For my brothers with daughters, I call this / Not sayin' that our sons are less important

"The tragedy of machismo is that a man is never quite man enough"

- Germaine Greer, author of  The Female Eunuch

is this too obvious.

Men:

Women:

sorrrryyy, we're just doing a series on sruti's ideal men.

brb, taking off all my clothes.

as lauren always says, "do it. don't even think about it."

Songs For Moments of Wanting

No Make-Up

The perfect man.

If That's Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night)

420

Today, I realize, is 4/20! What this actually is meant to celebrate, I am not quite sure (check Wikipedia if you are curious for the history). What I do know is that it results in many people smoking joints in public at 4: 20 pm on April 20^th, as a giant “fuck you” to society at large that regularly prohibits such behavior.  Everyone thinks that they are being extremely rebellious and badass by doing this in public, in the day time, where everyone can see. This made me wonder about the number of things that are considered pretty peculiar or even reprehensible in the daytime, like drinking, smoking pot, and having sex, but are considered fully acceptable at night. I believe that these acts fall within the heading of what historian Anna Clark calls twilight moments,  “those sexual activities or desires which people are not supposed to engage in, but they do.” She suggests that because these activities transpire under a shroud of darkness, they are merely perceived as temporary and that as a result, when it becomes day again, people “return to their everyday lives, and evade a stigmatized identity as deviant.”  Anyway, I am of the school of thought that says that if you are comfortable doing so, if you have no responsibilities for that day, if you use birth control, and if you aren't hurting anyone, go ahead and screw societal norms! Also, happy 4/20! Here are some songs that make things great. 

 fly girl get em- BJ the chicago kid

the recipe - Kendrick Lamar ft. Dr Dre 

Runaway - Kanye West ft. Pusha T

The beautiful ones / Sex is on Fire - Beyonce

Another You - Tony Williams ft. Kanye West

We are Girls PSA

Since I was an avid watcher of YTV and just about every form of TV aimed at kids in the 90s (Hang Time, City Guys, Full House, Family Matters, One Saturday Morning everything, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, Boy Meets World, One World, that one with the genie, etc etc ETC), I remember this PSA playing just ALL THE TIME. What amazes me is watching it again now, I somehow remember all of the words. It is kind of cheesy, and the outfits are just the best, but I very much appreciate the message behind it and am so glad that I grew up in a time where this positive message was being expressed. I can only hope that girls growing up today are exposed to something like this (although I am pretty convinced that no one really watches commercials anymore or television on their tvs), because I think that my friends and I owe many of our views to growing up watching videos like this. In any case, this PSA makes for an effective mission statement for Feminist Werewolf.

The Howl of the Feminist Werewolf

Oh hi there,

 

It seems like we kind of dove into things a bit quickly, and while we're not all about making the first move, we at feministwerewolf are all about love and respect and manners… and burgers.  Especially burgers.  

So let's get to know each other.  Grab a seat - your burger, with a side of hopeful angst, is on its way.

Here’s the deal: This blog may be called feministwerewolf, and while it's mostly about the trials and tribulations of being a 20-year-old female, its kind of about all of us.  

I was sitting with my two other, uh, werewolves, tonight and what started as a debate over what to order for dinner, suddenly turned into an in-depth share session.  Six hours later, we were still hungry, but learned that in our three different upbringings, we shared not only similar memories, but similar emotions associated with these memories.

Which is a pretty cool thing if you think about it, that we can all have these pseudo-shared experiences that transcend most cultural, gender, and religious boundaries.  Some of us may have been happy (or whatever), some of us not so much.  Some of us are hungry right now, some of us aren’t (haha, just kidding, we’re all always hungry.  Where’s the cheeseplate?)  But even if my experience of love or happiness or hunger differs from yours, we all know what it’s like to feel something. 

Lauren spoke about the conflict between ones emotions and reason, and I believe wholeheartedly that we, especially as women who are constantly pegged as being "too sensitive" or "overly emotional", need to give our feelings and experiences more credit.  The things that we say and feel and do matter, and discrediting them just seems unfair. 

