Milestone: My First Mean Comment

I can’t believe it took me almost two and a half years of posting on this blog, but it finally happened. I got my first insulting comment!

This little gift was left for me on an older post, The Nice Guys of OKCupid!

It was actually in reply to another comment I had replied to, in which a 22 year-old dude told me I was wrong and he was offended…

OH, WAIT! MILESTONE TWO!

My first offended reader!!!!

The comment from the offended reader was just way too long to post here, but the gist of it was, “you’re wrong about your thoughts and feelings and the thoughts and feelings of other women your age, Certified Vagina Owner. As a 22 year-old dude with a lot of life experience, you can just defer to me and my opinions since your brain is made up of a hollow, dark chocolate Easter bunny filled with Midol pills.”

I mean, in his original argument, he was saying that he’s a nice guy but girls don’t like him, and girls only like assholes, which makes me think that he didn’t even really read the post (maybe because he just couldn’t get over the shock that my dad or brother let me use his computer. It’s a miracle my cup of tea didn’t slip through my delicate lady hands and spill all over the keyboard) because I kind of addressed that myth directly. Not eloquently or intelligently, but I did address it.

In my reply to this kid, I kind of just said, “shut up, 22 year old boy,” and referred him to another article that might help clarify my point. Because I’m just trying to open hearts and minds here, people.

Okay, then came the mean comment (from a different guy):

Screen shot 2013-06-26 at 9.34.58 AMFirst of all, thank you for calling my assertions “hilarious,” but what is questionable about Tom Hanks being nice? Scientists have been studying him for years and they came up with that conclusion, not me. Secondly, why do I have to choose between being mentally deficient OR trying to get attention? And I thought that by having a blog it was just implied that I am looking for attention?

Andy, I can see where you got your last name, “Wisdom” (what is that, Greek?). Everyone does have flaws. Like for me, the proportions of my individual body parts are totally out of whack: my hands and wrists are abnormally small, so you’d think that I’d have some really tiny feet, right? Nope! A totally average size 8!

Also, what are these separate flaws that “assholes” and “nice guys” have? Because please, oh, please, remember that the whole point of the post (that I don’t think you read) is that a [QUOTE] Nice Guy [END QUOTE] is really just an asshole in sheep’s clothing, not a genuine and kind man.

And listen, I’m not saying that women don’t date assholes and then write off guys who treat them with respect. There are plenty of woman who do. If that didn’t happen then all the strip clubs across this great nation would be empty and we’d have to turn them all into libraries and soup kitchens. Saying that we ALL date people who treat us badly is just a lazy, sweeping generalization that is patronizing to women.

So, thank you, Andy Wisdom, you made my day because you haven’t really made it until people start insulting you. Hopefully, one day soon I’ll hit it big and have thousands and thousands of followers, and then I can finally start tweeting things like “Good Morning, Haterz! xox #soblessed”

OR

“Can’t see haterz! #raybans #michelobultra #BFFs #livelaughlove #sorrynotsorry #sweetsummer”

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Why I Won’t Make Fun of Miss Utah

If you think the acronym “NSA” is shorthand for the 2011 romantic comedy No Strings Attached then you have probably heard about Miss Utah screwing up her onstage question at the Donald Trump-owned Miss USA pageant. If you haven’t heard about it, here is a clip, and also who are you and why are you reading this blog?

Rough.

Now, I’ve noticed that people are taking either one of two positions with this Miss Utah situation (you’ve entered the situation room! What does NSA stand for? Who is Benghazi? I DUNNO!):

They either A.) Have zero sympathy and call her a bimbo, or B.) Give her all of the sympathy because stringing together a coherent sentence on national TV is very nerve wracking.

But I’ve found a third option because I don’t see the deflated breast implant as half empty or half full.

Maybe Marissa Powell isn’t very smart, but she doesn’t have to be. She was campaigning for Miss USA (and probably for a show on FOX News), not Secretary of State.

Or maybe she is smart and that 30 second clip wasn’t an accurate reflection of her intelligence.

