Never gonna dance again (to R. Kelly)

Guilty feeling that I'm complicit in the rapes of little girls.

I know what it's like to be very young and have a person of fame and power showing you attention and flattery, than pushing you further than you wanted to go.  Being too intimidated to say no.  He's a lot bigger than you, he's famous, you should want this. 

I was 18, not 14.  A freshman in college, not high school.  A suburban white girl, not from the southside of Chicago, and I'm still haunted.  I was still coerced.  They were children.  Not consenting adults.  Not empowered or developed enough to decide if this was something they wanted. They aren't "bitches, hos and tricks." They are eighth graders.  If I was in over my head at 18 and look back at what happened to me and can call it what it was; an assault, I can't imagine what they felt.

Article for the New York Observer

http://observer.com/2013/11/heel-the-world-pay-for-pain-shoe-guy-lets-women-walk-all-over-him/


Read it there

So a guy live tweeted his neighbor's break up

You can see it through the hashtag #rooftopbreakup

I've frankly lived way more entertaining break ups.  Some personal highlights include;

"YOU MADE ME WATCH GILMORE GIRLS!"

"Ok, so yes I slept with someone else, but you don't understand, I was fat in high school! Women throw themselves at me now."

"You think I'm dumb cause of my accent!"

"It's like we're from different worlds, you don't remember Three's Company!"*


*I do so remember Three's Company, from Nick at Nite.  This guy remembers vividly the originally airings of the episodes because he was really, really old and lived in the past.

***I've said/done some pretty fucked up, inane and insane things myself.  For which I'm very sorry but I will not be sharing until I get really desperate for attention...so in about an hour.

Look Whose Talking Redux: The Kirstie Alley comeback

In which Mikey is diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, and needs a transplant.  He finds out that John Travolta is not his real father, but rather that he is the product of an ill advised affair between his mother and her boss; misunderstandings, learning and hilarity ensue...

The "who is talking" is Mikey's tumor. He will be voiced by Kenan Thompson from SNL. He will provide hilarious commentary and he grows and spreads into Mikey's bloodstream.

I think it will be a hit. 

Scenes I want to see in the iconic 90s teen movie in my mind

90s teen movies were crap compared to the 80s (other than Clueless). They got Breakfast Club and Pretty in Pink, we got She's All That and Can't Hardly Wait.  Deeply unfair.  The best depictions of adolescence made in the 90s (again besides Clueless, the greatest movie of all time) took place in the 70s; Dazed and Confused and Freaks and Geeks. Well, it has been 20 years since 1993, it is time for the great 90s retro teen movie.  It should hit several marks including

1. A white girl (preferably blonde) very earnestly singing Tracy Chapman's "Fast Car" at her school/summer camp talent show.

2. Only the rich kid has a cellphone.

3. Someone is referred to as an "alternachick"

4. Something nonconsensual happens while Dave Matthew's Crash or Lover Lay Down is playing.

5. A white guy with Dreads.

6. Bulimia, it's so 90s.

7. Shoplifting from Contempo Casuals.

8. Pictures of a young Leonardo Dicaprio posted in the girls' lockers.

9. Manic Panic dye jobs*

*Said it before I'll say it again.  This trend has returned. If you are old to enough to have done it the first time, you don't get to do it the second time.

Further musings on the Lyrical Brilliance of R. Kelly

The poet laureate of our generation R. Kelly has come out with a new album.  The man responsible for such beautiful words as "She be calling me Daddy, I be calling her Mami, She be calling you Kelly, when your name is Tommy!" is back to bless us with his witticisms on the track Oreo, in which he compares lady parts to an Oreo cookie...and he is the cookie monster who bites it.  While, personally I am still partial to "Girl you make me wanna get you pregnant" as the ultimate Kelly jam.  Cookie definitely deserves a hallowed place in the canon.

It can be heard here:

http://www.vulture.com/2013/10/hear-r-kellys-oreo-ruining-song-cookie.html


*I still maintain that talking/writing about music is stupid and boring.  Suck it Brooklyn Vegan.

The two sides of Fire Island...from Bros to 'Mos, and the nonconsensual undertones of Dave Matthews Band.

The Fire Island that I had always heard of sounded like an idyllic fairyland.  A place with beautiful beaches, no cars and drag shows...What could be better than that?  That is the Pines and Cherry Grove....and then there is Ocean Park Beach, or whatever it was called.

