CREEP Week: The Old Man (with issues)

The Mysterious Old Man

This is a man with experience.  He believes that this experience will show him the way into your pants.  He believes that he can convince you of his skills in the bedroom.  He will tell you how good he is with women, but he will not show you that he is good.  The Old Man believes he is smooth, but spends all his time talking about being smooth, rather than actually being smooth.

When you, inevitably, reject him, he will get angry and dismiss you as a bimbo or just as stupid.  He will tell you that you’re missing out.  And he’s right, you are missing out on getting to see how long it takes for Viagra to kick in.

Have you encountered such a creep?  

We have.

YOU ARE GROSS.

The Negatives: 

His name was Matt, but I called him “Tom.”  Why?  T.O.M. = Tall, Old Matt.  He was 36.  I was 21.  He was a Class A Creep.  This is a dude that was out hunting for younger ladies and came upon me at a book stand.  He claimed to know about the book I was holding, which was later revealed as a farce.  He spent the next few weeks trying to sleep with me or marry me or move to NYC with me or something else altogether.  He was weird.  He slowly revealed that he was a recovering drug addict, working part-time as a line cook, who lived with his mom and step-dad.  Oh, he was also sexist, afraid of strong women, wanted to dress me, and thought I looked like a lesbian when I wore shorts.  Also, he was 36 and he was trying to date a 21-year-old.  That’s borderline illegal.  Speaking of borderline illegal, after I dumped his old and wrinkled ass, he sort of stalked me for a few weeks.  The police were involved.

The Positives:

We never slept together.  I got rid of him.  No harm.

The Lessons:

  1. Ladies (and gentlemen), never let a man tell you how you can dress.  You wear what you want.  You do what you want.  Creeps don’t rule the world.
  2. Ladies, never let a man lie about his age and get away with it.
  3. Ladies, never let a man stalk you.  

Creep Qualifications:

  1. He lied about his age.
  2. He was seeking someone in the low twenties.
  3. He admitted to dating a 16-year-old.
  4. He wore swim trunks everywhere.
  5. He talked about how hot he was all the time.
  6. He used tanning oil.
  7. He was a straight-up scrub.
  8. “Live at home with your mama?” Oh, yes. Son, I’m talkin’ to you.
  9. “Have a car, but you’re walkin’?” Oh, yes. Son, I’m talkin’ to you.
  10. He had just been released/escaped from rehab.
  11. He ran away from rehab.
  12. He thought I looked like a lesbian when I wore shorts.
  13. He accused me of being misleading because I was wearing a dress when we met, but didn’t always wear dresses.
  14. He really wanted to have butt sex all the time.  NEVER happened, FYI.
  15. He just kept talking about butt sex.
  16. He was paranoid about abortions… with no risk of pregnancy.
  17. He was obsessed with having public… encounters… with strangers.
  18. Did I mention he lived with his mom?

Creep Week: Snake Tongue, Over-Confident

Snake-Tongue, The Over-Confident

True Story…

I made the mistake of allowing this small-ish man to kiss me.  It was shockingly bad.  He then bragged about how good of a kisser he was, which I found alarming.  He asked me to confirm, and I said…  “Uh, I have to go.”  He then tried to convince me to sleep with him by explaining that he was as good at sex as he was at kissing.  So… I said, “No, thanks.”

It was awkward.

You see, I had allowed this small “gentleman” to walk me home, thinking that due to our common friends and his general demeanor, that he would not try a thing.  Well, he tried some things.  At first, he was just sort of oddly asking me to go out with him.  I was trying to negotiate down and not really interested.  Then, he just full-out went for a make-out session with my face.  I mean, he dove into my face.  He stuck his tiny, thin tongue down my throat and just kept jabbing it into my mouth.  His tongue moved in short, terrifying spurts.  It felt like he was trying tenderize my mouth.  It was, hands down, the worst kissing experience of my life.  Perhaps, the worst of all time.

He then began to tell me that he was “really, really good at stuff that girls like.”  I was like… “No.”  He kept trying to talk me into going to his place or letting him in mine so he could show me his skills.  He tried convincing me because he promised that “We don’t go all the way.”  He said, “We don’t go all the way” about 50 times.  It was an actual negotiation to him.  He thought that if he promised me orgasms and only foreplay, I’d be totally down.  In actuality, I was just trying to get him away from me without totally destroying our mutual friendship situation and without him knowing which apartment was actually mine.  He seemed very stalkery.

