Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Flirtation: A Girl's Best Friend



I love to flirt.
And I'm not just talking about the kind of flirting I'd apply to Gerard Butler. I'm talking about the Marilyn Monroe kind of flirtation, which roughly translates into: flirting with everyone. It's an art.

According to an article I read in Cosmo, I engage in the act of flirtation continuously throughout the day. Before reading it, however, I'd never considered my interactions 'flirtatious.' My definition was a very narrow one - limited only to sexual intention. This article really broke down what it meant to flirt, and it totally made sense! In the end, even flirting with myself (though completely self-gratifying) seemed like a reachable goal. Why wait for someone to flirt with you? Really it comes down to applying the skill to normal, every-day life because everyone benefits.

When it comes to Marilyn Monroe, everyone and their mother wants to be like her. She is the ultimate muse. But why? It isn't just her style, or the fact that she died before her time. It might have to do with her subtle sexuality or her acting, but only partially. What it's really about is her essence; her entrancing aura - the special *thing* that made the world hang on her every word.

I'm pretty sure that, even if I tried my hardest, a lifetime of flirtation wouldn't put on me on-par with Marilyn Monroe ... but it doesn't really hurt to try, does it? 

Giving my kitten a little extra lovin' won't only lower my blood pressure, it'll make him happy. Telling my best friend how much I appreciate her will make me feel just as good as she does. Winking at that super cute barrista will do just as much harm as giving my bum a little pat in my money-makin' jeans (which is to say, none). Not to mention, it's an excuse to practice a little sensuality every day ... and who doesn't love the idea of that?

So, take a hint from Marylin. You don't have to sleep with the president or pose in Playboy (unless you want to, of course). Simply take a minute out of your day to casually flirt with every person you meet and consider it a practice in etiquette:

Tell that fashionable chick you love her style ...
Compliment your boss on how well they handle pressure ...
Brush your hand across your significant other's back  ...
Take the time to appreciate your legs the next time you put on lotion ...

Because the world is so much more fun when you enjoy it; in fact, I'm pretty sure that's the key. Plus, who doesn't want someone falling in-love with them at any given moment? It certainly beats having low self-esteem!

xx

Saturday, February 20, 2010

I Wish I Were a Call Girl

I'm a bit of a fiend for shows of a certain nature. Case and point? One of my favorite shows is 'Secret Diary of a Call Girl' on Shotime. It is also one of my favorite blogs. Based on fact, it's fabulously unapologetic, seductive, and completely magnetic. It makes me wish I had that kind of literary freedom - you know, the kind they call anonymous.

Naturally, those of us who write blogs are pretty confident in our opinions. For better or for worse, we usually give two shits about our opposition. Anonymity is a different kind of beast, all together. It allows the discussion of personal details without having to be cryptic. It allows complete honesty without knowingly hurting people's feelings (and receiving judgements for certain opinions).

Isn't that what life consists of on a daily basis: the struggle to maintain one million different (changing) versions of ourselves? Humans are are social creatures, we constantly encounter changing social situations. Juggling the changing nature of our lives often takes certain finesse - especially if you expect to maintain relationships.

Take me, for instance. On a day-to-day basis I am the employee, activist, volunteer, girlfriend, sex kitten, daughter, student, over-achiever, writer, and fashionista. Those are only a handful of personas making a regular appearance! And, to think, I could freely encourage all of my opinions through a simple, anonymous blog.

It seems so easy ... and, yet ... counterproductive. I mean, we have to assume that I crave recognition for my writing. All writers struggle with it. Do you write for the pleasure of it or do you write for the pleasure of being received? It's a strange balance to find and it comes with the territory.

Writing blogs about people I don't know and making passing judgements is a conscious kind of writing.Writing about the truth is much harder ... the truth hurts people. Gabbing about the latest on you-know-who ... even if it happens to be your grandma ... is a regular social occurance. Only as long as grandma doesn't find out ... which is nearly impossible. Thus, you are invisibly bound to be polite about your opinions and, in being polite all the time (if you're like me), you relish in (and envy) anonymous blogs!

In my envy, I've devoured archives and archives of past posts ... I adore this woman. As for the series and the blog, I suggest you dive right into the muff  ... When else is it okay to read a sex-blog - laughing openly as Belle guides you through foreign territory with wit and style? Whilst you may not be getting paid for it, I bet you'll relate to her at least once. Who knows, maybe you'll start sharing your own stories!

Go, ye, my adventurous readers! Go out and find your own, inner call-girl! Cause everyone's got one ... and, if you don't, you'll certainly want one after this!
Cheers to that!
xx

Casper Sure is a Friendly Ghost



I'm sitting here, high on vicodin, watching Casper on HBO because (TADA!) I finally got my wisdom teeth removed. Aside from an icky feeling in the back of my jaw - I'm quite enjoying myself (and the much needed days of rest I earned from the holes in my mouth)

 What I didn't enjoy was the $1,400 bill. Luckily, I have a very generous family. My dad helped pay for a large chunk of it and, after saving what I recieved at Christmas from my mum, it wasn't as fiscally painful as it could have been. What was painful was the thought that, paying as much as I do every month for insurance, I wasn't covered in the slightest. As if by divine providence, I also recieved a letter in the mail stating that ('because of rising medical costs ... bla,bla,bla'), my insurance would be raised ten dollars a month. I can hardly afford what I already have to pay! AND it doesn't cover anything of importance. So, here I am: a prime example of our failing system, being forced to cancel my insurance on Monday (after only being able to afford it for a year).

On the bright side, Casper is an amazing movie for how old it is. I'm so glad it's on - I could watch this movie over and over again. And, having ordered HBO and Showtime, I am keeping myself busy watching reruns of US of Tara, the Tudors, and Sex and the City. Thank goodness for Bill Maher, too.