While still lovely, this township has a very different population, you can recognize them by their heavily developed upper bodies and tribal tattoos; the bros. The bro is very loud.  The bro gets his super human strength from Jagermeister, Coors, and steroids. The bro gets told no and hears yes, and the bro really loves Jack Johnson and Dave Matthews Band. Surprising, considering these mid 90s college rock jam bands seem innocuous enough.  They remind me of my summer camp in New Hampshire, filled with the young, white, suburban and upper middle class, who would write the deep philosophical musings of "Dave" in their quote books in between canoeing and getting to second base behind the ropes course. (Admittedly, I took part in all of this. Not proud.) Little did I know that "Dave" would become the rallying march of the man who would follow four women he did not know up to their hotel room, and when told that he was being inappropriate and overly aggressive simply respond with "You girls going out tonight?  But I guess if you listen to the lyrics with adult ears Lover Lay Down was pretty damn rapey.

The Pines and Cherry Grove were everything I'd hoped they would be though, complete with afternoon cocktails with a gay porn mogul who dropped such pearls of wisdom as "Creams don't work, only needles work" when it comes to skincare, an impromptu drag performance on the ferry dock, and a Bruce Villanche sighting.

The Best Life Made for TV Movie Titles of all time...would you wear these on a well cut t shirt or tank top?

Co-Ed Callgirl (classic Tori Spelling)

Why I wore Lipstick to my Mastectomy (Becky number 2 from Roseanne/blonde one on Scrubs)

Too Young to Die? (Juliet Lewis in her Griswold days)

My Stepson, My Lover (Lover is the grossest term ever)

A Boyfriend for Christmas (not about human trafficking)

Homeless to Harvard (now I just feel lazy)

She Woke Up Pregnant (no commentary needed)

Cyber Seduction (Porn Addiction! Yay!)

Mother, May I Sleep with Danger? (Thank you again, Tori, Thank you.)

How can you date someone with no internet presence?

What if you met someone and they didn't have Instagram? Or Facebook? Or Twitter? You googled them and all you found were a bunch of linked in profiles for married dads in the UK who were clearly not your romantic interest? How could you possibly investigate (stalk) them?  How could you show their picture to your friends and analyze if they had the red nose of a chronic alcoholic or if their jawline indicated that they would get fat in the next few years?  You can't. You just can't.  You have nothing to do, but wait...or not wait for that matter by the phone and try to make plans with them in person like people did in the 90s.

The only way around this is if they are at least famous enough to have an IMDB page. That provides some scant information and photos...but rarely enough to be satisfying.  But is internet stalking someone you may, or may not even really like ever truly satisfying?  Weren't the 90s just a sweeter, simpler time? Minus all the grunge rock and heroin overdoses.

Gentrification by dog breed; how to tell where your neighborhood stands

I live in a neighborhood that was formerly one of the most dangerous and impoverished in New York and now has art galleries, million dollar lofts, and a restaurant scene that gives the New York Times food critic a boner.  Bill and Hillary Clinton ate dinner around the corner from my house and crowds of German tourists take "graffiti tours" in their fanny packs. I've also witnessed heroin deals, hooker fights, and attended Maria's Divorce Party at the 1 percenter Latin biker bar across the street from my old apartment. I met Maria that night, she and I did several 2 dollar jello shots, and I assured her that she was better off than got a t shirt with rules for keeping my MC (motorcycle club) Sucka Free (not filled with poseurs.) For those who don't know what 1 percenters are, they are the "outlaw" faction of motorcycle enthusiasts, most famously the Hells Angels.  If you watch Sons of Anarchy these guys were like the Mayans on that show.  I know about this stuff. But I digress, point being my neighborhood is what they would call "rapidly gentrifying" but still maintaining some of its former character...or grit...or danger...whatever. The best way to tell how gentrified your hood is; the dogs.  If you see all malteses, shih tzus and pit bulls who still have their balls, your area is not yet gentrified.  The uncut pit is obvious, but small fluffy white dogs are also the status dog of the hood. I think it is kind of like in Freakonomics when after a decade names that had been "rich white girl" names became more popular in low income and minority populations. The little white fluffy status dog of the 80s went the same way as naming your daughter Tiffany, abandoned in white flight. Next, you start to see pugs, french bulldogs, shepherds and mixed breed rescue dogs and pits that no longer have their balls. Gentrifying hipster white people love to get rescue dogs (mine is a rescue.) They also love smooshed faces.  It's the same as their fashion sense; so ugly that they're cute. Lastly when your neighborhood is fully gentrified you see the BIG purebreds; the standard poodles, mastiffs, grand pyrenees, golden retrievers. To have any of those dogs you need a lot of space, and possibly a car. 

So now you can look around and gauge by dog how safe you feel taking the subway late at night.

It is now time to feed my purebred rescue shiba inu her organic artisanal dog treat.  Shut up.

The World's Ugliest Dog Contest and an Ode to Deformed Animals.

