I mean, every day is National Puppy Day, but today it is OFFICIAL.
D'aaaawwwwwwwwwwwwww.
[Via]
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Priya's Treatise on Unpopular Daughters
I just read this article about a woman who was part of the first generation of women to receive birth control - who didn't have to necessarily equate sex with pregnancy and children. She wants to know what it is about mothers of her generation that lets their daughters dress "like prostitutes" in this age of hypersexuality. Moses closes concludes, "We wouldn't dream of dropping our daughters off at college and saying: 'Study hard and floss every night, honey—and for heaven's sake, get laid!' But that's essentially what we're saying by allowing them to dress the way they do." Her thesis is that every girl wants to be popular, and every mother wants to help her daughter be part of that crowd. I have reservations.
First of all, there is no such thing as "this age of hypersexuality" - they're ALL "this age of hypersexuality" if you think about it.
Now. My mom - and all my friends' moms - were part of that generation, too, and none of us dressed like prostitutes. Ever. Not at prom, not at house parties. Never! I know. Maybe it was because we weren't allowed to, but I never had the That's Too Revealing conversation with my parents. I don't know if I was just incredibly lucky, but nobody ever threw a Slurpie in my face; I wasn't unpopular, I was just not popular. It's an important distinction. I never really felt talked down to or excluded by the popular kids, because I had a tight-knit group who always had my back. We had each other, and, looking back on that time in my life, I realize that I regularly felt the sensation of being very popular (within our sphere of influence). So obviously our mothers - consciously or not - did help us become popular, and not the kind that sends naked texts. This is how my parents did it:
My parents always stressed that the special thing about me was my intelligence, my humor, my personality in general. Sure, they told me I was pretty (WHAT PARENT DOESN'T TELL THEIR KID THIS) but it was not the kind of "pretty" that high school dudes are into. Maybe that's the difference between Moses' daughter and me: I wasn't hot! OF COURSE I fostered the occasional crush, lust, whatever, but nothing ever came of it. Like, nothing. Okay - I had my first kiss in high school and THAT'S IT. And I would be lying if I wrote that I felt like my inexperience at that point was a bad thing. To this day I'm REALLY happy that I didn't sleep around in high school, but mainly because (from what I understand), high school guys are generally fumbling sexual morons, not because I feel like I'd be "worth" less or traumatized if I had.
Also, my parents told me OVER AND OVER again that the popular kids had reached their peak by the time they were 17. This was not at all true in most cases, since I went to an affluent private school where lots of the popular kids grew up to get degrees in Finance (*cough*) but in at least one case it was SO TRUE and oh my god that case still shakes me to my bones with its trueness. Yeeeesh.
Things that my parents had no effect on but still helped a lot:
- I had the aforementioned Best Besties who had the same (alright, somewhat geeky) interests as I did and who never made me do anything I didn't want to do.
I think about this from time to time: How, as a FEMINIST!!!!!, I might raise my own Hypothetical Daughter. This is what I've managed to narrow it down to:
1) Do not be squeamish about sex talk, boy talk, drug/booze talk, girl talk, or any other kind of talk. Treat Hypothetical Daughter like you'd treat your high-school self: with dignity, respect, and a dash of humor. Make it clear that HD can ask you, tell you, ANYTHING and you will not flip out (unless a crime has been committed or someone's safety is otherwise at risk - be a responsible adult, parents!), and then, when she does come to you with something legit fucked up, FOLLOW THROUGH by giving her the benefit of a level-headed response from an adult with only her best interests in (realistic) mind! Give good, solid advice - use examples, illustrate with your own experience, extrapolate, but BE HONEST - and she will keep you in the loop. The important part, as always, is: FOLLOW THROUGH!!!!
2) Make HD aware of her Self as a Person. A strong sense of Self, and the rights that Self affords her, makes it easier to determine exactly what that Self is not okay with doing, and why that boundary has been drawn. I always knew that I had the RIGHT! to say No to something I didn't want to do, and people just had to respect it or I wouldn't be their friend anymore. Maybe I've just always been a super-opinionated shitheel, but that position has afforded me the best friends I could ever have asked for (love you guyyyzzzz), because toxic frenemies were not tolerated, and all that remained were genuinely supportive, loving GALS from the planet OhMyGod HighFive.
Also: Dressing provocatively doesn't necessarily mean that you're going to DO IT when you're 13. Your daughter could be Supes Hot but if she has a personally compelling reason to avoid doing Bad, Peer Pressure-y Stuff, she just...won't do it. No Commandments Necessary.
And stop saying that your daughter's peers look "like prostitutes". You clearly have no idea what real prostitutes look like (Hint: Not your 13 year old daughter at a Bar Mitzvah), so that comparison is hilarious for your daughter to hear, while simultaneously shaming your daughter for having done something she didn't...actually...do.
