Sunday, July 25, 2010
Imagine the horror of innocently turning on TLC and witnessing a circle of men writhing on the floor as they played with their mipples (man nipples) as they were …. wait for it ….. “Thinking Off.” That’s right. Thinking Off. An alternate form of enjoying oneself that doesn’t necessitate the standard physical touchy-touchy. The premise of thinking off (I’m going to stop capitalizing “thinking off” … it makes it much less disturbing to me) is that all the magic happens in the brain and manifests itself in the form of a happy ending. Now I am not a sexual prude in any way, shape or form. I watch Jersey Shore. But this was more than I could take. And it got worse. Much worse.
Picture this - A very giddy 50’ish woman with pink streaks in her bleached blonde hair, bursting at the seams with excitement while explaining the virtues of thinking off. TLC decided that it would be a GREAT idea to do a segment involving this woman thinking off while getting a brain scan so that the doctors could study her brain activity during this absolutely not-made-for-television event. Bad idea, TLC. I knew this wasn’t going to end well. Not for me, anyway. I SO wanted to change the channel, but again ….the whole car accident thing.
So the woman proceeded to get into the MRI machine and the fun began. Let me tell you, this should have been rated G for GROSS! What would you do in this situation? Would you pull out your full menu of vocal exclamations that escape you during such an occasion? No, most people would not. Not if it were being broadcasted to millions of homes. Not if someone other than your accomplice were watching. Not if there was any chance in hell that your parents or your co-workers or your pedicurist could one day stumble upon your TV work. But the mayor of think-off town didn’t hold back. She brought out her ENTIRE menu, and my eyes and ears will burn forever. She couldn’t hold still. Her legs were flailing! She was pounding her fists! She was moaning! And laughing! And screaming!! Screaming as if she were being tortured! Screaming as if there were three men in the machine with her! And it was gross. GROSS!!! I almost vomited in my mouth. Control yourself, I say!! You are on TV!!!! No one wants to know what your hoots and hollers sound like. No one wants to watch your crazy lady legs kick in the air. NO ONE wants to witness any of this! EVER! Case in point: I called my husband into the room, told him what I had just witnessed and offered to rewind it for him. He immediately walked out of the room.
The concept of thinking-off is not the part that disturbs me. It actually seems quite fascinating. Masters and Johnson studied the connection between sexuality and thought, and there is obviously a strong connection - especially in women. And I’m all for whatever works for you. It’s just that I don’t want to witness you doing whatever works for you. I have watched many, ummm, how do I say … movies not suitable for those of the prudish persuasion. Many. A lot many. But at least I knew what I was getting into. I was prepared. I knew how each movie was going to end. The people were actors and they exaggerated for effect. But watching some woman do her thing on TLC - (TLC! A network with 9 different shows about cake!!) while destroying a piece of medical equipment as she kicked and screamed like a caged monkey on crack? JUST. PLAIN. GROSS.
KP, the next time you text me about a TV show, please pre-screen the lineup and make sure it only involves cupcakes or makeovers. A cupcake makeover would even be better. That's all my fragile mind can handle from this point forward.
Friday, July 23, 2010
KP: They have internet in Latvia?!?
KDub: We could be big! We could start with Latvia! We could become celebrities in Latvia! We should probably know the language then. What do they speak? Russian? Latvian?
KDub: I just...I don't understand Twitter!
KP: It's just like a Facebook status update. That's all. Just in 140 characters or less.
KDub: But I don't like that you can't see what everyone is Twatting to celebrities. I WANT TO KNOW!!
KP: *big huge sigh*
KDub: You think I'm an idiot, don't you?
KP: I would never say that you were an idiot! Though I might describe you as internet illiterate to my other friends. You have a degree in lawyer-ing and you're working on an MBA. HOW you don't get Twitter is beyond me.
KP: I feel bad for anyone who leads an ordinary life. And that person? Is going to lead an ordinary life. Poor honey-child. While I will go on to live an extraordinary life in extraordinary places.
KDub: What is that from?
KP: What is what from?
KDub: What you just said! That quote! Where is it from?
KP: Ummm...my mind?
KDub: You just made that up?
KDub: YOU NEED TO BE FAMOUS AND WRITE BOOKS! AND BLOGS!
KP: Well check and check on the blog thing!
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
July 18th means that it is officially ten days until my birthday. My 28th birthday. My 28th birthday is on July 28th, which means it'll be my Golden Birthday, which means I'm golden. (Though I'd rather be platinum.)
I love birthdays. LOVE THEM. I love them with an adoration that can only be described as glittery and pink puffy-paint hearted. It's a day all! For! Me! And people give me presents! And buy me drinks! And dinner! And they say nice things about me! It's a glorious day! I looooooove it!
Because I love it so much, in recent years I've prescribed to a theory of not just having a birthday day, but a birthday "week". So the seven days before and after my birthday (July 28th) are officially KP's Birthday Week. (So my week runs from July 21st to August 4th. It's the most wonderful time of the year.) Which means I get to indulge in any way that I want, be it with an expensive bottle of wine, the purchasing of yet another sparkly necklace, demanding that we go out to the restaurant of my choice, taking three bubble baths a day or simply by squealing "IT'S MY BIRTHDAAAAAY!!!" During one's birthday "week", a person can also run around in a tiara and/or feather boa and nobody can roll their eyes at the birthday person because it's their day dammit.