The first dog that I ever fell in love with and tried to adopt was a pit mix named Armstrong at Social Tees. He had a birth defect so one of his front legs and paws was shriveled and underdeveloped like a baby chicken wing. His other front leg and and shoulder had gotten super muscular and overdeveloped to compensate so every time he walked it looked like he was doing a push up, thus the name Armstrong.  He was the sweetest loveliest boy, and all the smaller breeds bullied him.  It was love at first awkward walk, but I already lived in a small apartment with two dogs so he could never be mine. A girl in my neighborhood adopted him and I would periodically see him galumphing around with his one big arm and one little baby arm.  His deformity made him that much cuter.  I read an article about Penelope Cruz that described her as "having that singular flaw, a too long nose, that makes one a great beauty rather than just very pretty." I believe the same applies for animals being just a little bit off.  My dog is a beautiful purebred shiba inu, and the love of my life. She is by universal standards a gorgeous dog.  I have never found her more endearing than when she had to wear a stupid cone around her head and would walk into walls and get stuck on things. Lil' Bub has become an internet sensation thanks to her birth defects.  She's the cat equivalent of a Chernobyl baby and damn is she cute. Kenny the Down Syndrome White Tiger, may he rest in peace, also got at least Myspace Celebrity level famous thanks to his ridiculous stupid fucked up cute face.  Thus this year's "World's Ugliest Dog" contest is a load of crap, see link http://jezebel.com/wtf-ugliest-dog-contest-winner-walle-is-actually-prett-540760596.  That thing is awkward and adorable. The judges justified their decision in crowning him ugliest with his "weird waddle." What could be cuter than a dog with a weird waddle?

It raises money for animal rescues so I guess it's ok...but whatever, screw you. Your baby is ugly.

The Best Parody Twitter Accounts (according to my very extensive minutes of research, in no particular order)

1. Feminist Taylor Swift, the little blonde singer who has just so many gosh darn feelings has been decried by the feminist community on the blogosphere (ew, I said blogosphere, please kick me in the face) for slut shaming, promoting female competition, and general complete failure at feminism. In interviews she makes it clear that she has, in fact, no idea what feminism means claiming she "never saw it as boys vs. girls." Neither did the women's movement, TayTay. Thus out of the internet ooze @FeministTaylorSwift was born.  Her lyrics realigned with feminist rhetoric

Some example tweets:

"But you're so confused/'Cause you don't feel pretty you just feel used/cause the media almost invariably objectifies women"

"It feels like a perfect night/for breakfast at midnight/To acknowledge that sex doesn't imply gender/ or vice-versa/ uh huh"

"Dim that spotlight/tell me things like/"I understand my male privelege and I want to work towards gender equality with you."

The rhymes need a little work, but nonetheless Kudos Feminist Taylor Swift.

2. Jaded Punk Hulk; The Incredible Hulk as a bitter aging punk.
No further explanation needed.
Example tweets:

"IF YOU GO SEE BLACK FLAG REUNION SHOW AND BRAG ABOUT SEEING BLACK FLAG, THAT LIKE EATING AT OLIVE GARDEN AND BRAGGING YOU BEEN TO ITALY."

"AT NEXT YEAR MET GALA, RECREATION OF ABC NO RIO IN MAIN ROOM, ONLY THIS TIME FLOOR ACTUALLY CAVE IN, THEN GOODBYE KATY PERRY FOREVER."

"WHEN HULK THINK ABOUT IT: WHEN EMO KIDS EVEN HAVE TIME TO GO ON DATE S WHEN THEY SO BUSY WRITING SHITTY SONGS ABOUT GOING ON DATES"

3. Drunk Girl Crying.
She has since deleted her account. But for name alone she makes the list.

4. Bronx Zoo Cobra, this one was only really good when he had gone missing and was checking in places on foursquare...subsequent posting has created a few chuckles but nothing could really reach the level of his early work.

5. WhiteFeminist, back to the feminists.  This one is so artfully done, some people weren't sure that it was parody. Those people are dumb.  She gets extra points for her excellent use of hashtags.

Example tweets:

"Recanting tweet about security after setting off alarm at #Forever21. Now understand the traumatizing implications of #StopAndFrisk"

"Had to suspend a #SisterofColor  from fem collective bc I found out her brother makes/distributes sexist #urban mixtapes. #Nicetrypatriarchy"

"#Tanning is evidence of why #colour shouldn't matter. I literally am two shades darker and don't feel anymore #oppressed than usual."


