Stop Comparing Me to Fruit

I’m sure by now, most women have heard of different classifications for body shapes. There’s the “hourglass” (think Marilyn Monroe and every pin up girl ever) and the “rectangle” (as in you don’t have a natural waist) and sometimes even varieties of triangle (standard and inverse, apparently). But all of this is weird. No one actually looks like a triangle or a rectangle. Hourglass, sure, I can see that. Then there’s the stupid food comparisons: apple, pear, and (this one was new to me) banana. I’m sorry but I definitely don’t look like a piece of fruit. This comparison is just weird and nonsensical.

In this case, the fruit doesn't even fit. And that does NOT look like a banana, damnit.

I’m sorry, but none of these shapes make any sense to my brain. I just don’t get it. Supposedly, because I’m small-chested and big-bootied (is that even a term?) I’m a “pear” shape. But I’m also supposed to have tiny, wimpy shoulders (which I don’t) and thick ankles (also don’t). I get the impetus for classifying body shapes–supposedly helping women dress to flatter their most “alluring” features–but it really needs to be rethought. On top of only being able to represent these so-called universal shapes that are supposed to fit all women on the planet in odd drawings without faces or  with creepy identical faces, when someone does try to represent these shapes in the real world, you wind up with ridiculously inaccurate representations. See, for example, figure three. All of these women, despite the fact that they’ve been classified as “different” shapes, all look the same to me. They all have chests of roughly the same size, they’re all fairly lean (though red bathing suit and black bathing suit have weirdly thin thighs that don’t touch), and they all have pretty defined waists. I’m also increasingly convinced that “inv” triangle and triangle are the same woman with a bit of photoshopping on the booty/thighs area. Alternative to the “models come in all shapes and varieties of anorexic!!!” photo above is the “all women look like worn out slobs and stand with their arms awkwardly lifted and suffering from an inexplicable case of bowleggedness” picture below. Kudos to the creator for using real women, but at the same time, it seems somewhat unfair to try to accurately represent body types when you’re using women whose ages vary from the fairly young (maybe 24, “lollipop”) to the fairly old (65? “column”), and whose relative body weight fluctuates from the very skinny to the verging on obese. And forgive me for asking, but what idiot came up with these horrible names. There’s the classic food items, but wtf is a cello body shape? Lollipop? Goblet? And can we all agree that “brick” is a terrible term for a woman’s body shape? As if you could be any less interested in making a woman feel beautiful–“Yes, dear, I believe you’d be classified as a ‘brick.'” C’mon!

This is not to say that using women of a variety of ages and weights is a bad thing, but it’s hard to get a sense of your body shape if you’re at the right weight but don’t look like Ms. Lollipop, Pear, or Cornet. What about women of average weight who are hourglass-shaped? Or heavy women who are column or goblet shaped? This system just sucks, to be honest.

Additionally, in my evening internet cruising, I keep seeing advice for pear and apple shaped women that encourages them to “hide” their big hips or busts, respectively, while telling hourglass ladies to just let it all hang out cause they have nothing to hide. What kind of message does that send? The only worthwhile, sexy shape is an hourglass one, I assume. Everyone else better try to wear dark colors or use ruffles to give the impression they actually have the hourglass shape instead of just embracing the great assets they do have, regardless of whether their top and bottom halves match.

I say, eff that. Whether you look like Barbie or you don’t, stop dressing to cover up what some people like to call “problem areas” (i.e. anything that’s not an hourglass), and just start wearing what you think looks good and gives you confidence.

We Get It, Valentine’s Day

Valentine’s Day needs to settle it down.  Seriously, why are we putting so much value in this little old day?  It shouldn’t make or break a relationship, it shouldn’t define us as people, and it shouldn’t depress us based on whatever relationship status we can use to describe ourselves on that day.  It just shouldn’t.  I’m actually not sad, lonely, or depressed (this year), but I still think Valentine’s Day is a little evil.  A person cannot escape hearts, red crap, shiny shit, lacy shit, feathered shit, champagne shit, chocolate shit, expensive shit, diamond shit, more heart-shit, etc.

Why not just do something nice for the people you love?  Even if it’s not sexy, you’ll feel good.  If you are in a relationship, you’re expected to have a fancy dinner, eat chocolate, drink champagne, and then put on crazy lingerie and have the hottest sex of ever…  That’s unreasonable.  You will be bloated.  You will not feel like having sex with the lights on.  Just willing myself to get into a corset is enough to ruin a nice meal.  “I’ll have the side salad without dressing as my entree…”  The expectations are unrealistic.  Shouldn’t this be reserved for anniversaries?  What happens if a chick is unavailable for the supreme pleasures of Valentine’s Day doin’ it?  Ladies get this thing every month, and it complicates things?  I’m just saying: what if?  That’s a lot of pressure for a reproductive system to handle.