The reason he knew he was so good at pleasuring women?

He went to an all-boys school where the older boys “taught them all about that stuff.”  Uh…  Not to be judgmental, but wouldn’t older boys teaching younger boys about sex-stuff likely not involve women?  I mean, wouldn’t that experience all be dude-on-dude?  I just don’t think the ancient Greek system of old men making love to young men bodes well for that man’s skills with women.  You know?

When I finally convinced him that I really, truly, actually, for real was NOT going to mes around with his snake-tongued face, he said something horrible.

“Are you on your menstruation?”

The only reason he could imagine I wouldn’t want to feel his tiny hands or creepy tongue all over me was that I was on my period.  This yucky, creepy question was the last straw.  I slapped him across the face and told him to get real far, real fast.  He ran away.  He was a gross asshole.

This is, by far, the worst thing I’ve heard in response to rejection.  Never, never bring up a woman’s menstruation.

Side note:

He showed up at my apartment building the next day, calling me repeatedly (with a number he got from my friends), and begging to go on a date.  He also told me he lied about his age (he was younger) and he boasted his virginity.  I did not pick up the phone or see him again.

Horrible Realization: I’m Too Old for Cheap Beer

When I was in college, I could drink like a fish.  I put huge douchey dudes to shame with my incredible ability to chug, handle, and hold my cheap liquor and beer.  I preferred nicer beer, even in those days, but I wasn’t about to turn down a few dozen free cans of Natty Light or PBR.  You just don’t do that in college.  You drink what you are given… You know, if it’s not from a very shady source.  Hell, even if it is shady, you might consider it if it’s totally free.  I mean, you’re supposed to be poor in college.  Why not enjoy cheap-ass bear?

College students love beer.

Everyone loves beer.

However, not everyone can drink cheap beer like 20-year-olds.

Once graduation occurs, and you move on graduate school or perhaps a real-life, grown-up job with benefits and a salary and everything, your lifestyle inherently changes.  It just does.  Life is very different after college.  Now, instead of just wanting to get drunk and maybe get a date or two out of some dude/lady, you are actually talking about relationships and even….  MARRIAGE.  Well, maybe just long-term or like… living together or something.  You’re still figuring that part out.  Anyways…

Life after graduation is quite an adjustment.  It takes some g.d. time, y’all.  And that’s okay.

There are many lessons a post-graduate must learn, and one of the first I learned…  Nah, actually the most obvious one I learned, was that I cannot drink the way and the crap I once could.  I’m a grown-up now, and Natty Lite ain’t gonna cut it.

When you start to get old, your body can’t handle the vinegar/acid/gasoline contained in cheap beer.  At least, the body can’t handle it at the same level.  When a body is young and virile, it can fight off the poisons of cheap beer – the pee in Busch Light or the dirt in Natural Ice.  When a body gets older, it starts to give up on dying and it wants to live.  Cheap beer wants to kill you and your body.  Old bodies know better.  They demand good beer.

Older bodies also don’t want you to make them suffer with yucky beer.  I learned this the hard way.

I have now learned, once and for all, that I am now too old to drink a whole bunch of crappy beer.  My body hates it.  My body wants to be a temple instead of a garbage can.  I must obey.

Until very recently, I was entirely immune to hangovers.  I had only once had a hangover, and it was after a week of no-sleep and then heavy, celebratory drinking.  You can read about a lot that night in the post, “When Kate and Patty (Almost) Got in a Bar Fight.”  With that one exception, I have been a total boss.  This has annoyed many people.  Understandably so…  Hangovers suck.  Now that I’m a little older, I’m starting to catch them.

After a night of drinking… we’ll say “some” beers, I have started to feel a little less-than-great the next morning.  Therefore, I must accept that I’m now too old for drinking cheap beer like a college-kid.

Damn.

A Hobo is not a Halloween costume

Halloween: the chance, once a year, to pretend to be someone you’re not. I like to think Halloween costumes say a lot about a person. They also say a lot about what we think but never say.

Take this, for instance:
I saw a picture recently of friends of friends of friends dressed up for Halloween. They were supposed to be homeless, complete with “Will Work for Food” signs, tattered jeans, and worn out flannel. Similarly, I see people every year wearing sombreros and telling people their costume is “A Mexican.” Or folks who stick some feathers in their braid and throw on a pair of moccasins to be “An Indian.”

