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  • What if Caitlyn Jenner Became the Anti-Kardashian?

    I am not proud to admit this, but Facebook is my news. It’s where I get alerted to the conversations of the public lexicon. Without my friends telling me what to pay attention to, I tend to stare deep into the abyss of my navel as if my consciousness is eating it’s own tail.

    I have been so wrapped up in a state of manic narcissism mixed with workaholic frenzy that I seriously have no idea what is going on in the world. I get broad strokes of what’s happening – people are still racist as fuck, the prison industrial complex is alive and well, and WW3 might happen tomorrow, but it might not.

    So admittedly, I am behind in my ability to be interesting at a cocktail party, unless you think queef jokes are funny, in which case, I am a blast. Get it?

    With the Caitlyn Jenner story, I get how revolutionary this is for culture. I don’t question the vast social impact it has for the transgender community, and how Caitlyn has ignited a national conversation of vast importance. Yet during a late night stoned conversation, my friend made a point that I just can’t let go of. She said, “It’s not that interesting to me that Bruce Jenner decided to become a woman. I can understand how one would dis-identify with their gender. What I find most compelling is the kind of woman he chose to become.”

    Okay granted, I was pretty high, but I was like “holy shit.” Caitlyn is very much like a Kardashian in her physical presentation – the body type, attention towards fashion, the excessive make up. There is a “Real Housewives of Where Ever the fuck,” vibe. These fancy rich women who hold onto beauty standards, glorification of youth, and will go to vast extremes to maintain a certain look.

    Sure it’s fun to get dressed up, look sexy, and play around with clothes and lipstick. There is nothing wrong with that. Yet when the exterior of your feminine form comes to define your interior, it does make me take pause. I wish being feminine wasn’t about looking feminine, but rather glorifying empathy, nurturing, emotional expression and all these other “feminine traits.”

    The female experience is so much deeper than the packaged façade the media insists it is. The cultural pressure to wax, pluck, tuck, and preen our bodies into smooth Barbie body parts has nothing to do with what it actually means to be a woman. Part of me wishes that the kind of woman Caitlyn became was a super feminist hippy earth mother goddess. That she wore flowing organic fabrics, challenged all convention, and wanted to blast open the patriarchy.

    Now that she has her TV show, what if Caitlyn became the anti-Kardashian? What if she rejected the commercialized approach to reality TV and created a whole new approach that was rooted in rawness and truth? Wouldn’t it be cool if she was like the ultimate Mother Gaia incarnate who was able to embody the true harmony of the masculine and feminine energies?

    Okay fine that’s a lot of pressure on one person, but if we are going to obliterate gender, that would be a kind of bad ass start.

    caitlyn-blog-(i)

    July 27, 2015 • Current Events, Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 1133

  • If Straight Dudes Ran the Fashion World We Would Solve So Many Problems

    Do you know how much money women spend annually on clothes? 750 billion dollars! To put that in perspective, ending extreme poverty worldwide would cost 175 billion dollars per year. We could literally solve most of the world’s problems with the kind of money that ladies throw down on bags, skinny jeans, and high heels that make your butt look like a cat in heat.

    Here’s the thing. It’s not our fault that we feel pressure to look good. Most of us are conditioned to care about beauty from childhood. Society values you more when you fit into the Barbie mold. There are impossible beauty standards that insist that if your thighs touch, you might as well drown yourself in menstrual blood.

    Of course it’s hard to ignore the influence of every magazine telling you that your wrists are too chunky. Shopping is a way to gain control within this arena because if my scalp isn’t soft enough, at least this skirt is short. I’ll take two please! Unless you live on an off the grid yurt, chances are you see multiple advertisements a day reminding you of all the stuff you need to be anyone else but you. But these pervasive and relentless ads are intentionally designed to manipulate us!

    The father of modern PR and propaganda, Edward Bernays, was actually the nephew of none other than Sigmund Freud. Through his guidance, the world of advertising embraced the effort to influence the masses into the concept of false need. Bernays’s prevailing philosophy was that through mass production, big business could fulfill the endless desires of society. He believed he could tap into the existential hole we all have, penetrate it with material objects, pump in and out with his throbbing knowledge that we all feel incomplete, and then erupt his man juices into the deep abyss of insecurity that we aren’t good enough.

    Bernays was well aware of the workings of the inner mind and how so many of us struggle with matters of identity, self-love, and acceptance. He knew that by reminding us of this deeply inbred doubt, we would feel confused and empty. We would look to material objects to save us from ourselves. “I have to buy these wedge shoes with matching clutch; this is the only way someone will ever love me!”

