Posted at 12:00 PM Jun 24, 2009
By Andrea GrimesSaying "the tits" is, in my opinion, the tits.
Somehow I picked up this appreciative phrase over the past few weeks, and while it will surely someday go the way of "O Hai" in my vocabulary, right now I'm milking it (!) for all it's worth. But why do I love to say "the tits?" I think the
Urban Dictionary definition for the phrase puts it nicely: "The same as 'the shit,' only better because tits are great and shit isn't."
'Cause you know what? Tits
are great. Most other bodily references in modern slang are derogatory terms--behaving like a dick, a pussy and/or an ass is not something to aspire to (though if you can pull off all three at once, well, I'd like to see it). Similarly, you shouldn't be a butthole or a shithead. A notable exception in my mind is "balls," which are pretty good to have regardless of gender. But hey! Both tits and balls are jiggly and mostly fun to play with. Coincidence that they both have positive connotations as a slang term? Maybe people just love jiggly. Then again, it's not like you only see firm, toned butts.
I suppose an argument could be made that the phrase reduces women to body parts, overshadows their humanity, blah blah blah--for related information, see "
Boobies, Save The." But breasts really are pretty great. They feed, they titillate and best of all, they're attached to
women. What's not to like?
Posted at 7:30 AM Jun 17, 2009
By Andrea Grimes
Today's
New York Times article on the sexual objectification of Italian women got me to thinking, not only about sexual objectification in media, but about sexual objectification on the street, in everyday life.
Growing up in the suburbs in Texas, I'd only seen cat-calls on
television; I figured that, like sex that doesn't result in STDs or
babies, cat-calling only happened on TV. As soon as I started school at NYU, however, I learned that cat-calls are part of a female city-dweller's way of life. I traveled as well, and it was wonderful. But whether I was in New York, Paris, London or Berlin, the calls came all the same.
I think I brushed it off at the time, saying something along the lines of, "Well, what do I expect, an American girl trotting around like I own the place? I'm asking for it!" Which is saddening to think back on, of course, because nobody is "asking" for sexual harassment, regardless of how young and taut and blonde they might be.
After living in Texas for several years, I've since returned to New York City, and the cat-calling has picked up again. And my god, I am tired of it. I am tired of being told, "Smile, baby, I'll fuck that frown upside down," and leered at, "
Niiiiiiiiice, baby," and verbally prodded, "Mmm, you wore those boots for daddy!"
But mainly I am tired of being told that I'm overreacting by otherwise sensitive male friends who don't see the problem.
Read more "Street objectification:..." >>
Posted at 10:09 AM Apr 03, 2009
By Andrea Grimes
Drinks. More drinks. Making out in the bar. Stumbling home with new make-out partner. Sexytime. Passing out. Doing the drunk 6:00 a.m. wakeup. Sneaking out before they realize you're gone.
It's the Early Morning Post-Sex Sneak-Out, and like pleated khaki pants, I just plain don't believe in it for one second. But it's been advancing television and movie plots since we got over putting Rob and Laura in separate beds and started acknowledging the fact that adults get it on. Even some of my favorite shows rely on it.
Berger ditches Carrie on a Post-It note that she didn't wake up and hear him slap on her computer screen. On
Sports Night, Casey totally
peaces out on Sally after a rendezvous, not even hanging around to dig his shirt out from under the bed, or wherever.
There might be a few times that you're so drunk--or drugged--that you don't hear Mr. or Mrs. Right Now roll out of bed, dig through a dark room for his or her clothing, stumble through your house and open and shut the front door without locking it. But as a reliable plot device, I'm calling bullshit.
Pretending to be asleep to avoid the awkward conversation: I can get behind it. But
actually being asleep? No way.
What say you, guys and dolls? Is it actually possible to slip out before your latest mistake wakes up?
Posted at 12:00 PM Mar 25, 2009
By Andrea Grimes
Last week there was some discussion on
Jezebel and
HuffPo with regard to single women explaining precisely why they're single. Lea Lane felt that HuffPo readers deserved to know why she, as a widow of a certain age, wasn't out there trolling for tail. This is the best part:
"I won't go out and beat the bushes for some nice-enough fellow who
belches so loud I jump and doesn't listen and who doesn't make me smile
enough to put up with strange noises and indifference."
And Megan over at Jez approaches the issue with a similar amount of sass:
"I'm not in a relationship because I have a limited tolerance for other
people's bullshit, and because other people often have a limited
tolerance for mine."
All that said, when was the last time you heard a guy talking about why he's single? Yeah, I couldn't come up with much, either. Because, of course, single guys are swingin' bachelors! As we learned recently
from Steve Harvey, they're wild animals that must be tamed by understanding women. Why are men single? What a silly question! It's their natural state!
