Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Online dating: a snapshot

So yes, I've taken the plunge into online dating. Why? Because it's just scary enough to give you an adrenaline rush and it's cheaper than sky diving. And some times you get a free dinner out of it.

I skirted the venture before, but couldn't quite get momentum and ended up bailing before ever really starting a conversation. Something about dozens and dozens of men spelling out exactly what they want their future wife and children to look, act, and smell like is enough to send me back to real life where I just result to shamelessly flirting with men in line at the grocery store. But this time I decided it was okay if I said "no" to nine out of ten guys- it is, in fact my right to turn down any man who is looking for a young, hot, no-drama woman who takes care of her body and wants to be a working mother of eight.

But saying "no" isn't really the issue anymore. It's stopping myself from saying "You're joking, right? No, seriously. Have the countless hours you've spent playing World of Warcraft destroyed all of your brain cells or have you just NEVER MET A WOMAN IN YOUR LIFE?". I did ask one man if he had ever spoken to a woman before. He stopped talking to me.

Basically this is how my filter works though: if the majority of your photos are of your truck or your dog, you at a club, or you shirtless in front of a mirror, if you've listed "texting" and/or "drinking" as one of your hobbies, you send me a message with the word "hottie" in it, or you spell "college" as "collage"- stop right there. Just stop.

Maybe take a couple of minutes to scan my profile. Not just my photos, but the rest of my profile. Notice all of my pretty words that I took the time to spell correctly. Notice my punctuation (ellipses where periods should be DON'T COUNT). Notice my persistent mention of Jesus. Notice that I'm 5'8". Then ask yourself if we have ANYTHING in common. Like age, or religious preference, or the motivation to shower regularly. Because if we don't, it's really difficult for me to just say "no". I feel like your collage education should have taught you some rules of deduction. Or at least how to greet someone respectfully. I don't feel the need to let you down easily. I do however, feel the need to crush the fantasies you've masturbated to since you were 14 and let you know that you aren't going to find the Victoria's Secret model who wants to be the mother of your children online. Or anywhere else. So thanks for the "compliment" but I'd rather grease my ankles than go out with you.

Monday, December 12, 2011

A word hug

I am in love with the power of words. Because it only takes one sentence to make me want to cry.

"So I offer up my humanness if, instead of a place to stay for the night, you need to hear that even with everything in its right place it's okay if you still don't know why it doesn't feel that way".

Credit: Dooce

Saturday, December 10, 2011


I don't know why I'm still explaining my blog- "I don't think it's a fashion blog", "I don't want it to be my public journal", "I don't want it to be too serious"- as if anyone reading this needs me to explain that I'm pretty much going to write whatever I want sans filter.  So I'm NOT going to preface this post with "I really don't want to rant about this" dot. dot. dot.


Because I am so sick of the drive to be thin.

As if there is no nobler goal for women alive today but than to be a single digit size.  Below the number six.  I know I know, how many times and by how many people have we heard this argument?  We're just one more pseudo-lesbian group away from being a generation of surly old maids, right? Except we're not.  We're still shopping at Victoria's Secret and wanting Gisele's ass.

I'm not a feminist.  Or shit, maybe I am- because I don't even know what it means to be a feminist.  Does it mean that I think every woman is more than a firm set of tits and a waist small enough to fit a dog collar around?  Well pardon me while I burn my bra and braid my armpit hair. What I do know is that I never again want to envy a supermodels body.  I never want to see another set of protruding hips, or another face photo shopped to the point of being WITHOUT PORES. What has brought me to this state of outrage is the labeling of inanimate objects as "skinny". It's a dangerous game- calling things "skinny". Skinny lattes, skinny jeans. Placing the word "skinny" in front of something does not in fact lead to thinness. All it leads to is a continued assurance that our society is obsessed with weight. Please recognize that wearing skinny jeans changes nothing about your legs and ordering "skinny milk" makes me cringe because it is nothing of the sort. It's non-fat milk and you know what else is non-fat?  Candy. Tons and tons of candy. Which also, WILL NOT MAKE YOU SKINNY. A food that is void of fat does not mean that it won't turn to fat in your body. So it's dangerous to wave this word out in front of us as if it offers some sort of protection to ward off fat. As if fat is the worst thing we could be. 

It is dangerous to be so vulnerable as to think that we are only bodies.

I'm not suggesting that we disregard out health- quite the contrary. And I'm not proposing an agenda in which Rosie the Riveter is our mascot into the world of female-dominant leadership. All I mean to say is that thinness, being skinny and the pursuit of it, is wasting my time. Of all the things I love, enjoy, am passionate about- I couldn't ever say that the pursuit of thinness is one of them. In fact it makes me miserable. Is making me miserable. And let's be real, I'm not alone.

I'm not giving up my femininity or my health. I'm not giving up my self-respect or my desire to be attractive.  But I am giving up on skinny. Because I believe that my value is not measured by the circumference of my waist of the length of my legs in inches.  And if my value could have a numerical form, it would always be higher than my number on the scale.