    Of course you don’t want to go around looking like a frat boy’s diarrhea after a night of binge drinking, but dressing nice doesn’t mean we have to spend thousands of dollars a year on clothes. And if it’s men you are trying to look good for, then you are totally wasting your time buying into every trend. The notion that fashion actually matters to the guys we are trying to impress is about as absurd as drinking champagne out of your fishnet stockings.

    Guys don’t care about your bracelet matching the inner lining of your raincoat. They care about your warm gooey hole and if you’re going to allow their penis in there. If heterosexual dudes and bros ran the fashion world, women would realize that all they need to look good is a t – shirt with holes cut out around the tits. Then we could save all that money for things that really matter like feeding the hungry, and weed.

    Check out this Video to see how dudes like Gavin McInnes would dress you if they ran fashion!

    April 22, 2015 • Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 2702

  • Is Your Vagina A Dictator of Love?

    Well it’s official. I think every one of my friends believes that I live inside a giant gaping vulva. The impression seems to be that my house is in fact the folds and billows of a massive pink vagina that I deliver myself out of every morning – covered in birth cheese. In truth, at this exact moment half my body is still inside my uterine abode, because it is just so warm and gooey in there!

    Otherwise how can it be explained that not one, not two, but four people sent me this article entitled “The Pussy Test: How to Tell If You Are With The Right Partner.”

    The author suggests that in order to tell if your relationship is truly working, you should be able to ask your partner to “sit comfortably between your legs and explore your pussy. I mean really look and touch you sweetly and slowly and take her or his time. Ask her or him to take a look around, spread your pussy open, slip her or his finger up and down and around. Not in just yet. Have her or him massage your outer lips and pull back the hood of your clit and admire you.”

    The author’s rational is that a woman’s lotus flower is an often under appreciated organ, and it should be revered as the magical blossom it is. She also suggests that if you do not feel able to ask your sexual partner to bask in the glory of your yoni, then you are probably with the wrong person.

    “If you don’t feel comfortable asking the person you’re with to do that, you have to question your relationship with your body and your sexuality. If that relationship is in question, if you’re not whole in that way, how can you be expecting to find a relationship with another human that’s whole?”

    Now here is my question. How can I intellectually agree with something so wholeheartedly, yet have ZERO interest in doing this in my life EVER…. with anyone.

    I feel my disinterest in this ritual has nothing to do with my feelings about my body, or the kind soul trying to penetrate it, but rather there are so many other things I would rather do with my time. Maybe my problem is that I know my body too well? I am pretty much a two pump chump… meaning it doesn’t’ take that much to get me off. So why not do something else with my afternoon like say, read about the prison industrial complex.

    Although I support this effort philosophically, I also am not convinced that it is the only barometer of love for the other, or the self. Feeling comfortable doesn’t mean you yearn to be probed like an alien abductee. Although the quest to glorify all things pussy related is a righteous one – I don’t think the kitty between your thighs is the exclusive decider of your ideal committed relationship. Maybe your perfect partner unloads the dishwasher and does their own laundry?

    Sexuality is complicated, fleeting, hypocritical, finicky, and temperamental – especially for women! We have our monthly moon cycles to contend with. There are a lot of things I would be down for when ovulating – but then a few days later all I want is to watch Netflix and eat brownie batter. That is just the way it is. There are ebbs and flows to desire, and a variety of factors that influence it. Not every person that you would want to gaze inside your love gorge is someone you want to hang out with at Home Depot.

    So by all means – engage in this ceremony if it speaks to you, but I would also suggest the Bed Bath and Beyond test.

    (Maybe this is all you want? Some modern romance!)

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    February 23, 2015 • Current Events, Health, Musings, Relationships, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 2358

  • My Beauty Routine

    Wait… did you guys hear? Cindy Crawford actually got older over the past 20 years.  HOW DARE SHE, THAT WENCH! Her un-retouched non-photoshopped pictures have surfaced, and no one knows what to think or do about Cindy actually allowing age to happen.  Lord save us from this confusion – can Cindy still be attractive and allow the laws of nature?!!

    What makes someone beautiful? Is it the symmetry of their face? Contours and angles aligning in flawless sacred geometry that would make Fibonacci weep from the mathematical precision? Or is it a really good beauty routine where you clip, inject, buffer, vacuum, shine, wax, sheen, and preen your various lady parts?