I mean, our own understanding of the world is all we have, so shouldn’t we pay attention to our emotions and perceptions? It’s one of the saddest things when I encounter people who feel bad about feeling bad.  This is all you have!  Your feelings are yours!  You need them.  They let you know what’s up.  Otherwise they’ll just build up before manifesting themselves as some kind of peptic ulcer.  And I don’t know about you, but I’d rather just let my sadness run its course than cough up blood… but that’s just me.

Sruti said it once and I’ll say it again, we all need to stop for a minute and realize that we are, fundamentally, all the same.  We also need to understand that this is important.  We need to stop being so scared of this insanely huge community of weirdos that we’re all a part of, and we need to help each other out. 

I affect others, and you affect me, things leave marks, and our decisions have value.  Our lives are basically one giant high-risk pick-your-own-ending Goosebumps novel.  Except you know yourself better than R.L. Stine.  And your life has fewer vampires/haunted houses/monsters under your stairs (probably, maybe).

So, this blog was created for two reasons (probably more, but we’ll spare you):

1)             We want people to know that we’re all pretty much in the same boat.  So let’s all be friends!  Also, send us your stuff.  Also, I'm sure there are probably only 4 people reading this so... send us your stuff.

2)             We have a lot of time/ideas on our hands and we like whining on the Internet.

 

That’s not to say that this blog won’t have its fair share of videos of cats fighting fax machines, Sex and the City clips, and yes, the occasional male-oriented rant (c'mon, we're still 22 year old women, okay).  Anyway, we like to try to keep a nice balance here. 

Be open.  Be weird.  Get mad.  Try to find what makes you happy, and then maybe get mad again.  

Welcome to feministwerewolf.  We hope to see you back here real soon.  We love you.  So does this dog.
    
 

"I want to live where soul meets body"

It has recently come to my attention that so many girls, including myself, are at odds with what our brains are instructing us to do versus what our emotions are suggesting we do. We often feel like we should listen to our emotions, but then, because we are intelligent, think that this idea counters our intelligence because as girls we have been conditioned to think emotions are more harmful than helpful in proper decision making. As a result, we think that we should listen to our brains. This is a weird and fascinating dichotomy, because does your brain not control your heart? Why then does it seem like your heart is at odds with your brain and that we should somehow pick a side?

The “Proper” Way to Break Up With Somebody

        I have been watching reruns of Sex and the City for the past couple weeks for a number of reasons. Mostly, because I have an excess of free time now that I have gotten into a Master’s program for next year and work only part-time, but also because I have discovered that despite my distaste for the materialism the show promotes, the themes it presents resonate with me particularly now that I am 23 and have had some (pretty minimal but some) experiences dating. Today I came across the episode, “The Post-It Always Rings Twice,” where Carrie wakes up to find a post-it written by Jack Burger, her boyfriend of several months, that reads in screaming big, bold, black letters:

                             “I’M SORRY-I CAN’T – DON’T HATE ME.”

Though it is established earlier in the season that he makes his living as a writer, and thus, his livelihood is based on being a wordsmith, the most he can muster are those three terse, but loaded statements. Carrie’s immediate reaction is not so much sadness as it is utter disappointment and anger in the way in which it ended.  She recognized that their relationship was not necessarily meant to be everlasting, and thus, was mostly indignant over the lack of dignity that Burger granted to the end of their relationship.  They were facing some problems, and had been taking some time apart, but he came back to her apartment with pink carnations, a grand, romantic apology, ergo make-up sex ensued. Or so she thought. Turns out, he just needed to sleep with her one last time, give her the hope of continuing the relationship, only to bail without any real explanation.

This episode reminds me so much of when my boyfriend broke up with me through a Facebook inbox message, I suppose the twenty-something douche bag’s new go to break-up method of choice. Oh, and this happened the day after I went on a two-week cruise through the Caribbean with my family.  Family vacations are trying, emotion-fraught experiences without the added pain of constantly thinking about how your ex disposed of your relationship like it was nothing, and imagining how he is obviously immediately banging somebody cooler and hotter (my ego has inflated considerably since. I know this to be impossible now). Some might say being away from your ex-boyfriend, about to go on a sunny vacation to exotic places, would be the perfect escape. However, the sunny weather outside just reminded me that my mood did not reflect the weather at all. I almost wished that I were somewhere dark and dank to create some kind of pathetic fallacy and make poetry out of this situation and in turn, elevate its grander purpose in my life (you know, for my inevitable memoirs). But no. People told me my trip would “take my mind off things.” It didn’t. 

