Since reaching adulthood, I have been interested in guys ranging in age from 18-52. Sure, most of them were in the age-appropriate part of the spectrum, but I don't necessarily discriminate. Or rather, I DIDN'T discriminate. I suppose this installment includes not one but three Susan B. adages, and here is the first, not just within the post but in the order I coined it:
After a certain point, there are just mature people and immature people.
Not the catchiest phrase, I know, but it's good for backstory. See, while we all need some time to grow up, there are some people who will always be immature, even well into middle age. Thus, if you put a 43-year-old next to a 23-year-old, there is no guarantee that the elder will be more mature than the younger.
Now on to recent events. Being 26, I have decided that I am no longer interested in guys in their 30's. It is not because they are gross or unattractive, oh no. It is because of Adage #2:
Do not date older guys, because it's even more disappointing when you find out how immature they are.
Seriously. Lately a few 30-somethings I know have behaved as though they were still in high school, pulling shit that someone their age should really have surpassed--not calling a girl after a hook-up and then acting shocked when she doesn't want to hang with you/hook up again, hitting on a girl in FRONT of his date, etc. And when this happens, it is actually infuriating, because THEY SHOULD KNOW BETTER. And then you lose faith for the human race, because aren't we all supposed to ripen with age? Learn from our missteps? Which brings me to Adage #3:
Guys in your 20's: Have you fucked up with girls? Are you fucking up with girls right now? Good! Please do it now, and GET IT OUT OF YOUR SYSTEM. In ten years it will be soooo unattractive.*
So that's today's lesson. I am just really sick of older guys who have no idea how to behave themselves. It lends credence to all those "Manchild" trend pieces, and no one wants that. Also, no one wants to set me off on a Justice kick--once I encounter these types, and feel that they are simply beyond resocialization, I just wind up feeling they should be punished. It was a bitter moment when I remembered that karma happens across lifetimes, rather than within.
*Please pardon my heteronormativity--I genuinely have no idea if these trends apply within genders.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Susan B.'s Words To Live By: Ageism
Friday, February 22, 2008
Chicks I Like: Figs and Thistles Edition
Today is a very special day, my friends: the 116th birthday of my favorite poet, Edna St. Vincent Millay!
(February 22, 1892–October 19, 1950)- My candle burns at both ends;
- It will not last the night;
- But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
- It gives a lovely light!
Witch-Wife
She is neither pink nor pale,
And she never will be all mine;
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale,
And her mouth on a valentine.
She has more hair than she needs;
In the sun 'tis a woe to me!
And her voice is a string of coloured beads,
Or steps leading into the sea.
She loves me all that she can,
And her ways to my ways resign;
But she was not made for any man,
And she never will be all mine.
This is, of course, a small sample of how wonderful her work is. But you don't have to take my word for it!
*In high school I used to make pilgrimages to the tiny house on Bedford Street where she'd lived for the years during which she wrote Harp-Weaver and met her husband. It had been converted from a stable and is about 9 feet wide, no joke.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Mythbuster: Gloveless Love
I've been gone far too long, enjoying my Fuck All Y'All Week, and to make up for lost time I thought I start with one of my favorite features: Sexual Mythbusters.
I don't know which side of this counts as the myth. To me, the myth that needs debunking is that, obviously and as a matter of course, everyone uses condoms, every time they have sex, unless they're in a basically serious relationship. Well, wrong. Because it turns out that a whole bunch of guys labor under the mistaken belief that it is okay to have unprotected sex EVEN ON A ONE-NIGHT STAND.
So, yeah: not okay.
Fortunately, the news that people think this surprises many. Neighbor Steve was SHOCKED when I told him the story of the Kiwi pick-up who asked how many condoms I had on me and was clearly dismayed when I told him I had five--he'd apparently been hoping to outlast my supply, like I'd be unable to resist and would yield to his nude yet latex-free allure. As Steve said, appalled: "No offense, but he doesn't know where you've been!"
None taken. I'd thought the exact same thing.
