I was supposed to go to sleep. I also had a very busy day at work with one meeting after another and lots of scrambling to get shit done. Needless to say, I was damn tired.
Still, I had to do a few things online for my volunteer organization, and I wanted to find out what happened with the Share the Love Blog Awards. I checked my email and found the following.
From: Your parents
Sent: Tuesday, February 28, 2006 9:34 PM
To: Our daughter
Subject: Hiss! Boo!
Sorry you didn't win, but you gave them a run for their money and hopefully had fun doing it.
That's the main thing. Besides, you're always a winner in our book!
Love,
Proud Papa and Mama ( a good white trash-sounding phrase, if I ever heard one!)
While I was disappointed (but not surprised) at my loss, I felt very lucky to have such great parents. How many parents would not only read their nutty daughter’s blog about pubic hair and other insane topics, but be proud of her for it? Not many, that’s for sure. It just made me really happy. (Although I point out that we are not white trash. We are Jewish white trash, which is very, very different.) I so love my family.
Still, I had to do a few things online for my volunteer organization, and I wanted to find out what happened with the Share the Love Blog Awards. I checked my email and found the following.
From: Your parents
Sent: Tuesday, February 28, 2006 9:34 PM
To: Our daughter
Subject: Hiss! Boo!
Sorry you didn't win, but you gave them a run for their money and hopefully had fun doing it.
That's the main thing. Besides, you're always a winner in our book!
Love,
Proud Papa and Mama ( a good white trash-sounding phrase, if I ever heard one!)
While I was disappointed (but not surprised) at my loss, I felt very lucky to have such great parents. How many parents would not only read their nutty daughter’s blog about pubic hair and other insane topics, but be proud of her for it? Not many, that’s for sure. It just made me really happy. (Although I point out that we are not white trash. We are Jewish white trash, which is very, very different.) I so love my family.
Thursday, March 2, 2006
It's a "Lifestyle" Choice
Traditionally, neighborhood I live in (the Upper West Side) was known for its literary liberal types. Apartments are supposedly filled wall to wall with books, and everyone thinks that he or she is an expert on everything and anything. (Of course, all of this is changing as more and more obnoxious yuppies move into the neighborhood and ruin it.) One recent morning, I realized that Husband and I live in the stereotypical Upper West Side apartment. I couldn’t find the slang dictionary because it was buried under a huge pile of magazines that have built up on my dining room table, our bookshelves our overflowing with books of various types, and there are zillions of papers everywhere you look. You know, if my place is going to be in disarray, messiness due to literary pursuits is a pretty good way to do it. I’m proud.
Take Me to Your Fascist Leader. Now Eat.
The Chinese restaurant near my apartment has a ginormous fresco of Mao. Mao is surrounded by a number of smaller paintings of peasants working the fields. I have no idea what the owners were thinking. Were they convinced that people would order more food in defiance? If so, I don’t think it works. I find it hard to eat while Mao is staring me down and others are slaving away for morsels, so I just avoid the whole place. (I don’t like Chinese food that much anyway, so despite the convenient location, it is not a big deal. Husband claims that I must not really be Jewish, as it is impossible to be Jewish and not like Chinese food. I also don't like rye bread, so that just gives him more fodder...)
Man, if This Idea Doesn't Make Me Famous, Nothing Will
I am very excited! I just came up with a really great new game show concept involving Sen. Bill Frist, MD. (Quick note: my idea came as I was reflecting on this previous post, It's Nice to Know that People Care, so while it is slightly untimely in terms of politics, that's what got me thinking.)
Basically, people with real medical problems (“contestants”) will send Sen. Frist, MD a videotape of themselves exhibiting classic symptoms associated with a known medical ailment. Sen. Frist, MD (and the audience at home) will the view the tape. As he watches the tape, Sen. Frist, MD will comment on what he is seeing, making statements such as, “Bloody diarrhea – that is a classic symptom of e. coli and also shigellosis. Or it could just be severe dehydration.” Perhaps another medical expert could provide the audience with counter analysis and for fun, a lay person could also throw out ideas like, “Man, I once had diarrhea so bad it made my ass bleed because I had to wipe so much.” At the end of the episode, Sen. Frist, MD will summarize the symptoms (opportunity for cool graphics alert!) and give a diagnosis on a set designed to look like the Senate floor. If he is incorrect, the contestant loses. If Sen. Frist, MD is correct, the contestant wins a year on the Senate health insurance plan and some other small prizes, like a year of free bandages or Immodium AD or something tied into the illness.