Now get of the interwebs and go play outside

Extra Lunch Money; Staying Amateur so you can do porn in the Olympics

Recently in my research on foot fetishes (more on that later, sometimes I write for money instead of giving it away for free) I found out about Extra Lunch Money. It is a website where users can submit "adult" requests for example; to videochat with a girl who will be wearing nothing but five inch stilettos and stepping on balloons.  They will say what they are willing to pay for it and other users known as "sellers" on the site will respond if they are willing to do it.  It's custom made, amateur private pornography.  The haute couture of porn.  Only in the sex industry is lack of experience, or "amateur status" considered an asset. "Virgin Seller" is the category for the first time seller on the site. They go up to seller, seller plus, and bronze seller.  The Virgin Seller is one of the most sought after. The illusion of innocence, purity and inexperience has high market value.  I had a girlfriend who worked as an escort.  She said her clients always asked her the same questions and she had the same stock answers. "How long have you been doing this?" giggles, turns head demurely "Oh not long! You're only my second date!"
"Well, how long do you plan on doing this for?"  Eyes widen "Oh gosh! Only until I get through school."  Tuition and school seem a valid reason for sex work so that the purchaser can maintain the belief that the girl he is paying isn't REALLY a porn star/stripper/escort, she's a sweet young student who just needs to pay for her books.  Really he's helping her out.  He doesn't want the highly experienced skilled one, who has become a master of her trade.  She has too much mileage on her. He wants the "virginal one." A few enterprising young women have even auctioned off their virginity in online auctions.  Which makes them the ultimate contradiction; the virgin prostitute.

At the end of the day equating a woman's sexual history with her inate worth is just another way the patriarchy tries to keep women down. However, seasoned sex workers presenting themselves as "virginal" are taking this idea, and exploiting it for their own prophet.  So good for them! Down with the patriarchy! Viva Extra Lunch Money!

I love you Maude Apatow; the cult of youth

When I was a kid I thought my babysitters were the coolest people in the world; they had drivers licenses, pierced ears, and boyfriends.  They talked about music and had cool outfits that my Mom would never let me wear.  I could not wait to grow up and be like them.  Then I was a teenager, and that stupid show Sex and The City was on.  Girls my age looked up to these women in their 30s and spent hours discussing whether they were a "Charlotte, Carrie, Miranda or Samantha."  (Sidenote; I know it has been said before but HOW THE HELL DID CARRIE AFFORD THAT APARTMENT?)

Now I'm almost thirty and I follow Maude Apatow on Twitter.  I'm captivated by her eighth grade witticisms.  The style icon of my late teens/early 20s was Chloe Sevigny. She turns 40 this year.  Now it is teenage Tavi Gevinson.  The fashion and entertainment industries present an "aspirational vision" but now instead of imagining a glamourous future adulthood, adults admire children.  Well, I didn't grow up to be Carrie Bradshaw, and I will never be fourteen again.  The chance to be a child prodigy has long since past.  As unlikely that it was that any of us would grow up to be Chloe Sevigny or Sarah Jessica Parkers, at least it involved growing up.  Now we must despair because according to popular culture our best years and the chance to be a cultural influencer have passed us by.  So excuse me while I go watch ABC Family, read Rookie and cry.

Google Kills Romance

Awhile ago I met a man at work, he was handsome and charming and asked for my number and gave me his card.  So I did what any reasonable person does and immediately pulled out my phone and started typing his name into Google search. Before I'd even finished spelling out his last name Google had prompted me with his net worth and his celebrity ex girlfriend.  Within five minutes I knew that he was much older than he looked, had a daughter nearly my age, had dated a notoriously insane former supermodel for five years and was worth 500 million dollars.  I was creeped out that he was only four years younger than my mom, and I was only seven years younger than his daughter, but I had already agreed to dinner so I went...and yes the net worth made me slightly more willing to attempt to overlook the age difference.  I had to feign surprise when he told me who his ex was.  Though in my head I had already figured that he had a high threshold for crazy and was wondering what he'd do if I ever set his house on fire ala Lisa "Left Eye" Lopez (RIP). During the date he talked like an R. Kelly song, and his daughter was texting him incessantly about her monthly allowance, so it was pretty much dead in the water.  However, I wonder if I had gone in not knowing all this information about him beforehand would things have gone differently.  I decided to chatter on about how I was looking to get married and have babies and that pretty much sealed the deal for no second date (this is a trusty method, I highly recommend using it when trying to wriggle out of an uncomfortable situation.) There was no mystery, no discovery, no excitement.  This is an extreme example of someone who has achieved at least an F list level of celebrity...but between Facebook, Twitter, Linkedin, Google and Instagram a little sleuthing (stalking) can give you someone's life story before you've ever sat down for drinks with them...which can kind of kill the fun of getting to know them, and continually discovering things you like about them...but on the other hand it can also save you time.  You learn the things that creep you out, such as the fact that they are old enough to be your father, immediately.

In the end, much to my own frustration, it turns out I was born without the gold digger gene.  I don't go for Hedge Fund multimillionaires. I end up going for people like drummers.

