Friday night Chris and his brother went to the movies, the kids were at their dad’s, and I spent a blissful evening at home alone watching the Dog Whisperer. It was cool because I learned that my dogs aren’t the only poorly behaved dogs, and really there are other dogs that are way, way worse than mine, which was nice affirmation. When they got home, we decided to watch The Girl Next Door, a movie that was on Chiller, which is a channel that shows “scary” shows and movies. Chris and I have watched it before; it has stuff like Twin Peaks, Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction, nothing scary. So we start watching this movie, and in case you wanted to see it, stop reading, because I’m going to tell what happened. So this movie was beyond fucked up. Basically it’s about this girl, whose parents died in a car accident, and she has to go stay with her aunt. Her aunt is really sick in the head, and has a thing about women and girls, she totally hates them. I think we were supposed to infer that she really hates herself, or something, I don’t know. So anyway, she also has this really weird relationship with all the neighborhood boys, they all hang out at her house, she gives them beer, talks to them about sex in totally inappropriate ways, just acts like a really, really bad parent. So anyway, she starts this horrible torment and torture of this poor girl, first verbal, then physical. Then it just gets downright disrobing. She ties the girl up in the basement and lets (at first) then makes the neighborhood kids beat this girl. They starve her, beat the shit out of her, it was awful, and the mother just stands back and watches. Then it got worse. The torment turns sexual, they end up putting out lit cigarettes on her, burning the words on her stomach so all men will know what a whore she is, rape her, and in the end they “fix” her sexuality with a blow torch. And as Forrest Gump says, that’s all I have to say about that. Ok so anyway, horrible right? Just a reminder this was on regular cable. Not premium, not pay per view, plain old regular cable. I watched the whole movie with a scowl on my face. I kept looking at Chris, and he had the same face, utter disbelief that we were watching this horrible movie. It wasn’t that it was really graphic, I mean it was graphic, but it didn’t really show anything, it was more inferred, they’d explain what they were doing, etc. The problem was, this was just a sick, sick movie. The whole premise of the movie was just so fucked up. This is exactly why I gave up watching horror movies of any kind about a couple of years ago.
I used to watch horror movies all the time, in high school my friend and I watched every Halloween, Children of the Corn, you name it. We loved it, it was fun to be scared. Her (now) husband used to even say that we should get our pizza from “Haddonfield House of Pizza” (the name of the town in the Halloween movies). It was corny and scary and just plain fun. So Chris and I decided one night to watch Hostel. Hostel…is not a horror movie. Hostel is the worst movie on the planet. Ever. It’s this movie about a hostel in some Godforsaken country, and basically people pay to torture people. It is by far the most graphic, most disgusting, most disturbing movie I’ve ever seen in my entire life. I watched it almost 3 years ago, and I STILL have nightmares. It was so, so terrible. Again, that’s all I have to say about that. Anyway, I swore off horror movies because I was tired of directors and writers fooling me into thinking that this was the your average run of the mill horror movie: Hostel, the Saw movies, Running Scared (which wasn’t even a horror movie, it had one particular scene that had nothing to do with the plot, but was a blatant attempt at shock/disturbing value by the director/writer. It’s a movie about mafia violence, but this particular scene was about a middle-aged couple who “rescue” children by kidnapping them, torturing and killing them in a rubber room while videotaping it. Totally ridiculous). I’m all for art, I love to write, and hope that someday someone will pay me for it. However, if I sit around and think up new and more disturbing ways to torture people…I shouldn’t be paid, I should be given medication and possibly hospitalization. Maybe it doesn’t mess them up the way it did me, but man, it was awful. So I swore off horror movies. I just think that they’d taken it too far. And I don’t know if I’d ever made it clear before or not, I’m really not very prudish. I’m not one of those people that decides morality for other people, to each their own I say. I have enough of my own crap to worry about, certainly don’t need to tell other people their business. But I’m so sick and tired of the people on networks and movie studios deciding that people need more violence, more gore, more disturbing abuse, torture and sick fucked up head games. NO thanks. I guess its back to romantic comedies and sappy tear jerkers for me. At least they don’t make me question the humanity of people.
By the way, The Girl Next Door was based on a true story. Which just makes the fact that someone decided to rewrite this girl’s abuse and torment in an even more disturbing way without even really telling the girl’s story, just spending 2 hours seeing how far you can push the torture envelope is just sick. It just makes the whole that much worse.