So while it's nice to talk about our singlehood, I can't help but feel that explaining our single selves merely digs us deeper into a hole we're trying to climb out of. Maybe if we stop explaining ourselves, we won't have to.
Posted at 6:58 AM Mar 13, 2009
By Sharon SteelIt's hard for us not to get really swept up into certain romances-that-don't-actually-exist-except-in-soundbites-celebrities-give-to-gossip-bloggers. It's like our crack. We simply cannot help ourselves. Especially when it's
Twilight-related. Robert Pattinson, better known as Mr. Sexy Vampire,
had us at "I like smart people":
"I don't really have a 'type,' but I like smart people," he says. "You know, I really like Tina Fey. She is, like, the sexiest woman."
Please recall that earlier this month, Fey casually asked Jimmy Fallon who the fug Pattinson was,
then called him a "sexy Devil." Perhaps she knew he had his eye on her
all along. Is Fey a closet
Twerd? Does Pattinson have grandiose notions of worming his way into a
30 Rock cameo? Could this flirting via the rumor mill produce some kind of shift in the space-time-sexy-vampire-nerd-girl continuum? Is it wrong for us to think that RoFey would have really cute, intelligent, broody, strange little babies?
[
The Improper]
Posted at 1:30 PM Mar 05, 2009
By Sharon SteelIf there's a
Chanel Segway, why
wouldn't there be a Chanel guitar? This is the first we've heard of it, but Fashiontribe notes that for his SS09 show, Karl Lagerfeld sent out one model in a ruffled flamenco dress,
accessorized by a Chanel-brand axe.
Elle UK says it's available to purchase for
a paltry 2,800 pounds. Chump change! Get ready to rock out in style. And be immensely poor while you do it.
We spend a lot of time thinking about obsessive collectors. There are people who have houses full of
Disney paraphernalia, women who tap directly into the lifestyle brand
that is Hello Kitty, and one unique individual who has staked out a little corner of the web for the many
sugar packets she's acquired through the years. But is there someone out there who refuses to stop with Chanel clothing, but simply must buy every single crazy-expensive Chanel-branded product Lagerfeld decides to produce?
We know you're out there somewhere. And we demand that you start a blog.
Posted at 1:11 PM Jan 19, 2009
By Sharon Steel
A public declaration of "disappointment" by Oprah Winfrey is never what it seems. We know this from the James Frey debacle. Winfrey defended the author's name on Larry King, then invited Frey and his publisher on her show to verbally crucify them before a studio audience and the entire universe! Silly authors: when you want your heartbreaking memoir to be touted by the woman who sometimes singlehandedly controls the ebb and flow of the publishing industry, you should probably make sure, in advance, that it isn't filled with tall tales and falsehoods!
Anyway, on Friday, Oprah finally broke her silence about
the Herman Rosenblat kerfuffle. Rosenblat, a Holocaust survivor, lied about meeting the woman who would eventually become his first wife because she, disguised as a Christian girl, threw apples over his concentration camp fence to him. Oprah thought it was the greatest love story of all time! Now, not so much.
Read more "Lies: Oprah doesn't..." >>
Posted at 9:06 AM Jan 13, 2009
By Andrea Grimes
Hillary Clinton's rocking her confirmation hearings right now, talking about environmental initiatives and sounding like the brilliant woman she is. I know this because I'm watching
live on CNN.com due to a lack of cable television. But that doesn't mean I have to miss out on strange and incongruous advertising!
The ad that ran while I was loading the confirmation hearings was a ClearBlueEasy pregnancy test.
That's right, if you're looking to watch one of the most remarkable, successful American women attempt to ascend to one of the most important positions in the American government, you're going to be watching a pregnancy test commercial first.
My brain just doesn't know what to make of this. I watch an awful lot of CNN, and I rarely see female-targeted ads to begin with. It can't be intentional, unless there's a CNN web ad person with a bizarre, bizarre sense of humor. But even if it's not intentional, it doesn't mean it's not meaningful. A big, flying pregnancy test flashing before one's eyes as one prepares to watch what could be a women's rights milestone creates all kinds of mental tension. Viewers, don't be fooled into thinking women can all do this--most of 'em just get preggers! Or, alternately: viewers, don't be fooled into getting pregnant--be a politico like Hillary!
Did this happen to anyone else? What does one make of it?
Posted at 12:13 PM Jan 05, 2009
By Andrea Grimes
I turned 25, and suddenly all my friends are getting married while I'm sitting around perfecting my Sidecar recipe and fighting the patriarchy. Ladies of a certain age and temperament, from fictional Bridget Joneses to real-life every last single gal I know, occasionally dread what the mailbox might bring: a wedding invitation for you and a "guest."