What's the difference between a drummer and a pizza?  A pizza can feed a family of four.

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a man of slightly above average looks, and below average intelligence, a drinking problem and an English accent. He decided to move to America, because everyone else in England had an English accent too so he wasn't special. So he came to "The States" and all his dreams came true.  He started dating a model, joined a band that was "on the verge" that Pitchfork really liked.  He got a laptop and became a DJ, made friends with all the door guys, promoters, and bartenders around town...then one day he was walking down the street after an afterhours party smoking his American Spirit and he didn't notice the homeless guy sleeping on the corner when he flicked his cigarette he lit the man's blanket on fire. He awoke cursing.  "Sorry mate!" our hero said as he scurried away, no help to the burning man (the homeless guy, not the hippie drug fest in Nevada).  The next day he woke up in his model girlfriend's bed, AND HIS ACCENT WAS GONE.  HE COULD ONLY SPEAK LIKE WILLIAM H. MACY IN FARGO.  He opened his stupid leather man bag, and where his passport had been, now was an Ohio Driver's license.  His girlfriend stirred awake, he tried to say "Alo, darling" but it came out "Hey there, honeybunches!" She flew into a rage and kicked him out of her apartment, screaming that his entire life was a lie. He rushed to his practice space, his bandmates were all waiting looking morose.  His girlfriend had already called them, they had decided that they needed some "fresh blood" and his services were no longer needed.  He then received a text from his "DJ gig" that night saying "Sorry bro, we're going in a different direction, not gonna need you Thursdays anymore."

I'm not really sure what happens next, but I think it involves Kate Bush or maybe Madonna as the ghost of Boxing Day Past.

Moral of the story; have an English accent or no one will like you.

An Ode to Badgalriri, Jose Canseco and Azealia Banks

A lot of money and time is spent on maintaining "on brand" and "on message" social media accounts that are run by so called social media experts.  These are meant to inform, not offend and rarely do they entertain.  Rihanna, Jose Canseco and Azealia Banks employ no such experts.  They are coming at you unfiltered, without premeditation and sometimes possibly drunk...AND IT IS GREAT.

Rather than slick planned photo ops and "hey guys, catch me on SNL on this date" they give it to you raw.  Rihanna, aka Badgalriri posts pictures of herself smoking weed and memes proclaiming her love for weed and cock.  She is accused of being a bad role model daily, and she doesn't dispute it.  Azealia Banks seems to tweet every thought that enters her head, PC, appropriate or not. She recently had the entire internet pissed at her for calling Perez Hilton a "messy faggot."  While the violent and horrible history of that word cannot be argued, one has to look at context.  It is one of those words that has been reclaimed and used by the gay community, the community it was intended to hurt.  They have taken back the word in order to diminish it's power. This girl is a 21 year old out and proud bisexual who attended La Guardia High School for the Arts.  She lives in the gay community.  That word most likely has been a part of her lexicon since she was fourteen. She is taking the way she speaks in her daily life and broadcasting it to her audience at large, rather than filtering it through a PR machine.  I'm not necessarily condoning her use of the word.  Calling Perez Hilton, an out and proud gay man, a faggot reinforces the original hurtful intentions of the word...but also brings up the dialogue of evolving meanings and context.

Jose Canseco was a nearly forgotten baseball player from my childhood whose star has reignited from his insane twitter rants.  Currently he is attempting to  fight Shaq and aiming to get a reality show and hosting spot on The View. He has already forayed his tenuous connection with reality, grandiose claims and poor spelling into a column for Vice and selling his paintings of Donald Trump...so all his dreams might just come true.

Good for you Jose.  Keep spewing that crazy and the world will keep Retweeting.

Your week according to Instagram

Selfie Sunday: Post a picture of yourself...but isn't everyday really selfie sunday?

Mancrush Monday:  Lots of pictures of Ryan Gosling

Transformation Tuesday:  Lots of "fitspo" photos with the hashtag #cleaneating, like a current picture of sixpack abs on one side in contrast to the former fatty on the other side. BECAUSE NOTHING TASTES AS GOOD AS SKINNY FEELS.

Womancrush Wednesday: Like Mancrush Monday, but replace Ryan Gosling with Jennifer Lawrence.

Throwback Thursday: Pictures from when you were a cute baby/surly teenager, or from a year ago when you were thinner/tanner/younger/had better hair.