FYI, this is one of those posts that I write when I just feel the need to rant and bitch. To make it perfectly clear, I’m not reviewing these movies, I’m reviewing the practice of shock value in Hollywood.
Showing posts with label rantyness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rantyness. Show all posts
This is a post about toilets
I don’t think I mentioned it before, but Chris’ brother staying with us for awhile this summer. I was horrified, I mean like, gasping shock, when I went into the bathroom this morning. No, he didn’t leave toothpaste all over the sink. No, he didn’t leave wet towels all over the floor. It was way worse…he forgot to put the toilet seat down! Now, Chris and David know that this is the fastest way to send me into a maniacal head fit, well that and when there’s pee on the toilet seat. And if y’all have little boys, you know it happens much more often than it should. I mean he’s got built in aim for Christ’s sake, you’re telling me he honestly can’t hit the big hole in the middle of the seat? Anyway, the toilet seat was up. Well, it wasn’t the seat part, that part was down, it was the cover that was up.
Ok yeah, I get that’s total OCD. But I don’t care. I think looking into toilet bowls is disgusting. Perhaps it’s because it brings me flashbacks of my heavy drinking/puking days, I don’t know, but I just don’t like it. And I so don’t get why men/boys can’t seem to just put the cover down. They think they’re God’s gift if they remember to actually put the seat down, you know, like they’re doing you some ginormous favor for not being a total slob, but they can’t just grab the cover at the same time? I mean, why would Mr. Toilet Seat Inventor slap a cover on it if it wasn’t meant to be used? I guess I was lucky, for several years before I met Chris, I was doing the single mom thing, and had ample opportunity to teach my son toilet seat etiquette (his future wife will thank me) , Chris was a little harder to train. Once I was visiting Chris in the his apartment that was masquerading as a cesspool of disgusting college boy germs, and the ONLY good thing I can say about that is that he put the seat down when I came. He was all, I put the toilet seat down because I knew you were coming. I was all, gee thanks. You didn’t bother to pick up the smelly gym socks or get rid of the stale beer smell that’s coming from that corner, but you did get the toilet seat down! You’re the man of my dreams! When he moved in with me, I was like, 2 choices, love. Put the seat AND the cover down, and you can live. Don’t, and you can face my wrath. I told you Chris was smart. He always puts the seat and cover down. Would you want to deal with me? I wouldn’t. I’m scary.
Ok yeah, I get that’s total OCD. But I don’t care. I think looking into toilet bowls is disgusting. Perhaps it’s because it brings me flashbacks of my heavy drinking/puking days, I don’t know, but I just don’t like it. And I so don’t get why men/boys can’t seem to just put the cover down. They think they’re God’s gift if they remember to actually put the seat down, you know, like they’re doing you some ginormous favor for not being a total slob, but they can’t just grab the cover at the same time? I mean, why would Mr. Toilet Seat Inventor slap a cover on it if it wasn’t meant to be used? I guess I was lucky, for several years before I met Chris, I was doing the single mom thing, and had ample opportunity to teach my son toilet seat etiquette (his future wife will thank me) , Chris was a little harder to train. Once I was visiting Chris in the his apartment that was masquerading as a cesspool of disgusting college boy germs, and the ONLY good thing I can say about that is that he put the seat down when I came. He was all, I put the toilet seat down because I knew you were coming. I was all, gee thanks. You didn’t bother to pick up the smelly gym socks or get rid of the stale beer smell that’s coming from that corner, but you did get the toilet seat down! You’re the man of my dreams! When he moved in with me, I was like, 2 choices, love. Put the seat AND the cover down, and you can live. Don’t, and you can face my wrath. I told you Chris was smart. He always puts the seat and cover down. Would you want to deal with me? I wouldn’t. I’m scary.
Sigh.
So this is the big week. Kat's competing in Virginia Beach for cheering Nationals. It's pretty damn big deal, and I mean we've been planning this trip since February when they qualified. You'd think that'd be plenty of time to get the basic details taken care, plane tickets, hotel, fucking state issued identification. It's pretty much common knowledge that you need a picture ID to board a plane, and for most people that wouldn't be a problem, except that I got my license suspended and figured a state ID was a waste of money. Yeah, not so much.