ALSO: WHAT IS WRONG WITH GETTING LAID IN COLLEGE. I mean, Freshmen: USE PROTECTION FOR EVERYONE'S SAKE, AND GET TESTED IF YOU DO IT A BUNCH WITH PEOPLE YOU DON'T KNOW AS WELL AS YOU MAYBE SHOULD (which is a lecture for another day), but if you have instilled in your daughter the sense that she knows exactly what her limits are, and why those are her limits, what she does in college will not traumatize her forever. It won't traumatize her at all!
Go forth and prosper! Oh - good luck with your sons, by the way. I don't know what the fuck to do about them.
First of all, there is no such thing as "this age of hypersexuality" - they're ALL "this age of hypersexuality" if you think about it.
Now. My mom - and all my friends' moms - were part of that generation, too, and none of us dressed like prostitutes. Ever. Not at prom, not at house parties. Never! I know. Maybe it was because we weren't allowed to, but I never had the That's Too Revealing conversation with my parents. I don't know if I was just incredibly lucky, but nobody ever threw a Slurpie in my face; I wasn't unpopular, I was just not popular. It's an important distinction. I never really felt talked down to or excluded by the popular kids, because I had a tight-knit group who always had my back. We had each other, and, looking back on that time in my life, I realize that I regularly felt the sensation of being very popular (within our sphere of influence). So obviously our mothers - consciously or not - did help us become popular, and not the kind that sends naked texts. This is how my parents did it:
My parents always stressed that the special thing about me was my intelligence, my humor, my personality in general. Sure, they told me I was pretty (WHAT PARENT DOESN'T TELL THEIR KID THIS) but it was not the kind of "pretty" that high school dudes are into. Maybe that's the difference between Moses' daughter and me: I wasn't hot! OF COURSE I fostered the occasional crush, lust, whatever, but nothing ever came of it. Like, nothing. Okay - I had my first kiss in high school and THAT'S IT. And I would be lying if I wrote that I felt like my inexperience at that point was a bad thing. To this day I'm REALLY happy that I didn't sleep around in high school, but mainly because (from what I understand), high school guys are generally fumbling sexual morons, not because I feel like I'd be "worth" less or traumatized if I had.
Also, my parents told me OVER AND OVER again that the popular kids had reached their peak by the time they were 17. This was not at all true in most cases, since I went to an affluent private school where lots of the popular kids grew up to get degrees in Finance (*cough*) but in at least one case it was SO TRUE and oh my god that case still shakes me to my bones with its trueness. Yeeeesh.
Things that my parents had no effect on but still helped a lot:
- I had the aforementioned Best Besties who had the same (alright, somewhat geeky) interests as I did and who never made me do anything I didn't want to do.
I think about this from time to time: How, as a FEMINIST!!!!!, I might raise my own Hypothetical Daughter. This is what I've managed to narrow it down to:
1) Do not be squeamish about sex talk, boy talk, drug/booze talk, girl talk, or any other kind of talk. Treat Hypothetical Daughter like you'd treat your high-school self: with dignity, respect, and a dash of humor. Make it clear that HD can ask you, tell you, ANYTHING and you will not flip out (unless a crime has been committed or someone's safety is otherwise at risk - be a responsible adult, parents!), and then, when she does come to you with something legit fucked up, FOLLOW THROUGH by giving her the benefit of a level-headed response from an adult with only her best interests in (realistic) mind! Give good, solid advice - use examples, illustrate with your own experience, extrapolate, but BE HONEST - and she will keep you in the loop. The important part, as always, is: FOLLOW THROUGH!!!!
2) Make HD aware of her Self as a Person. A strong sense of Self, and the rights that Self affords her, makes it easier to determine exactly what that Self is not okay with doing, and why that boundary has been drawn. I always knew that I had the RIGHT! to say No to something I didn't want to do, and people just had to respect it or I wouldn't be their friend anymore. Maybe I've just always been a super-opinionated shitheel, but that position has afforded me the best friends I could ever have asked for (love you guyyyzzzz), because toxic frenemies were not tolerated, and all that remained were genuinely supportive, loving GALS from the planet OhMyGod HighFive.
Also: Dressing provocatively doesn't necessarily mean that you're going to DO IT when you're 13. Your daughter could be Supes Hot but if she has a personally compelling reason to avoid doing Bad, Peer Pressure-y Stuff, she just...won't do it. No Commandments Necessary.
And stop saying that your daughter's peers look "like prostitutes". You clearly have no idea what real prostitutes look like (Hint: Not your 13 year old daughter at a Bar Mitzvah), so that comparison is hilarious for your daughter to hear, while simultaneously shaming your daughter for having done something she didn't...actually...do.