I am sort of pleased with myself that I've almost never been tempted. I've only done it once, with a guy I'd been seeing a month or two who'd been tested recently. (Another time, after unwittingly smoking hash*, I came really close but we quickly thought better of it.) One time a guy ASKED if I wanted him to use a condom, and I seriously considered never fucking him again--it said to me that he often DIDN'T use protection, and was possibly diseased, and after all condoms break so maybe I shouldn't risk that. He did, however, have a semi-legit excuse for asking--his dick was really big and the condoms were uncomfortable, he had trouble even getting them on. So the next time he brought Magnums and we were fine. One time this guy wanted to go bare, and I had the excellent excuse (not that an excuse is necessary) of not even being on the Pill that month, and he said, "I can pull out." I actually said, "You know better than that." He laughed, had to concede that he totally did know better, and that was the end of that subject.
But seriously dudes, what gives? Forget even about being considerate--can you REALLY not know at this point that your lady friend might have something you'd rather not share? Especially if you just met her! Wrap that shit up!
My good friend Sojourner recently told this tale of moronitude: a guy not only tried to put a "P in [her] V without a C**" but THEN, when asked to get tested, said "Where would I do that?" !!!Exclamation!!! There are dudes going around fucking without a net who DO NOT EVEN KNOW HOW TO GET TESTED. WTfuckingF?
Ladies, are you allowing this psychotic behavior? Even if we think disease will never happen to us (and BOY are we wrong, btw), I always say: "You know what would be really bad? If I got pregnant. Wouldn't we rather I just, yknow, DIDN'T get pregnant?" Or AIDS, or syphillis, or what the hell ever else. Here's another way to look at it: Ribbed condoms are awesome. Imagine if your bike helmet actually made riding MORE FUN!
Great. Now I want to have sex. Thanks guys.
*I'd thought it was just pot, and did NOT understand why I was so sick the next day. But yeah, remember those old commercials about drug use leading to unprotected sex-- "Get High, Get Stupid, Get AIDS?" After the hash incident I got what they were saying.
**Making "PVC" my new euphemism for sex--namely, protected sex, which is the only kind I'll be having any time soon.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
In Which I Decry Feminism And All Its Teachings
(Yknow, not really. But, Angst Alert!)
So, a lot of grade-A high-school-calibre bullshit this weekend, and I have warned many of my friends that I am officially Not Alright, and will be as such for at least a few days, and they are just going to have to deal with it. Good thing I'm unemployed as of yesterday, because I don't think I could manage my polite phone voice right now. Anyway, I've officially dubbed this week my "Fuck All Y'All!" Week. Which is to say, if you have a problem with my attitude or behavior, guess what? Fuck all y'all. This got started well at karaoke last night, when some underage kids snuck into the bar and STOLE MY FUCKING DRINK while I was about to sing. Since I had the mic, I alerted the entire bar to their heinous crime (not their age, which I wasn't thinking about) and asked that everyone shun them. After I sang (which was perfect, "Hate To Say I Told You So" by The Hives, which is a nice loud song about being superior, and I knocked one of the hoodlum's caps off while singing), they gave me the money I'd demanded in recompense. The kid then asked if I'd buy him a drink and he'd pay me back, and I said, "You haven't earned that. You need to learn some respect." If he'd just asked me from the BEGINNING, instead of being an asshat, I might've helped him out. I later learned that he and his buds had heckled my friend while he was singing, and I'm glad I didn't know that at the time--I would've been angrier, and thus less calm and commanding. (Because as we know, angry women are powerless and gross!)
So, speaking of angry women being powerless and gross, it seems I'm not really interested in the fact that my protracted anger is going to be off-putting. I've decided that no other way I've tried acting up to this point (Rational, Mature, Forgiving, Cool About Things, The Bigger Person, etc) has gotten me anywhere. So now I'm going to try being angry, petty, rude, and vindictive. And I'm human, so it's not that I've never done those things ever, but now it will be without remorse. It seems I'm back in high school anyway, so while I'm starting over I might as well do things differently, right? And really, no one cares about my anger except for me, but I've decided that I count, that me caring is enough to perfectly justify my bad behavior.
And if you don't like it? Guess what! Fuck all y'all.
