On Passivity and Gender

So, I’ll be the first to admit that I have some pretty major body image issues. It’s really hard for me to talk about size and weight in the media because I hate my own body so much and am constantly embroiled in a vicious struggle to lose weight, tone my muscles more, and generally look “better.” (I know that I’m messed up in the head about this. I get it, I really do. I look in the mirror and suck in just right so that my ribcage angles in a bit so that I don’t look so wide from side to side and I think “God, if they offered a surgery procedure to tuck my ribs in, I would get it! I look so much prettier when I suck in my ribs!” You guys, that’s kinda fucked up.) So when I say that it’s hard for me to talk about bodies, I’m not shitting around.

I, like much of culture, frame my obsession with my physique around health. Within reason, this is valid–I don’t like getting winded when I have to suddenly run a block to catch the trolley; I want riding my bike to be pleasurable, not painful; I want to be able to have pretzel-like and marathon-length sex sessions without a post-coital ER visit; I like lifting heavy objects and changing the tires on my car; etc. Being healthy is good! I have yet to meet someone who will disagree with me that having a healthy lifestyle is good. Hell, my determination to be healthy is one of the leading reasons I don’t smoke cigarettes regularly anymore, so that’s a good thing.

Where do we draw the line between healthy in the real way, and healthy in my “oh god you guys there is a tiny bit of muffin top above my belt!” way?

My crush on Amanda Hess of The Sexist continues as she covers wedding weight loss and how, shockingly enough, you guys–it’s not about health!

First off, I really want to see the Groom Weight Loss Challenge. Cause, dirty little secret, I think dudes with guts look WAY SILLIER than chicks with guts. For all that I am obsessive about my own weight and need to be skinny, I think girls with curves can be so gorgeous–I mean, we have boobs and hips and all those nice aerodynamic curves to help even things out. I know way too many dudes who are like a floppy version of the “tits on a stick” porn star idea–they are all gangly skinny limbs and then, like, BLAM. A watermelon. Oh fragile judgmental culture of ours, I don’t want THAT in my wedding pictures any more than I want myself looking like that!

But we’re all pretty chill with dudes looking like that. (Oh hey, health obsession, I’m actually not. I’m a shallow asshole, you guys! I admit it! I consciously try not to be, but I am! I objectify dudes all the time. I’m a bike-by-ogler. The danger is real! Just when you thought it was safe to go outside, there goes some chick, undressing you with her eyes as she bikes by! And let me say, nice tattoos. And the superhero undies? Damn, boy. Unf.) Wow that was a tangent.

Anyways, our culture lets dudes look like that. I mean, we totally celebrate the super fine and extremely foxy of the dudes, I’m not saying that unreasonable dude-spectations do not exist or anything, but it’s by and large okay for a dude to have some paunch or not be perfectly groomed or not conform to an exacting standard.

Cause, like, he’s so QUIRKY and ECCENTRIC. We’re going totally gaga for so-and-so’s rebel-without-a-cause attitude and devil-may-care style! Or something like that. Whatever those headlines are.

Because dudes are busy doing OTHER THINGS. BETTER THINGS than worrying about their appearance. I mean, dudes that are well-dressed and well-groomed and svelte and whatnot are often, in fact, maligned as being too feminine, too fussy, too high-maintenance, etc. Because there are BETTER ways for them to spend their time than worrying about how they look.

Us ladyfolk, on the other hand, get to spend our time on being PRETTY. Which is why it is so amazingly unacceptable for us to carry any extra poundage, to not be dressed just so, to not have our full arsenal of makeup and hair products deployed at every minute of every day. What else would we be doing?

I was at Target the other day looking for a muffin tin. Instead of finding what I was looking for, I found these:

Om nom nom.

Okay, seriously people? There’s a “girl cookie pan” and a “boy cookie pan.” And just look at what you can bake for your pretty little girl! Crowns, flowers, butterflies, castles, a kiss, and purses. What do boys get? Rocket ships, a jet, a sports pennant, a trophy, a shirt with a medal, and a sports car.

The female items are all PASSIVE. Other than the purse, which I suppose you take your husband’s credit card in and out of, you don’t interact with that stuff. It’s just that–STUFF. Pretty things. Flowers! Butterflies! Lips! Castles! Crowns!