I was pretty reserved in high school. I didn’t date anyone and was convinced I would never fall for anybody, let alone date, until I was at least 30 and man’s emotional capacity had developed slightly.  Despite my better judgment, I let someone in. Guys I had dated before really meant nothing to me.  Breakups were easy and pain-free because I just did not care. Not like this one. This one gutted me, and left me pretty insecure about my self-worth for a while. He wrote to me on Facebook to tell me in a message replete with (ugh.) contemptuous emoticons that he “wants to be alone” and that he is “unhappy” and “going through some stuff,” when a couple days before he called me “family” and told me that I “was wonderful” and that he would miss me while I was away. I could not tell you if he was lying and I fell for it because as humans we tend to easily believe compliments, or if he was telling the truth, and in an instant changed his mind. Which is more terrifying, I could not tell you. 

I do not think I will ever really get what happened, why girls need the “proper” breakup, why guys feel the need to be dishonest, nor will I ever understand why it is that girls always seem to need the answers to these questions while guys tend to shrug these concerns off with a “who the fuck cares?” I am just glad that my friends, like Carrie’s, made everything better by finding a joint and smoking it with me, which most effectively numbs the questions in my head regarding life’s absurdities and enables me to laugh about them. For hours. With bread and cheese in hand. 

this is what we hope you get out of this blog.

i don't. yet.

Today, a coloured 24 year old woman, broke down crying in front of me.

Earlier, we had found ourself with a group of individuals, discussing the various ways in which we found it frustrating to be found desirable by men of our shared skin colour. (See: this). This discussion eventually constantly broke apart and evolved, into discussions on how hard it was to be loved, desired, and chosen by someone, to belong with someone.

And there's probably a lot of dumb cultural baggage, that even reaffirms that as something we should desire, or need, to fulfill ourselves, and our individual lives. Maybe it's a load of Barbie and Ken, wedding bullshit.

Or maybe, we're all weird, and no one wants to talk about it - except on the internet, where creepiness is embraced and shaped in the form of memes (that we all "get.") Do you realize that, world? We. all. get. memes. But we all keep talking to each other, like we're strangers introducing a fake facade for the first time.

And it's scary, and lonely, because objectively, we're all the same and should not feel alone, but don't talk about anything, so do feel alone (thank god for friends). And objectively, there's nothing less lonely then cuddles, (because, it really takes two), let alone, cuddles with someone who's overall personality excites and enriches your daily existence. (again, thank god for friends). but you can't cuddle and be enriched by friends. i mean, you can, but then we as a society start calling it dating. so it's not really a friendship thing anymore, you know?

"there are rules," we the same, say, naturalize, and reaffirm. and then whine about.

did anyone ever read that short story? sodom and gomorrah? down fell the towers, of babylon. and then we complained. complain.

so that 24 year old, lovely, woman, cried. and having known not that much about her - in that moment, i discovered she and i had the same weekend. the same weekend and sleepless nights, wondering if there was something wrong with us, if we were worth anything, or if we were just plain objectifiable (because that's how self-critical, girls get, when boys don't give them the right attention?) and our respective weekends of emotional roller coasters, had been spent with an individual understanding, that we were alone, in this.

we thought we were alone.

but we are all the same.

be honest, or you'll never really get the following songs: *



*i know, i don't. yet.

Maya Rudolph.

She does Gwen Stefani better than Gwen Stefani.

19 Tips for Males in 2012

Yesterday on Thought Catalog, Christopher Hudspeth wrote an article entitled 19 Tips for Females in 2012 which paints women (once again, sigh) as materialistic, silly, appearance-obsessed cliches. The article was tagged with a disclaimer that reads "I know these tips don't apply to the majority of females and I'm kidding (for the most part)," and I sense this was done to stop women from finding where he lives and egging his overly expensive apartment in Williamsburg. As a reaction to this list, I now present 19 Tips for Males in 2012. 