Not okay.

Halloween apparently is not only a time to “be someone else” for a day (or two, or three, depending on how many times you celebrate), it’s time to let our collective, offensive, racist American id run wild because it’s hopped up on too many Reese’s peanut butter pumpkins and Four Loko. Do I think these people mean to be offensive? No, likely not. Really they just want to shotgun some Busch Lights and hook up with the cute guy in the “Where’s Waldo?” costume. Being an historical figure (who is, perhaps, Native American or Mexican/Latino) would be one thing, but to say “I’m (ethnic stereotype – regardless of negative, neutral, or positive implications)!” is short-sighted, foolish, and–well–racist.

There’s a certain responsibility that comes along with picking and putting on a costume; any costume you wear inevitably says something about you and your attitude toward other people. Choosing insensitive costumes matters. Just ask the employees of Steven J. Baum’s firm in Buffalo, New York. These geniuses thought that it was a good idea to dress up as homeless people and create fake sections of foreclosed homes at their office Halloween party. Are you outraged? Yes, you likely are. And so should you be. At the same time, however, these people dressing up as homeless people for Halloween is not much, if any, worse than when people who aren’t legal actors in the foreclosure crisis do it.

This Halloween, dress up. Go out. Drink Four Loko to your little heart’s content, and stuff your face with Kit Kats, Snickers, Reese’s pumpkins, and everything in between. Just try not to be your own id.

Yes, this is a real commercial.

After seeing this on TV for the second time, I felt compelled to share it with all of you. At least, I figure, I won’t be alone in my rage against this company and whatever marketing “genius” came up with it.

The first time I saw this, I thought, “Oh awesome! This guy built a mousetrap-style machine that refills his drink! This should be cool.” Alas, I was disappointed, aghast, angered, etc. to find that instead, the solution to the empty drink glass is the girlfriend (wife?). What the fuck. How is this on television? Why isn’t the whole world pissed about this? I mean, the Miller Lite commercials they used to have on TV promoting the “manliness” of drinking Miller Lite (e.g. don’t be a sissy, girls’-pants-wearing light beer drinker!) seem tame and almost endearing compared to the outright misogyny of this gem. I mean, really? We haven’t moved beyond “women belong in the kitchen and/or serving my every need including thirst”? It’s 2012 for godsakes.

I mean, the idea of businesses like SportsClips thrive on the idea that women are meant to serve men both in deed and as eye candy (see also America’s favorite place to get buffalo wings and glimpses of boobies, Hooters). The problem isn’t only the proliferation of antiquated notions of what it means to be a Woman–that is, buxom, always sexy, kitchen- or service-centered, adorably dumb… the list goes on–but antiquated notions of what it means to be a Man. Commercials like this imply that part of being a man means treating all women like glorified servants and exclusively doing “manly” things like watching sports–and being unable to drag oneself away from such manly activities in order to groom oneself, because that’s for pussies. It’s not only women that should be outraged at commercials like this that appeal to undeniably sexist notions of male/female relations, likely located somewhere in the irrational amygdala.

I don’t want to suggest that we should be better than this. We are better than this and it’s about time we show it.

Terrible Sex Advice from Magazines

Why are women’s magazines so bad at giving sex advice?  I would think that women who are comfortable with their sexuality, educated enough to work at a major magazine, and given these assignments would have some semblance of reasonable experience and the good sense to know what their partners enjoy to write decent and believable sex tips.  This is just not the case.  Sure, there are occasional gems in these sex advice columns; in an effort to be reasonable (unlike some people), I will give you a few examples of solidly decent advice.

REALLY BAD SEX ADVICE MAKES ME MAKE THIS FACE.

Some Decent Advice:

Be confident.  Wow, this is an actual tip that sex partners will appreciate.  Sexual and body confidence will go a long way in the bedroom (hopefully they aren’t alone on the “long” side).  I think most people will also enjoy their own bedroom experiences if they feel good about themselves, know what they want, and have the confidence to try things with their partner.  This one is good.