What has this to do with decrying feminism? Well, I try not to JUST blame everyone else for my problems. So, in turning the gaze inward, I'm thinking about finally just changing my personality, and being someone different who would possibly get things more easily. To do this I would have to stop:
a) eating
b) speaking my mind in any way
c) caring remotely about anyone else
By which I mean all of the above. I really just can't bring myself to start doing coke, though I think that would help with a and c, and giving up b would probably impair my blogging abilities, but isn't that a small price to pay for fitting society's mold? I think so. I would probably have to be more mendacious as well, not just neglecting to speak my mind*, but also actively lying to my friends in order to pretend to myself that I'm a good person. Because some of the bullshit I've been fed recently is about how I'm just TOO good a person, and am special and unique, so that other people's constant lies are supposed to be the healthy, acceptable norm, whereas I'm just inhumanly ABOVE it all, or some such crap. Come on kids, I'm a reasonably good person, but I'm not a saint, and I don't think I'm demanding 110%, as they say, when I expect my friends to speak anything other than lies. You know, now and then. But if that's what pairs people up, I'll just have to practice my bullshitting. Once I'm done with Fuck All Y'All Week.
So, have a good week everyone! It's gonna be a doozy.
*Because come on, strong-willed women? Yuck! A good friend of mine, who actually IS honest with me, says that being strong-willed puts off most of his gender. To him, a chick being strong-willed is a great thing, but I think it's time to stop waiting around for that fictional guy who will appreciate it romantically.
Pearly Teeth--Like The Shark, Dear
I've created a bunch of facebook groups in my day. One of my favorites is semi-recent, and it's called "Fuck you, I'll smile when I feel like it." I checked it again the other day, and discovered that it now has 227 members. This is, by far, the largest membership in any of the groups I've created. Most of the members are people I don't know, some from different countries. It's very gratifying, and I feel like I've filled a need. A lot of the commenters seem actually thankful to be on the record as vehemently against the phenomenon.
In explaining, to myself even, why it makes many of us so angry when strangers tells us to smile, I pose the question as it's posed in the intro to Manifesta: why is this person doing this? Manifesta described it as the "click" moment for a particular woman--the moment at which you realize that sexism and feminism do in fact affect you, the moment when everything is suddenly clear and you go, as Caryl Rivers put it, "Hey, this isn't fair!" It's not that being told to smile holds us back, but I always wonder what the ROOT is, and what the aim. I tend to gravitate towards one particular theory, though I've listed others in the group: a deep-seated belief that women aren't to be taken seriously. The business of running the world and thinking important thoughts falls to men, but why should girls worry their pretty heads? Why would they do anything but walk around smiling, looking happy for the sake of cheering the men around them?
And this, of course, relates to the world's fear of angry women. I remember sitting at a bar/coffee shop about a month ago, one that has an open storefront, and there was a really bad accident outside. No one was hurt, but a woman's sedan ended up crashed into an iron fence on the sidewalk, and the other party was a truck. None of us saw the accident--we heard it and then went to look. The woman got out and yelled at the truck driver, "You ran me off the road! You ran me off the road!" The owner (manager?) of the bar said to some customers, "It must've been her fault, the way she's yelling."
I was so angry and depressed for the rest of the day. My mother talked later about that woman who died mysteriously in the Phoenix airport while in police custody--she was arrested in the first place because she was yelling and making a scene, and my mother felt this would never have happened with a man, that her "crime" was being simultaneously angry and a woman. If it'd been a man screaming at a truck driver over the same accident, there's no way the bar owner would've said that. He'd probably have said something about what a menace those huge trucks are*.
I'm not happy being a feminist today. But I'm glad 226 other people understand what I mean.
*All of which is probably why I didn't let him buy my apartment.
Yes I Can
I've just realized that there is a really awesome byproduct of being an Obama supporter: I can call people out on Hillary-directed sexism with impunity. The "I voted for Obama, but..." may prove very useful, as I can make all the points that some women have made without undermining it all with the "and thus you should vote for Hillary or you're sexist too" ending.
This occurred to me at a coffee shop yesterday when I LAUGHED ALOUD at a man who was talking to the barista (baristo?) about supporting Obama because he got a "control, power-hungry vibe" from Clinton. I love* when people convince themselves that Obama is not a politician, that he doesn't want power, despite the fact that he's RUNNING FOR FUCKING PRESIDENT, which is arguably the definition of wanting power. This dude also followed it up with the, "She just wants Bill back in the White House" argument, which people use almost invariably in contradiction to their other arguments. She's power-mad, but she doesn't plan to have power? Someone hates their mother!
I didn't actually engage the dude, but he heard me laugh at him. So that was fun.
*If by love you mean hate! Which I do.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
In Case You've Had The Misfortune Of Not Seeing This
I've never been a big fan of Sarah Silverman. Whatever, not everyone is. But this. This. Is brilliant. From Jimmy Kimmel Live, we bring you the music video for "Fucking Matt Damon."
