Tag Archives: satire

The Girl Can’t Help It

Your friendly neighborhood feminist here. There’s a lot going on, isn’t there? Like, ALL THE TIME. Like even when you wake up at 5:00 in the morning because Seizing the Day and Following Your Dreams and whatnot. Was I in middle school once? Did we, as women, win the right to control our reproductive bodies in 1973 or did I imagine that? Where am I even? Can I have a do over?

Save us, Ruth.

Save us, Ruth.

The Supreme Court decided last week that a corporation’s right to religious freedom is more important than a women’s right to access necessary healthcare. It decided that a corporation can have religious freedom. Because everyone knows you need to get to church early or those pesky early bird corporations will take all the seats! Nope. That doesn’t happen. Can a corporation have its period? Can a corporation get pregnant? Can I ask a corporation what religion they believe in when they apply for a job? Is it physically possible to kick a corporation right in the balls – just square in the seed holder? The answer to all of the questions is a resounding no.

What this decision tells us is that Hobby Lobby’s god believes that a woman should not be able to regulate her reproductive bodies through the birth control method of her choice but that a man, in whatever scenario that so provokes him, can choose to acquire and use reproductive medicines — vasectomies, viagra, etc. Because apparently god didn’t take whiskey dick into consideration when making Adam and Eve. Their god just feels a little weird about allowing women agency and autonomy over their bodies in the same way that guys have it — something about not trusting women after the whole snake in the garden incident (more on this to come)

And of course we can learn a lot from brave, mind-shattering responses from great minds like Erick Erickson:

Above all, there is a “sucks to be you” mentality at work here. You want to have sex whenever you want, you dirty slut? Well, sucks to be you because you have to be pregnant and deal with the whole birth thing and we’re going to chip away at your access to the one thing that can allow you to take control and agency over that very process. Of course, there are always TWO people involved in an unplanned pregnancy. Yet for the emotional, physical, and financial  burden thrust upon the woman, you would think she got pregnant by herself at feminist camp.

HL-meme-11

We are told to accept our biology and embrace the limitations imposed upon that very biology because some God decided it to be that way. He originated the “sucks to be you” reasoning in his conversation with Eve:

“I will make your pains in childbearing very severe;
with painful labor you will give birth to children.
Your desire will be for your husband,
and he will rule over you.” (Genesis 3:16)

Man’s punishment for listening to Eve (a woman apparently made from HIS OWN RIB yet he was still unable to talk it out with her before eating the poisonous fruit): You’re going to have to work really hard to get your own food and work, you’ll have to rule over all women, and one day you will die and return to dust.

I don’t know, given the whole human mortality condition this punishment doesn’t seem entirely on par with the women’s punishment.

personperson

Religious freedom is one thing but freedom on its own is entirely separate. Freedom to be a person and not be ruled by any other person. Freedom to be seen as more than a rib taken from a man that was written about in an old, old, book. Freedom to have SEX without comment from the purity police — because we all know that a MAJORITY of our country has sex for reasons besides PROCREATION (Like say, pleasure and intimacy?). Freedom to make informed, educated choices about my body because you don’t see us trying to take away your Viagra. Believe me, we have way more important things to do. 

More Hobby Lobby hypocrisy:

The Guardian

Mother Jones

 

 

Real Talk: To Poo Pourri or not to Poo Pourri

The other day, as I innocently watched television via my friend’s parent’s Xfinity account computer, I was taken aback by some gratuitous poo talk. Granted, the commercial was for a poo-smell-negating product but it was offensive nonetheless. OKAY…have you guys heard of Poo Pourri? If you haven’t, it’s a lovely little spray you use before said pooing occurs, which eliminates that yucky odor that tends to remind us humans that we’re all slowly rotting away from the inside out — some worse than others.  (SPOILER: in the following paragraphs I may hint at the possibility that girls poop.)

poo-pourri girl

I know what you’re thinking right now: Aly, you’ve literally talked about bowel movements in 75% of your posts, what’s so gross about a well-mannered Brit elaborating on her poop processes  First, check it out for yo’self:

 

So, my beef is with the Orbit-esque nature of the ad — the whole concept that a prim and proper British lady with a pearl necklace is the the only qualified female able to talk about “unladylike” stuff like pooping because the overwhelming nature of her refinement neutralizes the words “tenacious skid marks” when they flow out of her mouth. And sure, it’s not like I wanna live my life obsessed with the literal act of shitting:

Exaggerated enactment of what life would look like if I only talked about my digestive mood:

“Hey, Aly, how’s it going?”

“Well, judging by the box of pizza I’m still pretending I didn’t eat last night, today’s going to be loose and uncomfortable. But enough about my bowels, how are you doing, Bob?”

No one wants this– not Bob and not me.