I’m also infuriated that the V-Day tropes are that dudes spend cash while ladies put out.  Blerg.

I just don’t want to see hearts everywhere.  I don’t like them.  I don’t want everything to be pink.  I don’t want my boyfriend to feel like he has to send me roses or I will kill him.  THAT’S STUPID.  No one is entitled to roses.  I’m certainly not.

Plus, dudes can’t handle all this pressure.  It makes ladies crazy, and guys can’t live up to the crazy expectations pushed into female minds by rom-coms and Hallmark commercials.  I think I’ve even seen a cat food commercial about human love recently.  What? How? Why? COME ON.

Ladies, settle it down.  If a dude doesn’t buy you flowers, it’s okay.  Maybe just take a moment to appreciate the people you love instead of buying everything in CVS?

If you’re single, Valentine’s Day is just gigantic reminder that you are not in a relationship, and that you will likely not be needing any lacy accessories.  Why should singles be tormented further by our weirdly couple-obsessed culture?  Being single kind of rules… because there are no rules!  Okay, not really, but still.   This can be such an awkward day.  We should just act normal.

Why are heart shapes so anatomically incorrect?  It really bothers me.

Friggin’ Valentine’s Day…

I can hear you masticating.

I hate loud masticators. And people who generally chew with their mouths open. But if there’s one place you ought to really watch your mouth, it’s the library (enjoy that pun). Where I can hear nothing BUT your smacking and chewing when we’re in a quiet room and you’re sitting at the same damn table as me. Good lord! Yes, jerkface, I’m giving you the stink eye right now because I’m sure even everyone on the other side of the room can hear you chew!

There’s something especially gross about hearing someone chew their food. In fact, messy eaters are very similar. I just don’t want to see or hear your eating process. There’s nothing attractive about that. It is, in fact, revolting. It’s just something I don’t want to share with you.

Keep your cookies to yourself.

10 More Reasons You’re a Terrible Driver

Driving around this weekend enraged me again, so I thought I would share a few additional awful examples of driving/humanity, and reiterate some of the more important points that no one seems to know.

*For the first 10 Reasons, please see our previous post, “10 Reasons You’re Being a Driving Douche.” 

  1. If it’s 8:57 AM, you’re not the only one running late for work.  We all are.  We have no sympathy for you.  Don’t be a douchebag when everyone else is just as late.  Very few people start work at 9:30, so get over yourself.  Settle it down, Howard Dean.  No one needs to get that hyped in the morning.
  2. Don’t assume that I’m controlling the car in front of me; are you controlling the car in front of you? (That’s me… and NO.)  Don’t get mad at me.  I can’t control them.  I would also like to go faster, but I don’t have a ray gun.  I also don’t have mind control powers.  So… back the hell off!
  3. Children in the car = worse driving?  If there are children with you, you should actually improve your driving, and make a real effort to not kill them.
  4. If you eat while you drive, prioritize.  By that, I mean that the driving part is more important.
  5. Maintain your vehicle.  If you don’t, we’ll all die.
  6. Remember that you are visible to other drivers, especially when stopped in traffic.  We can see you picking your nose, doing your make-up, fighting with your passengers, and/or yelling at your kids.  Maybe wait until you get home.
  7. Don’t do your make-up in the car.  STUPID HEAD.
  8. Running lights are NOT enough.  If it’s dark, turn on your big girl lights.  Why is this so hard?  Why? WHY?
  9. Use your turn signal, or I will crush you with my mind.  I know that I previously said I didn’t have mind control powers, or a way to de-materialize the car in front me, which is still mostly true.  It is only when I reach my highest level of anger possible that I can crush other people with my mind.  This is figurative, y’all.
  10. STOP TEXTING.

Ten Things I Hate About Starbucks

I would like to warn you that I have taken some liberties with the exact location of all of these occurances, but I hope you will forgive me. I’ve combined two coffee house experiences of my day into one.

 

1. Why is there a drink called “Grande Skinny Vanilla Latte?” THIS MAKES SO EFFING SENSE!!! Can you just stop with the alternate languages? The small is not tall, the medium is not grande, it’s fucking medium, and the venti is the only one that kind of makes sense but still–twenty? Twenty what? Twenty hairy old men in speedos on the corner? WHAT??