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
More On: Crying, My Mom
Have you decided?
Her response:
I love you, even though I guess I haven't cheered you up with this response.
After that I graduated from subway crying to desk crying. (Yes, again.) So, yeah. That's me today.
Monday, February 4, 2008
MythENFORCER: Ribbed For Your Pleasure!
Rather than busting any myths today, I'd like to whole-heartedly endorse one: ribbed condoms are awesome.
I know, I was skeptical too. But that is the magic of RA bags, and of dating someone who works for Health Services so you get one all to yourself--variety! I did not imagine that those little ribs would actually make a difference, but I happened to pull one out of my stockpile one day, and...wow. I'm now sort of addicted.
I'm guessing they don't work for everyone. If what's INSIDE the condom is on the small or large end of the spectrum, you probably won't feel much, and if lubrication is scarce, they can be a little uncomfortable--but then if lubrication is scarce, the whole enterprise is gonna be a little uncomfortable, so that's hardly the condom's fault. These days my ideal condom is the combination ribbed-and-thin variety, so everyone gets a little something extra.
Hooray! That is all.
Burning With Desire...To Pee
Can I tell you how much I hate uriniary tract infections? Yeah, I got one the first time I ever had sex, which is I think a testament to how much I like sex that I ever even bothered again, because UTIs FUCKING SUCK BALLS. AND NOT IN THE GOOD WAY. Ahem.
I don't have one right now, since I did a lot of 100% Pure Cranberry Juice chugging after my last rendez-vous. But I was expecting one, as this guy almost always gives me a UTI. It's probably because we tend to do it like 6 times in one night/morning (after all, we only see each other twice a year), and I just don't have enough pee to flush things out after each time. I learned the hard way that if I don't pee within about 20 minutes after sex, I'll spend the next few days popping AZO until I finally have to cave and get some Cipro.
Once I got a (minor, Cipro-less) UTI just from masturbating. Honestly.
There was a study awhile back about how cranberry juice is just generally awesome, especially for women. The pure stuff is kind of nasty, but makes me feel butch so that's ok. I like to swig it from the bottle as though it's whiskey and I'm a grizzled old man in a Sam Sheppard play. The inevitable question, which the poser always pretends is a joke: does mixing it with vodka make it any less effective? Because that's quite the spoonful of sugar.
Breaking News In Teargate
I actually started this post awhile ago, and am reviving it now because Clinton's getting more heat for once again showing emotion--this time there was liquid actually in her eyes! It was again in response to someone saying something touching, and the backlash is again swinging between "she's too weak to lead" and "she's faking it, that Machiavel." Shouldn't we all be over this by now? Le sigh.
It occurs to me that, while I've mentioned crying several times, I haven't really talked about the phenomenon. I remember an episode of Sex and the City (I know, I know) in which the ladies talked about mens' fear that they'd start crying at work. Someone asks Miranda, "Haven't you ever cried over a brief?" and she says, "Yes, in the privacy of my office." Later in the episode, Samantha (a stranger to the phenomenon) cries after a job interview in which the perspective boss says he can't hire her because of her sexual history. She tells him off, and manages to make it into the elevator just before the tears escape. She gets the job.
Anyway. My theory is, some people are cryers. I definitely am--and it's a total nuisance. But yeah, it probably won't shock you to learn that I don't think crying is a terrible thing or something to be ashamed of. Sometimes we might feel a little ashamed, because we're human and crying is not always fun, but all in all, who cares? Men should cry more. It's very therapeutic.
Every now and then I think about who has actually seen me cry. I cry a fair bit--not ALL the time, maybe once a week on average, and sometimes it's just a few tears of frustration rather than full-on waterworks. But it's interesting making a list of people who've seen me CRY cry. Certainly anyone who's ever stage managed for me. I think my roommate has seen me flat-out cry four times, if last weekend counts. My college friends, back when I drank way more and we were all involved in each other's business, probably caught me weeping every other weekend*, but otherwise I THINK that the vast majority of my crying is private. I call it "watering the couch." So if you see me cry, you're either close to me, or have somehow backed me into a serious corner**.
Then there's crying at work. At this job, no one has ever caught me crying, and it's only even happened a few times. At my job in Texas it happened once, in front of my boss, and it was AWFUL--mostly because I had no idea why I was crying. It was a slightly tense conversation, but I didn't even feel like I was crying--more like my eyes were mysteriously leaking. I realized later that it was the first time ANYONE in Texas had seen me cry. That thought was a little depressing...it meant I wasn't close enough with anyone to really let go.
