Category Archives: Things

#35: The Royals

More specifically? Royal weddings.

The concept that a rational, American woman would wake up at 5am, make some tea, eat some fancy sandwiches, wear a hat and weep over a wedding that isn’t even a fundamental part of our current American society– well, that befuddled my poor husband. It irritated him so deeply that he demanded I stop speaking of it in his presence. Seriously. It kind of sounded like a threat. I decided not to test him. So, I called my sisters instead. On my cell phone. At least 50 feet from my house. Like I said, I didn’t want to test him.

I’ll admit it. I cried. And all of you other American, hat-wearing, tea-drinking, waking-up- early bitches cried too. Did you see Prince William tell her she looked “beautiful?” Did you? DID YOU? Well, I did. And then I wept for about 15 minutes. Uncontrollably. Seriously. I looked like Claire Danes in My So-Called Life. And I wasn’t ashamed. And OMFG, did you see Kate’s dress? Alexander McQueen nearly killed me with its blinding beauty. And Pippa’s dress? Sweet Jesus, I died and went to heaven. Yes. I know her sister’s name. In fact, I follow her for fashion secrets on People.com now.  And you do too. Admit it.

She looks like a fucking demon. And she's not even the ugly one.

Just a note: Fergie’s kids did not win the looks lottery. Just sayin’.

Why do women care about this nonsense? What broke inside of us when we were 5, just after we saw The Little Mermaid or Beauty and The Beast and we all individually decided– I am soooo into princesses? I know more about British Royals than I should as a red-blooded American girl. I have to trace it back to Disney on some level. I mean, it has nothing to do with Historical references, so I have to assume that the evil bastards at Disney have ruined me and are now hell-bent on ruining my daughters. Note to self: Research female mental difficulties and their connections to the Disney Empire (Insert the Imperial March here).

I have to admit (I mean, I have nothing to lose at this point, do I?), I fucking love everything royal. I love their clothes. I love their accents. I love that they all do charity work because they don’t have real jobs and they’re bored.  I think they bring some class to the entertainment world– a type of  class that we lack with celebrities like Paris Hilton, Kanye West and Sarah Palin (If you think that she’s anything more than a C-List celeb, blow me).

As the ceremony neared, I couldn’t wait to see what Kate was going to wear, what the overrated Anglican ceremony would be like or what the Queen would say/do/or wear. Oh, and this just in England:  You are clearly Catholic. Don’t try and pretend like you’re anything else, you pompous bastards. Only the Pope could put on a show bigger than that and he’s too busy advocating abstinence in Africa and ignoring the AIDS epidemic altogether (“If I ignore it, then I don’t have to explain why God hates Africans”).

Look, if you didn’t already figure this out, women love a good wedding. Throw in a Princess, a horse drawn carriage, high fashion and a true love story straight out of a classy upper-class British romance novel– you’ve got yourself a winner. All women can just imagine the witty dialogue than ensued during that courtship. To us, Kate and William seem like a normal couple. They seem like two people all of us could hang out with. Hell, they invited their pub owner to their damn wedding– that is admirable and awesome. More than this, I think every woman out there recognizes the fact that Princess Diana still has a hold on most of us. Insert Disney hypnosis + tragic death here.  That equals pure gold as far as entertainment value is concerned– no matter how grotesque the concept may be. Women want William and Kate to be happy.  We actually care if they are. We also want to be able to say later in our lives,  “Yep. I watched it. it was amazing.”

Go ahead and mock us. We don’t care. Sure, we were tired that day. Sure, we spent too much money on collector’s magazines instead of that hair dye we needed to buy because ‘my hair has gotten a little bit brassy this spring and I really need to highlight it.’ Sure, we watched every E! highlight on the wedding after the fact and raved about hats, dresses and flowers. Sure, my husband threatened to shut down my cable TV if I talked about “that damn wedding” again. Still, I hold my head high. As do you, my sisters.

Just think, we have a Royal visit coming up soon. I wonder what Kate will wear? I wonder if they’ll dine at the White House? I guess I need to turn on E!

Let me just check and see if my husband is in the house. Nope. I’m home free.