Flashback Friday: See Throwback Thursday

Saturday: Doesn't seem to have a universal theme, but lots of pictures of brunch

In Search of An Emily Post for the Digital Age

Any situation involving human interactions brings up questions of etiquette.  As a child I was raised to always say please and thank you, address any adult as Miss or Mister until instructed otherwise, and always send a thank you note...even for a less than generous Bat Mitzvah gift.  I've recently returned from a family Jewneral (6 noodle kugels, no alcohol, and the only coffee was decaf.  It was a trying time for all of us, especially those who prefer their carbohydrates in fermented, liquid form), and having spent time with my mother and grandma, the women who taught (forced) me to always send a thank you note, I realized they are as lost as I am, probably more so, in the realm of "internet etiquette."

Some questions that have arisen:

Should I approve my mother's friend request? What about my grandma/aunt/teenage cousin? Is it more rude to expose them to whatever material they may see on my page and deem "inappropriate" or shield them by rejecting their friend request?

If someone follows me on twitter/instagram do I have to follow them back?

How many hashtags is too many hashtags? How many selfies is too many selfies? (Same question for food/pet/baby photos)

What is a valid hashtag?  What is just indulgent, excessive and a transparent, desperate cry for attention in the form of followers?

Can you post an old picture if it's not "Throwback Thursday" or "Flashback Friday?" What is the difference between Throwback Thursday and Flashback Friday?

At what point do you stage a "Social Media Intervention" for someone whose postings have gotten out of control; in terms of oversharing details of their personal lives, excessive selfie postings with seven or more hashtags such as #me or #girl, or continually ranting political conspiracy theories?  It walks a fine from "live and let live" to "You are making a complete ass of yourself in a public forum that lasts forever, please stop because I care about you but also can't support you if you become unemployable due to your insane social media presence." Where is that line?  I think most people can agree that posting underwear pictures is a bad look, but what about bikini ones?  There exists a grey area.  

Coming soon: Your week according to Instagram.  I will be asking my teenage cousin for help with this one. 

Pooper Scoopers, Hasidic Landlords, Sex Toy parties and Boner Terrorism

My dog is so cute that most people don't even see me on the street anymore, they just stare at her, entranced by her perfect furry adorableness, unless they are creepy dudes.  Creepy dudes notice me and the dog and proceed to holler lewd comments at us (well me, but sometimes they include the dog)...what they don't notice is the small plastic bag in my left hand, dangling precariously cause I don't want my hand too close to the contents of it.  YES CREEPY STREET HARASSER I AM CARRYING POOP, YOU STILL LIKE ME?  A long time ago in a land far away called College I read a sociological study of street culture, it posited that women, babies and dogs were the lowest on the cultural totem pole of the street because any complete stranger could approach them, speak to them, get in their faces, hell, even pet them, and it was considered socially acceptable.  I am one hundred percent guilty of this when it comes to babies and dogs. I am the street stalker of cuteness. However, as a woman the constant hollering of dudes on the streets is tiresome. I have fantasies of going up to greet them, smiling, and simply tossing the bag of fecal matter at them underhanded....or saying, "hey, yes I WOULD love it if you walked with me....but I need you to hold this bag of poop." And their sad little boners would shrivel up at the thought of dog doodoo.  A great act of Boner Terrorism.

Boner Terrorism is anything you can do to psychologically kill someone's hard on.  For example, telling my old landlord that I had a Bat Mitzvah.  The objectification of women is not forbidden in his religion but the objectification of Jewish women is...his face fell knowing he could never again pop by my apt unannounced hoping to find my roomate or myself in states of undress.  My inner dialogue was "You can't jerk off to me anymore! You can't jerk off to me anymore! Neeener Neener Neener! Shalom that!"

Boner terrorism can even occur by accident.  Recently I attended a sex toy party hosted by my friend's mom.  Sex toy parties are pretty much tupperware parties but with vibrators instead of plastic containers....but more on that later.  I decided to be nice and buy a gift for a single (gay) male friend of mine. I got him a fake mouth.  There is a more scientific name for it, but that's pretty much what it was. He has been enjoying it thoroughly and often...until the times he remembers that I bought it for him, then everything goes limp, this is an unintentional, though still amusing form of boner terrorism.

So go forth and terrorize

*Of course I'm not footnoting that sociological study, I read that thing almost a decade ago. I have no idea who wrote it, when, and whether or not I made it up...actually I know I didn't make it up because it was for my Sex, Gender, and Power course for which I got an A. So it has to be real.

Pinterest, Tumblr, Life Curators, and wisdom from a 23 year old.

 As I try to write this Lucy (my adorable shiba inu) is poking me with her little paw, demanding that I stop typing and start petting...but anyway, I decided to ask my young and savvy coworker about Pinterest.  It had been described to me a few different ways such as "Online Scrapbook" and "Digital Bulletin Board"  my understanding of bulletin boards is dogwalkers posting at the gym, and high school Spanish projects and I have no understanding of scrapbooks since I am from the cold Northeast and our culture is decidedly not crafty or cutesy I turned to Madison.