    As a woman, I’m supposed to be up on being attractive rituals, because you know… looking good is my value to society and all. I only have a few years left of meaning in my life before I wither away into total insignificance by allowing myself to admit mortality. GROSS! YUCK! NEVER!

    Here’s my problem: my ceremonial, getting myself looking the best I can sacraments are pretty subpar -almost to the point of pathetic. My mom is always trying to inspire me to participate in self-care observances and will say things like, “Toni, don’t squander your looks. Here is a Clarisonic for you to exfoliate with.” She’ll then hand me an electric broom for my face. I am sure this apparatus is great and I would see positive results if I pressed its bristles against my skin to sweep away pesky skill cells, but I can barely motivate myself to brush my teeth let alone my cheeks.

    Yet I have to say, my mom does look amazing. To be honest, she is a great example of what is possible if you were to say… DRINK THE BLOOD OF VIRGINS TO KEEP YOUNG?!! (Seriously, my mom looks crazy good and is obviously a murderous vampire who will probably someday eat my child). To keep up with appearances, my mom pretends her girlish glow is because of a commitment to her procedures, hence gentle suggestions like “don’t use dish soap as shampoo.” (Ummm pretty sure they all have suds Mom so what-ev-er).

    When I think about all the “chick” things I am supposed to do to be hot, I want to impale myself with ironic bang-cutting scissors. Half of the things that are expected of me are actual torture. I cannot do manicures. The sound of someone filing my nails is like CIA style cruelty. I mean, the government would probably make me get a “mani-pedi” naked while shoving assorted tahini flavored products up my ass, but the nail filing is what would push me over the edge. Even the thought of that sound makes my brain itch.

    Then I’m supposed to rip hair out my body at an alarming speed with steaming hot bee diarrhea? Shaving my legs once a season isn’t enough? I can’t let my armpit hair fluctuate between blowing in the wind and an army buzz cut? And stop wondering what is going on with my vagina, you pervert!

    Women who have the money then cut off body parts, suck some out, and then stuff the others with various toxic materials. The plastic surgery options one can get to improve imperfections range from a tucking your twatt into the shape of an om, to puffing up your mouth with collagen. Call me old fashioned, but maybe all four of your lips would be just fine if you left them alone.

    I also find the uniform of sexiness exceedingly uncomfortable. First, it is suggested I separate my butt cheeks with a lacy fabric. Maybe it is just me, but flossing my ass is even more irritating than my teeth (and my gums bleed every time I do that). Then I am supposed to press, lift, and smash my tits into an underwire bra. No no no, that cozy sports bra won’t do, because then I have a “uni-boob” which is even worse then a uni-brow. I circumvent this whole where-do-I-place-my-funbags situation by wearing a nursing bra. It may be conventionally unattractive, but at least it’s easy access.

    Don’t even get me started on skinny jeans and buttons. It’s like a corset for my abdomen to make sure I don’t eat anything on the rare occasion I need to sit down. Don’t worry about me everyone. I will just wear these tight pants, stand, and maybe have a sip of water. If you throw some heels into the mix then forget it – I am not going anywhere. I will literally be where you last left me because I cannot walk. Come to think of it, in the right outfit I am the perfect woman. I will keep my silly thoughts and opinions all to myself because I wont be able to talk simply because of the level of concentration it requires for me to cope with excessive hunger, stay balanced on stilts, and make sure my mascara doesn’t run from tears of pain.

    So I decided to record my beauty routine for one week, to see where I am at. In all honestly – is there any hope for me?

    Saturday: Take shower because seeing friends that evening. Wash face with random bar of soap stuck to the floor from my child molding it into a snowman. There is no hair conditioner; sooo whoops I have to buy that. Put Vitamin E oil on my forehead because I keep making faces and expressing emotion – further deepening wrinkles. Note to self, no more getting surprised. Also, smile less. Put on leggings, t-shirt, no bra, and sweatshirt… now I am ready to be around people.

    Sunday: Wake up wearing leggings, t-shirt, no bra and sweatshirt. I am already dressed because I slept in yesterday’s clothes. Morning routine accomplished. That night I brush teeth, and floss back right molar because a piece of kale is stuck there. Sleep in clothes.

    Monday: It’s a workday, so I change t-shirt. Gotta keep it classy. Keep leggings and sweatshirt going, but its cold so put pair of loose leggings over the other leggings. Morning completed. That night I forget to brush teeth.

    Tuesday: Swap leggings for another pair of leggings. The rest can stay. That night I brush my teeth because I am an adult and it’s been 24 hours.