So, like, the chances that the little dude you bake the rocket ship cookies for is going to grow up to be an astronaut are ridiculously small. The chances that your little girl is gonna grow up to be a princess? Yeah, NONE. If the little dude holds onto that dream of becoming an astronaut, he might just fulfill it. Or at the very least, he might study astrophysics and engineering and still have a rewarding, exciting life. What do you study to become a princess? What do you major in at college? What extracurriculars do you pursue? (Please, no jokes about sororities.) You don’t. You sit and wait and hope to attract a prince.

We are socialized from the very beginning to be PASSIVE–to sit still, to be delicate, to be proper.

The only time we’re allowed to be ACTIVE, to engage with anything and to do more than just sit and look pretty, is for the sake of being skinny. We’re allowed to exercise. We’re allowed to dedicate all of our activity to improving the quality of our passivity.

Despite the fact that I can sit back and KNOW all this, I am still only eating a half granola bar, a small cup of yogurt, and a banana today, because I’m meeting up with friends later and I expect I’ll probably have some beers and snacks and I want to keep under my daily calorie goal. Because it’s healthy.

That’s some powerful fuckin’ social programming, that is.


06/11/2010. Tags: , , , , . Uncategorized. 2 comments.

There is so much stuff on the internet!

It’s been quite a week. There was a holiday (I spent it mostly in bed), there was a busy day at work, and then there was a day where the network was down basically all day. Now we’re here. To say that I’ve missed a lot in my Google reader would be a huge understatement. To say that there’s a lot that I want to blog about, but really don’t have the time or energy right now would also be a huge understatement. So here’s some stuff that I think merits looking at:

It was Secretary’s Day. (no, I don’t give a fuck about being PC. “Administrative professionals,” my ass!) SocImages has a great write-up on why this is basically bullshit. Pro-tip: you know what us secretaries like better than flowers once a year and being told how very special and important and valuable we are? A living wage. Yeah. Hallmark cards don’t make up for that, guys.

BikeSnob (one of my newest internet crushes) talks about sharing the road and the Cyclist Essentialist Conundrum: in short, check it out! There’s a bunch of us out there that ride bikes as our primary method of transportation (or even just as a hobby sometimes). We also do lots of other things. Some of these things might include owning a car. Let’s stop essentializing cyclists. Just because you have a 4,000 lb 800hp Death Ramming Machine doesn’t mean you’re always right. Just because we are riding bikes which means we are sexy (or maybe just an obnoxious hipster) doesn’t mean we’re always right. But dang guys, your cars are really big and hurt a lot, so could you like dial back the rage for just a second?

I totally missed Equal Pay Day, which is funny, because I was mostly worrying about how I’m ever going to continue supporting myself and paying my bills. Man, if we could close the pay gap, I’d be able to cover the difference between my annual grad school tuition and my scholarship.

Dating is still totally weird. Although reading this brief sampling from a pick-up artist message board totally clarifies for me what the crap has been going on in the past when I’ve tried to NOT date. Pro-tip: when I tell you to fuck off and die in a fire, I’m not playing hard to get.

Don’t get me wrong, I do a killer When Harry Met Sally-style fake orgasm (I really, really like sushi), but I’ve only ever faked when the spark was going out of the relationship and I was just not interested in working at it anymore. I guess this just goes to show that I am not a caring girlfriend. Thanks, science! I always knew I was a jerk, but it’s nice to have your backing.

Speaking of sex, MY VAGINA IS TIGHT ENOUGH ALREADY, GODDAMMIT. I mean, if I could get my hair elastics to do Kegels so that I wouldn’t have to keep buying new elastics cause the old ones are all stretched out, you guys, I would so do it. I hate it when my elastics get all stretched out. But my vagina… she is not a hair scrunchy. I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: these products are WEIRD.

Anyways, it’s the end of the semester, so I’ve been working my ass off on school work. I’ve written a doozy of a lesson plan (I think) for Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises, which includes one of my favorite accidental feminist heroines, Lady Brett Ashley. We’ll see if I write about that or not. I’m writing a research proposal on utilizing creative writing in high school classrooms, and I may or may not talk about that. I might talk about biking. I might talk about sex.

You know what is so exciting about reading my blog, you guys? YOU NEVER KNOW. I might just post a recipe for brownies. Excitement and living on the edge, that is what I like to provide to you.

04/22/2010. Tags: , , , , , , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Choosing Fat

It seems like I can’t turn around without someone talking about that woman who has decided to try to gain weight until she’s the fattest woman in the world. (I’m not even going to bother linking to anything; we all know what’s up and I’m pretty sick of reading/listening to people bolster their own self-esteem by comparing themselves to her.)