The ad just makes me think of a room full of advertising executives throwing out ideas and one of them yells out, after watching remembering how cool the “put a bird on it” episode of Portlandia was: “Hey, let’s put a British accent on it! That’ll make it watchable!” And thus, poop was classed up a bit. Made more ladylike and acceptable for those men still uncomfortable with the idea of a women sitting a toilet, emptying her tiny, fragile, lady bowels.

And then I come to find out that Bethany Woodruff, the poo actress, is actually Scottish. Alas, the British nature of this ad is totally purposeful and a lot creepier. Should we blame Mary Poppins? Is it our fault?

There’s a larger problem at work here — the problem of society not accepting women for anything besides being female and all that the term implies. Femininity is obviously not synonymous with taking a shit but if we put a pretty, proper girl in a nice dress, throw on some pearls, and plop her on top of a toilet, voila! It is now acceptable for her to talk about her bowel movements.

Take her out of that scenario, things get weird again:

Clearly, this guy is a little uncomfortable with the topic at hand. It’s like he’s not sure if it’s okay to ask the agreed upon questions for the interview.

Interviewer: What was the hardest line for you to keep a straight face?

“I think tenacious skid mark… not often do you hear a female say my skid marks are tenacious..know what I mean?”

“I’ll take your word for it because I don’t know how tenacious they are…”

Awkward laughter ensues until the camera goes to a female newscaster who says:

“Just for the record, I don’t do that.”

So yeah, girls talking about poop is still awkward. Even if she kind of sounds like the Queen. We’ve come a long way.

 In all honesty, I’ll probably try this product because why not? And if we could take the stink aspect out of poop, maybe us girls would feel more inclined to join the conversation. 

Would you Poo Pourri? Does one of your coworkers need to Poo Pourri? Potty humor welcome. 

Leave My Uterus Alone, Rick Perry

*This was originally posted last summer after spending a lot of time at the Texas Capitol groaning and eye rolling as Rick Perry’s team played for a dirty victory where the prize was women’s reproductive rights. Today I will be going to see Queen Wendy, House of Davis, Mother of Dragons and I thought it was about time to revisit all the reasons she MUST win the governorship.

***

Let’s get real for a second.

Hey Rick Perry, do you remember that time you said you pray because you’re “prone to make a lot of mistakes” and also, when in front of America, you claimed there were three very important agencies of the government you were going to get rid of and oh wait, was it the EPA? I still don’t know because you never remembered.  Also, remember when you said you hoped to be the Tim Tebow of the Iowa caucus? (Sad about his career now, huh?) Or when you said OUT LOUD that the minimum voting age was 21? (Gotta get that apathetic youth vote!)

I guess you really are prone to make mistakes.

See, that’d be funny and all if you were my 103-year-old senile grandfather peeing on the lawn and not the person who runs the state I live in and who is holding my reproductive rights in your hand like a soft tomato (are you surprised I didn’t call it a delicate flower? Well, fuck you.) You’re own republican friends have called you “Bush without the brains” so I think you should tread lightly when passing judgement.

You’ve been talking a lot about Wendy Davis, who has recently been described as a “former teen mom” — which is so great because we usually only hear about teen dads. Nope, that’s not true…

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You claim she clearly hasn’t learned from her own example as a teen mom. Obviously, as a middle-aged white man you would have a lot of expertise on being a teenaged girl. Now, you are calling a second special session — because all those people flooding the capitol to protest your BS was just a coincidence — to push through the draconian bill that would close 37 out of our 42 reproductive health clinics and make abortions illegal after 20 weeks. Because why wouldn’t five clinics in the massive state of Texas be enough for over ten million women? Oh right, because math. But you claim that you are fighting for human rights by passing this bill. That’s weird. It didn’t seem like you were fighting for human rights when you vetoed the bill that would assist women in the fight for equal pay because you were afraid it’d hinder job creation. Yay! Human rights! Let the free market work itself out!

See the thing is, Rick, people like Wendy can’t just pick and choose the human rights’ issues that’ll best serve their political agenda like you and your conservative cronies. People like us don’t have that freedom. Because you exist. Because you think it’s your right to determine who gets married and what I can do with my own body. Do you hear me telling you what to do with your penis? No, that’d be creepy and invasive. Yes, Wendy Davis had a baby at nineteen — she chose to have a baby. That’s the point here. Pro-Choicers are just that. We are not pro-abortion. We are for women’s abilities to make an informed, educated choice about her body and her health (which will be soo easy to do when there are only five women’s health clinic in the entire state).

So no, old white haired men, I’d rather you not tell me when and when I cannot have a baby and I’d rather you listen to some ladies. I want to be clear here, though, that I think any baby-having decisions should ultimately be discussed with both parties involved and not just up to the female. With that said, if it’s the responsibility of both parties then we should make a law where men must wear full prosthetic baby bellies for the entire gestation of the fetus and/or microchip every man so his whereabouts are known and therefore, he is unable to leave his pregnant partner until the baby is born. Because that doesn’t seem like an invasion of privacy or anything.