Royals away!

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#33: Sex Parties

No, not the orgy kind. Get your mind out of the gutter.

I’m talking about several girls, coming together to discuss, view and buy sex toys (and other various objects of interest). Still kinky, but not in the way you were hoping.

You Pervert.

Most commonly known as the Pure Romance parties, the whole idea is to get together, get ridiculously drunk and then talk about sex. Openly. Without inhibition. Believe it or not, it can be quite refershing to know that your best friend’s mom is just as interested in that cute little vibrator as you are. Weird, but refreshing. Why, you ask? It’s actually a pretty simple concept.

When women are growing up and developing their, well, lady parts– there is this whole idea that we are supposed to be pure, innocent– For lack of a better term– virgins— until we get married. It’s all we hear. It’s psychologically deafening. During puberty, if a girl is remotely interested in the big ‘S,’ her parents might have a coronary in front of her– simultaneously. Let’s just say, it wouldn’t be pretty. We were discouraged from discovering things about our bodies that we actually had the right to know. Ever wonder why most women don’t orgasm during the deed? Yeah– blame society. While it is a-ok for a male to strut about and get his jollies off as soon as he discovers a wayward boner, girls are not so lucky. It sometimes takes us years to undo that damage.

Enter the Pure Romance idea.

Pure genius.

Imagine your mom doing this. Hysterical.

This company actually figured out how to capitalize on our repressed sexuality. It’s a great formula: Place 15 of your closest friends in a room. Add alcohol. Add vibrators, lotions, costumes and any other items you see fit- and you have one hell a party. Even better: men can’t come. At all. (Pardon the pun) That way, we can be completely open about what we like and want. I went to one a few weeks ago. I was astonished. Sometimes I am under the assumption that I am a sexual freak. I mean–crazy stuff. But after watching women inspect vibrators as closely as they would inspect a new car– and actually discuss the merits of one over the other– it was women’s lib all over again. I wasn’t the only freak in the room. In fact, my friend’s mom might be a bigger freak than me. While disturbed at this discovery, I was still impressed at that party’s ability to get women talking. We were actually talking about what works and what doesn’t work for us. We discussed why this vibrator would work and that one wouldn’t. We joked about lotions and costumes. We considered weird items like rotating vibrators and c$#@ rings. Most importantly, we didn’t feel like complete skanks for doing so. It was awesome.

If only we had that freedom as we were developing– no man would ever resist us after all those extra years of practice!

Can you imagine something similar for men? It would be hysterical. Picture this: beer, TV and a traveling porn salesmen. I mean, why have a group or men over when you can just have a date with the computer? (That and actually watching porn in a big man-group is a creepy.)

I actually think that women are more open about their sexuality than men are in general. Maybe we are just getting it out of our system, but the things I tell my girlfriends regarding my sex life would make any man blush.

I bet you want to know what I bought, don’t you? I will say this: I spent $68 dollars and it was well worth it. Ask my husband. He’ll basically tell you to let your lady go to the sex party. She’s buying it for you anyway.

Cheers.

#32: Underwear

Oh yeah.

This is one thing that both men and women can agree on: The Panty. It can be sweet, cute, useful, naughty and downright sexy, all wrapped up in one little lacy package.

Women love to shop for underwear. We will spend exorbitant amounts of money on all sorts of items meant to cover our lady parts. We become zombies– unable to control our credit cards. Look at Victoria’s Secret. What the hell is Ms. Victoria’s damn secret anyway? I submit that it is her ability to make women spend stupid amounts of money on underwear that will never make us look like Heidi Klum. That’s a pretty good secret. Can someone explain that one to me? I would like to look like Ms. Klum whist wearing a lacy bra and cheeky panties, yet I fail everytime. I call false advertising there. Victoria, I’m coming for you.

Just like alcoholic goodies, a man can usually tell what he is getting into when the panties are finally revealed to him in a drunken state. You see a girl in her knickers– you see who she really is.

Let me explain:

High School hookers. They'll make GREAT mothers one day.