Jezebel has some interesting reflections today on other women who elect to gain weight intentionally. We’re not talking about people are trying to bulk up a little to keep you from seeing their bones or something, we’re talking intentionally getting fat.

I’ve been rolling this over in my mind for a while, because I think it’s a complex issue.

First off, I definitely see where the fat awareness people are coming from in thinking that this is NOT helping their case. The fat awareness campaigns, as Anna at Jezebel points out, is about people having healthy bodies. Sometimes, for some people, a healthy body includes more “pudge” than our social norms encourage. It’s possible to be active and eat well but still have love handles. The idea that size 12 automatically means unhealthy is well worth countering. However, by intentionally seeking to gain weight, it’s hard to stay healthy.

And you know, I’ll admit–I can be a little size-ist. I’m a size 2 because I eat well and go to the gym and ride my bike a lot. When I don’t, I “balloon” up to a size 4. OH NOES. I mean, I have about eight zillion different body image issues and like a good girl grown in America, I think I’m fat and I obsess and all that, but I don’t know what it’s like to be truly overweight. At my heaviest, I’ve been just shy of a size 8. I really just don’t know what it’s like to be living a healthy lifestyle and yet still get judged as being “a fatty” or “needing to put down the bonbons for once.” Hell, I’ve been on the receiving end of the “woman, would you please eat a sandwich?!” line.

What I’m trying to say is that despite good intentions, I can and do lose sight of the fact that fat–whether true obesity of just our culture’s notion of “fat”–is not necessarily a choice. It’s not something everyone can control. I mean yeah, some people DO get fat because they think getting a diet soda with super-sized McDonald’s lunch and dinner seven days a week is a healthy diet. But that isn’t the norm.

So, you know, having a bunch of people out there purposely trying to gain weight–and going for the fattest woman in the world title, somewhat as a publicity stunt it would appear, because we desperately need the world to think even more that Americans are fat fucks–that’s not helping the people who are healthy and “large.”

On the other hand, I’ve joked before that someday I’m going to totally let myself go and get super fat just so that I can stop dealing with random guys hitting on me in sleazy ways when all I want to do is ride public transit so I can go pick up some groceries or something. But in the end, I am way too well brainwashed to want to stay slim and conventionally attractive in my physique. I don’t worry about whether or not a piercing or tattoo will influence how people see me in quite the same way as I worry about having a second piece of cheesecake. Interesting.

So, there’s part of me that kind of cheers for these ladies for being a pretty brazen kind of cultural rebel. That’s some pretty serious dissent against the dominant paradigm, y’all.

I still don’t know where I stand on this. I still think it’s pretty wild no matter how I view it. Regardless, it’s certain an interesting bit of current events that merits a bit of thinking about.

03/19/2010. Tags: , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

On Being A Pretty Pretty Princess

Urban camouflage, or drinking the Kool-Aid?

When I got out of the shower this morning, I lathered myself with moisturizer to combat razor burn, tweezed my eyebrows, assaulted any skin imperfections with concealer, applied eyeliner and mascara, blow-dried and styled my hair (which I had given a fresh dye job the night before), and slicked on lipstick. I shimmied my way into a fitted pair of suit pants and a low cut blouse; before leaving, I debated which hat was least likely to give me hat hair but still protect me from the rain.

Good morning, feminism, I’m so glad you could drag yourself out of bed in time to convince me to wear boots instead of pumps. I guess I’ll take what I can get.

Quite fittingly, one of the first things to pop up in my Google Reader this morning was Susan Douglas’ article at Alternet on Enlightened Sexism, captioned with “Enlightened sexism tells women that they gain “true power” through the calculated deployment of their faces, bodies, attire and sexuality.”

It’s a great article. Douglas writes clearly and eloquently, and she certainly doesn’t hesitate to point out exactly where we’re drinking the Kool-Aid and buying into things just a little too much. She contrasts the images we’re fed by the media, versus the reality of the situation (her excellent citations of the continued wage gap relate beautifully to a very interesting post from last week at Sociological Images, where they observed the difference between starting salaries of college graduates based on gender), and she does a great job of demonstrating what makes us buy into these ideas. Perhaps one of my favorite parts of the article is when she discusses how intelligent women are buying into these stereotypes “ironically,” and how that’s still just as detrimental–just in a different way. Overall, it’s one hell of a read.

