Archive | November, 2011

Dear Movember

17 Nov

Dear Movember,

It’s that time of year again, when men indulge their secret desire to look like creeps from the 1970’s even though it is no longer socially acceptable for them to behave in corresponding creepy ways.

So now they grow mustaches, leer inappropriately under the guise of “irony,” and defend it in the name of a good cause. Political correctness is great.

Let’s pretend that Movember and its most visible cause– prostate cancer– is the male equivalent of the marketing push behind breast cancer (they’re not direct inverses, obviously, but bear with me for a second).

So one of the ways breast cancer funding is marketed is through this whole “boobs are sexy; let’s save ’em” thing. While I like my boobs, and I want them to be healthy, and I don’t disagree that they’re sexy, I still feel like this campaign is a very concerted effort to get men to care about breast cancer. Which is fine. Men should care about breast cancer. This is also manifested in the idea that most breast lumps are found by women’s partners…so get involved in catching breast cancer early by coping a feel of your lady’s ladylumps (really, do it). (“This isn’t for me, baby, I swear, it’s all for you. It’s a hard-on for health.“)

AND THEN in the other corner of the ring, we’ve got Movember! And prostate cancer! Wherein guys….grow mustaches. I took a poll, and it turns out this is something guys like and women don’t. So let’s call it an indulgence on their part. It’s their health issue, their gender’s health month, so ok. And then in an attempt to include women in this mission, Movember advocates “Have Sex with a Guy with a Mustache” day:

Awwwww so sweet! OH WAIT. I feel like this isn’t really for women, actually. I feel like it’s for the dudes with mustaches, whose sex lives have suddenly dropped off with the advent of Movember.

So let me get this straight:

1) To fight cancer, men get to feel women’s boobs and grow mustaches.

2) Whereas women have even more focus on their breasts (can be great but not the pleasure center, dudes), have to see guys in mustaches, and “get” to have sex with guys with mustaches. Which by the way does nothing to prevent cancer. Just in case some guy tries to tell you that, ladies—it’s not true.

3) Women need to get men involved in the campaign against breast cancer—need their support so badly (financially, emotionally, psychologically, politically, socially?)—that the entire marketing strategy revolves primarily around drawing men to the cause. (I maintain “boobs are hot” is not designed primarily for women. By the way, should we talk about saving the woman who has the breasts? No? Oh ok my bad.)

4) Whereas the marketing to get funding for men’s health issues involves growing mustaches and encouraging women to have sex with guys with mustaches. As in, this does not actually show a concern for drawing women to the campaign through something that appeals to them. AT ALL. DOES NOT APPEAL TO THEM AT ALL. As in, men don’t seem to need women to support their health care cause.


Why doesn’t Movember include an educational component of “how to check your man for prostate cancer”? I don’t know that this is really for women, either, but it would at least make sense. It, sort of like Samantha on Sex in the City, would advocate sticking your finger up your man’s rectum.

As the video above would say: “It’s for health, baby…I’m fighting that asshole, cancer.” Or you could also say: “that asshole cancer.”

Punctuation is my favorite.



PS—Also this is a very heterosexual-relationship focused post because the campaigns are that way.

PPS—I support funding for health research for almost all issues. Except the boner ones. I think we can all agree we’ve sucked that one dry      flooded the market       raised awareness      opened the floodgates       tipped the fulcrum       it’s no longer no country for old men       oh screw it. (Literally, you can now.)

Dear Twilight 4: Vampire Sex & Babies, Abortions, C-Section by Fang, Pedophilia & More

15 Nov

Dear Twilight 4 Breaking Dawn Part 1,

With the premiere of Twilight 4 Part 1: Vampire Porn with Family Consequences, I thought I’d repost this summary I wrote a while ago of the fourth installment. Now look, I don’t care what you THINK you know about the fourth book, unless you’ve read it, YOU HAVE NO EARTHLY CONCEPT. THIS SHIT IS CRAZY. Therefore awesome.

And yes, I’ve read the books. And no, I don’t have any posters of either R.Pattz or Taylor Lautner.

(I’m much more interested in Team Peeta vs. Team Gale, although let’s be honest— at least one of those was miscast. Probably both….Have we talked about how I hate all movies made out of books? It took me ten years to be able to see the Harry Potter movies—I watched them last spring—and I maintain I only enjoyed them then due to Stockholm syndrome.)

I did see the first two Twilight movies. Eventually. Not on opening night. I haven’t seen the third. TWILIGHT MARATHON, ANYONE? Maybe you’ll be more interested after you read the below and realize that Twilight 4 is Grindhouse targeted at tween girls— except with more gore. And interspecies baby-love.