I recognize that this all sounds a bit childish and selfish. But it's really not. The way I see it, people don't spend enough time doting on themselves and doing whatever they want. We live in a society where we're not supposed to give ourselves validation; instead we're supposed to work 50+ hours per week, juggle a ton of responsibilities and be available 24/7 because we're all chained to technology. We're also not expected to get sick--and if we do we're expected to bounce back immediately and be checking our email during our time "off". Americans get less vacation time than most other industrialized countries and we don't even take the friggen vacation days that we do get. I? Think all of these facts are stupid. And sad. And I refuse to be another working drone who doesn't have her life in balance. I think that I am pretty freaking fabulous and my birthday is the one time of year where it's socially acceptable for me to toot my own horn. (Women also get to do this at their Bachelorette parties and on their wedding days, but I don't see this happening for me anytime in the next decade. Plus I have some feminist issues with these things--but that's a whole other entry. Or blog.) I want to treat myself well and even if I'm stressed for the other 364 days of the year, I want one day--or "week"--to listen to myself. And to get presents. Because presents are awesome.
I do love me some gifts. Even when people just write me a note on a Post-it and give it to me, I get all giddy-fied inside. It's the thought that counts. I'm a diva, but I'm pretty easy to please. As a way to reflect and gain clarity on what I want, I make a wishlist on my other blog. It's a way to put it out into The Universe that these are things that would be fabulous to have. I never actually expect to get these things, but it can't hurt to wish, right? Like I said: presents are awesome. And this is what KP's wishing for on this, her Golden Birthday:
- A pony. I've wanted one since I was four. I'll keep right on wishing for this until the day I die.
- To be published. Oh, it's going to happen.
- A guest spot on Glee. Although once I arrive on the soundstage I'd promptly be removed for attempting to hump Mark Salling and Matthew Morrison. But still.
- A new car. My car is, um, less than perfect. I love it to bits--I do! But if there's one thing The Universe could do for me, it'd be to bestow upon me a newer vehicle. Please and thank you!
- A beau. One who is intelligent, funny and isn't put off by the massive amounts of reality tv that I watch. If he's cute, that'd be great too.
- A cruise with K-Dub. We seriously need to make this happen!
- Shopping sprees at Target and/or Barnes and Noble. AKA my meccas.
- Jewelry. This girl cannot have enough. Seriously.
- Wine. Tip it!
- To have an amazing 28th year. The words "abundance", "love", "fulfillment", "inspiration", "hope", "growth" and "friend-filled" come to mind. But I reserve the right to redefine "amazing" as much as I need to.
Feel free to crack open a bottle of wine on my day and do a toast if you so desire. I'm sure K-Dub won't pass up the opportunity to do so. I'd also encourage everyone to reflect on their own birthday wishes, purchase a tiara and mark their birthday weeks on their calendars. Because birthdays should be a big deal. Because really? We're all pretty much big deals and we need to celebrate that more often.
Friday, July 9, 2010
It's only been recently that I've become comfortable admitting that I have a profile on OKCupid. I'm not necessarily doing the online-dating thing to find my life partner. I'm not dillusional. Rather, I consider it to be a sociological experiment of sorts. The sorts of men who occupy this site are, um, interesting to say the least. Here are a few of the responses I've received from the online male population since I activated my profile a month ago:
- "I have two kids, but I'm not tied down! Want to meet?" (No thanks, I do NOT want to become a mommy.)
- "You're pretty. I'm lonely. Want to have a cam conversation?" (GROSS.)
- "You're luminous! What kind of makeup do you use?" (I mean, I did say that I'm looking for a gay boyfriend, but I'm pretty sure that this is more of a pick-up line fail than a rainbow boy looking for new cosmetics.)
- "Want to take my virginity?" (Wait...WHAT?!? WHO asks this to a random hot girl online?)
After such an overwhelming response for these winners, it's no wonder that I'm contemplating taking down my profile and seeking out an application to become a nun. But before I do that, I want to share my rules for online dating sites, culled from the magical experiences I've had this summer.
KP's Online Dating Site Rules (Alternate title: Don't Be Stupid, You Stupid, Stupid Men)
- Be honest. I don't believe any guy who says he's looking to connect and find a "genuine girl" or a "soulmate". If that were the case he wouldn't have photos of some half-naked girl clinging to him while he does a keg-stand prominently displayed in his profile. If you're really just looking for sex just say it. The same goes for guys who say they want a "real" girl. Yes, as long as by "real" they means "big boobs, tiny waist and is semi-literate" because they certainly doesn't mean "big mouth, curvy body and Masters degree". Trust me, I know.
- Don't lurk. OKCupid has this awesome feature that allows users to see who is visiting your profile. So all of you 30-something, semi-cute guys who visit my profile every day? Either email me or stop drooling over my pictures, you creepy creeper. Shit or get off the proverbial pot.
- No sexy talk. Women are like cute little bunnies. We want to be lured in with carrots (or in my case, carats--I like shiny things). By carrots, I mean refreshing, yummy conversation. In NO WAY can you have that kind of conversation if you're questioning us on our sexual preferences three minutes into an instant message converation. Save that shit for the third date, stud. If you wave around your, um, weapon, you'll scare the cute bunnies away. Or just have them laughing at your stupidity.
- No body shots. I am a fan of mens' abs. I'm not stupid--I know a beautiful work of art when I see it. But if a guy's main profile photo is a closeup of his chest and abs I don't think "ooh sexy", I think "oooh looky! A douche!" Fine, show-off your bod if you think it'll help get you laid. But do us all a favor and pretend to have respect for yourself by not posting body shots as the first picture we see. You can post, like, ten pix. Can't the six-pack be photo #2?
There you have it. The simple rules of online dating. Unfortunately I highly doubt any of the men who need to read this will. But hell--it'll give me more fodder for my memoir if nothing else. A good story trumps a good date most days. So until I find my own perfect partner, I'll keep reporting back with stories from the beau battlefield.