RickPerryCorndog

Wendy Davis already schooled you once, filibustering like hell so ya’ll wouldn’t cut tons of money for education. And you know what? Filibustering in Texas is hard! This isn’t no reading the telephone book Congress bull shit or handing it off to your colleague when you’ve run out of lines from Alice in Wonderland. Sister couldn’t even lean on her desk! What I’m trying to say, Rick Perry, is that you’re a hairdo and a nice face on an ignorant republican robot body so get the corn dog out of your mouth and back the fuck off my uterus. Or I’m gonna go get Wendy.

Here’s Some Fiction on a Saturday

It’s funny how writing about personal experience felt so difficult after training my brain in fiction but you know what they say, get a girl talking about herself and you can’t shut her up! (And by they I basically mean Sean Hannity). I’m gonna stop talking about myself for a little bit here, or not completely, I’m gonna start talking about the characters in my brain, y’all. They cannot be silenced. Also, there’s only so many times you can write about walking to Starbucks with your dog. I hope I make up characters smart enough to buy their coffee local.

***

It’s 9 am and most functional, employed adults are awake. Gia is, instead, under a cascading, too-heavy, sale-rack Anthropologie quilt dreaming about having a life.

There is a friendly knock at the door. After the third time, it gets aggressive. Picture Danny DeVito locked out of his apartment with just his boxer briefs (I know, weird, I always  pictured him in whitey tighties, too…).

Eyes crusted over, Gia answers the door.

“Ugghhh, I was having the most delightfully pretentious dream about hosting a Ted Talk about achieving your dreams…” Her hair is matted to her head, being held in a pony-tale by a seemingly invisible hair elastic.

Tara enters, scanning the room, a visibly disgusted look on her face. “Jesus, what did you do last night? Go beyond the wall and get into a fight with a White walker or some shit?”

“Are you Game of Thrones insulting me right now? Is that what you’re doing? I think getting into a fight with Peter Dinklage would’ve been funnier.”

“You’re the worst,” Tara says, picking a bra off the ground with her foot, “can we go now? I waited as long as I could but I want to get to the pool before all the bald men in your apartment complex start showing up and claiming chairs. Bald guys have a thing for me.”

“Since when are there a lot of bald guys at my apartment complex?”

“Since every time we’ve ever gone to your pool.”

“I’d like a specific example.”

“OH, LET’S DO THIS. Cue the damn flash back music!”

“I hate you for so many reasons,” Gia says, sniffing at her arm pits to get a feel for how she should proceed with the day.

“I’m imaging the Game of Thrones theme song, what about you?”

“Of course you are. Your mom got you into Game of Thrones, didn’t she?

“Yeah, cause I make decisions based on what my mom likes.” Tara gives a Tina Fey eye roll as her screen lights up with a text from her mom: “How could they let Arya see her family die like that?!” She replies: “MOM!! YOU’RE SUCH A SPOILER! STOP SAYING THINGS ABOUT G.O.T.”

“I’m going to ignore you texting your Mom about Game of Thrones. Now get back to the bald guys.”

“Yes yes, it was a Friday…”

[Game of Thrones theme starts playing]

There are two bald guys in the hot tub and one thirty-ish year-old women feeling proud about her bikini body. Gia and Tara look at each other, daring the other to go in first.

The bald guy with the plaid shorts is talking about his recent trip to India:

“I found a driver that spoke English! He charged me 100 Rupees and I gave 120 and said to him ‘that’s for speaking English!” As the words came out of his mouth, another racist angel was born.

[Back to present]

“Wait a hot second, was that guy really that racist? I don’t remember him being that racist.”

“I haven’t even gotten to the part where he tells that woman not to sue her boss for sexual harassment because she doesn’t have enough money.”

“Okay, okay,” Gia gets indignant, “can we agree here that it’s not exactly the QUANTITY of bald white dudes that live at my apartment complex but the QUALITY that makes the difference here. I’m actually a fan of Howie Mandel, his idiosyncrasies are super endearing.”

“You’ve only heard the first bald guy story! And I didn’t even finish! You have at least five more that I know of. Remember that one who let us smoke some of his joint. Actually, I guess he wasn’t so bad.”

“What is going on here? Can we get into your creepy fascination with bald men some other time. I’m going to ruin every part of Game of Thrones if you say the world bald one more time. And honestly, I think you may want to talk to like, a professional, about this.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

Will they make it to the pool before all the lounge chairs fill up? And will Tara ever stop talking about bald guys? But more importantly, will Gia ever actually make her bed? Check back next week for more weekend fiction y’all.

A Discussion on Workplace Etiquette (or Don’t Steal my Lunch, You Jerks!)