    Wed: Wake up dressed and ready to go! Add nursing bra because it’s that kinda day. Night: brush teeth.

    Thursday: Change clothes to a NEW pair of leggings, a NEW T-shirt, but the same bra and sweatshirt. Put on hat because it’s cold – and my hair is dirty. Night: brush teeth.

    Friday: Wake up dressed. Nice. Night: Realize it has been 6 days since water has touched any part of my body besides my hands. Debate washing face. Write a note to myself to remind myself to wash my face more. Have a friend over, and tell her about my not washing my face. I wonder out loud if this strategy will hurt my goal to eliminate wrinkles, or aid it. Maybe it is all the face products that give you wrinkles in the first place? My friend informs me that none of her research has ever suggested to not wash face. After she leaves I spend too much time on Facebook looking at videos about aliens. Forget to wash face and brush teeth.

    Saturday: Take shower and wash face with same soap – but now it’s shaped like a deformed penis. Fuck… still no conditioner.

    (Check out my mom… tell me she is not killing it at 63! PS, that is my dad with her.)

    beauty-regime-blog-(i)

    February 16, 2015 • Health, Musings, Women's Business • Views: 1536

  • It Turns Out Women Are Just as Perverted as Men!

    Life if full of contradictions. We need the sun for vitamin D, but too much sun can cause cancer. Sunscreen might help prevent skin cancer, but it also might cause cancer from all the fucked up chemicals in it. Nothing is exactly how it seems. The universe is a hazy shade of grey.

    Perhaps… 50 shades of it?

    Sorry… I had to go there.

    The media’s portrayal of female sexuality remains a great paradoxes. We are told we can sleep with guys, yet not too many guys, but as many guys as we want as long as we “lean in” while being a “Tiger Mom” who lost all our baby weight! I read a lot about women and their lady parts because you know… I have a vagina, and get my period, and gross!!!

    I recently came across this article on Jezebel, where the author tricked her boyfriend into seeing a German movie called “Wetlands.” If you know anything about German movies that involve sex, you know that shit is going to get weird real fast. The movie narrative (based off a book) uses flashbacks to tell the story, because the main character, Helen, is stuck in the hospital from cutting her ass open while shaving around her hemorrhoids. A common mistake! The Jezebel author describes Helen as “sexually empowered” and “knowing what she wants” – which involves rubbing her gaping genitals on a toilet seat covered in feces, shoving an avocado up her twatt, and my personal favorite “putting the shower head inside herself and filling her vagina with water until she feels like she’ll burst. Then she pushes until the entire thing feels like it’s going to fall out.”

    Now call me old fashioned, but seriously WTF????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

    As a feminist I am supposed to clap my chubby little hands at all things women do to express their deepest desires. Yet I am pretty sure that if this story were about a man I would have just as many questions. Mainly, were you hugged enough as a kid?

    I am happy that women’s sexuality is being depicted as complex. This is progress. You wouldn’t have seen this film or read the novel in the fifties (although it would have made for a pretty epic “Leave it To Beaver” episode). Truth be told, this type of sexual behavior makes me want to hurl. Not because I am some prude who thinks they shouldn’t do it…. BUT HOLY HELL DOESN’T THAT HURT AND ISN’T THAT DANGEROUS??!!

    This is my question: when people’s sexual identities are so intense, doesn’t that border on obsession? Sex is cool and all and should be a priority, but it takes a lot of time to shove a variety of vegetables inside your body. Time that could be spent learning how to farm organically, or petitioning politicians to stop Fracking. Isn’t there a balance between getting freaky like how Helen “fingers her ass until her fingers are brown with butt sleaze,” and not having your sexual preferences take over your life? Is this really a depiction of what “sexual empowerment” looks like? It just seems to me that when people have such vastly extreme tastes, that maybe they are working out something that is much deeper that what can be achieved through aggressive masturbation.

    Sex is just as addictive as any drug, and just as powerful of a distraction from facing reality. Society is struggling with vast terrifying predicaments and like sex and pornography are a few of the key ways grown-ups check out from dealing emotionally with our lives.

    Of course this logic applies to TV, smoking pot, or watching sleepy cat videos on Youtube – soooo cute!!!!! We all run from the responsibility of figuring out how to revolt from the 1% Lizard-People elite who control the planet and will soon be using our blood to fuel for their rocket ship to Mars after this planet has been destroyed by their greed. Yet the more we spend our time jerking off, the more we are not participating positively to the collective effort to better the world for the future.