So, Leave Hillary Alone!
*Hi Michelle!
**Or you're my poor Psych Research Methods professor and Bush has just won re-election. She was very nice about it.
Modern Love: The Beta Version
Ada Calhoun of Nerve has an interesting little piece comparing the Clinton and Obama marriages. It is usually annoying when people analyze the Clintons' relationship from afar, mostly because of the sexism involved and also because of how speculative the endeavor is, but I like this piece. First of all, it's sympathetic and equal-opportunity, and also because it actually has something interesting to say. I quote:
"[The Clintons] have an absolutely typical Boomer union, a rickety first-generation prototype of the modern marriage. They were early adopters of this "equal partnership" thing, so while they deserve all credit for having pioneered, their marriage is the romantic equivalent of the Apple IIe."
Whearas, according to Calhoun, the Obamas represent the future of equal-partner marriage. The comparison isn't actually a good one, because whether or not Michelle supports Barack is very different than whether or not Bill supports Hillary--a political wife, no matter how independent, is expected to support her candidate husband. There's nothing new there. Still, I appreciate the possible insight into Billary--that he would want to support her, that he would know all the theory, but that he's still a man of his time. And I like that someone believes they actually love each other.
And if she's right about the Obamas, that's encouraging for the rest of us.
[Insert stuff here about how much better my dad is than Bill--my mom likes to say "he's more a feminist than I am." But on the other hand he's about 3 years too old to technically be a Baby Boomer, so maybe that comparison doesn't work either.]
Sadly Passing The Torch
I had dinner with my parents last weekend, and started talking about Chris Matthews. Like many people, they only really knew about the statement that he apologized for, and not about the numerous other sexist things he'd said. My mother suggested that this was actually anti-Clintonism couched in sexist terms, rather than the other way around, and I told her that I'd wondered that myself until I saw all the many other misogynist things he's said. I emailed her the link, and when I saw her next she talked to me a bit about her reactions.
She seemed weary as she spoke. She'd been penning an email to me on the subject, but couldn't seem to finish it--it took my being home sick, and her trip uptown to feed me ginger ale, before she could really bring herself to talk about it. What she expressed was the same depression I often feel about being a woman in this society, the fundamental sorrow over the inevitable realization that, however far we've come, however hard we've fought--and she's been fighting, hard, for a long time--there are still people eager to shoot us down at every turn.
I'm not used to seeing my mother wilt this way--she doesn't get depressed (I get that from my dad) or even really understand what depression is like, experientially. She gets mad. To see her hit a wall where even anger didn't help was very powerful. I've already identified my mother with Hillary Clinton, and I think she identifies with her herself. How could she not? They're both strong, fiercely intelligent 60-year-old women who've fought their way to the upper echelons of extremely male-dominated fields. They've both had their appearance and femininity scrutinized--my mom has said that people at work have long perceived her as "bull dykish," despite the joy she takes from make-up, jewelry, and clothing. (Hell, she just had a facelift.) It must be very triumphant for her to see one of her sistren climb so high, and very demoralizing to see her practically stoned to death by so many.
Interestingly, what she expressed the most hurt about was Katie Couric. There are plenty of reasonable, non-sexist qualms a person could have with Clinton or Pelosi or the like, but my mother says, "Explain Katie Couric." Sigh.
My mother rallied, of course. But there was a subtext to what she was saying. It went something like, "This is what I need to tell you about what it's like being a woman." It was a warning, a hard truth. Somehow, it was also a bit inspiring. Perhaps just as a quiet bonding moment with my mother. I was going to write, "but also as..." something else. But I couldn't think of what the something else might be.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Liveblogging for Alden
Now, this doesn't really count as liveblogging last night's debate, because I'm posting it now and not as the debate was happening. But, I WROTE it as the debate was happening, to my friend Alden, really without his consent, so I thought, what the hey. Please note that I tuned in a little late. Possibly an hour late? I didn't know it was happening until my mom called me, crowing about her new theory (see below). But, enjoy!
| 8 minutes |
[then a bunch of stuff about Britney, mono, and Marcel the Monkey which is not really entertaining so I'm cutting it]
| 7 minutes |
mitt romney's son...sort of hot? sort of gay?
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