Madison is a 23 year old 6'2 stunning Viking, Utah Born, Mormon, former model, current writer/cocktail waitress at my job.  She is one of the smartest people I've ever met in this industry. She interned for Teen Vogue, and her sister is a supermodel so she has a unique insider's understanding of trends in "youth culture" so to speak.  Madison explained Pinterest as an online scrapbook, but instead of pictures of your friends and family decorated with flowers and cute borders it's pictures of things you like or find inspiring.  I asked "what do they inspire?" it seems the answer is mostly outfits and weddings.  I see it more like a teenager's wall of posters and magazine cut outs rather than what I picture a scrapbook to look like.  As an adolescent I had posters of Audrey Hepburn and James Dean on my walls in part because I liked them, and also to demonstrate to anyone who saw them who I was or rather how I wanted to be perceived...I was more sophisticated and urbane than my peers with Britney Spears posters, goddamnit! I was artistic, I wore vintage clothes!! I didn't belong in suburbia! Pinterest, and what Madison told me is it's cooler cousin Tumblr, serve this purpose on a larger scale.  Instead of telling your peers who you are by decorating your locker or dorm room, you can tell the entire internet by tumbling and pinning pictures of Kate Moss.  An old roomate had a Tumblr with over a 1,000 followers. As far I could tell she just posted pictures of models in the Free People catalog.  There was no original art, photography, text...she generated no content whatsoever, it was just photos of things she liked.  Mainly young, white, blonde models in pseudo bohemian attire.

Apparently this is viewed as "curating" your own image or life.  Curator used to be word that carried weight, someone who oversaw a museum or a library, had a level of expertise in their field...held at least one graduate degree.  Now a DJ is a "music curator" a club promoter is a "nightlife curator" and anyone with a tumblr is a "life curator." Numerous news outlets have documented the overuse and bastardization of this word, yet it still marches on, further and further away from it's intended meaning.

*Madison doesn't like pinterest, she prefers tumblr.  Her instagram is @themjs if you want to see #ootd's.  She told me that means "outfit of the day."  I would be lost in this modern world without her guidance.

Why fictional characters' sex lives are way more interesting than your friends and colleagues.

Most of the time I really don't care who my friends are sleeping with: whether or not they have committed, how well endowed they are, what band he's in, and whether sleeping with your pot dealer has compromised the business aspect of the relationship.  None of this is as interesting to me as who Juliette Barnes is bedding on Nashville.  She keeps it way more entertaining, she devirginizes Christian Quarterbacks and bangs her mom's sober companion.  Who did you pick up at the dog run this week? No one that scandalous.

Furthermore people on TV are funnier and better looking (Lena Dunham being the notable exception),  I work in the downtown "fashiony" service industry in Manhattan.  My colleagues are pretty much required to be really good looking, and most of them are also quite bitter, which makes for comedy gold.  However, are they as good looking and funny as Olivia Munn on the Newsroom? That is damn near impossible. 

Lastly, if someone you care about in real life, rather than a passive emotional investment for one hour every week,  and that person is boning someone that you dislike or don't approve of YOU CAN'T SAY ANYTHING. You have to be supportive, even if you hate this particular one of their sex partners with every fiber of your being, and have a theory that they might be homeless. You have to hide your delight when the loser finally gets deported (true story).  However, you can scream DON'T DO IT IVY, DEREK IS ONLY USING YOU at the television while watching Smash and Ivy won't later resent you for it. 

*This does not apply to that one special friend who has been sport fucking 20 year olds off of Tindr. Your sex life fascinates me.  Keep up the good work.  

Who are Lena and Cat?

No, they are not household pets with weight problems, El.  While pets struggling with their weight can be a difficult and ultimately cathartic experience of pain and redemption (Lucy is finally "runway ready") that is not what I'm referencing.

First Lena Dunham:

Lena is the creator, director, writer and star of the HBO show Girls and the film Tiny Furniture.  She is 26 and from New York, she attended St. Ann's School and her parents are famous artists. She is definitively of the 1%. People really hate her for a number of reasons.  Her show has little to no diversity, the only black character was token pandering in the first couple episodes of season 2 and he quickly disappeared.  She's perceived as a product of elitist nepotism; the entire cast of her show are daughters of celebrities.  The Brooklynites she claims to represent feel she is doing them a disservice. Case in point, in my post collegiate struggles, I for one, would never consider stealing tip money that my parents had left for a hotel maid, as Lena's character did in the first episode.  Her character is selfish, entitled, whiny, with little to no integrity or work ethnic.  She is also smart and somewhat self aware. Lastly, she's overweight, and she has the audacity to get naked on television while being outside the Hollywood norm. In short, people hate Lena Dunham because she is the fat ignorant daughter of privilege, or because she is a wildly successful intelligent young woman. She's a very divisive subject.  I personally have seen every episode of Girls, I'm sometimes amused by it, but it also annoys the hell out of me.  I kind of want to tell Lena to get over herself and get a waitressing job and learn something about the people she claims to speak for...but sadly, she's not attractive enough to waitress in New York.