    I’m glad people are finally waking up to the fact that women can be just as perverted as men. That said, I don’t jump up and down every time I hear about a guy wanting to a martini glass full of a women’s shit; I also won’t be moved to hear about a chick eating a semen covered pizza. Perhaps if the dude was having his diarrhea cocktail while presenting his plan to end sex trafficking at the United Nations, or the woman was munching on her delicious treat up in a tree in the rainforest to protest the degeneration of our most precious source of oxygen, then I would want to know all about it!

    (I mean I guess wiping your menses on your face is a good idea?)

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    January 7, 2015 • Current Events, Musings, Sex Stuff, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 6650

  • Losing My Virginity

    I am not sure why I feel compelled to tell this story. Maybe because I spent an ample amount of time watching Madonna videos with my child over the weekend? By the way, if you ever want to challenge yourself intellectually, try watching “Like a Prayer” with a four-year old who expects you to explain the symbolism of making out with a black Jesus statue that cries blood.

    When we got to “Like A Virgin,” and I watched as Madonna writhed around Venice with a lion, I began to think back to my own virginity. Where had that pesky thing gone, and could I get it back for this networking party I am going to?

    Virginity is sacred. I say that not from a religious or moral perspective, but rather an observation of its impermanence. There is innocence to virginity because you are protected from the absurdity of mashing your genitals against another person. Although at times if can be hard to appreciate, it is still something to maintain and cultivate like a bed of flowers – even if you want someone to garden with. Virginity deserves to be cherished. Once you start having sex, you never stop. Everything after it is colored with a different context. A kiss no longer begs the question of if it will lead to sex – but when. That is the main reason to hold to your virginity is once you let go, it never comes back.

    Fly little virginity bird… fly far far away!

    We all have our “losing our virginity” stories…. This just happens to me mine.

    I was in the 8th grade, and one of my best friend’s was the “bad boy” of our class – so obviously I was into him. By the way… I went to a really preppy school, so being “bad” meant he took French instead of Latin. One day we were on the phone talking about sex while I was doing my math homework.

    Toni: What is the big deal? I don’t get it. Anyway… do you know what 30% of the square root of whatever is?
    The Boy: I don’t know… Hey, so maybe we should just do it and find out what it’s all about?
    Toni: Okay fine.

    I actually didn’t really care what it was all about, or what the big deal was. I had never even kissed a boy except once while playing “truth or dare.” It wasn’t the worst thing ever, but I also found that experience to be less enjoyable than eating skittles. I guess I was curious about sex… but I think my real motivation was that I was bored.

    The Boy came over while my parents were at the movies. He brought some weed and condoms even though I am pretty sure neither of us had any STDs, nor had I even gotten my period yet. We smoked a joint, and reality melted in that unique way that it does when you get high at 14.

    We went over to my bunk bed, and he went down on me. It lasted for about an hour, and I know that because I was looking at this pink radio clock next to my head. It would play “Here Comes The Sun” to wake me up, and I remember thinking how that song was probably my least favorite of Beatles – except for Revolution! That one really sucks. I didn’t hate what The Boy was doing, but I also wasn’t really paying attention. I knew it was a nice gesture though.

    Eventually I got up, and we sat next to each other wondering what to do next. We talked a little bit about how our English teacher was an asshole, and how science class would be okay if we dissected more stuff. We then decided that They Boy should take off his pants. Now, I had never seen a penis besides my brother’s when we were kids in the bath, so I didn’t understand why The Boy’s was pointing upwards rather than hanging down. I asked The Boy “Why is your penis floating like that?” and he looked at me REALLY confused.

    You guys this was the 90-s!! There was no easy access to porn! I had never seen an erection before!!! The only adult nudity I had ever been exposed to was my grandfather’s Playboys – and those were all naked girls. I had heard of boners before, but I didn’t really know what it meant in the flesh.

    After staring at his suspended penis for a while, we then discussed the concept of my giving him a blowjob – which also needed an explanation. I felt this was a fair trade considering The Boy’s previous effort, but I was also tentative about actually putting a penis in my mouth.

    Toni: But you pee out of there?

    I then had the amazing idea of going down stairs to get coffee ice cream to put on his penis so it would taste better. I guess had a lot to learn about the laws of physics, and the effects of cold on tissue… but I was right about the ice cream tasting delicious.

    We then had sex. At least we both thought we did. At one point he told me to turn around so we could try doggy style. I still had braces on my teeth.