 

2. Yes, you see me. I’m alone. I am at a two person table. Yes. I am reading. NO, that’s not an invitation to come join me. Just, seriously, if you’re gonna do that at least ask Don’t just sit down! Maybe I’m not anti-social and was waiting for someone, you dick head!

 

3. If you skip my advice in #2, then at least do me a favor and don’t put your head down on the table after you’ve invaded my bubble and SLEEP. For the love of god. How rude ARE you? Just… really?

 

4. You’re way too excited about your drink. If the Starbucks baristas know you by name, and you go up to the counter to order “the usual,” you’re probably spending way too many dollars and empty calories on coffee-like drinks. Probably not something you need to be proud of. Additionally, if you’re this fucking happy on a Wednesday morning at 8:30, why are you even getting coffee you crazy morning person?!??

 

5. Stop with the phone. Really, I don’t want to listen to you make thirty phone calls while I’m trying to mind my own business and read. You are so distracting. Don’t you have a home? Or an office? Or better yet, a home office that you can make business calls from? Not a fucking cafe in a university student union?

 

6. Why, Barista, do you look at me like I have skinned a live goat in front of you when I order? I asked for a coffee and a salad at 2:30 in the afternoon. Is that a problem, or is the problem with your fugly face?

 

7. I overhear the dumbest shit in coffee shops. Seriously. Don’t believe me? How about this one: “Yeah I bought them at CVS, and they totally woke me up but they don’t have caffeine in them.” “How do you know?” “Well, like it wasn’t on the ingredients list…” Or try: “Oh my god, yeah, like, the Old Testament is bullshit. I mean the only people who believe that are Catholics and Jew people [I did not make this up. Not “jews” but “jew people.”] think that that shit actually happened. I mean not all of them do but then they aren’t really Catholics and Jews.” (No, moron, Catholics don’t read the Bible literally. And many sects of Judaism don’t, either. Before you go bashing people’s faith, maybe you should actually understand the tenets of their belief system.) This was followed later by a conversation about piercings and how sometimes they smell bad, like “rotting flesh.” WHAT THE FUCK, I AM TRYING TO EAT AT THE TABLE NEXT TO YOU. SHUT UP!!!!

 

8. No, I’m not going to tell you my name. Don’t write it on the cup. I don’t need to be named, I just need you to call out my drink. I’m smart enough to realize that if I just ordered and there’s three people waiting in line to pick up drinks, the next drink up probably isn’t mine. C’mon.

 

9. Why do all of your baked goods cost like $7? I hope you make everything with the finest, freshest ingredients known to man. At least, I hope your muffins taste better than your shitty house blend.

 

10. Number ten isn’t really a reason to hate Starbucks. I just really want to know, who’s the chick on the logo? And what’s wrong with her arms?

If you actually are interested in the logo, this website gives a pretty good explanation of how it got to be what it is.

5 Signs You’re Not Really a “Bad Ass”

Don is a bad ass.  He’s a Vietnam Veteran who snowmobiles, is not capable of drinking so much he could be drunk, has beaten up multiple jerks, loves him some jager, never does yard work without bleeding and never seems to notice that he’s bleeding, and he’s also a pretty ballin’ cook.  Boom.  Bad ass.

Kate is bad ass because she will cut you with her words, take you down analytically, drink another bottle of the cheap red, laugh at your stupidity, charm you into wanting to date her, and then she’ll cut you down again.  Oh, and she’s in a PhD program at 22.

Patty is a bad ass because she could kick your ass, drink you under the table, hem anything, clean anything, fix a lot of things, she has 7.32 jobs, and she’ll do it all wearing a pencil skirt and heels.

You probably are not a bad ass.  Bad asses are awesome.  They chop down trees, build houses, fix cars, beat up dudes who are assholes, don’t flinch when they bleed, and aren’t afraid of getting a little dirty to get it done (regardless of the it).

Urban dictionary defines bad ass a number of ways, but my favorite snippets are:

Badass:

  1. Ultra-cool motherfucker.
  2. The badass is an uncommon man of supreme style. He does what he wants, when he wants, where he wants. You won’t find him on facebook, myspace, msn, et cetera because he is probably out being cool somewhere.
  3. Awesome to an extreme level, thereby leveraging unquestionable authority.
  4. “Sam Elliott’s mustache = badass.”
  5. Infinitely cool, über awesome, hardcore to the extreme.  “Say what you will about Bruce Lee or Chuck Noris, Tsutomu Yamaguchi is, hands down, the most badass example of a badass ever to walk the earth: Tsutomu Yamaguchi was the only known survivor of BOTH atomic blasts. He died at age 93 on January 6, 2010.”  There is NOTHING more bad ass than that.
There are a lot of people, mostly dudes, who claim to be bad ass, but most of them aren’t.  If you think you are a bad ass, read the following carefully.
5 Signs You’re Not Really a “Bad Ass”
  1. You are wearing a polo shirt, and it’s not a uniform.  First of all, bad asses don’t really wear uniforms.  Second of all, polos are for English guys, and frat boys.  If you’re English, we’ll allow a polo if you wore it while playing polo.  If you are a frat boy, shut up, you’re not a bad ass.
  2. The sight of blood makes you feel nauseated.  A true bad ass in not bothered in the slightest by blood.  A true bad ass usually doesn’t notice their own, but will come to the aid of others who bleed.
  3. You can’t fix or even identify what’s wrong with your car/fridge/sink/motorcycle/computer.  Bad asses fix shit.  If you cannot fix anything, you’re not bad ass.
  4. You can’t do mental math.  Math is bad ass.
  5. You don’t know how to throw a punch.  Punching is a big part of being a bad ass.  Fighting is important.
There are many other signs, so proceed claiming to be a bad ass carefully.

There’s Nothing Funny About Living With Dudes

The New Girl is a television show airing on FOX, starring the adorable and quirky Zooey Deschanel. The main premise of the show, aside from Deschanel’s epic break-up, is the cute-but-totally-weird-and-awkward girl lives with three dudes, and isn’t that hilarious?!? One girl living with a bunch of guys!! AHHAAAA!

I am going to fill you in, America, there is nothing cute or funny about being the one girl living with a bunch of dudes. Take it from someone who did it: Nothing about it is funny and everything about it sucks.

Five Reasons Not to Move in With Your Guy Friends

1. Everything smells like male body odor and Axe.

Dudes smell. There’s just no way around it. Whether it’s dirty socks lurking in the living room or strange smells wafting into your bedroom from the room across the hall, there’s always a smell of dude sweat when you live with guys. Also, now that we have been blessed with Axe (because Old Spice just wasn’t cutting it for awful pseudo-cologne anymore), every bathroom always smells like a strange combination of cinnamon and musk, causing any person with asthma who enters to immediately have a coughing fit. Awesome.

2. If you weren’t bargaining for a parade of whores, you should have.

Guys are focused on one thing when they go out: getting chicks to come home with them. Get ready for a parade of different girls who range in attractiveness from the super hot to the painfully ugly tramping around your house at all hours of the night and awkwardly sneaking by so they don’t have to introduce themselves (or be introduced) to you. They (perhaps rightfully) fear your womanly judgment. Also, you will oftentimes find they’ve used the only girly products in the bathroom after they’ve fucked your roommate and took a shower before they did their walk of shame. Thanks, ladies. Much obliged. Additionally, every friend you ever invite over will not only be treated as a house guest, but will often be invited to be one of your roomies’ bed guest as well, because you no longer have friends: you have potential sex partners for your roommates.

3. You will know every song from every video game and the plot to every bad action flick forward and backward.

Your living room is no longer a living room. It is now what is called a “man cave.” That means the staple decorations are empty beer cans, three week old potato chips hiding beneath the rug, dirty dishes, and the lurking stray sock I mentioned before. The TV will only show the following: sports of all kinds (even those as obscure and stupid as curling), first person shooters and sports video games (if you don’t know that first term, live with dudes and it will become VERY familiar), bad action movies or other manly movies, sci-fi series movies–think Star Wars or Lord of the Rings, and other crappy and generally unfunny TV (e.g. Workaholics). Forget ever watching Grey’s Anatomy or Teen Mom or Say Yes to the Dress or Ghost or any Lifetime movie.

4. Your kitchen will always be sticky, dirty, and smell like something died in it.

Dudes generally suck at cooking and/or know nothing about storing food. This results in a lot of food particles and rotting bananas around your kitchen. Between this, sticky beer/alcohol residue, beer cans, and Chinese take out and pizza boxes, it’s basically impossible to navigate, let alone cook in this room. So, that Coq Au Vin recipe you were going to make for your boyfriend for your anniversary? Yeah, forget about it–go out.

5. They don’t see you as a girlfriend/sex partner, and therefore you fit into the same category as their mother.

You have passed from being drooled over as the sex object or chased after as the girlfriend into the friend zone. You aren’t an accessible vagina, and therefore when you ask for something, it’s nagging. Now you’ve entered the mom zone. Once this happens, all bets are off. Get used to being expected to clean up after your dude roomies, retrieve forks from their bedrooms when they all disappear from the kitchen, pick up those dirty socks in the living room, clean the bathroom fixtures, and take care of all the things their mothers have been doing for them for the last twenty two years.