Disclaimer: I know these tips apply to the majority of males between twenty and twenty-six and I am not kidding (for the most part)


1. If her greatest attribute is a nice body, run in the opposite direction (Smart girls are better because (shock!) you can actually talk to them
2. Start approaching girls and stop being afraid of them, because we still want to be pursued though we are "modern" and self-professed feminists. Really, it doesn't take much. 
3. Don't believe that girls do not want sex as much as guys because that really is not true at all. 
4. Just because a girl has an edgy hair cut does not make her an interesting individual.
5. Always. ALWAYS take the advice and listen to Beyonce about how to treat women. 
6. It is alright to watch sports and talk about sports but don't get mad if I get bored sometimes. 
7. Do not wear tattered, dirty clothing. This causes instant loss of hard on for women. 
8. Do wear t shirts that expose nice arms. Nice arms are nice. 
9. We get it, you like dubstep. Just don't shit on other people's music. There are other genres out there! 
10. Personal hygiene is as significant as you think. I have heard of plenty of girls rejecting decent guys because they didn't shower enough, or because they shaved improperly.
11. Don't "Act like a Lady, Think like a Man." Start acting like a gentleman and approach a lady like a man. Bring chivalry back. We like this.  
12. It is probably best to respond to texts immediately instead of waiting to appear aloof. Express interest or disinterest in a time effective manner. Games are not appreciated. 
13. If you base your expectations of women on porn, or on Charlize Theron films, please stop. 
14. Rule of Thumb: If she cancels plans on her girlfriends for you, she really cares for you. A girl's best friends are the most important thing to her. 
15. Never say or think "She is not very pretty, but I think regardless, I kind of love her." No. If you did love her, you would and should think she is the most beautiful, amazing person.
16. Stop thinking we don't like to eat. We love to eat. Food is great. Bring on the cheese. All the cheese. Cheese is the way to our heart. Screw flowers.  
17. Don't neglect us for Call of Duty, World of Warcraft or any number of video games. Play it when you don't have plans with us, sure, but don't neglect us to play a video game because that is pretty immature. Plus, it won't have sex with you. 
18. STOP thinking we hate on other women so much. It seems that you are the ones being overly critical, using a woman's "moustache hair" or Adele hips as a reason to not date her. Don't put that shit on us. 
19. Stop making things so complicated. Boys like girls. Girls like boys. Boys like Boys. Girls like Girls. Just get on it. Just do it and don't even think about it. 

HBO's Girls (!)

I just watched the first episode of the new HBO series, Girls, written, directed and starring 25-year old explosion of awesome, Lena Dunham, and can I just say, WOW. I am pretty sure that Dunham just left a camera in my apartment for the last few months and through watching footage of me and my two friends through her spycam, created a show that provides a near perfect representation of the lives of 20-something girls with BAs. Here are the number of things that Girls gets so incredibly right about me and my twenty-something girlfriends (and as far as I can tell, everyone else) it is eerie:

1. we want guys who are not nice (or just plain treat us like shit)

Within the first few minutes, you can tell that Marnie (Allison Williams) hates her boyfriend not because he does anything particularly bad but because he is too nice. He gives her air kisses, and holds her retainer in the morning, but most disturbing, he sheepishly asks her what she wants him to do to turn her on. While ostensibly these are lovely things a good boyfriend on paper would do, we just do not want this and are very much turned off by this. Firstly, air kisses are just creepy, and retainers are gross and should not be happily held by anyone, let alone your boyfriend. Secondly, he should have not asked her so meekly what she wanted to have done to her sexually but just taken charge and pushed her against a wall (obviously not abusively but in a hot way). Marnie was right when she suggested that her "nice" boyfriend's touch felt like a "weird uncle, putting his hand on my knee on Thanksgiving."  While we search for boyfriends who will "treat us well"(don't even get me started on that loaded phrase), somehow it is impossible for us to view the excessively nice guys in a sexual way, as completely fucked up as that might sound. We get it, we know it doesn’t make all the sense. It is just how we feel.