Now Cat Marnell:
Cat was the beauty editor and XOJane, a columnist for Vice and a self proclaimed drug addict/nymphomaniac/trust fund baby.  She is very thin, pretty and blonde, always in full make up, hangs out at "exclusive" clubs like Le Bain and Le Baron where she does lots of blow in the bathroom and then goes home and writes about it.  She recently got a 500,000 dollar book deal.  Some people think that this is very terrible, that her publishers are exploiting her addiction, that she's gonna put her book advance up her nose bla bla bla.  Her writing is honest, raw and pretty funny. That being said I bartend at "hip" places where I see scenester cokehead girls like her all the time.  They are really fucking annoying and obnoxious.  Every time that one of them has made me wait to pee while they are blowing rails/getting railed in the bathroom I fantasize about setting their very expensive blonde extensions on fire and dancing gleefully in the ashes. Some people really like Cat Marnell, but a lot of people REALLY hate her.

Both of these women are scrutinized for their weight, either being "disgustingly fat" or "frighteningly thin" (I believe Miss Marnell would take that one as a compliment).  Thus "thinner than Lena, fatter than Cat" was born.

Also if you steal tip money from a hotel maid you deserve to get Herpes.

Jobs that I'm not sure are real jobs but I wouldn't mind doing instead of bartending:

1. Social media director: so you get paid to post on Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter? Isn't that what people in offices do to avoid doing their real work?  Sign me up! I have opinions and take pictures of my dog and brunch. 

2. Fashion consultant:  Telling people what to wear. So you get to pick out clothes for your very own human barbie and be bossy? AND YOU GET PAID??? If a cheese plate and wine are involved this sounds like a dream.

3. Fashion blogger: posting daily pictures of your outfits.  Today it is black sweatpants, and an ex's blue v neck t shirt accessorized with an all over dusting of dog hair, shiba inu to be specific.

4. Ipod DJ: plug in, play Thrift Shop, where are my drink tickets????

5. "It girl": see numbers 3 and 4, then make duckfaces on Patrick McMullan

An It Girl/DJ/Fashion Blogger (who was very sweet and lovely) was djing at my old job when she came up to the bar sat down dejected, sighed and said to me.  "GOD, my parents just don't understand what I do!" 

I DON'T UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU DO! WHY DO YOU HAVE A MANAGER?? WHAT DOES SHE MANAGE?! HOW ARE YOU NOT HOMELESS?

She also said "maje" a lot, which I found out is short for major and means generally "good."

Signs that you are aging out of post adolescence into middle age.

1. Having to look up youthful slang and cultural references on the internets.

Recently I've been hearing (or reading on internet memes, twitter and text messages) words, references and phrases that I have no understanding of.  They might as well be in Japanese.  But revealing my ignorance of phrases such as "trill" and "ratchet" would give away the truth; that I am pushing thirty, I don't read Pitchfork and I prefer Gilmore Girls to Mad Men.  While being hip and cool doesn't seem appealing to me (thus the not reading Pitchfork) I HATE NOT GETTING THE JOKE. If everyone is laughing at something I want to laugh at it too, Goddamnit! Look at Grumpy Cat's dumb face! His name is Tardar Sauce, but Tard for short...like a reTARD! But anyway, I digress...here are the things I have googled recently

"Ratchet" after receiving a text re: my best friend's loser ex and his new lady friend "That bitch is so ratchet." Apparently it means trashy, ugly, in poor taste, ghetto, dirty.  Use it in a sentence.  "Lil Kim is looking Ratchet." Does referencing Lil Kim show my age and lack of cultural relevance?

"Thrift Shop" I figured it would be a metaphor in a rap song for some sort of drug thing. It is actually a song about shopping at thrift shops, and Macklemore is white.

"Popping Molly Now I'm Sweating" It is a song by Trinidad James, who it seems is a rapper.  Apparently MDMA has crossed over from the electronic music underground into mainstream hiphop...but Molly was supposed to be ecstasy in it's purest form and now that it has become so ubiquitous it is bound to be more cut or cracky...making it DING DING DING ECSTASY!!! Welcome back to 1998 kids.

"Trill": true+real=trill, and those two words are basically synonymous.  So now you can be redundant and abbreviated with your words.  Oh goody.

A Glamour model: British term for a centerfold model.  Makes it seem so much more refined.  How British.

I would like to thank google and Urban Dictionary for all their help in this matter.