The genius of the game is that the odds are very high that Sen. Frist, MD will not figure out what is wrong with the contestant, so it will not cost much to produce because very few people will win a year of coverage from the Senate health insurance plan, which is expensive. The other nice aspect of the game show, “Stump Sen. Bill Frist, MD,” is that it will give him something to do when he loses the Presidential election (I hope) in 2008, if he even gets as far as being nominated as the Republican candidate.
It would be even better if I could get him to quit the Senate now to be on the show. I’ll explain he’ll get more face and name recognition if he is on a popular TV show before the primaries, which can help him since Americans seem to like voting for people who fuck up all the time. The real benefit to America is that if he is on TV, he will stop creating public policy, at which his skills rival his ability to diagnose ailments after watching a video. (His policies result in literal and figurative bloody diarrhea.)
At any rate, the show will combine the gross out factor and mystery solving excitement of CSI with the lump-in-my-throat emotions of a reality show like Home Makeover or Three Wishes that helps (white) people in need, and crosses it with the will-he-win-or-lose anticipation of a high stakes game show. Perhaps Joe Rogan can host. It is going to be a huge hit, I tell you. Huge!
Basically, people with real medical problems (“contestants”) will send Sen. Frist, MD a videotape of themselves exhibiting classic symptoms associated with a known medical ailment. Sen. Frist, MD (and the audience at home) will the view the tape. As he watches the tape, Sen. Frist, MD will comment on what he is seeing, making statements such as, “Bloody diarrhea – that is a classic symptom of e. coli and also shigellosis. Or it could just be severe dehydration.” Perhaps another medical expert could provide the audience with counter analysis and for fun, a lay person could also throw out ideas like, “Man, I once had diarrhea so bad it made my ass bleed because I had to wipe so much.” At the end of the episode, Sen. Frist, MD will summarize the symptoms (opportunity for cool graphics alert!) and give a diagnosis on a set designed to look like the Senate floor. If he is incorrect, the contestant loses. If Sen. Frist, MD is correct, the contestant wins a year on the Senate health insurance plan and some other small prizes, like a year of free bandages or Immodium AD or something tied into the illness.
The genius of the game is that the odds are very high that Sen. Frist, MD will not figure out what is wrong with the contestant, so it will not cost much to produce because very few people will win a year of coverage from the Senate health insurance plan, which is expensive. The other nice aspect of the game show, “Stump Sen. Bill Frist, MD,” is that it will give him something to do when he loses the Presidential election (I hope) in 2008, if he even gets as far as being nominated as the Republican candidate.
It would be even better if I could get him to quit the Senate now to be on the show. I’ll explain he’ll get more face and name recognition if he is on a popular TV show before the primaries, which can help him since Americans seem to like voting for people who fuck up all the time. The real benefit to America is that if he is on TV, he will stop creating public policy, at which his skills rival his ability to diagnose ailments after watching a video. (His policies result in literal and figurative bloody diarrhea.)
At any rate, the show will combine the gross out factor and mystery solving excitement of CSI with the lump-in-my-throat emotions of a reality show like Home Makeover or Three Wishes that helps (white) people in need, and crosses it with the will-he-win-or-lose anticipation of a high stakes game show. Perhaps Joe Rogan can host. It is going to be a huge hit, I tell you. Huge!
Wednesday, March 1, 2006
Creating False Hope
Once in a while, I ask Husband if he’d like it if I shaved my legs/pits/crotch. Last night, I was about to pose the question, when I realized that there was no use in asking. Regardless of his answer, I never have any intention of actually shaving said body part. Asking is a cruel tease. I shall not do so again.
More Sites About Unshaved Snatch
In my effort to understand other sites that are about unshaved snatch, I previously investigated biggest unshaved pussy in the world, a real term that someone used that led them to this very blog. What I found was disturbingly funny, so I will continue my public interest work and search “hairiest vulva,” another search term used by someone. Entering “hairiest vulva” into google yielded the following treasures:
“Hairiest vulva” led to four total hits. The Campaign for Unshaved Snatch & Other Rants was #2. (Go CUSS!) The others were annoying lists of lists of sites. Sadly, this was not nearly as fun as biggest unshaved pussy in the world, which sort of makes sense in a fucked up way.