2. We still love Sex and the city (ugh.)

I thought it was absolutely genius to have one of the characters (Mad Men’s Zosia Mamet) be obsessed with Sex and the City because though I hate to admit it, it still rules. As much as I hate how materialistic the show is, how one-dimensional the gay characters are, and just how immature Carrie can be, the show is unparalleled in its explanation of gender dynamics. Also, no group of girls has ever existed post SATC that has not contemplated its respective members’ character equivalents, even though each of its characters is rather flat and one-dimensional themselves if you think about it (Charlotte is the conservative beautiful one, Samantha the sexually-voracious one, Carrie the pensive, quirky yet fashion-forward artistic one, and then there is the one no one ever puts their friends, Miranda, because she is the butch, consistently angry one and the only one who actually ever works which is inconsistent with the fantasy). I am hoping that Girls does for 20-something girls what SATC did best, which is provide a real glimpse into their lives and conversations and reveal the universality of our problems.

3. We value our friendships above anything else

The second I heard Lena Dunham’s character Hannah say, “both of you are sex goddesses. When I look at both of you, a Coldplay song plays in my heart,” I immediately thought about how this is definitely something one of my friends has at least said in theory at some point in the last few months. It perfectly encapsulates the importance that awesome 20-something girls place on girl friendships. As we were born into the generation where gender relations are so fucked up, having a solid group of girlfriends I have come to realize is so important. We no longer get courted but rather, have to hope that a guy gets drunk or high enough to man up and get the balls (as the lovely proverb goes. There is really no better phrase) to drunkenly make out with you where you then have to contemplate whether this will be a one-night stand or materialize into a relationship. As a result of this messed up approach to “dating” that exists amongst our socially-awkward generation, it has been so key to have good girlfriends who act as the foil to the number of dysfunctional guys who do not have their shit together who constantly seem to enter our lives only to fuck with our minds.

4.  we love/hate our best friends who seemingly get everything effortlessly

I loved seeing the different characters reactions to Jessa (Jemima Kirke), the willowy, Blonde British chick who is immediately posited as the girl we are supposed to hate and rightfully so. She breezes into the show like the beautiful friend who never seems to work for what she has breezes through life, effortlessly. We learn that Jessa is a world traveler and has a lot of experience with men, and these are things that we are made to feel envious of. I am convinced that every group of early twenty-somethings has at least one person like this, someone who seemingly gets everything with so little effort. They seem to live their lives as if they belong in a script in a low-budget independent film scored by the hypothetical musical love child of Zooey Deschanel and Ben Gibbard (may their relationship rip) and seemingly do so, while the rest of their friends struggle, work horrible, degrading jobs and have lackluster relationships. We love / hate these people, because having never not been the way they are, do not get what it is like for us. This results in us simultaneously loving them and hating them out of a mix of jealousy and pity that they will flit through their lives in such a naïve fashion that will never actually “get it.”

honourable mentions: playing Jay-Z in the background was pure genius. Despite its apparent misogyny, hip hop has become our music of choice and has become far more identifiable than the whiny, white-washed indie crap that pervaded prior.  Also, the choice of On to the Next One was just awesome and is pretty much the greatest post-break up /post asshole anthem that could ever exist. 

9 Things Your Vagina Might be Telling You!: My Growing Disappointment with Women’s Magazines

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Letter to 16-year-old Me

Dear 16 year old Anna,

So you’re in your last year of high school.  Nice job.  Remember when the ceiling fell on your French teacher?  Yeah, she totally deserved that one.  So, you’re probably sitting at your computer, playing minesweeper or something.  I seriously can’t remember what was on the Internet 7 years ago… were we on dial up? Was YouTube a thing?  Napster? Anyway, I won’t keep you, I know you have to go make mix CDs composed of whatever you can find on the Internet for free and like four Rage Against the Machine songs your brother put on there.  Anyway, here’s what I got for you:

You don’t like Rage Against the Machine.  Stop it.

You still don’t have your license.  Sorry.  Driving’s hard and you’re not good at it.

You have braces.  They come off.  Stop whining about it.  Also, your teeth are really smooth, and eating apples is great again.

Your life starts after you graduate high school.  High school is so not real it’s insane.  The people you hated in high school are just like, chess pieces put there by… their parents  (do chess pieces of parents? This metaphor took a turn…) to fill up space until you discover that there are literally billions of other people in the world that don’t suck.  *see Kanye West’s “Everything I Am”. 

Soon you will meet the people you will call your friends for most of the rest of your life.  And these people are the best, and you will love them until the sky cries jellybeans.

