Chicks I Really, Really Like: Doogie Howser Edition

Totally stolen from Jezebel, here is the story of Alia Sabur, THE WORLD'S YOUNGEST PROFESSOR.

(At 18 years old, she's broken the record set in 1717 by some 19-year-old bewigged dude.)

There's really nothing about this that isn't perfect. Dr. Sabur has her PhD in math--so much for girls sucking at that--and she teaches the subject at Southern University at New Orleans, which she chose because she wanted to help people still recovering from Katrina. As her résumé shows, she has six different publications to her name, and her teaching philosophy takes into account "students with non-traditional backgrounds" and posits that, being close in age to most of her students, she "can understand better what they might find interesting, or difficult." Also, as the Today clip shows, she reads Jezebel!

Alia, you are inspiring and awesome. The next time you come back to your hometown of NYC, look me up and I will totally sneak you into a bar.

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Because Men Shouldn't Worry Their Pretty Little Heads Over Money

CNN.com has as their main article this morning a charming story entitled "Moms struggling with prices." (Or, when you click on the article, "Moms' new battle: The food price bulge.") It bears this June Cleaver-y photo:

There's not really much that needs to be said about this, because it's pretty obvious...MOMS? To the exclusion of DADS? Because country-wide, fathers are completely absent from all grocery-related decision making? One woman in the story works in cancer research, and her self-employed husband sometimes struggles to find work. So why isn't HE the one pureeing baby food and making his own detergent? More to the point, why does CNN take that as a given?

This is offensive to both men and women--many men are actually involved in their households, and shouldn't be treated as though they have nothing to do with how their children eat. Screw this "women's work" bullshit--aren't we at least supposed to officially be past that?

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Too Much Manischewitz

So, apparently, my parents have not had sex lately because of Clinton vs. Obama disputes.

Yes, my parents are a Slate article. Or worse, A Sunday Styles piece in the Times.

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Late-Night Idea

Let's call this my memo pad. Here's an idea to think about in the morning:

I kinda wanna start up a "Stuff Feminists Like" site. Anyone interested?

(The only entry I've got so far is "No Longer Liking Ani Difranco.")

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Eureka!

Quite some time ago, a friend asked me why I would care what our friends think of my sex life, and why it would bother me if they had problems with it. As I reported back at the time, I couldn't come up with a clear answer. For some crazy reason, buying a mini-scone at Starbucks just now, the answer came to me:

It's mean.

There's also stuff in there about losing respect for people who pass judgment in misogynist ways, et cetera, and not wanting to spend time with people who are that square, but come on guys--it's mean! And who wants their friends to be mean? Not me.

But yeah, also all that other stuff.

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Friday Opinion Poll

True or False:

-Guys are pickier about the attractiveness of people they date than about the attractiveness of people they just hook up with (because whatever, it's just one time).
-Whereas girls are pickier about the attractiveness of hook-ups than about the attractiveness of people they date (because if you're actually dating someone, personality and such things are also factors).

?

Discuss.

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PS: A Promise

I SWEAR I will post soon on the feminism end of "sex and feminism." It's unfortunately easier to just write about my sex life*. But I've actually begun the long-promised post on Girlie Feminism, so fear not!


*And I am lazy whiiiiiiiine....

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Final Thought (Plus Tangent)

Here is why my fuck buddy will always have a place in my heart: I am afraid to tell him how many people I've slept with because he might find the number disappointingly low.

This is now near-inexplicably reminding me of something that happened in 10th grade. I had an ideological antagonist in high school, a self-styled conservative, and we took great joy in provoking each other. One day, while in rehearsal together for a play, I said in front of the other actors, "It's hilarious that [Redacted] thinks I'm the Queen of Sin." While another actor who knew me better, and was somewhat sinful himself, laughed at the very idea, my antagonist said, almost under his breath, "Well when you've slept with half the guys in Manhattan..."My jaw actually dropped, and I exclaimed, "[Redacted]! I'm a virgin!" It was an unusual moment in that I wasn't specifically proud of my virginity (though not ashamed), and it was nice and refreshing to have it be a point of power. And it wasn't that being a virgin was inherently good, like it made me virtuous, it just made the point that you can't assume things about a person's behavior based on their beliefs and, okay, in-your-face attitude*.