However, it’s not great.  If you are overconfident in bed, it can really, really backfire.  Haven’t we all heard stories about, or perhaps even experienced ourselves, people who think they’re amazing at sex, but are actually quite awful?  I recall a tale from a male friend about a lady who gave some boring-ass blowjobs that she thought were the best in the world.  Her blowjobs were even titled, “The Seven Levels of Heaven” (or some other stupid name she’d probably heard in a magazine).  This basically consisted of some limp licks followed by startlingly toothy deep-throats.  By his account, they were creepy, terrifying, and very NOT enjoyable.  Yet, this poor misled girl thought that she was SO good at them.   He later learned that she had, in fact, been instructed to do so by a fashion magazine.  Sadness ensues.

Be open.

That’s also pretty good advice.  Just discuss what you’re being open about with your partner.  None of this surprise S&M business.  Be responsible sexers, please.  You have to ask before you role play.  You should discuss putting frozen coins on your partner’s vagina before doing so (you’ll see this later).  Just talk first.

Terrible Advice.

Before we start, let me remind you to NOT DO THESE THINGS TO ANYONE.

“Give your man a sexy massage by rubbing his buttcheeks and blowing on his crack when you spread them apart.”
That is a real piece of advice I read in Cosmo roughly five years ago.  I still remember it because it is so, so bad.

“Bite his nipples.”
What the what?  You should discuss this first.  Also, they should specify that you shouldn’t bite hard.  I can imagine this going so wrong…

“Text your man racy one-word messages that, when strung together, hint at what you want him to do to you that night.”
Why not just send a complete sentence?  For example, “I want you.”  Another example, “I’m gonna bleep your bleep so bleepy.”

“Build momentum by keying in to an ocean legend that the seventh in a series of sea waves is the strongest. Lie on your back on a bench and have your man make every seventh thrust his most powerful.”
This is impressively specific and ultimately weird.  What happens if you lose count?  Who taught them this?  How does this conversation start, “So, I know you’re really into sailing and screwing… I have a great way to combine your loves, and it’s not sex on a boat.”

“Pop an erotic film into the DVD player, and let the noises serve as inspiration — you’ll feel like you’re in the midst of an orgy.”
Obviously the person who wrote this piece of advise has never seen “an erotic film” because there is nothing realistic or romantic about them.  Watching two actors perform exaggerated sounds of pleasure while a camera crew watches them… That’s not sexy.  Also, do you really want to see a lady with the biggest boobs of all time right before you take off your own top?  I just think this one could end poorly.  You gotta really do some research.  Lots of research.

“Put a frozen grape in your mouth and warm it up a bit. Then hold it between your teeth and glide it down his neck, around his nipples, and over his lips. Finally, use your tongue to slip the grape into his mouth.”
This is really, really detailed.

“Pick up a couple of sushi rolls, lie down on your couch, and invite your man to enjoy a meal off your naked body. If he’s not a fan of raw fish, use Gummi bears instead.”  
Why Gummi Bears?  I just don’t understand why they went to Gummi Bears if sushi wasn’t acceptable.

“Try light choking.”
Again, this needs to be discussed ahead of time.  This is not a quick change.  Oy.

“Surprise him with anal.”
This should not be a surprise unless previously discussed and agreed upon.

“Put a bunch of very clean (seriously, wash them first) coins in the freezer.  Then, have your man use the coldness of the coins to toy with you while he uses his tongue.  The mix of hot and cold will drive you wild.”
Coins?  Do not put coins on your hooha.  I don’t care how long you wash them.  If you really want to try hot vs. cold, use ice or the grapes from earlier.  Don’t use money.  That’s so weird.  Plus, copper has that strange smell…  I just don’t think this is sexy at all.

I’m sure I’ll write a follow-up to this.  There’s a lot of weird stuff out there.

Only Forcible or Legitimate Rapists Need Apply

Okey dokey, Republicans in the U.S. Senate. Do we really need to go over this again? What the fuck were you doing during high school Biology and/or Health class, or did you spend the entirety of high school asking Jesus to punish you for your teenage boner from looking at Prom Queen Kelly Ann Simons too long? Todd Akin (R-MO)–you may remember him from the “forcible rape” debacle of a bill he co-sponsored with none other than our new pal Paul Ryan (R-WI)–apparently told KTVI-TV the following on Sunday: “From what I understand from doctors, [pregnancy from rape] is really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”

I would like to tell the men of the U.S. Congress something very important: the female body is not magic. The vagina is not a mysterious pit that has the power to discern the motivations of the penis entering it and conveniently stop a pregnancy if the dick looks or acts rape-y. Since when did the discourse around the female body slide back into the mentality of fourth grade boys who have heard shady rumors from kids two years older than them that have grossly misunderstood their sex ed classes? (Sidenote: these are the same people who think we shouldn’t teach sex ed in school. Apparently “magical vaginas” should be the standard for biological knowledge of sexual intercourse.)