Regardless, as an audience, it’s not fair that we watch a pageant where you won’t be taken seriously if you’re under 5’9 without heels and throw them a question on gender inequality (perhaps a subject that pageant girls from Utah aren’t super familiar with?) then tell them to just shut their mouthes and stick to being beautiful when they screw it up.

Surely, there was a beautiful woman up there who could have answered the question eloquently, but don’t eviscerate Miss Utah because she couldn’t. If you want the real answer to that onstage question, then why don’t we open up the pageant to some Bryn Mawr student who doesn’t know the proper form for a squat.

Either way, pageants aren’t a great scale to measure a woman on because being smart or beautiful doesn’t determine the worth of a human being. Apparently, Marissa is a singer/songwriter, an ambassador for a charity that brings rehabilitation medicine to Haiti, and has a terminally ill little brother, so maybe she’s not so bad and we can all chill the eff out on publicly humiliating a 21 year-old. At least she’s out there doing something other than crack. I don’t love pageants, but they are certainly better than crack.

Sooooo, I guess that third option I was talking about earlier is we all enter into a nationwide suicide pact for allowing Donald Trump to decide the criteria for the ideal woman? That sounds right, I think.

Ugh, feminism is hard.

Here’s another idea: instead of making fun of someone, we use all that excess energy to burn TMZ to the ground for posting stuff like this:

Screen shot 2013-06-18 at 11.20.11 AM Screen shot 2013-06-18 at 11.20.40 AMWho’d you rather, guys?! Miss South Carolina !!TEEN!! or Miss Utah?

Rather what?

Hire as the CFO for your Silicon Valley start-up?

Be the godmother and role model to your future children?

Put your penis in?

Right!! Sorry!! That last one is all that matters! Thanks, TMZ!!!!

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Baby’s First Hollywood Pool Party

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All my life, I’ve been the kind of person who clings tightly to her principles and convictions.

I am also the kind of person whose principles and convictions can be bought with blended margaritas and movie theater style nachos.

Do I consider myself a feminist? Absolutely. Will I speak up and defend myself or a fellow woman when I see a sexist injustice occurring? I believe it’s my duty. Am I so poor that I will throw all of this away so I can get my buzz on foh’ free at a Beverly Hills pool party? Within reason. But mostly yes.

The dissolution of my moral compass began when my roommate and I were invited to a pool party celebrating the birthday of Jesse from that Super Bowl GoDaddy commercial:

2349077637I’ve talked about it before, but if you’ll allow me to mount this high horse again, the commercial was sexist because it perpetuated the idea that women are supposed to be beautiful and men are supposed to be smart. Also it had a fat guy making out with a hot girl. What hope do us averages have of finding a man on our level if the media keeps telling boys and Kevin James that they are entitled to a woman who is 80% boobs and legs??

So, despite my reservations, I still wanted to go to the party because the poor kid was just in a GoDaddy commercial, not a Spike TV show. And I was promised free booze.

My friends and I arrived before Jesse got there, and after being handed a free(!!!) margarita, we were informed that they were filming a documentary on Jesse. The producer wanted a very specific shot of Jesse when he entered the party. He handed my girlfriends and me an armful Hawaiian leis and told us to go up to Jesse one-by-one and ask, “can I lei you?” Okay, so obviously this dude had no idea that this group of women included one who had read Hillary Rodham Clinton’s Living History. 

This request made me thoroughly uncomfortable, but it all happened so fast! I suddenly found myself doing an awkward Target Lady-esque shuffle, mumbled a “here you go” and threw the lei around his neck like I was doing a county fair horse shoe toss.

I felt like an idiot, but I just gave it to Jesus and prayed that if this documentary ever surfaced that my future moms Amy and Tina wouldn’t recognize me thanks to my giant mosquito sunglasses.

I drank another Jesse-rita and felt better.

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A few minutes later, the same guy asked if we would rub Jesse down with sunblock. To this I replied, “feminism!” and moon walked on my cork wedge heels back to the margarita bar. Listen, am I being a little over sensitive? Maybe. But there would never be a pool party thrown in honor of an overweight, 25 year-old woman just because she was in one popular  commercial. How about this? If any hot man reading can tell me he was once asked by a producer to rub down Nikki Blonsky with some SPF at a pool party put together by her publicist then I will just delete this post.