So instead of living with four dudes, you, in the matter of a few weeks, have suddenly birthed quadruplets. Congratulations on being a New Mom!

Guilty Pleasures Are Good for You

Stop being ashamed of your guilty pleasures; they’re good for you.

Judge me all you want, but I friggin’ love “The Bachelorette,” “The Bachelor,” and “Bachelor Pad.”  It is amazing.  I love watching super-attractive people get upset because they think no one likes them; it’s comforting.  I also love watching people claim to fall in love with each other after two dates.  That is also awesome and it reminds me of high school.  I love that they get drunk, but claim to be classy.  I love that they all totally bone each other, but they pretend like they don’t and/or glorify the boning by going to places called “Fantasy Suites.”  Fake classiness for the win!

I’m sorry, but I just love this show.

 

  “The Jersey Shore” is a ridiculous show with ridiculous people, but lots of normal people who do normal things with their normal days really enjoy this show and just like watching it.  It’s a dumb show.  They are trashy and gross.  They love fighting, drinking, partying, smooshing, boning, yelling, debating, dancing, and so much more.  They are who they are, though.  They own it.  They don’t make excuses and they’re not worried about.  Cool, whatever.  Let them do their thing.

I do have to say, though, it makes me a little sad how rich they are, but that’s because I’m jealous.

 

I also love perezhilton.com.

Perez Hilton is funny and he’s trashy and he makes no excuses about it.  He also expects people to be decent, even when they’re super trashy, or cray-cray.  The blog/website is just funny and that’s all it wants to be for its readers.

The man draws on celebrity pictures in Microsoft Paint; it is wonderful and I can’t help but love it.  He mocks all freely.  He mocks all the awful ones, and the normal(ish) ones too.  The site knows what it is, and that’s all it wants to be.

Celebrities only deserve so much respect.  They might also deserve a little honesty every now and then.

All I’m saying is guilty pleasures are good for you.  I don’t deny myself “The Bachelorette,” or perezhilton.com.  I won’t deny myself weird frozen drinks, or PBR, or fancy wine.  I love peanut butter sandwiches.  I love listening to *NSYNC.  I think “The Holiday” is a great movie.

No matter what your pleasure, embrace it.  It’s okay to be a weirdo because everyone is a weirdo.  Do your thing.  And shut up about other people’s things.

I Don’t Want To Smell Like Sugary Treats, Thanks

The smell of your bathroom products can, at times, be a big deal. I don’t know about everyone else, but I normally take a few minutes to smell the products that I’m buying for two reasons: I don’t like hating the way I smell and I don’t want the six hundred smells from all the different products to clash and make me smell like a trash can or a perfume-obsessed grandmother.

However, the other day I went to Target and purchased a new hairspray on the cheap: Suave Touchable Finish Hairspray. I thought, well, this looks all right. Let’s try it. I also happened to be in a bit of a hurry, so, contrary to my usual beauty product purchasing routine, I didn’t smell it first.

Oh, brother. I now am the proud owner of a product that makes me smell like a cotton candy factory. Might have been cool when I was 12, not so much when I’m 22. I didn’t realize that the pink stood for “Smell Like Treats Four Year Olds Love”!

The quality is decent, but the smell got me thinking about other beauty products and smells that drive me nuts.

Body Spray/Spritzers

I don’t really understand how these are different from perfume except that they usually smell worse and people think that because they aren’t perfume that they should use ten times as much. They really don’t accomplish much other than making women smell like cheap Thai hookers, too-ripe fruit, or a variety of sweets. This causes me to wonder who exactly wants to walk around smelling like food. It seems like you would attract more attention than you might have bargained for (e.g. from squirrels or other hungry animals).

Hair Paste

As a short-haired woman, I love me some hair wax, but I hate buying it. There doesn’t seem to be any standards for what terms like “wax,” “paste,” “fiber,” or “gum” mean, what texture they will give your hair, or what texture they have on their own. They vary from a nearly solid paste-like substance to semi-solid material to runny goop that makes you look like you have respectfully declined to wash your hair for the last two weeks.

Pore Strips

I, like many other people, continue to buy these stupid little things even though they continuously disappoint me. They kind of, sort of work, but more often than not, I’m more frustrated with what I think is left in my pores than what these suckers pulled out. Why? Why do I keep buying these?! Oh, yeah, it’s because every other product that claims to clean your pores also sucks. Man has walked on the moon but has yet to come up with a good way of cleaning his or her pores.

That’s all from me, but what beauty products leave you feeling angry, disappointed, or smelling weird?