After apologizing for his comments, Akin went on to say he screwed up; what he really meant wasn’t “legitimate rape” but “forcible rape”:

Akin appeared as a guest on former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee’s radio show. When asked about what he meant by the term “legitimate rape,” he said, “I was talking about forcible rape, and it was absolutely the wrong word.”

His bad, guys. But seriously, what the fuck!? How has some nonsense term like forcible rape even entered our general lexicon? What the hell does it mean? And one of the idiots who co-sponsored the initial “forcible rape” bill nonsense is running for Vice President of the United F*&$ING STATES OF AMERICA!!! This isn’t a problem of terminology. Rape is forced. Any rape is legitimate because it’s RAPE. If somebody puts their dick in you and you don’t want it there, that’s rape. It doesn’t matter how you were dressed or what you ate for breakfast. It doesn’t matter what you look like, how skinny or fat you are, how old or young you are, whether you’re dressed like a prostitute or a housewife: if you say no, it fucking means no. It doesn’t mean that it’s not rape if she’s wearing booty shorts and he does a lot of begging and then just does what he wants.

Do we really need to parce rape into different degrees of culpability on the part of the rapist? Rape is rape. Period. And on top of this, citing some nonsense pseudo-science about mystery secretions and hormonal changes under stressful situations makes every woman who ever says no and is violated and impregnated a dirty, lying whore. Scientifically.

The discourse surrounding not only rape but women’s rights to control their bodies (and one doesn’t even have to look to the issue of abortion anymore, just birth control!) is in the toilet. From personhood amendments to ultrasound probes to “forcible rape,” there’s a lot of finger pointing at and distrust of women as a class of people. I thought we had made strides in this department. I guess not. I’m just hoping this forcible rape nonsense doesn’t turn into a steaming pile of forcible bullshit in November.

File This Under “Things That Make Me Hate the World/Want to Cry”

This is terrifying because this person bought a 50,000 euro (that’s $61,780 USD) bottle of champagne, but I also have to laugh because they paid 10 euro for Coca Cola. Middle-American upbringing FTW.

This exists. Okay, not so much that this exists, but that there’s enough material for something like this to exist; and not just exist but flourish. “Rich Kids of Instagram” is a Tumblr site on which the author posts pictures of young people of outrageous familial wealth showcasing their moral bankruptcy and total disregard for reality on their Instagram accounts. Oh, and like any good Millennial, their expertise at bragging. Go figure. This makes me kind of terrified, or as the kids would say,

#omgfearthefuture

Just… yuck.

A slippery slope, and by that I mean a mountain covered in chicken grease

Not that anyone is (or should be) all that surprised, but evangelical Chick-Fil-A hates the gays. Okay, maybe that’s a bit strong–they hate the gays getting married. But, you know. Close enough.

In an article by the L.A. Times, Chick-Fil-A says it is “guilty as charged” and supports “the biblical definition of the family unit.”

Corporations need to stick to what they do best: making money and exploiting menial, part-time labor. Can all of them please get off the social issues bandwagon? Quite frankly, I don’t want to have to think about politics every time I bite into a burger or pop a french fry in my mouth. But you guys are making it goddamn impossible for me to enjoy something as pure and simple as a chickenFUCKINGsandwich.

Two years ago, you had Target and Best Buy giving money to candidates who adamantly opposed gay rights. In the wake of a public backlash, Target has done some pretty cool, pro-gay stuff, like carry greeting cards for same-sex couples. (YAY!)

I guess what I’m trying to say is that everybody, especially fast food joints, need to STFU and just let people be. I really don’t need a heaping serving of self-righteous bigotry with my chicken sandwich.