I mean, I'm flattered that they think I'm at least capable of attracting a "guest," but also kind of miffed, because "guest" means "date," doesn't it? I've thrown this question out there to the chattering world of Twitter and Facebook and gotten a variety of responses. I ask you, dear readers, If you "and guest"
are invited to a wedding, does the "guest" necessarily have to be a person of potential romantic interest?The assumption is, of course, yes. You bring dates to weddings, not friends. Even if I show up with a platonic guy friend, people are going to figure we're on a date. And if I show up with a girlfriend, advises a compadre of mine, "Just be ready to field questions about the nature of your relationship."
Methinks a revolution is in order: single folks, instead of searching out a warm body to accompany you for the evening, why not bring a good friend you're not interested in? That way, weddings can become fodder for new love connections, instead of couples parades. What think you, dear readers?
Posted at 2:44 PM Dec 18, 2008
By Andrea Grimes
School sucked today. I screwed up "peanut" on the spelling test, got picked on during recess and the only note in my cubby was from the smelly kid. And so I am drowning my sorrows in a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli, one of my favorite after-school snacks.
For serious, though, today has been awful. How awful? Suffice to say that the part where I saw the homeless guy's penis at the grocery store was not the worst moment of my day. (Apparently that's where he keeps his cash.) I wanted something warm and comforting in my stomach as soon as I got home, and so I reached for the Chef.
Eating Boyardee after school is one of my most vivid childhood memories--Mom would dump the lumps o' love into an ugly brown bowl with a handle, and I would munch away while watching Super Mario Brothers. I remember other after-school snacks fondly, as well. Kid Cuisine, Campbell's soups, and a concoction I called "crackers with milk in it," which was comprised of graham crackers immersed in 2% milk. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and grilled cheese, however, were never part of my culinary repertoire, saved for special occasions like friends' houses for sleepovers.
And so I'd like to reminisce with you, dear readers: what was your favorite after-school snack? Latchkey kids, what culinary adventures did you have before the 'rents got home from work?
Posted at 6:50 PM Dec 10, 2008
By Bonnie Ruberg
I love Christmas decorations. Every year this debate comes up. "But you're Jewish!" my fiancé reminds me, insistent on the fact not that Christianity is wrong -- but that I should lack any and all holiday cheer. In general, it should be said, I'm not one of those cheerful, "goodwill toward men" kind of gals. But there's something downright lovely about seeing streets and houses lit up with Christmas lights. Back in suburban Philadelphia, I used to love driving around the neighborhood, spotting more and more outrageous lawn get-ups. Here in San Francisco, I'm getting a big kick out of seeing apartment fronts -- places rented by twenty-somethings like me -- all decked out. And then there are the apartments across the street, all of which have beautiful Christmas trees in the windows. Just looking at them makes me all irrationally glowy inside. So why can't we have one of those? True, our bunny might gnaw on one of the cords and explode. But where is Santa supposed to leave our presents without a tree? Wait, you mean there is no Santa? I blame my Jewish parents for raising me with both Chanukah and Christmas. Then again, I don't blame them for giving me double the gifts.
How about you, dolls? How will you be celebrating the holidays, decoration-wise? Anyone have photos of their particularly festive setup they'd like to share? I'd be happy to post them for the world -- or at least the rest of Heartless Doll -- to admire!
Posted at 4:30 PM Dec 09, 2008
By Andrea Grimes
Pounding forehead. Fuzzy brain. Dry mouth. Hangovers are horrid, but luckily scientists have discovered a cure: a big, steaming pile of greasy food. Trouble is, I'm just not a massive fan of breakfast. In fact, I don't know a lot of women who'd pick a stack of pancakes over a savory snack. When I'm tucking into a hangover Rx, I always find myself scarfing down a hamburger while my man o' the hour opts for a traditional heap of eggs, bacon, toast and the like. Even the fabulous
Jamie from this season's Top Chef proudly proclaimed in the last episode that she didn't do breakfast, either. So at the risk of making one of those sweeping gender generalizations that I hate, I'm gonna throw this out there: I'm starting to think that men like breakfast more than women do.
I've asked my man o' the hour to contribute to a little point-counterpoint exploration of the breakfast question, offering his views on morning munching.
This Heartless Doll: I'm willing to admit that breakfast has some tasty elements, namely bacon. But I think it's very clear that breakfast negatives far outweigh the positives. Breakfast foods get cold very quickly. Eggs can't hold heat for much more than a few minutes before they get gummy and icky, and a lukewarm ham steak is a meat fate worse than salmonella. Toast doesn't feel very nice on a sensitive morning tongue, and sticky, sweet syrup is too much of a challenge for a recently awakened palette.
Instead of traditional breakfast, then, I suggest what I like to call "food pile." Doesn't matter if it's a hamburger, a plate of spaghetti or a spicy wad of nachos so long as it doesn't take more than one utensil and is completely full of flavor. Forget spreading butter or jam. Don't waste time loading up your fork with the right pancake-syrup blend. Tuck right into a plate of food pile, and your tummy will thank you. Plus, food pile heats up easily for a post-nap snack later on. Mmm, food pile.