See, in July I was in an accident. Some jackass rammed into the side of my Jeep, totaling it. Well, my insurance had lapsed, only by a few days, and even though the accident wasn't my fault, I got a ticket for not having insurance. About a month later, I got a letter from the State saying that I needed to have this special insurance (an SR-22) on my license for at risk drivers. So I got it, no big deal. Well, when my insurance renewed on December 31, I got a bill. For $600... JUST for the renewal. It was going to be another $200 for the first month of coverage because of the stupid SR-22. I was like well screw that, I'm not paying that.Chris and I decided we'd cut down to 1 car, he'd be the official chauffeur, etc. We haven't had any problems at all with it. We've saved money, it's been great, until this morning when it really sucked. On the way to work, I was thinking about how people lie on their licenses, you know they weigh like 500 lbs, but they put 120 lbs? Well, it was going to be a great blog post, then I realized 1. I totally do that on my license, and 2. isn't it strange I have long hair on my license. It was kind of a slow progression to reality: hey, I have long hair in my license picture, I haven't had long hair in like 7 years, that's weird, I wonder when this expires... OH MY GOD MY LICENSE IS EXPIRED! Now you're probably thinking, you already knew it was suspended, what's the big deal? Well, I don't have a state ID. Meaning, I have no valid identification to board the plane. On Friday morning. No big deal, just go get a state ID, right? Wrong. Because of the new federal laws, you have to prove that you're not a terrorist or something and show your birth certificate and a copy of your taxes or something before you can get an ID. Just get a copy of your birth certificate, right? Wrong. The Office of Vital Statistics takes 24-48 hours to expedite a birth certificate request, and since it has to be an "official copy", it just makes it harder. I have a copy, it's just not an "official" copy. Ok so, can't get one from Vital Statistics, not enough time. So I called the town where I was born, they can make me an official copy TODAY (huge sigh of relief). So they're an hour away, we have to drive there and get the "official" copy. Then we have to drive back an hour and a half in the other direction to get the actual ID. Then I have to give the State a copy of my travel plans so they'll release my ID today and not in 2-3 weeks, which is standard turn around time on IDs. Of course if all of this fails, we'll be driving the 13 hours to Virginia Beach. 13 hours, me, Chris and Kat stuck in a car together? Good Christ that would suck.
So lesson learned? I don't know that I really learned anything...except that getting a license or ID is a pain in the ass. I refuse to take responsibility for the accident (the cops and the other driver's insurance company said he was 100% at fault) or for trying to save $200 a month on stupid insurance about a stupid law that punished me for some jackass hitting MY car.
Ok it's kinda my fault for not taking care of this sooner. SIGH.
See, in July I was in an accident. Some jackass rammed into the side of my Jeep, totaling it. Well, my insurance had lapsed, only by a few days, and even though the accident wasn't my fault, I got a ticket for not having insurance. About a month later, I got a letter from the State saying that I needed to have this special insurance (an SR-22) on my license for at risk drivers. So I got it, no big deal. Well, when my insurance renewed on December 31, I got a bill. For $600... JUST for the renewal. It was going to be another $200 for the first month of coverage because of the stupid SR-22. I was like well screw that, I'm not paying that.Chris and I decided we'd cut down to 1 car, he'd be the official chauffeur, etc. We haven't had any problems at all with it. We've saved money, it's been great, until this morning when it really sucked. On the way to work, I was thinking about how people lie on their licenses, you know they weigh like 500 lbs, but they put 120 lbs? Well, it was going to be a great blog post, then I realized 1. I totally do that on my license, and 2. isn't it strange I have long hair on my license. It was kind of a slow progression to reality: hey, I have long hair in my license picture, I haven't had long hair in like 7 years, that's weird, I wonder when this expires... OH MY GOD MY LICENSE IS EXPIRED! Now you're probably thinking, you already knew it was suspended, what's the big deal? Well, I don't have a state ID. Meaning, I have no valid identification to board the plane. On Friday morning. No big deal, just go get a state ID, right? Wrong. Because of the new federal laws, you have to prove that you're not a terrorist or something and show your birth certificate and a copy of your taxes or something before you can get an ID. Just get a copy of your birth certificate, right? Wrong. The Office of Vital Statistics takes 24-48 hours to expedite a birth certificate request, and since it has to be an "official copy", it just makes it harder. I have a copy, it's just not an "official" copy. Ok so, can't get one from Vital Statistics, not enough time. So I called the town where I was born, they can make me an official copy TODAY (huge sigh of relief). So they're an hour away, we have to drive there and get the "official" copy. Then we have to drive back an hour and a half in the other direction to get the actual ID. Then I have to give the State a copy of my travel plans so they'll release my ID today and not in 2-3 weeks, which is standard turn around time on IDs. Of course if all of this fails, we'll be driving the 13 hours to Virginia Beach. 13 hours, me, Chris and Kat stuck in a car together? Good Christ that would suck.