    We then swore each other to secrecy and went back to being friends. I feel lucky that I happened to have a partner who was not only kind, but also prioritized my taste buds over his shrinkage. Even though we were both WAYYYYY to young to be having sex, at least he spoke French.

    (Here is my braces clad 8th grade self)

    virginity-blog-(i)

    November 10, 2014 • Musings, Old School Stories, Relationships, Sex Stuff, Vagina Stuff • Views: 2668

  • Feminism in Not A Plot Against Penises

    If you have a vulva, you not only have to learn the ins and outs of tampon usage, but you are also expected to stand on one side of the feminism fence or the other. You cannot straddle the middle – that would be not only unladylike, but also quite uncomfortable. Yet is perpetuating the idea of feminism helpful, or just further creating a chasm in the gender divide?

    While the majority of women promoting a feminist agenda are not man-hating amazons frothing at the mouth to castrate males with their teeth, this remains the dominant stereotype. Men’s Rights activists are the fastest growing civil rights group in the western world, and are gaining many women supporters along the way. Recently a campaign was launched promoting women who don’t believe they need feminism, which was followed up by a Tumbler blog where kitty cats agreed. If women don’t have the pussies on their side, we have serious problems!

    The definition of feminism is “equal rights for women.” Yet there is a difference between actual definitions of words, and cultural concepts. What does “equal rights” mean for women in America when feminism is no longer addressing constitutional amendments? On paper, men and women do have equal rights. The modern challenge of feminism is much more nuanced than in the past. There are still wage gaps, abortion rights threatened, and absurd policies when it comes to maternity leave – but the current most persistent battle against women is that of public perception. Yet how do we demand equality within the more subtle context of psychology? Feminism is not just about addressing public policy, but the role of femininity within society.

    Femininity is devalued across the spectrum, seen as more of a weakness than an asset, and considered fundamentally irrational. This ethos is deeply engrained, as being feminine is thought of as “less than,” or an insult. This is a corrosive consequence of systemic sexism. Yet we are becoming hypersensitive to a point of PC blandness. Parents are petrified of anything that will contribute to potential gender stereotypes and are in a constant state of panic to impose on their children. Yet just because a little girl wears pink and likes princesses doesn’t mean she will grow up to dot her i’s with hearts, or become a stripper in Tampa. I don’t think the answer is to blend the sexes completely to breed omni-gender babies with Barbie crotches – although that would be advantageous when it comes to changing diapers.

    We can’t obliterate gender completely, yet to deprogram the socialization of thousands of years is proving to be an almost endless challenge. How do we inspire people to “think different” and why didn’t Apple address this issue with the iPhone 6? We can’t force people to change their opinions by saying “Hey sexist men – respect and honor women now or I will shove my lady-gun up your pee hole.” Or “Hey sweetie who doesn’t think you need feminism – your opinion about not needing feminism is only valid because of feminize so…” We don’t live in a post racial or post sexist world because our minds are still holding on to the sentiments that have shaped our history – even when officially the structure has evolved.

    Many men and women are still attached to past paradigms when it comes to gender roles. I don’t think they consider that their definitions of masculinity and femininity are ultimately constructs that have been created through centuries of conditioning. I am pretty sure they assume this is the way things are because this is they way they are supposed to be. Convincing someone to reevaluate their understanding of the world is complex. Once someone has a conviction, it takes a lot to open minds and hearts.

    Even though feminism is not trying to take over the world to create a matriarchy where men are subordinate to women as we spend the days flicking their balls and making them carry heavy bags – a lot of people are scared of change. They don’t know what it will mean for them personally, and fear the effects will be negative. These aren’t evil people, but they are unconsciously afraid that within this this ever-changing landscape they will lose their identity.

    Feminism can paint the picture of what the world will look like within this new frame. The conversation shouldn’t just be about what we are against, but what we are for. A feminist future is not an apocalyptic crisis where the family unit is destroyed as women pillage the earth for the remaining cotton for their ever-flowing menstruation. It is one where both genders have the freedom to pursue their true essence in an authentic way. The pressure for men to be one way and women to be another is oppressive. Rather than living our lives as we are supposed to, we can start conducting them as we choose to. Feminism is not a plot against penises, but rather an opportunity for a cultural episiotomy to sew up the tear between the genders so we can collectively evolve.

    And now my present to you… a picture of the penis snake.