Anyway, as my blood blended with the Jesse-ritas, I realized what a surreal situation I had put myself in. I’m 90% sure that the house we were at is also rented out to shoot porn. I’m also 90% sure that most of the guests at the party have shot a porn in that house. Please don’t misunderstand, though, this was not a trashy party. It was an absolute who’s who of Hollywood extras. There were some big G-list stars too: the cook from 2 Broke Girls, the nerdy guy with the Jew-fro from Glee (I can say that because we have the same last name), and most exciting, Yolanda Foster’s ex-husband Mohamed.

I only ever left my spot on my beach chair to get more nachos or to go to the bathroom (if I looked a little harder I bet I would have found a cocaine dispenser next to the hand soap), but it was a real trip, and it was certainly worth going to.

Next stop, the Playboy Mansion!

Feminism!

What I’ve Done Today

Well, after waking up, making coffee and breakfast, and taking a quick 2 hour nap, I did something I’m not proud of:

RE: Anti-feminism blog written by a woman who asserts that Jodi Arias killed her ex-boyfriend because…feminism

jodiariasfemCan I please have a job now? Things are dark here.

(Luckily, I’m not so far gone or bored that I feel the need to reply back to this).

This exchange brings up something scary (besides my feminist self running around town slitting the throats of young, virile men because I voted for Hillary in the primary election), I realized I was following this woman’s blog. I think I just hit the “feminism” tag on WordPress and just clicked on everything that came up. Who else could I be following? Am I on a list somewhere because I accidentally followed an Al Qaeda sympathizer blog after I clicked on a bunch of blogs with “Jessica Chastain” tags when Zero Dark Thirty came out? Is that how Al Qaeda gets you?!

HELPPPP MEEEEE!!!!!!

Leave Kim Kardashian’s Armpits Alone!!!

document1878825258682083630.inddThough I’ve never been a fan of Kim’s, I suddenly have an overwhelming sense of compassion for her armpits and the armpits of women in every grocery store in America who are being subjected to this magazine cover. I realize that Kim is probably gaining this weight so she can get some sort of Jenny Craig deal after that set piece of a breathing infant pushes its way through her Kanye Kanal. If she develops preeclampsia it won’t even matter because I’m sure the line between real life and Ryan Seacrest’s SimCity has completely disintegrated at this point.

For this exercise, let’s just assume at this point that Kim has no human emotions left. So, even if a close up of her armpit on a national magazine couldn’t crack through her exterior (which I’m assuming is just one big coating of gel nail polish and melted polyester) and hurt her feelings, it’s still hurting my feelings! I’m a size 2/4. I am not Rosemary’s Babying Ryan Seacrest’s devil child. And, yet, I think I have “fat armpits” or essentially, “vagina arms.” You’d never know because I’ve become skilled at flexing whenever my self esteem smells a camera within 15 feet of me, but if you caught me walking down the street in a tank top… there they’d be. Now, thanks to InTouch, I am reminded that fat armpits are a legit concern and I WILL NEVER BE SEXY AGAIN.

Women in hair salon waiting rooms don’t need to be reminded that there is another part of their body they can hate. You know that stupid Dove commercial where they bring in that “police sketch artist” or “actor” and then they try to pass off your low self esteem as your own fault?

It’s not your fault (here’s a great counter to that Dove commercial). Because you wouldn’t know to be self conscious of your arm pits if magazines didn’t show you a picture of a beautiful, pregnant celebrity, circle her fat like a sorority sister during Hell Week, and say “EWWWW SHE’S GROSS! YOU’RE PROBS GROSS, TOO! PLEASE CHECK OUT OUR CELLULITE CREAM AD ON PAGE 78!”

Who Wore It Best: Psychopath Edition

While trying to find a live-stream of the Jodi Arias trial on my computer so I could multi-task packing for LA and enjoying the exploitation of a murder victim and his family, I stumbled upon this little nugget:

jodiWell, well, well, looks like even female murderers aren’t immune to objectification.