ALSO: WHAT IS WRONG WITH GETTING LAID IN COLLEGE. I mean, Freshmen: USE PROTECTION FOR EVERYONE'S SAKE, AND GET TESTED IF YOU DO IT A BUNCH WITH PEOPLE YOU DON'T KNOW AS WELL AS YOU MAYBE SHOULD (which is a lecture for another day), but if you have instilled in your daughter the sense that she knows exactly what her limits are, and why those are her limits, what she does in college will not traumatize her forever. It won't traumatize her at all!
Go forth and prosper! Oh - good luck with your sons, by the way. I don't know what the fuck to do about them.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
My Heart Will Go On
My mom is listening to a Bollywood song from 1995 while she works out in the other room. Every Indian person I know knows this song, even if you have to hum the melody for them to remember it. Indian DJs know to have it in their arsenal at an Indian event - I'm positive I've heard it at literally every Indian wedding reception I've ever been to (since 1995), and I have been to A LOT of Indian wedding receptions. My mother has 40 cousins. FORTY!!!!!! Indians be...havin' babies.
This is weird for me to try to explain because the American equivalent would be to unironically listen to the theme from Titanic. Also, I get sick of songs if I hear them too often in a one-week span; this Bollywood song has passed that point and cycled around to whichever point it is that I actually have dreams wherein this song plays in the background and I don't even realize it until a week later. It doesn't even annoy me anymore. This song is no longer just the theme to a movie - it's the theme for a people. It's an anthem. For ladies who saw this movie. In 1995.
SIDE NOTE: I just read the Wikipedia article for this movie (I saw it when I was 10, come on) and hollyyyyy crap. It made me realize how Shakespearean a lot of these classic Bollywood flicks are - the comedies are mischievous and cute, until everything almost turns into a huge tragedy, and then everyone gets married, whereas the tragedies are like comedies (you know, sad comedies though), and they alllllmost turn out okay, until everyone DIES. My god. Heartstrings, consider yourselves plucked. I'm going to go eat lunch and think about organizing a Bollywood night wherein all my white friends GET SKOOLED (also: all my white friends watch me ugly cry because you guys srsly these movies are intense).
This is weird for me to try to explain because the American equivalent would be to unironically listen to the theme from Titanic. Also, I get sick of songs if I hear them too often in a one-week span; this Bollywood song has passed that point and cycled around to whichever point it is that I actually have dreams wherein this song plays in the background and I don't even realize it until a week later. It doesn't even annoy me anymore. This song is no longer just the theme to a movie - it's the theme for a people. It's an anthem. For ladies who saw this movie. In 1995.
SIDE NOTE: I just read the Wikipedia article for this movie (I saw it when I was 10, come on) and hollyyyyy crap. It made me realize how Shakespearean a lot of these classic Bollywood flicks are - the comedies are mischievous and cute, until everything almost turns into a huge tragedy, and then everyone gets married, whereas the tragedies are like comedies (you know, sad comedies though), and they alllllmost turn out okay, until everyone DIES. My god. Heartstrings, consider yourselves plucked. I'm going to go eat lunch and think about organizing a Bollywood night wherein all my white friends GET SKOOLED (also: all my white friends watch me ugly cry because you guys srsly these movies are intense).
Thursday, March 17, 2011
GHOST WRITER
me: I WANT TO SEE GHOST WRITER TONIGHT (you all may remember from my tweets the other night that we kept having to restart Ghost Writer because we were distracted by involved side-commentary on the economic activities of the European Union...anyway we gave up at 1:30AM because it was a school night and we had only made it about 30 minutes into the movie)
Devon: well thats TOO BAD cuz its st pattys day and me 1/8th irish and i are going to get fucking drizzunk
me: mannnnnnnnn FINE
what are you going to do?
Devon: i dunno, but its gonna be with you, baby
me: haha oh, i mean, MY plan is to tie a rope to the back of your pants and yank it any time you wander into something dangerous or do something i don't like
Devon: hmmmm something tells me im gonna get yanked a lot
Devon: well thats TOO BAD cuz its st pattys day and me 1/8th irish and i are going to get fucking drizzunk
me: mannnnnnnnn FINE
what are you going to do?
Devon: i dunno, but its gonna be with you, baby
me: haha oh, i mean, MY plan is to tie a rope to the back of your pants and yank it any time you wander into something dangerous or do something i don't like
Devon: hmmmm something tells me im gonna get yanked a lot
A gay eye to portrait photography
I got this in an email last night. When I showed it to Devon, he laughed and said, "Life's Mission: Accomplished!" I'm not sure what that means.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
This Apartment Hunt Thing, MY GOD
me: i feel so discouraged since nobody is fucking calling me back or emailing me or ANYTHING
is it my voice? do you think i have a dumb voice?
Devon: i dunno baby
me: you
dunno
is it my voice? do you think i have a dumb voice?