1. The Thong/G-String

Have I said ick yet? Either this girl is a high school/college student or she gets around the block. Ladies, these contraptions serve no purpose other than dressing up in the bedroom. Your man likes ’em? Knock them out at home! Do a little dance for your man. Let him play with them. He probably loves them. Just don’t wear them everyday. That’s gross.

Frankly, they are unsanitary.

You know how you don’t like panty lines and that’s your excuse to wear this piece of butt floss? Yeah, we figured out your secret. I bet we can also guess how old and inexperienced you are. Newsflash: We can still see the lines. And instead of mocking the lines that are visible under your inappropriate dress, we are just calling you a slut.

These are H-O-T.

2. Granny Panties

If these are your cup of tea, you are either one of 3 things:

  • Old
  • Socially retarded
  • On your period

There are no other excuses to wear this shit. What if you were in a car crash and the ambulance driver had to strip you down? What if he was hot? Think about it.

They do make your booty look fly...

3. Boy shorts/Cheeky Panties

Chicks that wear these are usually the ones boys like to hang out with– but not date until everyone is a bit older. She’s the girl-next-door type. She’s probably the friend that was a virgin the longest.

Just sayin’.

Either way, this chick is cool. Scoop her up before that gross thong-wearing bitch. She probably won’t cheat on you, she likes football and she’s a tiger in the sack. Think about it: Boy shorts are cute, sexy and still have that tomboy edge. Score.

See? Legs of a goddess.

4. Bikinis

These chicks have rocking bodies and know this. You cannot get away with these panties unless you have a smokin’ booty and great legs. I’m not sure about her personality, but look at it this way:

  • They are not thongs, which makes her cooler than those hookers
  • She’s probably a bit older and more experienced than those hookers
  • She has a great body

What do you have to lose?

They ALL go commando. Need I say more?

5. Commando

Yes. Chicks can and do go commando. Sometimes you just have to. Every chick has and probably still does at some point out of necessity.

It does solve the panty line issue most of the time.

Some chicks just prefer it.Those chicks are dirty, dirty girls and don’t care what you think.

How can you spot one of these trailblazing soldiers? It’s pretty easy. When she is wearing a form fitting dress, do you see panty lines? No? Commando. That’s it. That’s all there is to it. Easy, eh?

That’s pretty much the gist of it right there. If you are getting naked with a lady friend, you now know one of our secrets. Go forth and conquer, knowing who that woman is. All you need to do is look at her undies.

Cheers.

#31: Crafts

I know what you’re thinking guys.

Not my lady. That’s the kind of lame and inane shit my mother is into. My lady would never stoop to loving crafts.

Let me ask you this question then: Has your girl ever scrapbooked? Last winter, did she take up knitting? Did she crochet you some sort of silly hat? Has she ever decoupaged a picture frame of the two of you– with jewels or hearts or glitter? Well, that bitch went to Michaels. I rest my case.

The Gateway to Hell. It's just a few steps more to Kirklands.

We are all guilty of a secret or not-so-secret love of crafts. I was a scrapbooking ninja in High School. I have even considered taking it up again now that I have kids. It’s the realization that I would have to walk into those stores to get what I needed– the thought makes me shudder. You know the ones. Rows and rows of fake flowers. Glitter. A framing section. The smell of potpourri lingering in the air. My husband calls these stores the Gateways to Hell. I call them Michaels, Homegoods, Joanne Fabrics or Hobby Lobby.

These stores are filled with women looking to get ‘crafty.’ See? Craft even has a verb use. These women come in many shapes, sizes, backgrounds and age groups. The older ones scare me. They’ll cut you to get to that polyester flower print fabric. They can be pretty spry when it comes to fabric. Just try and grab it. C-U-T you.

Even if you are one of the few females that hate these stores–as well as the lonely souls that wander them–all ladies can all agree that craft fairs/festivals are awesome.