As my above outlined morning ritual demonstrates (well, aside from my guzzling of coffee and singing of Le Tigre songs to my cat), I’m probably guilty of buying into it. I don’t like to think of myself as using my appearance to get ahead in life–

–and I’m going to jump into a new paragraph now. As I wrote that sentence, I kept instinctively including a snarky remark about how I really hope I haven’t been using my appearance to get what I’ve got in life, because if being a depressed administrative assistant who lives in a leaky apartment and has a love life that resembles Dresden after the bombing is the best I can do… Well shit, there I go buying into the whole thing. The fact that I even felt the need to qualify that my looks could do better for me indicates how far I have to go. Also, why am I okay with accepting that my hard work and personality haven’t gotten me as far as I think my sexuality could?

I was in middle school when the Spice Girls were a big thing with their “Girl Power” movement and sparkly, revealing gets up (and later, in high school, my girlfriends and I would drive around singing along to our old Spice Girls CDs–ironically, of course). Did I internalize that? Or did I take in the reverse psychology of the branding of feminism by mainstream culture as being ugly, hairy, man-hating women? I’ve always felt a certain sense of satisfaction in my ability to metaphorically “stop traffic” even when wearing a hot pink “this is what a feminist looks like” tee shirt (do they think I’m wearing it ironically?). I like challenging the expectations of how the majority of the population seems feminism. I’m not an unshaven fat woman who doesn’t use deodorant and wears men’s clothing; I’m trim, groomed, perfumed, and have been known to drop $50 at Sephora in a go.

…Wait, having a $50 charge on my credit card for makeup is liberation? Hmm. I call shenanigans.

I always use the excuse of “urban camouflage.” Since I’m not a stereotype, people are taken off guard and are more likely to listen to me. But how much of that is just that men will tolerate pretty women for ulterior motives? How much of that is just that since I conform to norms, how much of a threat could I possibly be perceived to be? It’s true that if you don’t show up on the radar, you can get away with a lot because people won’t look twice at you. What’s the trade-off here, though? What am I giving up? Am I gaining much?

I don’t have answers here, and I’d be lying if I tried to claim that I’m going to stop wearing makeup and not worry about how my pants fit and all that. However, keeping in the forefront of my mind why I’m doing these things and remembering that wearing heels isn’t a feminist victory is at least a start. I wish I had more feminists in my everyday life to open a dialog on this with, but alas, I am left babbling into the void of the intarwebs (Hello-o-o-o! Echo-o-o-o!). It seems like the more I grow up, both as an individual and a feminist, the less anything seems cut and dry anymore. Outside of straightforward issues like rape and domestic violence (pro-tip: they’re bad), I feel like I never have a black and white solution to anything. My everyday life is a constant exercise in compromise and reconciliation.

How does one balance the scales? And more importantly, at what point do we start holding ourselves accountable? How much responsibility do I have to the younger people around me to set an example and not teach “do as I say, not as I do?” As I move ever closer to being a classroom teacher, can I reasonably call myself a role model? What sort of community activism can I engage in that doesn’t leave me feeling like a hypocrite, and how do I work toward not being one?

Douglas’ article is, suffice it to say, an interesting and challenging one. While I don’t feel that she is necessarily breaking enormously new ground–a lot of this is stuff I already knew–she presents her case cogently and powerfully and lays everything out so that one can process it and consider it. I know I’ll be considering and processing for a while.

03/01/2010. Tags: , , , , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

More On The Designer Vagina

The designer vagina: it continues to baffle me.

I mean, I know dudes get anxious about the size of their disco stick and apparently hairiness is a growing concern amongst the more “discerning” menfolk, but I am truly boggled by the ways “desirability” is being defined for the female naughty bits. They must be as smooth as a well-polished linoleum floor, be just the right shade of pink, be tighter than a parking space in the North End, be naturally wetter than monsoon season, smell like a florist while tasting like Cinnabon, and be like a Hungry Hungry Hippo for dick. OM NOM NOM.

This blog just got SORDID. Gents, don't you just wanna slip it into that?

So, I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that there’s an actual laundry list of problems and solutions. Over at Alternet, they’ve put together a list of the 6 Weirdest Things Women Do To Their Vaginas, along with the explanation “why.” I put why in quote marks because honestly, none of it makes a damn bit of sense to me.

I guess what particularly confounds me is that there’s all this hype about how DIRTY and SMELLY and FUNNY TASTING and PROBABLY EVEN EVIL vaginas are, and yet dudes still hunt them like trophy animals on the Serengeti. They will spend all night discussing their terror of vaginas, and yet they seek to “score” as many vagina trophies as possible. (Granted, I am speaking in some pretty serious hyperbole here, but you catch my meaning.) I don’t understand why it is that something so AWFUL can be such a focal point of our culture–female sexuality is basically the foundation of, well, practically everything–and such an integral part of how men define their masculinity, achieve happiness, etc.

