There goes my conscientious objection to buying women’s magazines

Girl, get it. GET IT.

Though… Fuck me, now I have to buy Cosmopolitan.

Ashley Graham: “I’m Giving Curvy Women a Seat at the Table”AG.jpg

Graham Slams

I know I’m basically obsessed with Ashley Graham at this point, but… but…

C’mon, y’all, godDAMN.

Notes to self:
— Obtain first bikini
— Go to beach


Three-fer: Admittedly snap judgments of an OkCupid guy

I’d been talking to this guy on OkCupid, and should’ve known he was a douche when his intro message boasted that his profile was “well-crafted.” Um, yeah, his profile says he’s looking to meet the “girls of my dreams.” I asked about it, and he said it was originally a typo, but he decided to leave it. OK, whatever. I’m not looking to be the girl of anyone’s dreams right now, anyway — let’s roll those dice.

We’re chatting, maybe 10 messages back and forth total, and he asks if there’s anything I want him to know about me. I write three arbitrary things right before I go to sleep, including: “I firmly believe all CVS drive-thrus should also serve fries.” (Come the hell on, that’d be great.)

This morning I wake up to two messages. In them are three questions, which I will answer for you guys, but got him immediately deleted and blocked. I almost replied, “Yeah, we’re done here,” but decided against it. In hindsight, I wish I’d sent the message to smarter friends who could’ve written back and made him cry.

So here are the offending questions. (And hey, this is just my offense. If you’re intrigued, comment or send a message — I’ll tell you his username and you can grab that net and catch that beautiful butterfly.)

1. “Do you go to CVS or McDonald’s often enough that that’s an issue?”
Uhh… yeah. I go to CVS once a month. CVS provides the lovely drugs that keep me:
A) a functional human;
B) focused;
C) not riddled with heinous allergies; and
D) most relevant to you, NOT PREGNANT.

Also, McDonald’s fries aren’t my favorite, but once a month, at a particular time, I will cut you for Wendy’s fries and a Frosty, or an anytime Egg McMuffin, a societal evolution I regard as the Lord personally answering my lifelong prayer. If my occasional fast food habit is an issue, this isn’t going to work. If you offer me fucking kale during my period, you WILL get murdered with a stick.

2. “Why do guys send dick pics to women? I have to assume it’s appealing to some women, but I don’t get it. I’d love to see photos of your boobs, ass, and curves, but I really don’t want to see a photo of anyone’s vagina.”
AHEM. Well, first of all, my vagina is a goddamn work of art. (Kidding. I haven’t looked at the area in years beyond lawn maintenance. It could be the Batcave for all I know.) Vagina pics aren’t my thing, but I know some people who dig them. And if a guy I liked asked for one, and had previously earned access to the region, I would accommodate. I’d probably put makeup on it first, and obsess about its best side, but I’d do it.

But also… I enjoy dick pics, with an important caveat: I have to AGREE to them. I don’t just want to see rogue dick, all superfluous and out of its natural habitat. However, I will happily behold the penis of a literate man who’s said nice things to me and had dinner with me and maybe we’ve made out a little. I’d rather see it in person and THEN a photo, but in a proper setting, I don’t mind seeing the dick that awaits me, and how I’m affecting it.

Plus, not all men do that, and it’s — if I may — a dick move to generalize.

3. “Why do women have photos in their profiles where they’re standing next to other women? Often women who are better looking??? It doesn’t make sense!”
Well. To start, your triple question marks are an assault against God and humanity.

And again, not all women. For a split second I thought he was talking about me, but I don’t do that because my friends are, in fact, cuter than I am. Plus I’d feel weird putting photos of them on a dating site. My photos are of ME: “This is my face, this is my [clothed] body. Can you deal with my Worf wrinkle and my extra 20 lbs? Excellent. Proceed.”

Also, I’ve seen plenty of men do that, too, and I hate it. Not because the other men are better looking (though I’ve definitely wondered, “Who’s your friend?”), but because I don’t want to scroll through a bunch of photos trying to ascertain which guy is you. Your main pic, at least, should be just you.

In addition, “better looking” is relative. Maybe the person looking at that photo thinks the friend is a total bridge troll, and the man/woman in the OKC profile is his/her ideal.

And, again, just as a blanket “fuck you,” I can’t abide generalizing women OR men. I can generalize YOU, though. And you’re a jag.

“How YOU doin’?”

A happy bonus of working in a huge office complex is that, walking through the halls, I often see new people who work in other offices.

New, sexy people. With penises.

And sometimes I see them on casual Friday, when I did realize how clingy my outfit is, but it was too late to change it, so, “Hello, sir. Please behold all the best bits of my body — an hourglass with just the right amount of extra sand in it.” (“Allllll the right junk in allllll the right places.”)

I love my job.

“An itty-bitty waist and a round thing in your face…”

Ahem. I’ll just leave this here… 

Men Are Totally Hardwired by Evolution to Prefer Curvy Women, Study Finds

BTW, I have nothing against thin women. We are all lovely — sisterhood, rah rah, etc. I just enjoy the notion that BEING chubby CAUSES chubbies, that it’s part of evolution. That’s delightful. Good work, Science!

Also, I mean… I do like big butts. I cannot lie.

It kinda sucks that, according to this article, I’m wasting perfectly good childbearing hips by not procreating, but I’m kind of OK with that.


“What’s your magic number?”

I’m sure this isn’t true of all women, but I just learned that 11 is the maximum number of times I’ll let a guy who scares me look at my (still photo-less) online dating profile without talking to me.

Sorry, sir, you give me the willies. I’m already wondering who’s gonna play me in the Lifetime movie based on this true story*. Gotta block you.

Also, your username is DanCurvesLeft**, and there’s no part of me that wants that. None of my happy places are to the left. I might be able to work with it, but…you’re creepy. And sure, maybe you’re referring to your baseball pitch, but again, you’re Creepy Creeperson, so I’m not willing to risk it.

*For the record, if you can get Anna Kendrick to stoop to Lifetime movies, she’s my first casting choice.

**Not his real username. I’m a bitch, not an asshole. May he find lifelong happiness with girl who enjoys attention and has an off-center g-spot.

“Fingertips like memories, I can’t forget the curves of your body…”

“I loved every one of your curves.”

Ugh, why do I feel fat when it’s phrased like that? Pretty sure half the reason my abs still hurt two days later is that his affinity for putting his hand on my lady-pudge made me compulsively suck it in all day.

(I know, I know. My body is a fucking wonderland, I get it. I just have my moments. Don’t worry, there are also plenty of other times where I feel like a wanton sex goddess.)