I mean, who doesn’t want to wander a large suburban park area on a hot afternoon, busily searching for wicker chairs whilst downing a funnel cake? Not only are there rows and rows of craft booths for miles, but we are also treated to music, food and dance. Clogging anyone? I’m there. Don’t those little girls look precious? Forget the fact that they are totally out of sync. Those skirts get me every time! Darling. Plus, I can shop for things like pine cone bird feeders, a sign that says ‘Santa Stop Here!’ or even handmade PJs. These things are amazing. I think my husband likes them too. If I am honest with myself, I know he’s there for the food.

Cotton candy anyone? BBQ?

So, what counts as a Craft? A litany of things, my friend.

  1. Scrapbooking. I’m sorry, but it qualifies. You use scissors, glue and stickers. That’s right, I said it.
  2. Making Soap. Don’t fool yourself Hippie. While you are trying to save the world by creating biodegradable soap, you were being crafty.
  3. Knitting or Crochet. Yes it’s a hobby. A sad, lonely hobby. Let me ask you something. Do you participate in these activities with other people? Really? That’s what I thought. Sad and lonely. (I do love my scarves though, mom.)
  4. Cross-stitching or any other needle and thread activity. My mother tried to get me into this when I was younger. Ugh.
  5. Food related gifts. Yes, thank you for the complete cookie mix in a jar. It was awesome. What? Oh yeah, and the salsa too. What’s that? Did I use them? Totally. (As I am digging through my pantry, searching for them.)

    Food of The Crafting Gods. Friend of Man.

  6. Ceramics, woodcarving, etc. The producers of Ghost called. They want to remind you that you are NOT Demi Moore.

There are certainly others. I am open to suggestions and comments.

So, when your lady asks if you want to go to the Yellow Daisy Festival, understand that while she may deny it, she is totally in to the crafts. Just agree to go.

There will be a funnel cake in it for you.

#30: Ice Skating

I discovered The Cutting Edge when I was about 12.

I was watching the end. You know the part. They are at the Olympics, they do that crazy trick-thingy and he finally tells her that he loves her. My mother found me lying on the floor, crying. I told her that I wanted someone to ice skate with me and tell me that he loves me. She clearly thought that I had an imbalance.

Thus my love for ice skating was born.

Women adore this winter sport. It’s probably the only one that gets any ratings during the dismal Winter Olympics. I mean, what’s not to love? Ice, Bach playing to the rooftops, sparkly costumes–it’s a woman’s (and a gay man’s) wet dream. I would rank this on an entertainment scale, right next to Queer Eye for The Straight Guy and the Miss America Pageant. It’s a guilty pleasure of sorts. Still, it’s one of those pleasures we are not embarrassed to be fond of and it is certainly something that we will ALWAYS make our partners watch with us. You do know that your man hates this shit, right? He’s only watching it with you because he’s hoping to get lucky. Really.

If you are a straight man and you do enjoy ice skating, for the love of humanity– don’t tell anyone. Even if you were in musical theatre and dance class in High School, that does not excuse this behavior. Stop now. (Oh, and the part about your attachment to theatre and dance? Better leave that out of your argument. Not helping your case.)

I digress.

What I have always loved about ice skating usually didn’t involve the sport itself. It was the drama behind the scenes. Specifically the drama of 1994.

Nancy Kerrigan anyone? Tonya Harding? Oksana Baiul? Let me just school you on all three of these ‘situations’ in a nutshell.

Nancy Kerrigan was the All-American girl. Pretty, cuddly and a damn good skater to boot. Her nemesis? That other skater. The butch chick. The ugly one. Tonya Harding. She was also a pretty good skater–but not as good as the pretty one. The Winter Olympics of 1994 were coming up. People said Nancy had a great chance of winning it all. So, what did Tonya do? She hired her ex-husband to hit Nancy’s knee with a steel pipe. The result? Amazing TV gold.

YouTube Excellence.

Don’t you remember? “Why me? Why anybody?” It was awesome. To be quick, Kerrigan recovered and won the Silver Medal. Harding was banned from U.S. Figure Skating for life, released a sex tape, then she became a scary butchesque-boxer. Awesome.

*On a side note, I never liked Nancy Kerrigan. If Harding hadn’t put a hit on her, somebody would have. She gives me the creeps.*

What about Ms. Oksana Baiul?