Unshaved women was a term that led more than one person to CUSS (or one person who forgot that the link to CUSS didn’t yield any actual unshaved snatch), so I tried that next. “Bingo!” I thought. All the Pits was hit #3. “All the Pits, All the Time” is their motto. However, I was disappointed to find just some pictures of women with hairy armpits on the beach with no text to mock. What a bust!
Hit #5, Danger Dave - Hairy Pussy, brings us back to our friends ATK Natural and Hairy (“The Internet’s No.1 Hairy Pussy Site”) and a new option, Super Bush. Super Bush is wrong on so many levels. Although they boast of “mounds of delicious unshaven pubes + pits!,” the devil is always in the details (in this case, the fine print):
100% natural and unshaven, just the way nature intended. No shaved snatches here! Just pure, natural coochie with a smell that let’s you know it’s ripe for the fucking!
Cough, choke, gasp, wheeze. No, it could not possibly say something so foul, could it? In my hysterical laughing fit caused by horror (and the fact that it is after 1:00 AM and I am tired), I accidentally clicked on the offensive statement. It only got worse:
What could be more beautiful than a hot chick with a killer body? Knowing that she has a stunning overgrown patch of pungent pubes down south… let’s be honest – the whole shaved thing is overdone, and overrated. What’s more rare, and more sexy, is a foxy feline with a ferocious fetch of flatteringly fragrant fuck fur!
Seriously, it says that, which causes me to come to a few conclusions.
1. Porn sites need to stay far away from alliteration.
2. Unshaved women are probably not as rare as hairy porn sites claim.
3. This Bush site (like its presidential namesake) should wash its head out with douche. What is this fucked up concept that unshaved snatch smells?!?! Damn!
Bah! Further research was stymied when I got a message from my anti-virus software that a file that I was downloading (and not with my approval, trust me) had a virus called Trojan something or other. However, I feel confident that I reviewed enough material to provide meaningful guidance on at least one other site about unshaved snatch. I was amused and educated as to the quality (or lack thereof) that is out there, and I hope you feel the same way.
“Hairiest vulva” led to four total hits. The Campaign for Unshaved Snatch & Other Rants was #2. (Go CUSS!) The others were annoying lists of lists of sites. Sadly, this was not nearly as fun as biggest unshaved pussy in the world, which sort of makes sense in a fucked up way.
Unshaved women was a term that led more than one person to CUSS (or one person who forgot that the link to CUSS didn’t yield any actual unshaved snatch), so I tried that next. “Bingo!” I thought. All the Pits was hit #3. “All the Pits, All the Time” is their motto. However, I was disappointed to find just some pictures of women with hairy armpits on the beach with no text to mock. What a bust!
Hit #5, Danger Dave - Hairy Pussy, brings us back to our friends ATK Natural and Hairy (“The Internet’s No.1 Hairy Pussy Site”) and a new option, Super Bush. Super Bush is wrong on so many levels. Although they boast of “mounds of delicious unshaven pubes + pits!,” the devil is always in the details (in this case, the fine print):
100% natural and unshaven, just the way nature intended. No shaved snatches here! Just pure, natural coochie with a smell that let’s you know it’s ripe for the fucking!
Cough, choke, gasp, wheeze. No, it could not possibly say something so foul, could it? In my hysterical laughing fit caused by horror (and the fact that it is after 1:00 AM and I am tired), I accidentally clicked on the offensive statement. It only got worse:
What could be more beautiful than a hot chick with a killer body? Knowing that she has a stunning overgrown patch of pungent pubes down south… let’s be honest – the whole shaved thing is overdone, and overrated. What’s more rare, and more sexy, is a foxy feline with a ferocious fetch of flatteringly fragrant fuck fur!
Seriously, it says that, which causes me to come to a few conclusions.
1. Porn sites need to stay far away from alliteration.
2. Unshaved women are probably not as rare as hairy porn sites claim.
3. This Bush site (like its presidential namesake) should wash its head out with douche. What is this fucked up concept that unshaved snatch smells?!?! Damn!
Bah! Further research was stymied when I got a message from my anti-virus software that a file that I was downloading (and not with my approval, trust me) had a virus called Trojan something or other. However, I feel confident that I reviewed enough material to provide meaningful guidance on at least one other site about unshaved snatch. I was amused and educated as to the quality (or lack thereof) that is out there, and I hope you feel the same way.
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