IN THAT CASE:

whoworeitbestI don’t knoooow, those pink handcuffs are a nice touch. When exactly did the Handcuffs for Delicate Lady Criminals line come out?

Happy International Women’s Day….I GUESS

Hey, when’s International Men’s Day, huh? When do men get to parade around the street in celebration of their storied heritage? Just men, coming together, jingling tube socks full of quarters symbolizing the blood and tears that went into preserving the gender wage gap.

IT’S REVERSE SEXISM IS WHAT IT IS.

Speaking of sexists:

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Here are two more misogynists working to reverse all the lady-progress that Taylor Swift has fought so hard for.

{In Bed With Joan Episode 1: Sarah Silverman}

Super Bowl Commercials: Antiquated Gender Roles for Sale!

There is nothing that enhances the Super Bowl experience more for men than lessons during the commercial breaks on pervasive sexism in the media. Though I didn’t have a decisive opinion on which team I was rooting for (I wanted the tearful murderer to lose, but I also wanted Sandra Bullock’s son to win, except they were both on the Ravens so just call me Natalie Imbruglia [I’m torn]), I was certainly sure about one thing: the sexual objectification of women in Super Bowl commercials is a major bummer!

I’ll admit that not every commercial was sexist; some were racist and some had cute animals.

Now, you might be wondering why I’m talking about this subject since women are allowed to vote and because it’s technically illegal for a male employer to rub his khaki covered genitals against a female employee while he pretends to reach for a coffee filter in the break room. You’d think between the right to participate in a democratic society and the right to not get Mad Men-ed at work we woman would finally feel like we have it all. Well, there’s still a bunch of stuff we could all work on, so why don’t we have a ourselves a kiki and talk this mothah out?

To make sense of it all, I have broken down some of the stand-out commercials and rated their lady-hating on a scale of arbitrary numbers and symbols.

AUDI

So this sad, dateless boy is driving to prom in his Audi, when suddenly some kind of penis adrenaline fumes emitting from the car seep into his brain. He hits the gas, marches into prom, physically grabs a hot girl, turns her around, and kisses her. CUT TO: Boy driving home with a black eye, presumably caused by the boyfriend of the girl he just assaulted. Fade to black and the word, “bravery”.

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Score: I’ll give this one 5 Notre Dame Football Players. This commercial basically says that it’s manly to take what’s owed to you (the sexuality of women) and taking a punch for it is cool and admirable (oh, and every girl secretly wants “it”). Little white boy, you are just so brave. Like, adolescent leukemia patients have nothing on you.

GoDaddy

Screen shot 2013-02-04 at 2.28.49 PMI just posted a screenshot instead of the actual video because I have a strict “no audible kissing” policy on my blog. The commercial is basically talking about how GoDaddy is sexy and smart, with a sexy woman and smart man making out. Poor, Bar Refaeli. This is just the absolute worst way to stick it to Leonardo DiCaprio.

Score: 3 Ed O’Neills from Little Giants. The ad was just perpetuating the stereotype that women should only be valued for their looks and men for their intellect.

Toyota

Here, Kaley Cuoco plays a fully clothed genie granting wishes for a family. Although I don’t think a scantily clad woman is inherently sexist, sometimes it’s just refreshing to see an attractive young woman in a well-fitting pants suit, boobies contained. The best part of the ad was when the young daughter asks the genie to make her a princess, and instead of just dipping that girl in glue and rolling her in glitter like I was expecting, they turn her into this badass Joan of Arc-y princess complete with a sword and army.

Score: 10 Tami Taylors. I can drive my 2006 Corolla proudly knowing that it’s both dependable and socially conscious.

Friday Inspiration: WWCBD?

WWCBDWhat would Connie Britton do? Oh, I don’t know… maybe decide to age gracefully instead of using botox which would prevent her from displaying a full spectrum of emotions on her face while she performs in the hit TV musical drama, Nashville. Because she is a professional. ACTOR. Oh yeah, I bet she calls herself an actor because you don’t call a female doctor a “doctress,” do you?