So lesson learned? I don't know that I really learned anything...except that getting a license or ID is a pain in the ass. I refuse to take responsibility for the accident (the cops and the other driver's insurance company said he was 100% at fault) or for trying to save $200 a month on stupid insurance about a stupid law that punished me for some jackass hitting MY car.
Ok it's kinda my fault for not taking care of this sooner. SIGH.
Kicked out of the Cardigan Club
Being the good mommy that I am, I volunteered to help on a fundraising committee for my kids' team. So this new fundraising committee had a meeting, where I met the other two members of the committee, who were part of the "I'm a Perfect Mommy and You're a Trashy Loser Club" aka the Cardigan Club. You know those moms that give you "the look" when your kid misbehaves? The moms that are the eternally suffering martyrs of the PTA (complaining about ALL the hard work they have to do, yet never have the sense to stop volunteering or let someone else have a turn)? Yeah, they were my fundraising committee. It was a little disheartening, because I think those kind of moms give moms everywhere a bad name, but because I want to be supportive of my kids, I sucked it up and played nice. After about 30 minutes of listening to how they're SO good at this kind of thing, and how during soccer they did such and such, and how they're they only 2 people on the planet capable of fundraising, they actually gave me a job. I was supposed to handle ordering t-shirts, collecting money from parents, etc. Easy enough right? I mean, I get paid to do logistical planning for Christ's sake, I think I can handle ordering some friggin t-shirts.
We "discussed" (and by discussed I mean they included me in emails in which they bickered back and forth in an effort for Ultimate Queen Bee Mommy Supremacy) for 2 weeks over what color the shirts should be. Yes, really. One of them said that black was just too "blah", and the other said that "white doesn't hide stains well", and "green is not my color". The argued about how much to charge. They argued about whether or not the logo should be outlined so it would "pop" more. On and on and on and fucking on. But I love my kids, so I resist the urge to bash their little blonde heads together. I continue asking for some decisions so I could finish this, I make about 73 variations of an order form, I mean, I put time and effort in to really try to do my part. I smile as they talk to me like I'm a backward redneck. I ignore the snotty comments and the backhanded compliments. After all, I'm a good mommy, right? And we're all just doing what we can to support our kids, right? So yesterday, I get an email that says essentially, Someone else is taking care of the t-shirts, butt out.I was like, eh what the fuck? So I wrote them all an email asking what was up, what happened, etc. So the reigning Queen Bee Mommy writes back and tells me that this should've been done last week and that I obviously don't understand how to do this, basically I'm just a big stupid loser so they had to "delegate" elsewhere. Speechless.
I don't know what I'm more irritated by: the fact that these two women, who stand for everything that I hate by the way, blew me off, or the fact that I care. Yeah, there are times that I wish that the Cardigan Club would pay attention when I talked. I wish that I could be a part of this elite clique of Mommies. I readily admit, I'm not a fancy pants mom. I don't send my kids to private school, I have tattoos and swear (although I never once swore around them, I even slipped in an "oh my GOSH!"). I don't even own a cardigan, let alone a pair of pleated khaki pants (their official uniform).
Anyway, I told them they could take their fundraising committee and their holier than thou attitude and shove it. Of course, thereby reinforcing their idea that I was not a worthy member of the Mommies for World Domination Club, but I was in fact an imposter, a smoking, swearing, jeans wearing, borderline psychotic mommy with questionable parenting skills. But hey, on the bright side, I'm pretty sure they won't be asking me to bake cookies for the bake sale.
We "discussed" (and by discussed I mean they included me in emails in which they bickered back and forth in an effort for Ultimate Queen Bee Mommy Supremacy) for 2 weeks over what color the shirts should be. Yes, really. One of them said that black was just too "blah", and the other said that "white doesn't hide stains well", and "green is not my color". The argued about how much to charge. They argued about whether or not the logo should be outlined so it would "pop" more. On and on and on and fucking on. But I love my kids, so I resist the urge to bash their little blonde heads together. I continue asking for some decisions so I could finish this, I make about 73 variations of an order form, I mean, I put time and effort in to really try to do my part. I smile as they talk to me like I'm a backward redneck. I ignore the snotty comments and the backhanded compliments. After all, I'm a good mommy, right? And we're all just doing what we can to support our kids, right? So yesterday, I get an email that says essentially, Someone else is taking care of the t-shirts, butt out.I was like, eh what the fuck? So I wrote them all an email asking what was up, what happened, etc. So the reigning Queen Bee Mommy writes back and tells me that this should've been done last week and that I obviously don't understand how to do this, basically I'm just a big stupid loser so they had to "delegate" elsewhere. Speechless.