It makes me laugh, I suppose, but it’s definitely in the “horrormirth” category. There’s really nothing funny about people doing these awful things to their vaginas in order to be appealing, and there’s nothing funny about the shame and criticism being thrown around. Sometimes, though, I just have to laugh at the ridiculousness of the entire situation.

Ultimately, this is one of those things that I just don’t know how to fight back against. I can speak up and write blog posts–cause, you know, this blog is totally changing the world–and write papers for school, but what am I accomplishing? I don’t know. I don’t know how to combat this kind of institutionalized ridiculousness.

I didn’t mean to end this on a downer. Hopefully I’ll find something cute and happy to end the week with later today!

02/26/2010. Tags: , , , , , , , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

I think I’m a stegosaurus.

I just can’t get over this great article on Jezebel (via Feministing) on “dressing for your shape.”

Dressing for your shape has always struck me as a little bit silly in that, as Hortense points out in her article, people don’t fall into just one shape category. I guess if I were going to be a specific shape, I’d be “boyish”–but that’s just because I’m a little skinny and a lot flat-chested, and what with not having giant knockers, I’m basically a boy. The funny thing is that I always thought it was my ovaries (and other such hardware) that made me a female, not my cup size. Then again, few people will ever have personal contact with my womanly hardware, so I guess I can’t fault them for considering me basically a man without concrete evidence to the contrary.

No, wait, I can. I definitely can.

Hortense sums it up beautifully:

Also, as someone who generally falls into the “oh, dear, puberty forgot to deliver your boobs” category, I think it would be nice if fashion magazines could stop referring to thin women without many curves as “boyish.” Femininity comes in many shapes and sizes, thanks, and Glamour’s advice only reinforces the fact that they feel that flat-chested women need to blow up their bust lines to achieve sexiness: “Don’t have voluptuous curves? Fake ‘em!” Ah yes, because nothing makes me feel more confident than putting in my fake temporary boobs in order to wear a dress.

So we shouldn’t be propping up Victoria’s Secret and our local boob job surgeon during this burgeoning recession? Huh.

Oh well. Regardless, Hortense is here to help, providing a useful guide to dressing for your REAL shape at the end of the article. I’m glad that someone is thinking of all us stegosauri and our need to find the best look possible.

03/31/2009. Tags: , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

Once again, sex–with a condom, with a magic vagina, with a fatty, or just not at all.

Oh hai internets. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Well, I’m back. And, as ever, I’m talking about sex.

Specifically, how we need to get our heads out of our collective asses and be a little smarter about it.

It seems like lately I’ve been embroiled in a lot of discussion about sex. First there was that really special comment from the pope about how condoms won’t help solve the AIDS problem in Africa (o rly? plz to be sharing with me your brilliant answer, Mister Popeman–and don’t you dare say Jesus!). I think what made that extra special is that when I commented on that in my personal LiveJournal, people responded to it with the idea that I should be used to this, that I should just shrug it off because it will never change and that I really ought to expect it of the pope by now.

Just because I expect it and I am used to it doesn’t make it any less infuriating or any less important of a public health issue. Condoms save lives in very real and important ways. When people claim that condoms should not be promoted because it promotes having sex, I have to call bullshit. My response: “The problem is that saying condoms promote sex is a fallacy, no more than wearing seat belts promotes reckless driving or purchasing homeowners insurance promotes leaving your doors and windows open and unlocked when you leave.” Condoms are not flawlessly reliable, they are not some magical panacea for all the ills of the developing world. However, to say that because they allow people to get it on now and again with less risk means that we are promoting sex and that AIDS will spread? That is bullshit. And anyways, sex promotes itself just fine. Biology took care of that one. We don’t need latex to help out.

Next there was the Manic Pixie Dream Girl article. Let’s steer clear of what films were selected for the article because I do not agree with many of them. The premise of the article, however, is very valid: in an absurd number of films (particularly self-reflective indie flicks as of late) the protagonist is a homely, awkward, depressed and stifled young man. He finds his salvation between the thighs of a beautiful, quirky, free-spirited woman who liberates him through her magical vagina and all of its live-giving powers.