You’ll learn that you can write.

You’ll develop a true love and deep appreciation for hiphop, but only after you listen to all the happy-sad indie stuff that you yearned to be able to relate to (you never really do).

Hiphop helps a lot.

Most importantly though, things don’t really change much as you get older.  Sorry to break this to you.  You just get better at dealing with everything.  And isn’t that so much better?  What fun is watching everything change around you while you stay the same?

You change and grow into yourself.  You grow into a person and you grow into a woman. You will do things you thought you wouldn’t, and it’s not awful.  You will also not do things you thought you would, which is disappointing.  But you probably should’ve taken a science class or two. 

You get a job and convince your mother you should move out of her house because you’re an adult, kind of.  You have opinions, but you’re still too nervous to voice them around people you don’t really know.  You’re still the quiet one in class.   But I’m not sorry about that.  The shyness thing will probably stay with you for a while, but the people worth knowing will understand.

You will, however, become more sure of yourself.  You’re strong, even though you might not always be in control.  Because you will still get angsty at 3 am and clean your room to give you the illusion that you know what’s going on.

Your friends are important.  They teach you things, and help you understand how you resonate with the rest of the world.  You teach them things, too, even though you don’t think you do.  Do not brush them off.  They care about you and you care about them and you all need each other because no one has any fucking clue what’s going on.

You will think your attractive on some days, instead of the usual none.  You will notice when a boy looks at you.  You’re not a size 2 anymore.  Not sorry about that.  The development of your curves is a slow, awkward, but ultimately fantastic progression.

I’m almost 23 now, but I’m still 16.  I’m still weird, but I own my weirdness like a pro, but most importantly, I’m still you.  Also, when I’m 30, maybe I’ll write a letter to 23 year old me, but I’ll still be you.  You have Professor Rozahegy to thank for that.  He’s adorable and wise and he will change your life and pay attention to him, okay.  He’s, like, 45% responsible for this letter being written.  Also, as much as I’d like to think I’m a completely different person, a large part of me will always be 16. 

So here’s to you past-present-future me.  Way to keep dealing with stuff, and making things more complex than they are, but still understanding that it’s probably better than giving zero value to anything at all. 

Also, this is only 7 years into the future, and the world is still nothing like the Jetson’s.  We’re still on Montreal, and constructions still really slow.  Sorry.

this is how I feel most days

everybody is thinking about sex

Today I went to a pseudo hipster party where I ran into just about every person who would be well suited for a weird bizarro nightmare that I would have, that would ultimately end with the creepy clown faces that would come far closer than you would expect or hope to see, cackling maniacally. There was the girl who terrorized my elementary school to fulfill some kind of "popular girl" status quo (honestly what made her popular? Everyone was afraid of her! I guess it was a title bestowed on she who owned the most butterfly clips). Also, there was the guy who sat at the peanut butter table in elementary school, the kid who used to terrorize other kids who appeared to be gay but who is now very much flamboyant but still, plain cruel, and the guy who gave me their number and I said I would call but never did out of plain disinterest. We all kind of looked at each other, shifty eyed, with little or nothing to say to each other. What made it the weirdest thing was something that I concluded while sitting on my satin couch amidst the dim light being emitted by the pineapple-shaped lamp, contemplating the want to crawl out of my own skin awkwardness of it all, was this one thought:

We are all thinking about sex.

My 48 Hours on OKCupid

Disclaimer: this blog post is in no way related to the film "127 Hours", but is at least half as worthy of an Oscar.

Alright here we go: I’m 22 and I’m single.  Yeah, I know, world’s smallest violin, but just let me have this, okay?

Now that we got that out of the way, I came home from my family’s Passover meal on Friday night a little bit mad and a little bit drunk.  So naturally, I came home, took my pants off, grabbed a beer (why am I single again?) and made an account on OKCupid.

Also probably playing a role in this, both of my (divorced) parents have recently ended the relationships they were most recently in.  Which obviously made me kind of upset, because my parents are the best.  They’re pretty much my barometer for judging/meeting new people.  This girl is wearing leggings as pants? No.  A guy doesn’t open a door for me? C’mon … I probably have issues… Anyway, I can only assume this is why my parents divorced.  Two people that awesome being married?  I’m sure the world would just blow up (read: one of them would of set the other on fire.)