Man O' The Hour:You can't get very far in life without making choices. From the moment of birth it begins. Which nipple do I want to nurse from? The right one or the left one? Decision making inevitably gets complicated as one gets older, which is why its such a pleasure to be faced with easy choices. Easy choices like bacon, eggs, toast and hash browns. Faced with a plate like that, I'm more than happy to make a decision.
Breakfast is unique because of all the different foods that are normally crammed onto a single plate. I like to keep my eyes roving over the plate, thinking about what would compliment the ham steak in my mouth.
In this way, a plate of breakfast food is life miniaturized, life made easy. Let's say you're the governor of a Midwestern state and you've been trying all week to decide how much of a bribe to demand for an open Senate seat. That's tough. But once you sit down to a full plate of breakfast food, you are in control again, and all of your choices taste good.
Posted at 4:49 PM Dec 01, 2008
By Bonnie RubergWell, Thanksgiving weekend is officially over. Congratulations, dolls. That means you survived yet another national holiday designed to make you love your family more, which just ends up making you want to fly across the country and not see them for another six months. Oh wait, that's my life. Here's a Someecards card that sums my feelings up perfectly -- as these snarky little bits of Internet wonderfulness often do:
So, now that that's done, have any good Thanksgiving or Black Friday horror stories you'd like to share, dolls? Here are mine. Nothing too dramatic, but vent-worthy all the same:
1) For some reason that will always escape me, our family bird didn't make it into the oven until 7:00 at night. That meant that, by 10:00, when my fiancé was already home from his respective Thanksgiving, full of food and passing out, we hadn't even sat down at the table.
2) Because I'm vegetarian, I had a tofurky for Thanksgiving. The good part: it looked like a little turkey, which let me join in the holiday cheer. The bad part: it tasted like rubbery ham. I've been veggie for thirteen years, but even I know that's not right.
3) I spent Black Friday with my mother at an outdoor market, where a woman selling pretzels mocked the funny-looking hat I'd borrowed from home (it's colder in Philadelphia than in San Francisco!), and then my mom succeeded in convincing me to buy an even funnier looking hat for $14. It's what fur hunters would wear to Las Vegas.
How about you?
Posted at 7:31 PM Nov 17, 2008
By Bonnie Ruberg
As Jezebel notes, our President-elect is a notoriously picky eater. But could he be anorexic? It's a question that came up -- along with "What the heck is Michelle Obama wearing?" and "Hey, did Barack just get hot?" -- when I was sitting around with female friends the evening of the election. Jezebel agrees there's something up:
It was kind of shocking to learn that Barack Obama, our dashing president-crush-elect, is apparently rife with food neuroses. Since the campaign post-mortems started coming out last week, we've learned that the President-elect has weird aversions, hang-ups, odd pancake behaviors and a strong abstemious streak — none of which his wife, Michelle, seems to share. As a woman who's lived with picky men, I can relate. As a voter, I feel somewhat blindsided.
I too live with a picky, skinny boy, but I can't help but wonder whether Obama's quirks, which include ordering food from good, old-fashioned American grease joints and then never eating it, don't point toward an eating disorder. Unlike most other presidential candidates, he reportedly lost weight on the campaign trail instead of gaining. He's pretty much a stick to begin with. Maybe he just likes what he likes. Maybe he loses his appetite under pressure. But I know at least one other guy who has a very similar build, a lot of parallel issues with food, and a diagnosed case of anorexia. Being around scrumptious things makes him straight-up sick to his stomach.
Sound like any president elect you know?
Posted at 1:41 PM Nov 06, 2008
By Bonnie Ruberg
While watching Obama's acceptance speech on Tuesday night with a group of fellow twenty-something girls, I was surprised to hear from my friends' mouths not "This is a historic moment in the history of American politics," but "Look at Obama. He's practically glowing. Hey, he's actually pretty hot." Yes, it seems possible that with the election of Barack Obama as the next President of the United States, we may finally have in the White House a man worth fantasizing about.
What has changed about Obama since his days on the campaign trail? He looks less tired. His lips are less purple. His hair is less gray. Suddenly he seems vivacious and happy -- as well he should. Heck, he's nearly handsome. And this, ladies, is the true change he brings to America. Okay, not really, but let's think about it. When was the last time we had a president we could drool over? Certainly not George Bush, whom my mother calls "that monkey man." Bill Clinton? I barely knew what politics were when he was still in office. Sure, he's supposed to be suave. But can you really imagine sitting around daydreaming about that gut?
Yes, it's what Republican men feared would happen if Obama won. All us women would swoon in front of his massive black... intellect. Oh, Barack say something smart to me again!