Ok, back to the fuck buddy. It's awesome to know a guy, even if I only "know" him every few months, has active respect for a girl who's, well, active. No guy has asked me my number since I was 21, and it was conveniently 3 lower than his own number, so there was no drama. But it was in fact a nice intimate moment for us, asking that question, and I'd hate to think that the answer might one day be a source of contention rather than closeness. So, in summation, there should be more guys out there like my fuck buddy. Which is sort of how I end my "Dudes I Like" posts, so perhaps we should unofficially categorize him there, as well.



*Also I was pretty flattered that he thought me capable of fucking half the guys in Manhattan at the tender, chubby age of 15. Still working on it, [Redacted]!

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On Confidence

As you may somehow have guessed, I got laid this weekend--specifically Friday night. This was awesome for all the usual reasons, but also had an unexpected positive side effect. You see, on Saturday I FINALLY, after (no joke) a year-and-a-half of trying, got my friends to go out dancing at an indie club. I was psyched (and left my comrades with no option but to be psyched themselves), but I also had not been out partying for sometime*. I have very little idea what the kids are wearing to clubs these days, had never been to this venue, etc etc. But I had some weapons to bolster my psychitude--in addition to having on my FIRST EVER pair of skinny jeans, I proudly bore the knowledge that I'd just gotten some.

It was unexpectedly freeing. While I kept my eye out for a make-out buddy, all pressure was off. For one thing, I was too SORE to take anyone home with me**. And when I didn't really find anyone to make out with, since the club was a total sushi fest*** and this one semi-cute guy in a Hendrix shirt couldn't seem to decide whether he wanted to dance with me, there was basically no feeling of rejection. I remember flopping down next to my roommate to rest my feet and saying, "I mean, I don't look THAT fat, do I?" Which got me a deservedly pointed look, but I kind of meant it. I DIDN'T feel unattractive. It was hard to care what anyone there thought, when I could truthfully say, "This morning I fucked someone a hundred times cooler than anyone in this club."

This is both awesome and problematic. Confidence is good, but do I have to get laid every time I want to go out dancing? And, no less, by someone a 100 times cooler than anyone else? Cuz that's, like, a lot cooler, and tall experimental musicians don't grow on trees****. Surely I don't need the lingering scent of rock star jizz in my nose just to have a good time?

Probably not. I'm hoping to get people out again next Friday, and busy as I am it's not likely that I'll pick anyone up before then. Which probably will intensify the urge to meet someone at the club, but if not? Hopefully I'll be able to remember what it was like on Saturday to have a great time with my friends and feel hot regardless of what the guys around me were doing. Maybe it's unfortunate that I needed the armor of recent screwing not to end up in a pout, but that's life--one step at a time. Soon enough I won't even need skinny jeans to feel cool.

Preferably: REALLY soon. Those things are kind of scary.



*It's all very "The Good Life" by Weezer.
**Of course, I've said this before, and taken people home with me nonetheless. Yeah Party Night Trifecta!
***Yes, I'm trying to make that a thing.
****But imagine such a tree!

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More Sexually Explicit Fun-Time!

There are always firsts. For example, the first time you get semen in your nose.

Let's say, hypothetically, a guy is coming in your mouth. And that having permission to yknow, spread it around, he hypothetically accidentally lands a drop right at the gateway to your left nostril. Well, then you have a problem, because guess what, he's still coming in your mouth so you can't breathe that way, and you can't breathe through your nose because then you will be actually inhaling semen*. So all you can really do is hold your breath and hope it won't take too much longer.

Fortunately it doesn't, and, being a gentleman, the hypothetical ejaculator is quick to find you a tissue. And once you are cleaned up you can't help but chuckle because it's good to know that there are always firsts.



*Hypothetically.

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