This was my first ever experience with online dating. I’ve gone on a few “dates” (or whatever… do people go on dates anymore?) with a few guys, some of them didn’t really go anywhere, but I was hoping some of them would.  And I was kind of sure one of them would.  But it didn’t.

I had never completely ruled out online dating, I was just all “I want to meet someone the old-fashioned way”.  I had always felt that if I had joined an online dating site it somehow meant that I had finally given up, which I pretty much have.  I don’t know.  Something about it just made me a little uncomfortable.  But as is the case when one starts drinking, being “uncomfortable” is quickly replaced by  “lol IDGAF”. 

First, I was pretty surprised with how easy it is to make an account on this thing.  The hardest part is definitely thinking up a username, though.  My friends were very helpful in this area, offering me such options as “sexci_jailbait” and “bjs_4_breakfst69”.  I chose neither of these, but will keep them in mind.

After settling on a non-offensive username, free of the suggestive use of numbers, I was ready to go.  It was a little bit worrying how not worried I felt.  Oh wait never mind, the beer.

I would describe OKCupid as actually being a less creepy version of Facebook.  I know , but just hear me out.  On Facebook, you’re pretty much anonymously lurking whoever’s profile you have access to, and you may or may not admit to who you would sleep with.

But on OKCupid, you all pretty much know why you’re there, regardless of whether or not you indicated it on your profile. C’mon.  You’re on OKCupid.  You’re either lonely, horny, or both.

Secondly, you are actually able to see anyone who checks out your profile, and vice versa.  Honestly this type of virtual attention isn’t all that bad.  Because living in Montreal, I get the feeling that everyone is too caught up in themselves that they can’t let anyone think that they’re interested in anyone or anything. 

So, I answered a few quick questions about myself, filled out the “Message me if…” section with “you’re funny and don’t have any dead nurses buried under your house.”  Let’s just say some found this funny, and some… didn’t.

The site itself is pretty non-threatening though.  There was literally no pressure to do anything.  If you wanted to check out someone's profile you could.  If someone messaged you, you didn’t have to message back.  It's like you’re at a singles party your friend dragged you to, but you can just sit on the couch in your pajamas eating nachos while not talking to anyone.  Which is basically what I do when I’m invited to singles parties, which is… never.

Within about half an hour, I got a message from a pretty average guy, who we will call Jeezy, which is, I know, awesome: “Hey, how’s it going?”

ATTENTION DUDES:  THIS IS LITERALLY ALL IT TAKES.

So while Jeezy couldn’t really spell, he seemed like a pretty ok guy. But the site definitely has its fair share of weirdos.  I mean I’m not saying that some 55 year old married man from New Hampshire didn’t check out my profile and message me, asking me what my favourite candy was… Oh wait, nevermind - that’s exactly what I’m saying.  That happened.

So, yeah, OKCupid wasn't the worst.  But I found myself constantly checking up on it.  My email inbox was flooded with messages from the site, telling about new matches for me.  When bored, I would click through people’s profiles with no intention of messaging any of them.    

I deleted my account after 48 hours because this isn’t what I wanted.  I want to meet you and talk to you and be nervous with you and judge you by your coffee order.  I want to learn things about you and slowly piece together your personality.  I want to talk to you while still imagining what it would be like to rip your clothes off.

This is pretty much why I hated reading other people's self-written bios.  It gives people a chance to double-check and edit themselves, and that’s just no fun.  It makes you seem partially well-adjusted, and you’re not.  And that’s the best fucking part!  We’re all weird as hell!  No one knows what’s going on!  So let’s get drunk and grope each other and maybe worry about it later.

Why Beyoncé Empowers Me.

From a critical perspective, I should be judgmental of the way she presents femininity to society. One could argue, her sexual image overshadows her intelligence, or that she's just another pop star that branched off from yet another pop female group. And at a time, no less, when mass consumerism was on a subliminal "for sale" sign, on virtually, every pop cultural product being produced. This was the 90s, after all. This is my attempt at considering that maybe, you could misread Beyoncé, as a capitalist product, rather than as a cultural icon. In this mass media day and age - it's certainly an easy line to blur. It's why, we, the pretentious, have difficulty taking most mainstream things, very seriously.