I don’t even know what to say to that. I mean, vaginas are pretty cool, don’t get me wrong. But it seems that sex–usually with a woman who would be classed “way out of his league” by stereotypical measures–is all it takes to solve the problems of these “complex” men. The girls are caricatures at best, tropes exacerbated into the worst state of two-dimensional utility. They exist as vessels that carry their vaginas through the world to deliver salvation-via-splooge to the protagonist. She is the quintessential example of Simone de Beauvoir’s analysis of the female as other, serving as a mirror into which the male may gaze and discover himself. It is through his interactions with her that he achieves agency and self-realization; my god, movies, could you get anymore 1950s?

I dunno. I liked the article because the MPDG trope is one that I’ve been subconsciously noticing and wincing about for a while now–I’m glad someone could put it into words better than I could.

Moving on, following hot on the heels of that was the truly glorious article on what to do if your girlfriend starts getting love handles. I think I’ve pretty much blown my load (LOL GUYS!!!1!) on this one already, and really, it speaks for itself.

For those of you who have read this far, here’s the reward for you to reap: two Princeton professors bemoan the horrors of collegiate sex. Thank god professors at a top notch school are so open-minded and rational about something that should be such a non-issue. …Oh, wait. Crap.
Basically, these guys are pretty horrified by late teens/early twenties students getting it on. Therefore, Princeton ought to have a “Purity Center” for students who want to live “honorably.” Because everyone knows that if you aren’t a virgin, you’re a goddamn filthy horrifying disgusting tainted and worthless whore. A WHORE, I say! Do you hear me? Do I need to shake my fist at you? Don’t think I won’t wave this Bible!

…Ah, yes, a nurturing environment for over-stressed college kids. I can see it already.
Never mind referring to a women’s center or an LGBT center as “ideological groups” (cause being a woman ain’t just my biology, baby, it’s my philosophy!) or claiming that Princeton should provide a paid full-time staff… The over all attitude of shaming, and particularly finger-pointing at women, is ridiculous. I don’t feel that surprised when I see things like this coming out of Bob Jones U or Deep South Religious Right R Us, but this is Princeton. This is supposed to be a bastion of education, reflection, and reason. Mostly, I’m just saddened and disappointed.

Coming soon: rape–myth or reality? (You’d be surprised who thinks the former!), sexual violence and the military from a handful of different perspectives, and up-skirt photography–because you didn’t need another reason to feel sketched out by that dude in the checkout line who just keeps getting a bit too close and tying his shoes.
Till next time (and may it be a sooner next time than last time).

03/27/2009. Tags: , , , . Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

She said to kiss her where it stinks, so I took her to Allston.

Today’s “LOLWUT?!” of the day:

LIQUID VIRGIN, for all your vagina-tightening needs!

My favorite attributes of this product:

a) the packaging! I’ve been dreaming of being able to somehow squish together my favorite things (Barbies, My Little Pony, and White Out), and now all my dreams have become manifest. Praise the baby Jesus.
b) you need to apply it 15 minutes prior to use! This opens the door to all kinds of fun. For the girl in the bar, you better run scampering to the bathroom right when he says, “So, your place or mine?” And, for the ladies in the committed relationship, nothing says “I love you” like coming up to your man and using your best sultry voice to whisper in his ear, “Sweetie, I just put my drops in. My chemical spill vajay is sealed up tighter than Fort Knox for you!” INSTANT ERECTION.
b.2) speaking of erections, maybe make sure he wears a condom. I can only imagine the hilarity that would ensue if he got that stuff on his junk. “HOLY FUCK MY DICK JUST SHRANK INSIDE YR VAG! WHAT THE SHITTING FUCKSHINGLE?!”
c) all my life, I have been waiting for the opportunity to develop a Cooch Size ComplexTM like the penis thing all the boys have got going on. I mean, what’s the point of gender equality if we can’t be equally insecure about our naughty bits?! Fortunately, this product has come along to reassure me that I can finally jump on that bandwagon and obsess about my vagina in a new and creative way.

This whole idea of “vaginas need to be virginally tight” thing actually isn’t new. I remember having some really interesting conversations with confused and insecure women when I worked at Planned Parenthood (I wish I could get that job again!) and debunking a lot of funny stuff for them. I won’t spam everyone’s list with even more vagina-talk, but there’s a lot of ridiculous simply in the statement “virginally tight.” It makes me lol.

NEWSFLASH: Vaginas are awesome, even without weird chemicals.

07/16/2008. Tags: , , . Uncategorized. 1 comment.