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    November 3, 2014 • Current Events, Musings, Vagina Stuff, Women's Business • Views: 3608

  • I Know Why Skinny Is Beautiful

    The most popular new fashion line for teenage girls is a brand called Brandy Mellville, where the clothes only come in sizes 0-2. What? That is like doll clothes?! Needless to say, wearing these ultra skinny jeans to show off your thigh chasm, has a certain cache. To be cool in today’s high schools you not only need to shop in the right places, but also have the right body to fit into the right clothes – that body being a size fucking ZERO. So basically, if you are not Casper the Ghost, you might as well lock your self in your closet and starve until you are.

    UMMMMMM I AM SO GLAD I GREW UP IN THE 90’s!! You know what was cool when I was in high school? I will tell you – clothes that were wayyyyy too big and hid our bodies. It started with the “grunge” chapter where we wore corduroy pants, plaids tied around our waists, and T-shirts with band names on them. Then it was the “Hip Hop” look that consisted of baggy jeans, hoodies, and Adidas kicks. After that was the “rave” phase where the pants were so ridiculously huge that your entire body could fit in one leg. Maybe you would pair those with a “baby doll” T-shirt. That was as sexy as we got… a T-shirt that was sort of tight and didn’t hang down to our knees. Even though my mom HATED my clothes and would beg me to wear something that was actually my size, I am sure she would have preferred that to my only eating cucumber seeds in order to fit into Brandy Mellville.

    In a way this stupid store is a blessing. The messaging is so in your face it is almost comical. It is the physical manifestation of what is happening in society, and the generation we are breeding to fit into it. The definition of stylish for today’s teens is revealing, tight, and skinny. Yet we can’t blame these girls for revering a body type that is so thin you don’t have to open doors to walk through them. They are a product of today’s culture where the standard of beauty is digital. We don’t even look at models any more, but photo-shopped shadows that were once women.

    BUT GUESS FUCKING WHAT WORLD! I think I know what is happening with the incredible shrinking women of today’s world. It has to do with feminism, power, and influence.

    Much like the tides of the ocean and our monthly moon flow, feminism came in waves. The 1st wave was conceived so women could get the right to vote, and own property. In the sixties and seventies, the 2nd wave born to organize the women’s liberation movement which primarily focused on social equality. We are currently experiencing the post partum 3rd wave of feminism (or the 4th moderately heavy flow in some circles), which is being met by much emotional angst and psychic clotting. Ladies are relentlessly demanding equality and the reimagining of gender roles, but many are still resisting this plight, as they believe it is cramping their style.

    Let me tell you a secret. Do you know what coincided with these waves of feminism?? Women in advertising getting skinnier!!!! Who was the top model during the height of the women’s liberation movement? TWIGGY! A girl who was so thin, her limbs were like the twigs of trees. Not the branches mind you… but the teeny tiny twig parts. During this present-day 3rd wave of feminism advertising is using women so slender that actual humans can’t live up to the ideal – so we just draw stick figures with the computer, and that is considered the standard. There is a direct correlation with women gaining power within society, and the media promoting a body type that is physically weak. The more women become stronger mentally within the systems that control the world, the more we want them to look like they are so feeble that their toothpick extremities couldn’t pick up a toothpick.

    Now I know that everyone has a different body type. Some women are naturally thin. I am one of those women. I am 5’10” – so I am stretched out more. I have the “body type” of a model. In fact, I was approached over 4 different times in my teenage and early adult years to be one. When I was 16, I tried to take it seriously but here was the main problem. I also played sports, so was told my arms were too muscly. My agent asked me to stop doing so many things that involved my arms moving, so I could maintain a more willowy frame. With muscles I could be a “fitness” model (where there was less work and you got paid less) but not a “fashion” model (where the real money was).

    In order for my naturally slim body to marketable, I was asked to be more sedentary and eat less. Even though I was svelte, I was also told I could be a little more so if I really wanted to work. Nothing major – just lose 10 to 15 pounds. PS… I weighed 128. If I could be a little less strong, and a little less attached to consuming meals, I could make way more money. But I was 16! Dieting was hard because I was attached to feeling full, which I guess is so pathetically human of me. I tried to shed the excess pounds, but I didn’t like how frail I felt. I tried to brainstorm what could keep me obscenely skinny but still give me energy and finally came up with the perfect solution – but my mom didn’t let me do cocaine. WHAT A SQAURE!