Let me start off my addressing the thief who ate my frozen pad thai lunch. Who do you think you are, the decider of the future of wayward frozen meals? What do you just wait for the moment everyone has gone home and  you think, “yeah, now’s my chance! I’ll show them!” in the voice of Brain from Pinky and the Brain? And then you proceed to sneak into the break room and siphon off people’s lunches one small delicious bite at a time? Well sir, I’ve heard of the missing PB&J and deli meat sandwiches and I have heard of the souptastrophe of early April and may I just say… HOW DARE YOU?

Look at it! Look at what you stole from me!

Look at it! Look at what you stole from me!

Not only am I upset by the cahones you seem to have in the lunch thievery department but I am also offended for a multitude of other reasons. Like, where were you during fridge clean outs when I threw out five pounds of pinto beans and watered down coleslaw from that corporate luncheon? Where were you when that leftover chicken sandwich squirted it’s musty juices on my just washed denims? Were those leftovers not good enough for your thieving bear claws?!

And what confuses you about a frozen meal labeled Aly 4/14/14? Look at all those fours! It was so much fun to write! And it was a g-damn gluten-free veggie pad thai! You’ve now forced me to walk around the office aimlessly, like those birds who mysteriously found their way into a mall or a parking garage and cannot get out, searching for an answer. There will be payback and it will be tenfold. You’ve made a girl who cannot eat gluten VERY hungry and you know what they say about people who give up gluten…(you know, just that we’re cranky about not eating gluten but our bodies ultimately feel much better).

Now to you, man with lots of questions at our hour-long sexual harassment training. We get it, we get it, you’re REALLY into freedom of speech. So when someone tells you that explaining why same-sex marriage is wrong cannot happen in the workplace, you get all butthurt about it.

inigo

You: But the 1st Amendment guarantees I can say what I want without being penalized for being a pompous asshole who doesn’t understand how the law or morality and office etiquette works. (Stomps feet on the ground and shakes a baby rattle)

Big lawyer guy from NY office that knows more than you because he is an actual lawyer: Sure, you have freedom of speech but when you’re in the workplace there are other factors to take into consideration…Like how your speech effects the feelings of others. Is it offensive? Is it appropriate?

Me (to myself but pretending I’m the big lawyer man): And you know what is not in the constitution, Mr. dumbass —  may I call you Mr. Dumbass? — is a right to be employed, (Hence the whole, millions of people unemployed thing). [Drops mic]

free speech

Take it from me, a person who isn’t offended THAT easily (unless it’s something sexist, or racist, or anti-Dog Whisperer): No one wants to hear your slightly hateful rhetoric defending the First Amendment. And I get it, because I’m white and privilege is deep ingrained into my psyche as well, that you think you should be able to say WHATEVER your little-man-penis desires but that’s just not the case anymore, sir. You can, however, find hope that Mad Men still has a new season for you to “spank the monkey” too as Don Draper and his cronies use their free speech to degrade every woman they come into contact with. Hey, you could even make it into a drinking game — that seems fun and well-suited to your douchebag dispositions. Enjoy liver failure in ten years! Free speech rocks!

What sort of workplace injustice have you overcome? Was “hugs happen” also a takeaway from your workplace harassment training?

 

Just Don’t Be That Guy

pic1The internet has brought me to this guy and his self appointed Generation Y life expertise and you know what universe? I’m not laughing. He is every guy on Wall Street that gambled away all your money. He’s Ted Cruz fake fillibustering Congress with Cat in the Hat references. He’s Bruce and Kris Jenner rolled into one fantastically unbearable Kristen Wiig as “Gilly” lookalike (next time on the Kardashians: Bruce and Kris go to court to see who wins custody of their hairstyle). His name is Preston and he is a self-prescribed “thinker.”

oprah

Clearly the beginnings of a twerk…

Preston prides himself on being “the ultimate man’s man for Gen Y.”  The 20 Mistakes You Don’t Want to Make in Your 20s would be more properly titled, A List of Stuff I Took From Other Lists of Stuff and Also Some Offensive Stances on Female Dignity. Some other gems from this author include, “The Awful Girls Who Decided To Take Their Shoes Off In Nightclubs” “The Ultimate Prank Combining Beers and Bros,” and my favorite, “Miley Cyrus: The Reason I Never Want to Have a Daughter,” a detailed look into how super successful women like Oprah aren’t seen twerking it because “they have their fun in a ladylike fashion.”

Sure, the list tries to masquerade as an uplifting guide to being a generic person: Build your dreams! Forge your own path! But then this thoughtfully put together list of complete bro-rageous bullshit exposes its author for who he is: a bitter asshole who innately believes women are inferior to men and that being elite is the only option in life, all while presupposing that sacrificing happiness to get ahead is the only actual route to happiness (and let’s face it: he’s probably also not getting any).

Preston douchebag-ism #1: Don’t be in a relationship in your 20s because it makes you complacent and boring. “The last thing you need is to be bogged down by an insecure lover rushing you home.”