I don't know what I'm more irritated by: the fact that these two women, who stand for everything that I hate by the way, blew me off, or the fact that I care. Yeah, there are times that I wish that the Cardigan Club would pay attention when I talked. I wish that I could be a part of this elite clique of Mommies. I readily admit, I'm not a fancy pants mom. I don't send my kids to private school, I have tattoos and swear (although I never once swore around them, I even slipped in an "oh my GOSH!"). I don't even own a cardigan, let alone a pair of pleated khaki pants (their official uniform).
Anyway, I told them they could take their fundraising committee and their holier than thou attitude and shove it. Of course, thereby reinforcing their idea that I was not a worthy member of the Mommies for World Domination Club, but I was in fact an imposter, a smoking, swearing, jeans wearing, borderline psychotic mommy with questionable parenting skills. But hey, on the bright side, I'm pretty sure they won't be asking me to bake cookies for the bake sale.
An open letter to studio execs
Dear Mr. Studio Executive,
I was reading my daily gossip today, and read that "Octomom" is thisclose to getting her own reality show. To which I say, What. The. Fuck. I know she's this woman who had octuplets, which is insane all by itself, and not at all her fault...except it was. She had in-vitro fertilization. Add those 8 kids to the 6 she already had, and you can call her Fourteenamom (if you use the name "Fourteenamom" for her show, you'll have to pay me the licensing fees, because I totally call dibs on that name). The woman has no job, and is totally reliant on government assistance to care for these 14 children. Don't misunderstand, I have nothing against government assistance for people who need it. I have a problem with a woman with no job and 6 kids paying thousands of dollars for in-vitro fertilization to have another 8 kids. But I digress. This woman gets a reality show? This is what's wrong with America. You have to be at the height of irresponsibility to get a reality show (Rod Blagojevic, the loser/Going to jail for selling Obama's senate seat/Ex-governor of Illinois is getting one, as is Michael Vick, dog fighter extraordinaire/former NFL quarterback is also said to be getting one). Well let me tell you Mr. Studio Executive, I'm MORE than qualified to have a reality show.
I have 2 kids, which I am completely unqualified to raise and I'm totally irresponsible. I let my kids run with scissors and paint on the walls as a form of self expression. I have a part-time job at Hooters, where I bring my kids everyday after because I'm too cheap to send them to daycare and the because they have the best wings. My life's goal is to be a singer/dancer/ninja and I work tirelessly on my career (I'll give you full access to all of my training sessions, except the ninja training, because then I'd have to kill you). My live in Manny (man nanny) is drop dead gorgeous and the sexual tension between us is palpable (you could use this for a "will they or won't they" moment during sweeps week). I have two little dogs that are cute and bark too much (a staple for any good reality show). My husband sucks at fixing things and home improvement projects usually end in a call to the fire department. As I'm sure you can see, we're fantastic candidates for a reality show.
I look forward to hearing from you and working for your network.
Merritt
P.S. I'd like a Thursday night time slot. Preferably in the 10:00 hour so I can swear more.
P.P.S. None of what I said about my family is true.Except the part about my husband setting things on fire, that's true. Give me a show anyway.
I was reading my daily gossip today, and read that "Octomom" is thisclose to getting her own reality show. To which I say, What. The. Fuck. I know she's this woman who had octuplets, which is insane all by itself, and not at all her fault...except it was. She had in-vitro fertilization. Add those 8 kids to the 6 she already had, and you can call her Fourteenamom (if you use the name "Fourteenamom" for her show, you'll have to pay me the licensing fees, because I totally call dibs on that name). The woman has no job, and is totally reliant on government assistance to care for these 14 children. Don't misunderstand, I have nothing against government assistance for people who need it. I have a problem with a woman with no job and 6 kids paying thousands of dollars for in-vitro fertilization to have another 8 kids. But I digress. This woman gets a reality show? This is what's wrong with America. You have to be at the height of irresponsibility to get a reality show (Rod Blagojevic, the loser/Going to jail for selling Obama's senate seat/Ex-governor of Illinois is getting one, as is Michael Vick, dog fighter extraordinaire/former NFL quarterback is also said to be getting one). Well let me tell you Mr. Studio Executive, I'm MORE than qualified to have a reality show.