    My point is, if my genetically slight frame wasn’t good enough to be a commodity, the only way to make it so was to deprive it. It is not natural to be obscenely skinny, you have to make a  conscious effort to achieve that goal.  The intensity of how stressed you are about consumption may vary from person to person, but models are trying to stay that thin.  It isn’t just about eating healthy,or avoiding desserts – the mentality is to keep up with the expectations society has placed on you.  I think it is pretty obvious that the pressure to stay thin is more prevalent then those with the ultimate ectomorph physique.  It is not like these girls are brimming with vitality.  Even when they are jumping through the air, with their hair blowing in the wind, it looks like someone through chicken bones out a window.  The greater the will power to starve, the less threatening you are to society. BECAUSE YOU ARE DISTRACTED, TIRED AND HUNGRY… rather than, focused, healthy, and determined.

    Yet here is the thing about modern food. It is filled with chemicals, partially hydrogenated oils, salt, sugar, and preservatives. The reason why Americans are so fat is not because they are lazy, it is because they are eating food that the body cannot process correctly and provides little nourishment. People who eat processed foods will lack the energy to exercise because their body is essentially starving for nutrients even as it grows in girth.

    So here lies this perfect trifecta of oppression. The more women empower themselves socially, the more they are expected to vanish physically. In order to achieve this preposterous paradigm, women have to obsess about counting calories of mass-produced poison pretending to be food. It is really hard to have the perfect body when you are dealing with contamination in the food sources. If we all had access to regular organic whole foods like they did in the turn of the century, and led more naturally active lives, we wouldn’t be struggling with weight gain in the same capacity. Yet instead we live deskbound existences attached to technology while scarfing down manufactured munchies as we ironically stare at artificial images of flawless physiques.

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    October 22, 2014 • Current Events, Musings, Women's Business • Views: 19991

  • Lady Farts

    As a lady, one thing I am not supposed to talk about is farts. I am not sure why they are so taboo for a lady to do. Maybe because one has to picture a lady sphincter opening up to release a noxious, feces scented, vapor. This is hard for the human mind to conceive, because one also does not enjoy envisioning a lady depositing waste from her anus. As far as civilization is concerned, things should only be going in a woman’s derrière, not out.

    Let me take a moment to apologize for the female gender, and admit that despite how tight we might clench, eventually substances of a variety of forms may exit our rumps. We will go through great lengths to do such things in private, so as not to violate the lady code, but there may be a moment of weakness when the gluteus Maximus is not quite strong enough to withstand the impending pressure of biology. It is never our intention to assault one’s perception of ladyness with the disgrace of our physical ecosystem, yet I hope that you, my gracious reader, can excuse the inevitable need to momentarily prioritize anatomy over convention.

    Even I, your humble servant, am committed to proper ladylike conduct and rarely expose an audience to my fumes. If such an event were to occur, I would of course blame it on my canine Mona to maintain integrity. I also make sure to eat a steady organic diet that does not vary in texture or flavor to ensure such a ghastly event would rarely take place. A lady of course considers the consequences of her digestion before the indulgence of ingestion.

    Yet over the weekend I was frequenting a variety of engagements that impacted my normal régime. The consequences of my actions were dire, and that evening while I was putting my sweet child to bed, I had what one might quantify as “the farts.” I was trying to be discreet, but The Munch was sitting on my lap, and I felt one coming on.

    Toni: Munch, go do potty so we can brush your teeth and go to bed.
    Munch: But I don’t want to do potty… I want you to tickle me first.
    Toni: First potty, then I will tickle you… Go now Munch – I mean it.

    The Munch started sliding off my lap, yet not at a speed fast enough to compete with the processing of my intestines. Her slither off my legs was not only ill timed, but also ill placed – and I ended up farting on her head.

    Munch: Ew. What is that smell? It smells like Mona farted, but she is downstairs.
    Toni: I farted.
    Munch: MOM! WHY DID YOU DO THAT! I CAN’T DO POTTY IN HERE OR BRUSH MY TEETH. I AM GOING TO THE BATHROOM DOWNSTAIRS.

    Although it was of course upsetting to have violated The Munch’s perception of her culturally appropriate mother, I also did become aware of the great power of my gas. After we did our night time routine of story and back tickling, it was time for me to leave and go downstairs to do what adults do in the late evening hours… sit on their computers.

    Toni: Alright Munch, sleep well. I am going downstairs.
    Munch: No! Keep cuddling… just stay and cuddle for five more minutes.
    Toni: Five minutes, and then bedtime.
    Munch: Okay… I promise.

    Five minutes later…

    Toni: That’s five minutes. I love you. Sleep well.
    Munch: No Mamma, please stay for a little longer and keep cuddling.
    Toni: Munch I have to go or else I am going to fart in your bed.
    Munch: Okay goodnight Mamma. See you in the morning.

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