She kicked Kerrigan’s ass in the Olympics and won the Gold. She decided to celebrate a few years later by inhaling about SIX Long Island Iced Teas and driving her car off of the road. I don’t know about you, but that chick can drink. 95 pounds and six of those drinks? What a champ.

Don’t you get it? Ice skating is the bomb. What girl hasn’t imagined putting on a sequined leotard and prancing around to a classical rendition of Living on a Prayer? What red-blooded, competetive lady hasn’t dreamed of clocking her nemesis with a club, a pipe or, well, something hard?

My shoelace came untied. And my costume is amazing.

When your guy says something like “Ice Skating is so lame,” kindly remind him that you would “never mess with an ice-skater because those bitches are crazy.” When he asks you about the male skaters, just give in and agree with him.

Why? Because men skating on the ice to classical renditions of Living on a Prayer in sparkly costumes… Well, that’s just gay.

#29: Wine

wine drinkerLet me be clear right off of the bat:

Do I love wine? Yes. Does it get me schnockered? Yep. Do I know a lot about wine? Nope. Do I care? Hell no.

I just like that I look classy while drinking it.

It’s the perfect drink.

This has been the trend in recent years. More and more women who love to drink but are just tired of cheap beer or crappy Jamaican rum that tastes like a tube of Banana Boat sunscreen exploded into your rocks glass. Ick.

Yes, liquor is quicker. It is also more expensive. It can also make you look trashy. Ladies– we do not want to appear trashy. Hide that aspect of your personality at all costs. (One also must note that the beer/liquor combo can be a devastating one if not handled properly. What was it again? Beer before liquor….)How many ladies have you seen flash the bar after a few too many Chardonnays? Now go back and count the numerous instances in which the bar was flashed after Tequilla shots?

Case closed.

Look, we’ve all seen the more, well, mature ladies get frisky after the vino. My point rests with the younger crowd. That crowd is attempting to appear more mature without actually achieving that goal.

Setting all of this aside, any woman with a wine glass in hand looks cool as shit. Red or white she looks like she knows what she is doing. Hell, it could be Franzia, but if she’s owning it…well, you go girl. It’s an image thing. A lady drinking wine looks like she knows what she wants. She looks smarter. She looks successful. She looks desirable.

She looks sexy.

When I drink wine I feel inherently sexy. The way I hold the glass, the way I sip the wine, the smell of the wine…I could be rocking a sweatsuit covered in baby spit up but in my mind, I look (and smell) like Heidi Klum.

While I can’t speak for the men out there, to me, a woman slowly nursing a glass of Pinot Noir looks much sexier than that idiot in the tube top downstairs shooting Jager. She might be able to hang, she might be easy– but can she spell Jager? Ask her to try. It would be awesome. To top that off, tell her that her tube top is on backward. It’ll go on for about 20 minutes and you may see some boobies.

Wine drinking ladies are also looking for the wine drinking men. It’s the key to sexual success. Not only does wine get you ridiculously hammered, it can also result in a classy man getting lucky with a classy lady. If you are drinking wine, you are classy. If you are drinking beer, you are living on borrowed time. Keep that in mind.

classy lady

Wow. She's so classy. I want to be classy too!

For the wine virgins out there, stick with easy wines so you don’t take a sip of Cabernet and choke on it like a total retard.

Note: If I so much as catch your ass drinking some shit like White Merlot, or White Zinfandel– you are dead to me. I may not know a lot about wine but I do know you can’t be trusted.

Put down the glass. Refill with Pinot. Strike a pose. Rehearse why you are drinking that wine. Sniff wine, swirl wine, drink wine.

It’s on.

You stay classy lady wine drinkers.

#27: Titanic

I wish they would fall.

I wish they would fall.

Dude.

Near, far, wherever you are (I’m at the bottom of the ocean you splintered-board hogging bitch), I believe that the heart does go on.

There are so many cliches in Titanic– it seems women are just destined to love this movie.

“I’m the King of the World?” Celine Dion? Tragic Love?

Yep. It’s all here.