At the same time, I tend to disagree with Boston’s mayor, who, also according the the L.A. Times, plans to make it extremely difficult for Chick-Fil-A to set up shop there. Now, I’m all about individuals refusing to eat there for political reasons, but I think when you target specific companies for their political leanings (not that I think they should have any in the first place, but let’s take this for a given in today’s reality) and essentially ban them from your city, you’re on a slippery–greasy, if you will–slope. Dissenting opinions are part of democracy. There are going to be opinions out there that you don’t like, that are bigoted and insensitive, and that are just plain stupid. But that’s a risk you run when you enjoy a little right called freedom of speech. Don’t like Chick-Fil-A’s anti-gay agenda? Good, don’t buy their (in my opinion not all that fantastically tasty anyway) chicken. Run them out of town due to a lack of patrons. Don’t stretch existing laws because you disagree with their politics. That makes for a dangerous environment for anyone with a dissenting opinion, even leftist ones. I would much rather see a Chick-Fil-A open its doors in Boston and stand utterly empty. That would be a far more powerful message, coming directly from citizens, that we don’t like their homophobic bullshit. Actions by the city government could easily be dismissed as playing politics, etc. etc., but actions by the people themselves? That might just be something.

Thighs of Glory (Read: Beyonce’s Thighs)

(Amendment at end.)

Today, I learned that I have thighs of glory.  This does not mean my thighs are skinny, because they are not and they never will be.  Skinny thighs give me the creeps.  A “gentleman” walking about downtown Ann Arbor exclaimed upon seeing my pasty, glorious thighs, that they were, in fact, “Sweet and juicy.”  My first reaction, as always, was to get incredibly angry.  I generally get hypermasculine, start swearing, and calling people dudes when I am approached in this manner.  As you might imagine, I do not like being approached by random men who want to comment on my specific body parts and their potential “uses.”  Instead, I simply laughed at these strange and utterly creepy proclamations of my thigh’s awesomeness.

I thought to myself, “Here I am, a slightly-less-fat-than-average person with well-developed leg muscles (mostly the calves), pasty skin, a partial sunburn on my forehead, jiggly thighs, and fairly low self-esteem.  Yet, this possibly drunk man has enjoyed the show (by show, I mean that I walked by in longer-than-apparently-average shorts).  Maybe, I will just laugh at this and be thankful that someone out there still understands that thighs are meant to be thick, strong, and fleshy.  Thighs should look like thighs.”

I would much rather have Beyonce’s thighs of glory (however pastier, less toned, and altogether less glorious), than skinny thighs (ahem, LeAnn Rhimes, Victoria Beckham, Kiera Knightly, almost every model, and Miley Cyrus).  I would rather look like Serena Williams than a 12-year-old.  Skinny thighs are for children.  Thick thighs are for women.

Beyonce looks amazing. Her thighs are made of glory, sunshine, dance skills, and squats.

Seriously, how great does Beyonce look?  This lady helped bring back the popularity of thicker thighs, and I am thankful.  The ladies who write this blog are fans of curves.  Curves are normal.  Beyonce is clearly above average in all ways, but I think we need to remember the glory of “sweet and juicy thighs.”

This picture is so intimidating and amazing. Serena Williams could jump over a skyscraper with those legs. She could crush anything. They are glorious.

Serena Williams could destroy us all with her thighs.  I feel pretty good about that.  She is strong and sexy; her presence in pop culture is good for women with curves.

I know that this post may seem a bit strange.  *After all, I did get inspiration from a drunken cat call.*  However, it is somewhat comforting that people are appreciating pale, fleshy thighs.  That’s all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Amendment:

After reading some comments, I realize that this post needs clarification.  Thin thighs are not “unacceptable,” “horrible,” nor are they somehow inherently “bad.”  It is not bad to be a thin person.  No one is a villain simply having thin thighs.

What is bad and scary, then?

It is bad and scary to push a body to extremes.  It is bad to glorify thinness above all else.  It is bad to glorify unhealthy habits that push people into unhealthy weights.  Just as a person can be too fat, a person can be too thin.  Both are bad.  The thing, not a lot of people are striving to be fat.  A lot of people are spending their days and nights obsessing over being thin at any price.  A lot of people have blogs and tumblrs devoted to “thinspo” with all kinds of ways to get skinny.  There are too many little girls and women out there who hurt themselves to achieve a level of thin that is not healthy for them.

That said, making thin women the villain is wrong.

Thin women just so happen to be thin.  Many people want to be thin, and that’s okay.  But wanting to be thin, or wanting to have Beyonce’s thighs, at any cost… that’s scary.

Also, Beyonce is amazing.