I find it so refreshing when someone says AT me: “Whaaaaaaat? You’re too young to be engaged!” It’s such an affirming life statement. So from now on my reply is, “Whaaaaat you’re too old to be alone!” or maybe “But I bet the baby that’s surely growing inside of you is company enough! What’s that? You’re actually not pregnant? Oh, THEN I’M SORRY FOR MAKING A SWEEPING GENERALIZATION ABOUT YOUR LIFE DECISIONS.”

Also, if anyone can force me to get off my ass and stop watching Gilmore Girl reruns it’s Matti. Sure, if I were single I’d get back all that time I waste having safe, intimate sex but this isn’t exactly the type of “bogged down” I have a problem with.

Prestonism #2: “A bad job is like a bitchy gf who gives bad head.” 

Hey Preston, that other article you wrote about how women have made it a long way in the world might be negated by this statement. Thanks for all those new equalities, progress! Now I can go back to giving GOOD head,  you know, the whole reason women were made with mouths (And for gossiping, of course! OBV).

“Your sex life is an investment… Instead of navigating through an ambiguous investment in which you shower your woman with cash and prizes for the mediocre sex provided, deal with a professional as soon as possible…Want a best friend? Buy a puppy. Want great sex? Call an escort.”

Are people I know really doing this? I thought this was only a serious thought in the movie Porky’s. Preston, I know this is hard for you to accept, but women were not solely made for you to have sex with. We can talk and think just like the other humans! Oh and try having sex with a non escort again soon, just take that huge misogynistic stick out of your ass and it may be a bit more enjoyable. Also, you should probably try making a human best friend, dogs tend to forget your birthday and they SUCK at planning parties.

It’s the people like Preston that scare me because they remind me so much of Christian Bale in American Psycho. Sure they’re not all serial killers but they all kinda border on sociopathic. Like who makes not “dating an unstable woman with mommy and daddy issues” a criteria in one’s life, as if that label can accurately characterize any one woman? I suggest learning from Charlie Sheen — stop being so offensively ignorant in public. (Hey, these days, you can even get famous by being smart!)

*If nothing else, I will spend my adult life exposing Prestons for the immature, sexist, secret Charlie Sheen wannabes they really are. And of course making fun of them for my own enjoyment and ultimate comedic benefit…

8 Reasons Why Women Should Do Whatever the Hell they Want

*This post is written entirely in response to this article. You’ve been warned.

Hey ladies, in case you were wondering, you shouldn’t go to college because when you think of it, you really don’t need to go to college to be an amazing mother or a loving and subservient wife. And oh yeah, that’s all you were meant to do in this world! What’s that? You’ve always dreamed of becoming a doctor and saving lives? Sorry, that’s why God made men, you silly woman! You know those people with magical penises that allow them to enter into any vocation they so choose? Yeah, they’ll cover the whole life-saving, dream following thing. Now go iron your husbands’ pants and plan out the family meals for the week you kindhearted nurturer!

That was the takeaway message from a recent article my wonderful future mother-in-law sent my way: “6 Reasons to NOT send your daughter to College.” Charming, huh?  I thought I had lost the ability to be shocked by misogynistic ramblings. Apparently I can still be shocked. And apparently it’s still acceptable to use religion as a means to subjugate women. It seems as if the author of this piece has learned nothing from Pope Francis’ recent pleas for humanity.

So, I thought, if those beliefs are out there, preying on innocent minds, why not give voice to the rest of us idiots living in “near occasions of sin”:

“College and education have very little to do with each other…Today, anyone can learn anything they want with the vast library system across the country and with the easy access of the internet.”

Exactly! If only this argument was around when my adviser informed me I still needed to complete my US History requirement senior year. But for reals you guys, I’ve learned much more from the comment section on ANY Youtube video than I EVER did in my Liberalism and Marxism class. Screw critical understanding of the political landscape of the last century, that cat playing with that monkey is ADORABLELY SMART. Also, do you guys wanna go to the public library with me and just really learn the hell out of everything?

“College may be necessary for the provider of a family depending on the vocation God is calling them to or for those who are called to the Priesthood, both of which are intended for men.”

You know what I want in my God? I want my God to choose who can serve him and spread his word. I mean, that’s pretty much the MAIN lesson I got out of Sunday School all of those years — that God is SUPER picky about who he wants to live and spread his message. Wait, hold on, that’s not right…

eve“…the day-to-day grind of a job is below the dignity of women… it’s like being a hired hand, as result of the fall and the penalty for original sin… But the penalty for the woman as a result of the fall was pain in childbirth, not to work.”

HOLD UP A MINUTE. You’re telling me we could have had babies pain free if we didn’t listen to that damn snake?