Thanks must be given to James Cameron for this gem. Women across the universe lined up to witness a story about Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet and a boat. Women swooned, cried and fainted. They saw the film 10,11,12 times each. It is the highest grossing film of all time. Thanks to women.

Men, on the other hand; men loathe this movie. All males may love Aliens, The Terminator and The Abyss–but I’m not sure if James Cameron will ever be forgiven by the countless souls that were dragged to the theatre by their significant others to see this sap fest.

It’s been like, 12 years and I am still trying to figure this whole thing out. This Titanic thing. I saw it in high school. To me, it seemed like a 3 hour soap opera until the damn boat sank. The most memorable scene was the propeller guy. You know what I’m talking about. That had to hurt. I exhaled cherry coke out of my nose I laughed so hard. Perhaps I have no empathy. Carrying on…

What makes this film work? What elements made it an utter hypnotic cash cow for James Cameron? It’s a tragic love story with pretty dresses and Leo DiCaprio. That’s all ladies need. Still, there are elements that seem so oddly placed, I can’t get past them.

1. Casting

Let me first begin with Leonardo DiCaprio and  Kate Winslet. For starters, Leo may not have been the best choice for the hero. He weighed all of 100  pounds in 1997 and he still has a head the size of a watermelon. Put him next to Kate Winslet and he looks like a 15 year old boy lusting after his teacher–even if Kate was all of 22 when she made the film. Let’s face it–she was a voluptuous gal. I don’t know if Leo’s character (Jack for the idiots) could handle all that lovin’.

Ew.

Ew.

Then there was Billy Zane. What the hell is up with him and scary boat movies? If you’ve seen Dead Calm, you know what I’m talking about. And–is he wearing eyeliner? Is that a toupe? Jesus he gives me the creeps. I will give him this: Great villain. He does scare me. Still, if he bought me The Heart of the Ocean, I would marry him and then have numerous affairs. I like sparkly things. Just sayin’…

2. Theme Song

Did anyone else want to strangle the Irish girl ahhhing in the background the entire effing movie? Maybe that was just me…

Why does she hit herself?

Why does she hit herself?

Enter Celine Dion. Sure, she was a star in her own right by then–but Titanic allowed her to take off to megastardom. My Heart Will Go On was an enormous success. I sang the shit out of that song my junior year in high school. Every woman on the planet was singing and beating the crap out of their chest, trying to imitate her. She seriously needs to eat. I want to force-feed her a pizza or just a simple sandwich.

Thanks Titanic. Thank you for that Canadian stick figure that married her Dad…uh I mean, manager.

3. Love Story

I don’t know if I buy it. There. I said it.

4. Obvious and Blatant Comparison of Rich and Poor

Rich people have no soul. Poor people love to dance and feel alive. Fuck rich people.

5. Death Scene(s)

Some scenes that were meant to be horrible ended up being heeelarious.

  • Fabrizio (Jack’s buddy) getting hit and killed by the smokestack. Awesome.
  • The Propeller Guy–already discussed.
  • Move over fatty!

    Move over fatty!

    Jack Dawson- The hero of our story. He and Kate make it. They are in the water, waiting for rescue. They find a large board to rest on. For some reason, that bitch doesn’t share any space. At all. And so Jack freezes to death. ‘Thank you poor boy that drew me naked and had sex with me–thank you for dying and letting me sleep on the floating board. I didn’t know that you wanted to share. Ooopps. My bad. Now, let me pry your frozen, dead hand from mine and watch you sink to the bottom of the ocean. Never Let Go Jack! Yeah, thanks.’

  • Old Lady Rose- Who in the hell throws away a multi-million dollar shiny thing? Dude. At least hand it off to your granddaughter you B. Then you can die.

That’s all I have for now. I get it– women loved this movie. Love story with a tragic ending, yada yada yada. A tragic ending that you knew would happen because we ALL knew that the boat sank. Cause the boat sinking actually happened. In 1912. It’s History. You all know that, right?

I liked it when I saw it.

I was 16.

If it’s still on your Facebook fav movies list– I question your maturity and taste. By the way– James Cameron? You are a total Douchebag.

I still don’t forgive you.