Dear Twilight 4: Vampire Sex & Babies, Abortions, C-Section by Fang, Pedophilia & More,

Ok, so if you haven’t read the books, you don’t believe me.  But the fact of the matter is, apparently after you get married in good ol’ Steph Meyer’s world, ANYTHING GOES.

Vampire Sex

Bella and Edward have violent sex (dude, he’s a vampire, he has superhuman strength, think about the implications).  And she gets bruised.  All over her body: full-body bruising.  So he won’t have sex with her anymore.  That’s true love, guys.

Oh man, I feel like I should say something responsible here to teenage girls. And boys.  Whoever.  Teenage girls (and boys): do not have sex with vampires. There. More? Violent sex is not okay.  I mean, unless you’re into that, in which case it should still be safe.  By safe I mean….this is too much responsibility. This is why I don’t write an advice column. Go read Savage Love.

Ok, so Edward won’t have sex with her anymore because it’s true love, and true love doesn’t mean ripping the headboard to shreds in the throes of vampire orgasm, so she puts on really really expensive French lingerie (dude, he’s a vampire, he has a lot of money, and his sister (what.the.hell?!?) packed Bella’s honeymoon bag for her and didn’t include any real clothes) and she writhes around on the bed and cries until he takes pity on her and has sex with her again. At which point she gets knocked up with a vampire baby. Duh. Sigh. Swoon.

& Babies

A vampire baby which grows really fast.  She knows she’s knocked up because she can see it by the second day and feel it kicking by the first week. Ummmm, vampires are basically immortal— they live a really long time– so why exactly do their fetuses grow faster rather than slower than human fetuses?

Yeah, because that’s the biggest problem in this book.

So then Edward wants to kill the baby, but Bella’s all, noooo my baby! even though a week ago she didn’t want to get married “because who wants to be that girl who gets married right out of high school?” Oh, well. If you’re going to be that girl, might as well get knocked up while you’re at it. So the baby breaks Bella’s ribs and spine with its kicks. Obviously. She spends the rest of the next hundred pages lying on the couch.

At which point, even Stephanie Meyer is like, the most interesting thought this character has ever had is “I’m in love with a beast designed to kill me. And yet I’m not afraid. That’s weird” and she ditches Bella hard core. The rest of whatever is from Jacob’s perspective, because roaming around outside a house as a vigilante and thinking angry, lustful, vengeful thoughts is more interesting than a pregnant lady crying on the couch.


Edward comes outside and offers to let Jacob knock Bella up if he’ll help convince her to abort the baby.

I’m going to let that sink in for a minute.

C-Section by Fang

Then Bella starts to have the baby, and clearly it can’t come out her vagina (hello Superman and Lois Lane) so Edward cuts it out of her with his fangs. I really hope the filmmakers don’t decide to skip over this scene, because I plan on squealing a lot and covering my eyes with my hands and then feeling sick from all the candy and popcorn and vampire placenta.

Everything is yada yada yada from there– Edward turns Bella into a vampire, she can’t see her baby because she might eat it, etc etc.  They have a lot of vampire sex but we don’t get to see it—- ? (Now that they’re of equal strength, married, and have a child together, sex is something to be ashamed of. Uh huh.)


There are bad vampires, a showdown, and OH YEAH JACOB FALLS IN LOVE WITH THE BABY. What a creeper. How do you like that, Team Jacob.

& More

I really hope parents stopped letting their kids read after Twilight 3: After Much Contemplation and Cuddling, We Kissed Once.  On the other hand, as my (adult!) sister said, “Wow, I should have kept reading after book one.”

Ok, yes, so all of the above things happen in Twilight 4, which is why it’s going to be the best movie everrrrrThis link takes you to the original article that goes through all the plot points but from a dude’s perspective (Devin Faraci’s, to be exact) and with a lot more movie references.  And it’s awesome and funny and you should read it.

Sample: “Are you imagining Kristen Stewart wearing a fake pregnancy belly and pretending to have been suddenly crippled by her own fetus? Because I am and it’s making me laugh and laugh and laugh.”  Oh, Devin.    

Anyway, this book really should have been called Twilight 4: HOW TO JUMP THE SHARK.

THIS MOVIE IS GOING TO BE CRAY-CRAY.  In order to show it in the United States, they’re going to have to neuter it.  Then in order to show it to their target demographic, they’re going to have to take this beast out back and kill it with a shotgun and replace it with a My Little Pony.