 

“Keeping a home, being a loving wife, and being a nurturing mother are of immeasurable dignity to a woman and not something to be farmed out to servants.  The feminist world has twisted this so that a job (career) appears elevated, and homemaking is denigrated.”

That’s SO weird, I was under the impression that an entire society founded on patriarchal order and an overvaluing of masculine qualities was the reason femininity  and domesticity were undervalued. You’re telling me homemaking was valued until us idiot women started getting jobs? You’ve GOT to be kidding me! And as a former nanny, thank you SO MUCH for that servant metaphor. Here I was using my inherently nurturing qualities to save some extra cash for my future family and all the while I could have been focusing my subservient energies on nurturing my man’s dreams!

It’s also so refreshing to hear this argument against feminism. I mean, I’ve never met a feminist that hasn’t threatened to kill me for wanting to be a mother some day. Do feminist mothers even exist? Probably not, because they’re too busy giving birth control pills to little kids! Amiright?!

“The indoctrination of the feminist culture and the practicing of a sexually promiscuous lifestyle severely cloud, practically blind that good judgment…Not having a degree frees her to enter into a marriage with proper roles in which her husband will provide for her and their children.  Christian marriage by definition does place her in a submissive role to her husband, but no one forces anyone to marry anyone.  She should go to the altar with full knowledge of what she’s entering into.”

“Often the reason for a girl going to college is the pressure of the society around her, including her parents.

First off, I’m just gonna say it, okay? Every feminist I’ve ever tried to have a conversation with has cut me off mid way to go have sex with someone. Promiscuity is just in their nature. It’s why they came to college — not to learn how to accurately maintain self-confidence in a male-dominated world, or how to articulate her beliefs in an educated manner. Feminists came to college to get laid, let’s just face it. They’re strung out on 60’s free love and they want to spread it around like Herpes!

sandwich godIf society would just stop putting all this pressure on us to follow our dreams and “get educated” through completing a college degree we’d finally be free to serve our man and start popping out babies after middle school like God intended (It’s when we get our girly period time, right?!). And man, sign me up for that Christian marriage thing — I’ve been looking for a good submissive role to sink my teeth into for months now! What’s that thing that Luke said again? Oh right: “So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.” Certain situations, of course, are excluded from this teaching. Such as a tired man who just got home from work and REALLY needs his wife, who also worked all day raising his children, to make him a sandwich. (And God said, if you want him to put a ring on it, you must make him 300 sandwiches).

“Is a degree worth the loss of your daughter’s purity, dignity, and soul?”

SHIT. I knew all that weight I lost since college was a cop out — It was just my heavy sole leaving my loose, slutty body!

“Once she becomes sexually active with him, she releases hormones that mask his faults, and she remains in a dreamy state about him.  We can see why God would arrange things in such a way so that when in a proper state of holy matrimony, she would be less sensitive to his faults and thereby less tempted to be critical of him.”

This is some real scientific stuff here. I just don’t understand why I get so pissed when Matti plays with his hair if we’re having sex regularly. Are we not doing it right? Is there a way to make yourself emit more of this  “dreamy” hormone?!? Is it available in stores?

“..more and more women are coming forward to tell their stories of regret for having by-passed the more meaningful things in life to opt for the approval of feminists who cared nothing more about them than being statistics to reinforce their agenda.”

It’s true — every feminist I’ve ever come across is always so obsessed with her agenda. This agenda, that agenda — enough ladies, we get it, you’re on your period! I’ve certainly never met a feminist who wept for victims of rape, who bravely placed herself on display for the world to hear, to criticize and to learn from. I’ve also never met thousands of women who struggled against adversity to push the simple message of sexual equality to the forefront. Personally, I’ve never cried after desperately trying to explain to male friends that being a feminist didn’t mean I hated all men and all mothers.

Excuse me now while I go use the promiscuous skills I learned in college to seduce a married men out of going to church with his family.

Ways to Make Interacting Always Feel Awkward

"So I just hit reply all, because you know, screw him."

“So I just hit reply all, because you know, screw him.”

It’s Tuesday after a long weekend and you’re about to see a lot of people that are going to throw a lot of small, itty-bitty, pocket-sized talk your way. If you’re one of those lucky people that gets to spend your entire day with a bunch of sort of strangers in cubicles, rushing past you, stopping to waste your time, or not stopping to waste your time when you want them too, then you know what I’m talking about. If you happen to woman the front desk, then you really feel me.

I’ve began to categorize these people, these chit-chatters, or stare-at-the-ceiling passersby. I was lost playing the character of Jane Goodall in Office Chimps–the television series I have invented in my head–when I hypothesized that there were quite a few species of office talkers or non-talkers. Here are a few:

office-internet-down-workplace-ecards-someecardsThe sideways smile: This person isn’t completely sure of their place — like, in the world. Upon closer look of the sideways smiler approaching the front desk, you will see the indecisive nature of his stride, and the insecure anticipation oozing out of eyes that never really meet your gaze: “Will she look at me back?” He thinks. Or, “Am I sure I zipped my fly back up?” The key is that this person will never actually say a word to you, because then, their identity as a low key, has-something-better-to-do lone wolf will be meaningless.