Devon: i dunno baby
me: you
dunno
Monday, March 7, 2011
...
This image was presented to me, sans context, in the middle of an OkCupid personality test (yes, it is 2001, and yes, I was trying to figure out what my spirit animal is).
I don't even.
What.
I don't even.
What.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
How To Have the Best Night of Your Life
1. Be invited to "just get some drinks" at the bar you always go to, but haven't visited in a few weeks, with good friends you haven't seen in a while. Be well rested - if you feel even an iota of exhaust creeping in, drink a 5 Hour Energy. Have "a good feeling" about tonight, but don't say anything to anyone for fear of jinxing it.
2. Spend an hour and a half getting ready because you want to look cute in these photos for years to come. "Remember that night?" you'll ask your friends, when they have kids and you have tenure. Yes. They will remember.
3. Get to the bar. Drive around the block three times looking for parking, and eventually pay a guy that looks exactly like J.B. Smoove to watch your car. He says that you are "built for speed" and that is supposed to be a compliment.
4. The bar is full of fucking HIPSTERS. They all smell terrible and have ratty, unkempt mustaches. There's a band actually playing IN the bar, where patrons should be standing. Nobody can hear anything. You ask for a vodka soda but receive a vodka tonic instead, with no explanation. You look over your shoulder and your group is already walking out to the patio.
5. Start worrying about how much work you have to do. Try to banish these thoughts but the mental list keeps building and suddenly you feel exhausted. Look at your watch. It's only 11:30 and you realize you hate everyone for inviting you here.
6. One of your friends invited someone who is not your friend. This guy is actually wearing a three piece suit and it makes you feel suicidal. On top of this he is excessively rude to everyone and it makes you want to choke him with his own tie. You mutter under your breath that you might accept that behavior from someone wearing brogues but this fool is wearing wingtips so where does he get off? He hears you.
7. The unanimous decision has been made to migrate to another bar - a new one that has a good reputation. You haven't been there before, and you've been meaning to go, so it looks like the night is looking up.
8. Look up the address on your phone so you can GPS your way there. The address does not include street, court, avenue, or boulevard, so your car is completely clueless. Somehow find your way to the right street anyway, and start driving slowly up the block towards the right address.
9. Drive around the block five times looking for the place.
10. Realize your friend is wearing flip-flops so he will definitely get rejected.
11. Realize that same friend donated platelets that morning so when he gets rejected he is definitely going home. See your opening. Realize that you will go home too. Look at your watch. It's 12:15 but it feels like you've been up all night.
12. Make it to the bar. Your friend gets rejected, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
13. Go home, take off your makeup, put your hair up in a ponytail. It's 12:45. Watch Dirty Jobs until you fall asleep.
2. Spend an hour and a half getting ready because you want to look cute in these photos for years to come. "Remember that night?" you'll ask your friends, when they have kids and you have tenure. Yes. They will remember.
3. Get to the bar. Drive around the block three times looking for parking, and eventually pay a guy that looks exactly like J.B. Smoove to watch your car. He says that you are "built for speed" and that is supposed to be a compliment.
4. The bar is full of fucking HIPSTERS. They all smell terrible and have ratty, unkempt mustaches. There's a band actually playing IN the bar, where patrons should be standing. Nobody can hear anything. You ask for a vodka soda but receive a vodka tonic instead, with no explanation. You look over your shoulder and your group is already walking out to the patio.
5. Start worrying about how much work you have to do. Try to banish these thoughts but the mental list keeps building and suddenly you feel exhausted. Look at your watch. It's only 11:30 and you realize you hate everyone for inviting you here.
6. One of your friends invited someone who is not your friend. This guy is actually wearing a three piece suit and it makes you feel suicidal. On top of this he is excessively rude to everyone and it makes you want to choke him with his own tie. You mutter under your breath that you might accept that behavior from someone wearing brogues but this fool is wearing wingtips so where does he get off? He hears you.
7. The unanimous decision has been made to migrate to another bar - a new one that has a good reputation. You haven't been there before, and you've been meaning to go, so it looks like the night is looking up.
8. Look up the address on your phone so you can GPS your way there. The address does not include street, court, avenue, or boulevard, so your car is completely clueless. Somehow find your way to the right street anyway, and start driving slowly up the block towards the right address.
9. Drive around the block five times looking for the place.
10. Realize your friend is wearing flip-flops so he will definitely get rejected.
11. Realize that same friend donated platelets that morning so when he gets rejected he is definitely going home. See your opening. Realize that you will go home too. Look at your watch. It's 12:15 but it feels like you've been up all night.
12. Make it to the bar. Your friend gets rejected, and you breathe a sigh of relief.
13. Go home, take off your makeup, put your hair up in a ponytail. It's 12:45. Watch Dirty Jobs until you fall asleep.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
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