I have 2 kids, which I am completely unqualified to raise and I'm totally irresponsible. I let my kids run with scissors and paint on the walls as a form of self expression. I have a part-time job at Hooters, where I bring my kids everyday after because I'm too cheap to send them to daycare and the because they have the best wings. My life's goal is to be a singer/dancer/ninja and I work tirelessly on my career (I'll give you full access to all of my training sessions, except the ninja training, because then I'd have to kill you). My live in Manny (man nanny) is drop dead gorgeous and the sexual tension between us is palpable (you could use this for a "will they or won't they" moment during sweeps week). I have two little dogs that are cute and bark too much (a staple for any good reality show). My husband sucks at fixing things and home improvement projects usually end in a call to the fire department. As I'm sure you can see, we're fantastic candidates for a reality show.
I look forward to hearing from you and working for your network.
Merritt
P.S. I'd like a Thursday night time slot. Preferably in the 10:00 hour so I can swear more.
P.P.S. None of what I said about my family is true.Except the part about my husband setting things on fire, that's true. Give me a show anyway.
Screw you Facebook
After many months of scoffing, mocking and flat out refusal to join Facebook, I finally caved. And I can say in all honestly, it really is as bad as I thought it would be. See, the problem with Facebook is that in the 16.3 seconds after you join, you're right back in high school. Your little friend counter just taunts you, you only have 7 friends, look at that guy, he has 387, you big loser. You hedge back and forth, debating on whether or not to ask Joe Smith or Jane Doe to be your friend. You start to question yourself, were you cool enough to remember, or were you more of a loser than you thought? So you take a deep breath and click "add as a friend", telling yourself you don't care, but you know you do, and you smile and sigh a huge sigh of relief when you find they've added you as a friend. Or of course there's the little "People You May Know" tool, which is really the "You Don't Know These People Because You're a Loser" tool. I'm like, Facebook, why must you taunt me?
I've also discovered that a lot of my old friends now totally suck (and by suck, I mean totally don't suck and have become successful and important). They've graduated from places like Harvard, Yale and other places smart people go (aka college), and are all upstanding citizens and crap. So it's not bad enough that I have to constantly question my loser-dom via Facebook, but now I have to feel like a total failure for my life's complete lack of direction. It's only been about a year that even had the vaguest idea what I was doing, and even now, most days it's a toss-up. It is funny to see what people are doing now though. Some you think, yep, I knew she'd be successful, or in Chris' case, some fool let you be in charge of children? (An exact quote from Chris' wall, Hard to believe you are taking part in the raising and influencing of small human beings now...no offense.)
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go update my Facebook status. Because for all of it's suckingness, it's totally addictive and I love it.
Screw you Facebook.
I've also discovered that a lot of my old friends now totally suck (and by suck, I mean totally don't suck and have become successful and important). They've graduated from places like Harvard, Yale and other places smart people go (aka college), and are all upstanding citizens and crap. So it's not bad enough that I have to constantly question my loser-dom via Facebook, but now I have to feel like a total failure for my life's complete lack of direction. It's only been about a year that even had the vaguest idea what I was doing, and even now, most days it's a toss-up. It is funny to see what people are doing now though. Some you think, yep, I knew she'd be successful, or in Chris' case, some fool let you be in charge of children? (An exact quote from Chris' wall, Hard to believe you are taking part in the raising and influencing of small human beings now...no offense.)
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go update my Facebook status. Because for all of it's suckingness, it's totally addictive and I love it.
Screw you Facebook.
Gentlemen Prefer...?
Last night we watched Gentlemen Prefer Blondes with Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell, which I j'adored! I'd never seen it, and I really, really loved it. It was genuinely funny, and it's so much fun to watch old movies where everyone looks fabulous and sings and dances...love it. I also really loved that Lorelei (Marilyn Monroe's character) was unabashedly a gold-digger. I've shared her whole philosophy of the world as long as I can remember, not necessarily the gold-digging, but certainly the philosophy that she's worth it, and why shouldn't she want the best for herself. But I loved the scene about the tiara. Lorelei is trying on a tiara, and she can't figure out how to put in on and when they tell her to put it on her head she says, "You DO wear it on your head. I just LOVE finding new places to wear diamonds!" I laughed so hard at that. I mean seriously, is that not totally true?