Dear Saying Goodbye at Parties

11 Nov

Dear Saying Goodbye at Parties,

I hate saying goodbye at parties. Not, like, dinner parties or whatever. But parties at bars, birthday parties with more then 12 guests, Halloween parties, house parties, New Year’s parties, dance parties, 80’s parties, 70’s parties, disco parties, come-as-your-favorite-literary-character parties, pool parties, beach parties, bachelorette parties, holiday parties, barbecues, weddings, etc.

Any sort of party where I can’t wave to everyone at once and be done with it.

Before you start thinking I’m horrible, let’s review the facts:

1) You might already think I’m horrible.

2) Everyone’s always drunk, so saying goodbye is like herding cats. Or drunk people.

3) This is the thing everyone says, even if they haven’t talked to you once and you only met them AS you were saying goodbye to the person they were standing next to, and even if it’s 1:50 am and the bar’s about to shut down: “You’re leaving? Don’t leeeeeeave. Staaaaaaaay. We’ll have fuuuuuuuuuun.” Thus forcing me to say something mean (it’s unavoidable at that point!) like, “I’m going to have more fun being in bed than I possibly would with you.” or “The only fun you’re going to have is with your toilet. By the way, you might want to pull your hair back now.” It’s good to be prepared. And far away, asleep, while someone else is puking.

4) When you go to say goodbye to people, and it’s late, and they’re drunk, they start hugging you. Even if in normal social contexts, this person and you would never press your private parts together. And then the next person does it because they saw the first person do it and they don’t want to be rude, or something? So instead they grope you. 

5) When I decide I’m ready to leave a party, it means I’m ready to leave. It does not mean I want to leave 30 minutes later after you have engaged me in random conversation about where I got my coat after I came to say goodbye to you. First of all, this coat is four years old, so you’re not going to find it in any stores. Secondly, I’m wearing it for a reason. Thirdly, I feel like you’re holding me hostage. I mean, how can I walk away from a compliment? That’s right— I can’t.

6) But then I have to find something to compliment you on, and you have to shrug it off, and then I have to either insist or revert to mission and be like, “Ok then! Bye!” and look like a total asshole and like I completely 100% did not mean that thing you just forced me to say. And then you’ll remember me less-than-fondly.

Whereas if I just jet out the door, chances are good you won’t remember me at all. You won’t remember whether or not I said goodbye, or whether or not we talked. You might not even remember if I was there. You definitely won’t care that I took off– in fact, you might even blame yourself for being too busy to catch me as I was going. You’ll just be like, “That was a good party. I want Doritos for breakfast.”

And I’ll be like, “That was great! I decided I wanted to leave and then I walked out the door and was asleep 20 minutes later. I am definitely going to the next thing she throws.” 



Dear Cecily von Ziegesar

7 Nov

Dear Cecily von Ziegesar,

Cecily von Ziegesar is my literary hero. She wrote the Gossip Girl books.


She just reimagined the first book as a slasher novel. It’s now Gossip Girl: Psycho Killer. Blair and Serena take everyone out….literally this time.


Just look at this book cover! It’s the original but covered in blood.

Well done, Cecily. Best revised, updated edition in the history of the world. This deserves a slow clap.


Dear Marathon Runners

4 Nov

Dear Marathon Runners,

The New York Marathon is Sunday, and I just want to say that


We’re not meant to run that far. I’m pretty sure we never were, even when we were nomads. I’m pretty sure when we were nomads we were walking. What’s the rush when you’re just trying to get to the next patch of hard-scrabble barren land? You think mammoths move very fast? You think the buffalo roam at a speed of 9 min/mile? Those shaggy bastards are slow.

Not to mention you crazy junkies are running on asphalt. Or concrete. Or whatever special blend of rat-bones and ecstasy-urine and taxi tire treads that NY streets are made of. And that I’m pretty sure this year there are going to be “barefoot” runners in the crowd, and can I just say that I hope you’ve gotten your tetanus shots. 

Look, guys, I feel your pain– I went jogging yesterday and at about minute 3 of 5, I was all WHOOO ENDORPHINS too. Then I realized I had two minutes to go and I remembered that y’all are certifiably INSANE. 

Between the starting level of insanity, the endorphins, the nasty streets, and the polluted air, I’m pretty sure we know where the next zombie break-out is. And it’s either from the NY marathon or the collective casts of the Real Housewives franchise, when the combined collagen levels in their bodies surpass the amount of natural materials and something unexpected entirely expected happens. But whatever!

You all get to feel superior to the rest of us! Congratulations! I salute you from my floor. (The couch was kind of far from the door when I came in from my jog this morning).

Don’t forget to band-aid your nipples.


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