But.

Consider the way, most - (please understand the gravitude of this generalized statistic) - most, out of the entire population of women, of our particular historical context - spend the majority of their lives, feeling less than capable, less than worthy, less than fulfilled. And considering the historical fences we have jumped over the years, we are now at a point where most of these women are confident, straight-forward, goal-oriented, complex, intellectually eager, proud, insecure, human beings. So the quality of women is at a peak, I would say. But the global experience of feeling like this, is at a line of frightening danger.

And I don't want to exclude Beyoncé as the end all, be all, figure that could counter this. There are many cool women (including the ones, you probably just had coffee with), who's complexity can be summed up as "amazing." This is not exclusive to Beyoncé.

But that's the point of Beyoncé.

So let's talk about her thighs. And her curves. And the way those qualities, in and of themselves, encompass femininity. Because of evolutionary signals - really. She as a woman, can birth. Cool, now we know the root of her entire attraction - of a female attraction, in its most simple form.

So let's talk about how her thighs glisten. And how her body bends. And every other pop cultural icon that has been praised for expressing devastatingly complex, emotional experiences, through the movement of their bodies, and the expression of their vocals, and every other aspect that makes them a performer (Prince, Tina Turner, M.J,). Clearly, these are aspects we as a society are attracted to in an overall human being, if not a woman herself.

I don't want to identify Beyoncé as the ultimate woman, but rather acknowledge her as a way we not only should, but rather, do all aspire to be. Because dancing to Beyoncé doesn't make me feel bad about who I am, but makes me acknowledge a socially repressed, and confident side of me. Of being a girl. So I want to encourage inner-Beyoncé's. When you are looking at her thighs, and her legs, and the way she bends, and snaps, and pouts, and shakes - you aren't in awe of sex, or the power of sex, or subliminally giving yourself more reasons to be upset with your body. You are a watching a proud individual - and here we specify, a proud woman.





And it is so hard to feel pride in that! In this world of dating, when both men and other women attempt to make each other feel less than. It is hard to feel pride in something you take for granted - the curve of your breasts, and the curve of your behind. Even if we spend everyday consciously considering the aesthetics of both, in front of that bedroom mirror - we walk through our lived experiences, not consciously aware of how we could and or do present ourselves to each other. I don't want to deny this experience to flat, uncurvy women either. It's not that you have to be one or the other. Intellectual, or sexy. These are not polar opposites. These characteristics come from the same brain.

You could and should be in a bustier reading that great russian novel. You are both of her.



I just want to encourage cockiness as much as I can, in a world where everyone is made to feel less than they ought to (including the way, they, we, impose that feeling onto ourselves). So be unabashedly proud, because we are currently having difficulty even trying to be modest.

Except for Beyoncé.

Aside from the beauty of music, and the magic that happens when jazz, and funk, borders on pop and hip hop - it is the animalistic growls, and purrs, and coy looks, that summarizes an unabashed confidence, we all aspire to, in this pop cultural icon. The point is, that we do this secretly. Why should it be a secret? No one ever talks about feeling empowered. That's lame. But we're sad all the time, and we're sad because we don't feel empowered. And then no one talks about it, and just continues to feel sad.

Except for Beyoncé.

Ashley Judd: feminism's latest spokesperson?

Ashley Judd Slaps Media in the Face for Speculation Over Her ‘Puffy’ Appearance

Though ostensibly another celebrity confrontation with the media regarding slanderous comments made about her post-forty appearance, actress Ashley Judd effectively argues that this personal vilification symbolizes the larger problem of subliminal misogyny that still persists in North America.
She states: 
The insanity has to stop, because as focused on me as it appears to have been, it is about all girls and women. In fact, it’s about boys and men, too, who are equally objectified and ridiculed, according to heteronormative definitions of masculinity that deny the full and dynamic range of their personhood. 

this.

Samantha: Being scared is not an easy thing for a man to admit
Miranda: So what, they get a medal for correctly identifying a feeling? We do that all day long. I feel pissed off!

I wish I could do this just so badly

Spinelli (!)

This episode. my god.

We're nice but angry.