Anyway, I was noticing the enormous differences between Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe and the movie stars of today. The movie stars of the those days are beautiful and statue-esque, but certainly unconventional beauties by today's standards. Marilyn Monroe would most likely be plastered all over US Weekly with the headlines "Marilyn, Too Fat?" It's completely absurd. You could use any of the movie stars of those days, but it was watching Marilyn Monroe that really got me thinking about this. She was (and is) an iconic beauty. Women wanted to be her, men wanted to be with her. Yes, she was typecast, and unfortunately people saw only her looks and not really her as a person, but that only makes my point more. Today's standards are so ludicrous, unless a woman is stick thin, botoxed, nipped, tucked, and implanted, she's fat, or not pretty enough. Please. It's retarded.
See, the problem here is women, not men. I actually heard my mom and my aunt talking a couple of weeks ago, and they were saying that men want thinner women, and DO care about weight, etc. To which I said, bullshit. They still disagreed with me but they're wrong. Women seem to have this ideal picture in their head of what beauty is, men don't share it. Yes, men will always love to look at the Jenna Jameson's of the world, but that's not who they love, it's not who they choose to be with. I think that it's unfair to peg men as these cavemen-like creatures that only care about big boobs and blonde hair. Sure, some men do, but do you honestly want that kind of man anyway? I'm talking about the majority of men. They care about a woman's personality, their confidence, their wit, etc. Any man will tell you that confidence is sexy. If you act and carry yourself like you weigh 300 lbs, then that's exactly how you'll look. But if you own the room, if you own your body, and are comfortable in your own skin, all of a sudden 300 looks like 120. I'm not advocating letting yourself go and burning all your makeup, I'm just saying, be who you are. Be strong, be proud, be beautiful, be you.
Look, I'm no supermodel, I never have been. I've always struggled with my weight. But I've never, ever had a problem getting men to pay attention to me. That's not cocky, it's a fact. I don't walk around like a fatty fat. Own it ladies, love yourself, love your body, and for God's sake, push the mute button on what you're "supposed" to be.
Anyway, that's my rantyness for today.
Anyway, I was noticing the enormous differences between Jane Russell and Marilyn Monroe and the movie stars of today. The movie stars of the those days are beautiful and statue-esque, but certainly unconventional beauties by today's standards. Marilyn Monroe would most likely be plastered all over US Weekly with the headlines "Marilyn, Too Fat?" It's completely absurd. You could use any of the movie stars of those days, but it was watching Marilyn Monroe that really got me thinking about this. She was (and is) an iconic beauty. Women wanted to be her, men wanted to be with her. Yes, she was typecast, and unfortunately people saw only her looks and not really her as a person, but that only makes my point more. Today's standards are so ludicrous, unless a woman is stick thin, botoxed, nipped, tucked, and implanted, she's fat, or not pretty enough. Please. It's retarded.
See, the problem here is women, not men. I actually heard my mom and my aunt talking a couple of weeks ago, and they were saying that men want thinner women, and DO care about weight, etc. To which I said, bullshit. They still disagreed with me but they're wrong. Women seem to have this ideal picture in their head of what beauty is, men don't share it. Yes, men will always love to look at the Jenna Jameson's of the world, but that's not who they love, it's not who they choose to be with. I think that it's unfair to peg men as these cavemen-like creatures that only care about big boobs and blonde hair. Sure, some men do, but do you honestly want that kind of man anyway? I'm talking about the majority of men. They care about a woman's personality, their confidence, their wit, etc. Any man will tell you that confidence is sexy. If you act and carry yourself like you weigh 300 lbs, then that's exactly how you'll look. But if you own the room, if you own your body, and are comfortable in your own skin, all of a sudden 300 looks like 120. I'm not advocating letting yourself go and burning all your makeup, I'm just saying, be who you are. Be strong, be proud, be beautiful, be you.
Look, I'm no supermodel, I never have been. I've always struggled with my weight. But I've never, ever had a problem getting men to pay attention to me. That's not cocky, it's a fact. I don't walk around like a fatty fat. Own it ladies, love yourself, love your body, and for God's sake, push the mute button on what you're "supposed" to be.
Anyway, that's my rantyness for today.
