Posts Tagged ‘completely implausible that hugh grant is attracted to her’

it’s a jungle out there.

23 November 2010

the surreptitious nature of the above picture is intentional as it emphasizes something i want to write about. i’m not going to beat around the bush waste time, so i’ll just come out and say it: why are we women still so uncomfortable with our bodies that we have to make up silly words to hide our embarrassment? have we really come so far, advancing out of the kitchen where we were barely more than birthing machines to our present lofty position where we earn about seventy cents for every dollar that a man makes, to now sit idly, watching it all crumble like so many cookies we eat when our cheating boyfriends break up with us? did we learn nothing from rosie the riveter?

are we really content becoming carrie bradshaw, waiting for charlotte york to sell her ring so we can pay off our massive shoe debt? are we going to run towards big every time our situation becomes particularly hairy challenging?

i for one think we’re better than that. i don’t think a utopian society is required before we can snatch reclaim our genitalia. we need to be able to stand up to oprah when she insists on using slang to describe something that is intimately ours. right now eve ensler is turning in her grave. well, she would be if she were dead; believe me, though, she’s definitely spinning in her desk chair, in a very angry and perplexed way, due to this injustice.

i don’t want to live in a world where my daughters have to hear adult women use terminology that even their young innocent minds know is damaging and pathetic. i don’t want to spend another day at the breakfast table where they ask me why their heroes are always failing them. i just want to eat my bacon strips pancakes and talk about the things they want to achieve. i don’t want them to have to worry about obstacles placed by other women’s insecurities.

as women, we know we are smarter than men, we know we are more patient, our dual role in and out of the house is proof that we are better multi-taskers, and we are more in touch with our feelings. it’s about time we took a stand and said, fuck you, cosmo magazine, this is my vagina and i am proud of it.

simple steps to restore love.

2 October 2010

presumably there have been times in all of our lives where someone we love has stopped talking to us due to some slight, whether real or perceived, that we inflicted upon them. it could be that we cheated on them or accidentally slammed their fingers in a car door or urinated in their sink because lifting the toilet seat was inconvenient. regardless, no amount of apologizing can coax them to renew the conversation with you. some of us have sent jewelry and flowers or asked our assistants to look into whether a galaxy or constellation can be named after our former flame without a change in demeanor. the frosty glances will continue forever unless we can find the correct combination to unlock their hearts.

fortunately i have discovered the solution thanks to did you hear about the morgans? first you’ll need to convince the person of your dreams to meet you for dinner. maybe you still have some cherished possession that you want to return, maybe the dog you shared since it was a puppy was run over by a car and you just picked up its remains which were separated into two decorative urns. just make something up. it doesn’t even have to be believable if your object of attraction is a girl because they’ll do anything for a free meal.

eat quickly so that taking a walk afterward doesn’t seem like a ploy. the other person will understand that you couldn’t have possibly said all you needed to in such a short time. if that, in and of itself doesn’t work, bat your eyelashes and stammer when you speak to illustrate how uncomfortable you are. eventually your partner will suggest a leisurely stroll to calm the nerves and clear the head.

now for the most important part: witness a murder together, preferably one that has been perpetrated by a wealthy crime syndicate with plenty of trained killers and the latest technology at their disposal. when the police mention the witness protection program following a close call at your apartment, resist the urge to hire jack bauer as your personal security detail, and instead let them fly you to wyoming or montana or wherever it is that sam elliott and mary steenburgen reside.

when you arrive you’re sleeping separately, but over the next few days you converse more, you deliver more heartfelt apologies, and you begin to listen more to the sage advice offered by the u.s. marshals in whose house you are staying temporarily. then, all of a sudden, you realize you’ve bought him bear spray to ward off the predators that frighten him and he is always there to remind you of your assumed last name (foster) and fake relationship (cousin) with your custodians. trust blossoms between you. you understand that life doesn’t make sense without each other. you cannot fathom a world without his floppy brown hair and sarcastic quips, and he never wants to, um, sorry i cannot think of any redeemable qualities that pertain to sarah jessica parker, so i’m going to have to make something up.

here goes: he has so much he wants to share with you still, and while you can sometimes be a porcupine, quills poised to lodge into anyone who approaches, he knows that for him alone you’ll roll over to expose your underside, soft and sweet as a ripe peach.


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