What would Connie Britton do? I don’t know, what would a mermaid haired, one-woman army do?

******CLEAR EYES, FULL HEARTS, CAN’T LOSE*******

Manti Te’o: Just a Kid Who Never Saw “Cruel Intentions”?

Teo

Like many others who have heard about Notre Dame football player, Manti Te’o and his fake dead girlfriend, I’m struggling with whether or not I believe that Manti was tricked or in on the whole charahhhd. This kid is either the saddest little Mormon since Julie from Real World: New Orleans or a sociopath. Though, there is a third option that I’m not sure anyone else has thought of:

In this scenario, he’s still pathetic, but instead of falling in love with a girl on twitter, he makes up a girlfriend so he has an excuse as to why he can’t date rape freshmen with the rest of his teammates on Friday nights. Eventually, the other boys get suspicious.

“Manti, why doesn’t Lennay ever come visit you? Is she coming to the big game today?”

“Uh… she can’t…”

“Again?! I’m starting to think that you don’t really have a girlfriend.”

“No, I have a girlfriend! She just can’t come because she’s… dead.”

“She’s dead? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Well… she only died like… 12 hours ago…”

“Wait, didn’t your grandmother die yesterday, too?”

“It’s been a real humdinger of a week.”

“I’m so sorry, man. How did Lennay die?” Manti looks around nervously and catches a glimpse of fellow teammate, Luke, at his locker.

“Luke….kemia.”

END SCENE

If this was the case, I almost feel some sympathy for the guy. He probably never thought it would go this far, and people probably lie about having significant others all the time. Do you remember Boyfriend in a Box?

bfbox

They used to sell them at Claire’s back when that store was a 90’s Spice Girl fantasia full of hair mascara and magnetic earrings. They were these little kits filled with wallet sized pictures of a cute boy, a couple notes from him, and a little backstory. Apparently, they sold pretty well, but some pictures and a note isn’t enough to keep a lie like that going. And your “girlfriend” having a Twitter account doesn’t prove she’s real either.

Regardless of whether this guy was in on the hoax or not, the real idiots here are the journalists.

Did this story not sound at all strange to any of them? A young 22 year-old is dying, and she tells the love of her life not to attend her funeral? Right there, someone should have realized that something was off. I don’t know any young woman that would tell her boyfriend to play football instead of attending her funeral. That’s something your dying, selfless mother tells you to do. Any self-respecting woman wants her boyfriend at that funeral, front and center, eulogizing to all your family, friends, and acquaintances that he may never love again. That is the fantasy. It does not take Veronica Mars to figure that one out.

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And yet, as careless as those journalists were, there is no one as stupid as the Notre Dame football coaches. Stupid, might not be right. What’s the word for awful, a-moral, good ole’ boys who put football before the safety of young women? It’s the antonym of “Coach Taylor”. Idk, lemme know if you think of it. I’ll just call them jerks for now.

Those jerks are standing behind Manti (fine), but what chaps my ass is that they are calling him a “victim”.

A victim of whom? His parents for never letting him watch Cruel Intentions? Obviously, they didn’t teach him that not everyone is a Mormon, Sleepy Time tea drinker who wouldn’t think to lie and manipulate another one of God’s creatures just for fun. Or perhaps he’s the victim of a negligent teenage babysitter that let him roll off the couch as an infant because only a severe childhood head trauma could explain this level of naïveté. This kid is just stupid or maybe a liar.

If you want to talk about a real victim, Lizzy Seeberg was an actual living girl who is now dead. 

elizabeth-seeberg

When she was allegedly sexually assaulted by a Notre Dame football player, nobody called her a victim or even investigated her claim until 15 days after she made the report or 5 days after she killed herself. Another young woman was attacked by a Notre Dame football player but never reported it because some players harassed her until she was too afraid to come forward. When you think about what his teammates have probably done, Manti doesn’t seem so bad, after all. So he probably pretended to have a girlfriend.  Who hasn’t lied at a family party that you’re “seeing someone special” when in reality you went on one blind date 6 weeks ago and haven’t heard from them since?