The Walking By One-Liner: This could be a simple “How’s it going?” or “Good morning.” A key characteristic of this species is lacking original thought. They also are seemingly unable to stop walking. It’s as if they are floating on a work cloud that disallows them from ever not being in motion — unless it’s work related. Some types of One Liners are also known to do a “drive by” work assessment. Like, “Hey, get back to work!” or “Is that work related?” The one liner attempts to be cool in his drive by judging, but in reality he is thinking of all the ways in which he works harder than you. Also his job is more important — you’re just the angel that ordered the chocolate Mousse cake for this month’s birthday party in the break room.

"And I said to him, not bald. SHAVED head."

“And I said to him, not bald. SHAVED head.”
Photo Credit: Forbes.com

The lingerer: It’s an awkward job but someone has to stand by your desk uninvited for twenty minutes and confess he is “secretly” into restoring old cars. He just wants to get to know you, and your dietary restrictions. He’ll say things like “You’re vegan? No wonder your so trim.” And obviously, these comments are important to hear and always welcome, but it’s the remaining five minutes of summing up the conversation and shifting from left foot to right foot that makes it uncomfortably unmanageable. By the third “allllrighttt well…” you’re already about seven minutes past the time I’ve allotted in my mind for this conversation to begin, progress, finish, and wrap up again.

What I actually enjoy are the people that come up to you and ask a genuine question, like it’s actually conceivable they have remembered your name. I’ll also take a hardcore, eye smile because good for you. And I accept solid eye contact with a smile as a positive and meaningful exchange. You don’t necessarily have to come up to my desk and compliment me on my new shoes to win my affections, although that is always welcomed. On the flip side, why ask me how I’m doing if you’re not going to wait for the answer? I think I’m getting this office thing down.

How do you interact at work? Is working from home the dream I imagine it to be?

Have you guys been hanging out without me?

I have officially relegated ya’ll to second cousin I don’t keep in touch with status and I’ve had enough. (I’m beginning to think my digestive system is punishing me for not posting in the form of it no longer working.)

work ecardI got a job, everyone. I started on Monday and deciding what to wear each day has felt like one of those choose your own adventure dates where I ultimately will end up wearing a short skirt in a trampoline factory with my laundry day panties on.

The problem is I hadn’t stepped in the office yet to observe the casual dress cues, the dos and don’ts, the don’t-ever-wear-as-much-cheetah-print-as-Susan-from-Finance-has-on warning. I was interviewed through the interwebs, with two people that work in the New York headquarters, not even the Austin office. The women’s top half, from what I could tell, was dressed with a simple peach/beige button up shirt, presumably from Banana Republic or Ann Taylor. I would have to start becoming okay with shopping at the Loft. I could do this. I was a shopper at heart, anyways.

It was also just a few weeks ago when I realized it was no longer appropriate for me, as a 24 year old, to shop at Forever 21. This was a tough call to make — I had just bought a super cute Mexican inspired high-low skirt and was wearing it doing errands when I was stopped by an eleven-year-old girl who asked me where I got such a cute skirt. Instead of acknowledging the compliment, I stopped, as if  I was tapped by a five year old playing freeze tag, and hoped she’d move on to mortify the next 24 year old dressed like a preteen, who might not take it as such a vitriolic personal attack.

But before the whole I-got-a-job-and-the-world-is-right-again attitude, I had a few breakdowns. Hence the not posting for two weeks. The last two weeks can be characterized by images of Matti playing me the song “True Colors” and “Hakuna Matata” while I watch Extreme Makeover Weight Loss Edition, and by me buying eight of the same Banana Republic cardigans in different colors and trying on twelve different variations of the same outfit for my first day of work like I was trying out for the lead part in Working Girl 2. There would also be a picture of me shamefully discovering and subsequently, devouring the reality show Below Deck with Matti in the background cupping his face in his hands defeatedly because he’d rather read Murakami while listening to Joni Mitchell than watch most television programming (hands off, ladies).

So it seems I had been out of the game too long. And by game I mean getting dressed and leaving the house. Monday would be interesting. And it was. Mainly in the sense that I didn’t ruin everything I touched. Oh, and being an Office Coordinator AKA Pam Beasley (more glamorous) is nothing like being an After school Director — it seems that children need more directing and coordinating than adults. Also, childcare employees need to get paid more like a billion yesterdays ago. Basically, I spent most the of the first day amazed at the socially accepted practice of writing an email message solely using the subject line. Come to the front office for your package, you animals!

oh, and I also learned this

oh, and I also learned this

I think I’m gonna really jazz the place up and hopefully get some of those “health benefits” I’ve heard so much about over the years. I feel a little rusty, but the Leslie Knope inside of me cannot be silenced–but If I don’t witness some serious office hijinks soon I’m gonna be so pissed.

