Friend with Children: “Is the movie kid-friendly?”
Me: “I mean, *I* think so, but I also first heard Denis Leary when I was 10, and had Freddy Krueger nightmares well into my 30s because I saw that movie around age 8, so let me double check online…”
Hm… And HOW old was I when I found the VHS porn and that book about the G-spot in Mom’s room?
(Explains a lot, doesn’t it?) 🙂
I’ll just leave this here.
One Tweet Destroys the Stanford Rapist’s Dad’s Disgusting Defense of His Son
One more on last night’s yoga class:
It was all women in the class, and at one point the instructor had us rotate our ankles, because “a lot of your acupressure points for hormonal issues are in your ankles. Makes sense, doesn’t it? No wonder we have those issues, men make us wear those high heels!”
Ahem.
1. You don’t even wear high heels, Hippie, I can tell. You wear Birkenstocks if you wear shoes at all. You just walk around on a groovy hemp-based cloud.
2. No man has ever MADE me wear anything. I wear heels because I’m 2 feet tall and chubby, so if and when I CHOOSE put on heels, I’m taller, and my legs and ass look AMAZING, and they add bonus sway to my Olivia Pope strut. Do I wear heels to attract men by tricking them into thinking I’m sexy? Absolutely. But they don’t MAKE me. (And yeah, I know I’ve been raised by male-controlled media to think all this is true, but…I mean, it’s true. Heels make me feel sexy and bad-ass. Blow me, Birkenstock.)
3. Ever leave heels on for a guy? That right there is how you get pancakes after.
#HellOnHeels
I read Self magazine because I applaud the bold, innovative way they’ve cleverly shortened the title from Self-Loathing.
But also, the latest cover model is Kerry Washington, who is my personal Jesus. And in the interview, she says she begins her day by drinking a liter of water with lemon and doing pilates. (Or, after a liter of water, pee-lates, I can only assume.)
Today I was thinking about how I started my morning:
“Well, Self, I swore out loud at the alarm clock and hit ‘snooze’ 86 times. I hoisted myself out of bed angrily and fumbled around naked looking for an outfit, anything that fits because I’m never sure anymore. And then I shoved Lexapro and two types of OTC drugs into my sinus-infection-addled face with a Dixie cup of tap water from the bathroom sink, followed by an enormous vat of coffee, and now I am finally, but still barely, able to face humanity.”
This is why they don’t let me talk to the media. And why Kerry Washington never returns my calls.
I’m watching a documentary called Miss Representation on Netflix, about the portrayal of women in the media and our representation in business and politics.
I know they’ve carefully chosen footage to make their predetermined point, but…goddamn. I’m not even halfway through and shit is just BLEAK.
I’d wish for a “happy ending,” but I’d rather not betray the sisterhood with my sexualized flippancy. So I guess we’re just fucked. Oh. No, wait…
(Hello, I’m Smug Singleton and I use humor as a coping mechanism.)
I wish almost every Melissa McCarthy movie didn’t look awful, because I do want to support her as a human.
Sookie St. James for life, though!
(And also, hey, maybe don’t be a dick?)
Via The Mary Sue: Melissa McCarthy Tells Ellen DeGeneres “We Tear Down Women in This Country” in Response to Sexist Criticism
Well. This is depressing: A Glimpse at How the Media Treated Women This Year… Way Too Many Cringe-worthy Moments.
Prepare thine bitchfaces, ladies.
It makes me sad to see things like this on Facebook.
Sure, I’m curvy. (And the ride? EPIC.) But thin girls are also beautiful, and they shouldn’t be made to feel bad for NOT having “curves” any more than I should be made to feel bad about having them. I don’t need to insult other women’s bodies to feel better about mine.
I understand it’s meant to be funny and “empowering” and that curvy girls get a lot of media grief. But imagine if this message were reversed to favor thin girls: “A woman with curves is like a winding road: a tremendous hassle to navigate and you’re exhausted and irritated when you arrive at your destination.”
Stop hating, ladies. We’re fine, OK? Different strokes, etc.
(I won’t even get into — heh — how this sort of reduces an entire woman to the quickness with which someone can penetrate her.)
Smug Singleton 