I just thought I'd write an update. I know it's boring, but I can't really think hard enough to write anything of significance right now :)

xx

Friday, February 5, 2010

Come and Get It?


Turns out I have a friend in phlem. I woke up two days ago and, out-of-the-blue, started coughing. I'm not talking about a sissy, putt-putt kind of cough. The resounding cacaphony of hacking and howling coming from my chest managed to scare two sleeping kitties into the air and off of the bed. They stared at me from the door, What the hell was that?

So what did I do? I rushed to Walmart and bought Mucinex, but not before I started obsessively thinking about one thing: A mucus mob-boss setting up house in the small, upper-east side of my lung cavity.

Oh, great, I thought, Fatty Mcfatterson Mucus and his whole family are gonna have a reunion in my chest. I tried, unsuccessfully, to hack those sons-of-bitches out ...

Talk about a great ad campaign. Now I can't cough without imaging those little bastards banging on the walls and complaining about the noise. You know what? Unauthorized visitors don't get special treatment. They get moved into an apartment next to the wannabe gangster who refuses to put a sound-dampening mat underneath his absurdly loud subwoofers.

But my suffering ends not here, ye, my loyal readers. It's Friday - the bar-equivelent to Monday. Not only do I work the longest shift every night this weekend ... it's Slutty Cowgirl Weekend. Wait. What?

Slutty. Cowgirl. Weekend. That's right: it's my own, personal version of Hell.

This is the first time Oscar's has booked a country cover band and, apparently in Man-land, it's also a perfect opportunity to exploit females. A skinnier, more toned version of myself probably wouldn't have a problem with the situation. Being that I'm not a skinnier, more toned version of myself, I am (pardon the pun) shaking in my cowgirl boots. Of course, I'm secretly hoping I'll make good tips this weekend because if, on top of being exploited, I make shit tips ... someone, somewhere is gonna die a slow and painful death come Monday.

So ... here's to hoping 'Family Mucus' straps on their chaps and joins me in celebrating the ultimate humiliation. Because Country happens to be my least favorite genre of music ... and men who enjoy country-themed exploitation tend to end up on my hit-list ...

[insert cheeky pin-up girl 'wink-grin' combo here]

xx

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Ladies, Show me Your Cajones?



Let's talk women. More specifically, let's talk women's rights.

Some people, undoubtedly, believe that having the right to vote ends the equality discussion. And yet, just as legal equality for African Americans didn't immediately solve culture and color issues -  American women still struggle with what it truly means to be equal (see, Roe v Wade).

Don't get me wrong, I understand how lucky I am to live in America. But I also know how lucky women were to get the vote in the first place. Not only did it come down to one last-minute swing vote, but blackmail is what finally convinced Wilson to publically support the ammendment. That's it.

And, if you don't think we still have a long way to go, you obviously haven't been paying attention to the (outdated) social stereotypes that still shape the way we view women today.

Examples include: 
1.) The most important day of a woman's life is her wedding day, nevermind her desire to graduate from Harvard.
2.) In marriage, a woman will submit to the will of her husband as head of household. It is also her duty to take care of the household - even if she provides equally to it's bank account.  
3.) There is something intrinsically wrong with a woman who doesn't want children.
4.) A woman climbing the corporate ladder must be one of two things: a complete bitch or the office slut
(By the way, there are still wage gaps between men and women in the same positions).
5.) Any tomboy-like behavior means she is a dyke
(... because people are so easily defined and her sexual orientation happens to be your business ...)
6.) Sexually confident women are sluts; sexually confident men are men.

Note: I understand that the stereotypes listed above are general, but they are also widely accepted in the conservative community. Need I remind anyone that America is, in fact, a conservative nation?

Rush Limbaugh personifies this stereotype perfectly. Though you may not like him, I think he's just more honest. What's worse than the things he says most of the time, is that we allow it (not as in 'freedom of speech,' but culturally)!

Look at the state of women's rights in 80% of the rest of the world. If we're supposed to be setting the example, we've got to step it up. Afghanistan allows husbands to murder their wives for any reason. What's the worth of an inked thumb, if atrocities like this are silently accepted by democratic nations?

I volunteer at the only Safehouse in Colorado Springs. That means that for 700,000 inhabitants, there are only 32 beds available at one time. Think of all the possible battered women and children a city of 700,000 people can offer ... and all we can muster up is 32 beds and 1 non-profit organization. It's the perfect illustration of our denial to accept that there's a problem. Why am I so aware? Because everytime I voluteer, I see first-hand that equality doesn't just come from an ammendment.

The other day a regular at my bar told a typical joke: "What do you tell a woman with two black eyes? Nothing you haven't already told her twice." All the men laughed.

I was too surprised to respond. I wanted to say, "You know what? I volunteer at a Safehouse and seeing someone walk in with two black eyes isn't funny." I wanted to say, "You know what we say to the girl with two black eyes? That we're sorry the law works against her. That he has to be caught trying to kill her, for the law to work." Of course, my punchlines aren't really funny, are they?

True equality, true freedom comes from having the cajones to react to your gag reflex when it comes to jokes like that. True equality will come when being politically correct isn't seen as a pain in the ass, but necessary. Equality will come when sticking up for ourselves won't be met with contempt, but respect; when a strong woman won't be seen as a threat, but an asset to the society.  

As for the next time he says something like that, I won't be caught off gaurd. He'll get the mental equivalent to punch in the mouth and he won't get an apology for it. Maybe then, I'll feel a little bit better about my part in the on-going fight for equality. 'Cause it's not as easy as an ammendment ... it's about baby steps ... it's about cajones.