Yeah Write…it feels so good. 

“Don’t get anxious but…”

Was the preface to a story Matti told me the other day that got me thinking about how my boisterous little companion affects my everyday life. Obviously, one of the funnest things in the world is being a person with anxiety (said no one, ever). The best part about anxiety is the surprise factor, it’s so fun and unpredictable! Take for instance, bringing Tengo to Petsmart to get food:

Me: “Come on, Tengo, I’m supposed to be getting my period soon, my legs feel like I spent the last week in an uncertified trapeze training class and I’m trying awfully hard to retain my calm, assertive pack leader energy. I need to make The Dog Whisperer proud, damn it! Stop getting so excited! You’ve seen dogs before!”

If any of you know who Maria Bamford is, at the moment, I’m trying my best to to manipulate my voice into calmness. Homegirl can throw her voice like no one I’ve ever heard.

one-of-my-favorite-comedians-maria-bamford

Tengo’s tail is pinwheeling and he has his eye on the German Shepherd puppy approaching the store. As I take three deep breathes, he lunges for the dog, clearly sensing my impending menstruation and intuiting it as weakness.

“HEY! SIT!” Cesar Millan urges us to find a sound that reaches our dog like his “shhh” so mine is “HEY!” It’s more embarrassing for me then attention-grabbing for Tengo. At this point instead of projecting calm and assertive energy, I’m laser-beaming it out through my eyes. Cesar would tell me to envision the result. I’m envisioning the result. Tengo is now running in circles. I’M ENVISIONING THE DAMN RESULT. I’M ENVISIONING TENGO NOT BEING SUCH A FUCKING DOUCHE BAG.

“I SAID SITTTTTTTTTTTT!” At this point, calm is not happening, especially not for someone with anxiety that hasn’t been on medication for years and that counts being a recluse as a valid reaction to societal pressures.

We are now in Petsmart — I refuse to back down, he needs to be fed and I’m not getting the puppy police called on me for leaving Tengo in the car in 150 degree heat. We make our way to the food aisle, Tengo is thankfully submissive, his tail is lowered like we practiced, and I’m confident I have shaken my negative energy off at the door. Tengo has other plans. As he sniffs some plush toys in the middle of the main aisle, he lifts his leg up and starts pissing like a drunk guy in an alley way. Everywhere. On my feet and ankles.

cesar“Are you ffffffffffffff-kidding me!” I start to beg Tengo, “Please, please stop being such an asshole. I even picked you out chicken treats, how could you do this to me?” His face is how I imagine Anthony Weiner’s to be when looking at his wife.

The worst part about all of this is the employee’s acceptance of my dog’s inability to understand  my feelings.

“Oh, it’s okay! It happens all the time! He’s just soo excited” Says Carol, from dog grooming. You’re not fooling me Carol, I can sense you only got this job after you retired and realized spending time with pups was easier than being around your husband all day.

Really Carol, is it okay? So will you come to the vintage furniture store that Tengo shit in and explain that to them, too? Actually, matter of fact, come to the park with me too and tell everyone it’s okay as I start screaming his name to come but he’s too busy humping the other dogs.

Anxiety: 1 Aly: 0

Matti and I are driving to the supermarket when we park and the plans for the night are brought up, specifically, the lack of there being any plans.

peanutsparade-18

You always get me, Charlie

Me: “I CAN’T HANDLE THIS WHY AREN’T YOU COMMUNICATING BETTER I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE LET ME OUT.” I get out of the car, walk two cars down, and walk back to the car and get inside.

Me: “I HATE THE GROCERY STORE. I DON’T WANT TO GO IN. I DON’T HAVE ANY MONEY. YOU’RE JUST GONNA GET FROZEN CHEESE PIZZA AND I CAN’T HAVE ANY BUT YOU’LL GET IT ANYWAY AND I’LL EAT IT AND THEN I’LL BE DEPRESSED AND BLOATED WITH THE RUNS FOR THE NEXT WEEK.”

(Matti sits there calmly like a good fiancée who works as an intake specialist with mentally unstable people every day would.)

Me: AHHHH BUT I’M SO HUNGRY. WHY ARE YOU STILL IN HERE!? WHAT ARE WE EVEN DOING TONIGHT? HAVE WE FIGURED OUT A PLACE.?GAHHHH I CAN’T HANDLE THIS PRESSURE. (Starts sobbing while thinking about how good frozen cheese pizza would be right now.)

Anxiety: 2 Aly: 0

Tune in next time to see how I dealt with unexpected car trouble! Spoiler alert: Car seats survive after being assaulted by upper leg sweat!

How do you deal with life’s little surprises?