“Go poop in your office bathrooms, everyone. It’s what our feminist foremothers would have wanted. Every woman deserves a poop of her own.”
We all email our friends at work. Every day. Multiple times a day. I think it may be our small way of getting back to those glorious wonder years of school where we got to hang out with our friends five days a week like it was our goddamned job, mostly because, until we turned old enough to want $300 pairs of jeans and a means of our own transportation, it really was our only job.
Anyways, it got me to wondering what men email about. Which made me think that perhaps they have no idea what we email about. Well, gentlemen, here it is. The following are actual excerpts from emails I get from my friends randomly throughout the day. This, is what girls talk about:
“Hour meeting has turned into day meeting. Ate spicy Thai for lunch. Have heart burn and gas.”
“I just looked down to put my head in my hands after a nasty work-related email and noticed that I have a huge glob of crusty toothpaste on my left boob (the top of it, mostly just chest area, work-appropriate … but still, it’s resting on the hump).”
“I had to Google “can females pull their groin?” this morning, I think from showing off cartwheeling. Fact of the day: female groin is called an adductor.”
“If you need some muscle to back you up Kelsey I can pay some homeless men to stare at him.”
And links like this: How To Make An Ewok Hat For Your Cat
(Sidenote: I will actually be trying this; and likely die trying it, too.)
I’d love to see what types of links and stories PGPT readers share with their friends during the daily email catch-ups, so spill ‘em. Treat us like you do your friends at work when you’re in need of looking like you’re seriously working and typing unbelievably fast. When, really, you’re just deciding if it only sounded like Steve farted on Saturday at Megan’s, or if he really farted Saturday at Megan’s, because there was some speculation that there was a smell. Discuss.
Jealousy: A wretched feeling of insignificance mingled with fear and embarrassment. I hate it. Most of all, I hate the fact that I succumb to it every now and again.
Everybody gets jealous sometimes. It can be simple envy over an advantageous position a friend may have just sort of fallen into, like … winning the lottery (to use an extreme example). However, more often than not (and for women especially) it’s a fixation on somebody else’s appearance and/or their concurrent influence over the opposite sex (or the same sex, depending on what you’re into). No matter what kind of jealousy you’re feeling, it sucks. At least for me it does. I get more angry at the fact that I’m feeling this way than upset over what I’m jealous of in the first place. It shakes my self-confidence. It goes against everything I consciously believe in, and it makes me look, and feel, WEAK.
First of all, this brings to light the troubling fact that there is still so much value placed on our gender’s ability to seduce. Better looking women get paid more, both in dollars and in attention. This is a well-documented fact, and something we just have to live with as women (add this to my list of grievances over what our gender is forced to deal with in today’s “equal” age where we still make 75 cents to every dollar a man makes, where CEOs are still 95% male and where the only place for women in any major sports arena is to be dressed as a total slut and waving sparkly balls around like cracked-up idiots for men to look at like total goons … however I digress). And in an era where all you need to do is pick the six selfies out of the 72 you just spent an hour taking in your bathroom, face leaned at just the right angle, hair falling just so, your hip cocked to make your thighs look just a titch “tighter” (and this is before all the REALLY intense chicks process their faces and bodies in Photoshop), our appearance is almost more important than ever when it comes to confidence and validation. Basically, we live in a world where we are now connected to BILLIONS of our competitors for attention – as are the people whose attention we crave – and many of them don’t fight fair.
With the ability to be connected to people (strangers, friends, exes, ALL the people) all of the time, and on various different platforms (Twitter, Facebook etc.), comes the ability to be tempted by people all the time – and to be jealous all the time. Who hasn’t cringed when the person they admire friends or chats with a good-looking girl or guy whose backstory they don’t know? Knowing that the object of your admiration now has 24/7 access to his/her beach pictures, club pictures, all the best shots at the best angles showing the best of them … and knowing that person has seen you barfing for hours, naked, over the side of their bed, all folded over and sweaty at one point? (not that this ever happened to me … .. . okay it totally did, so sue me) It’s hard to not feel that little twinge of panic.
So what do you do when that happens? When you know it’s real and can’t be ignored – you’re jealous of that person. You wish they would just go away forever and leave you in peace. Well, I’m not quite sure what to do, as I still struggle with this problem from time-to-time. I can, however, tell you what NOT to do:
Stalk them. Please, I beg of you, do NOT let yourself get into a creep-mode where all of a sudden you’re Sherlock fucking Holmes and you now know more about their life than the people you work with every single day. This will do nothing but focus your attention on them, make you feel like crap, and worst of all, completely waste your time. No good can come of this. So just stop it. Stop it RIGHT NOW.
Change yourself. Unless this is for the positive and it’s something you want to do for YOU, not something you want to do to be more like the person you think you should be more like, don’t go changing yourself. Imitations are obvious. Being yourself may feel like it’s the worst when you are feeling that lowly low and hating every choice you’ve ever made when it comes to your hair, what you eat and what you do, but I promise you, it’s the best look on you. Much better than that other person’s.
Now, seeing as I’d almost rather barf up razor blades than admit that I get jealous, I usually just keep busy to avoid dealing with it. However, something I’ve found that actually helps me (and hopefully you) after talking to various women about this issue is that you need to:
Recognize that they too get jealous. Let’s say you’re stressing over some girl your boyfriend knows. Well guess what – chances are she wishes she had what you had and can’t imagine that you would ever be jealous of her. And I don’t mean that in a “bitch is gon’ steal your man so you best get on that” way, I mean it in a “take a look at yourself and what you’ve got to be jealous of” kind of way. Consider this – you’ve probably been stalked (see point #1) yourself. Somebody has probably been tempted to be more like YOU. Are you really amazingly good at drawing? Or super funny? Have hair that grows REAL FAST? Get random PDAs from your guy or girl? Somebody has been jealous of that, at some point. Guaranteed. So sit down and pick out three things that are really cool about you and focus on THAT, not on THEM. It’s proven that what we pay attention to comes our way, so if you’re focusing on how awesome you are, and feeling positive about it, good things will come your way and others will also see you like that. If you just focus on how awesome that OTHER person is, then that other person will just take up more and more of your life, and not in a good way – negative thoughts bring negative consequences. So forget them. And if you can’t forget them (if they’re in your circle of friends or a co-worker), stop idolizing them. Because that’s what you’re doing by being so jealous of them. And what you think comes true. That’s the third time I’ve said it now so I hope it’s in your noggin at this point.
Most importantly, don’t beat yourself up when you feel the green-eyed monster looming. We live in an age where jealousy is more rampant than ever, and it’s not necessarily our fault. We are constantly being compared and reviewed and barraged with so many images and profiles of other women and men that it’s practically impossible not to be at one point or another. Just don’t let it consume your life. Recognize it, accept it … and try to move on. Because besides maintaining open lines of communication and trust with the people in your life that you may get jealous over and recognizing that you have lots to be jealous of, too … that is honestly the only thing CAN do. Also always remember that what you think comes true! So think positive! The most beautiful girls are the happy ones, anyways.
While I was out for wings with a friend of mine recently, she told me a story about a camping trip she and her boyfriend had recently gone on with a group of other couples; August Long Weekend, if you give a fuck. The interesting thing about this particular group of couples on this camping trip, was that they were all in different stages: you had your newly-coupled, and you had your “I stopped caring two years ago.” The way my friend, being with her boyfriend for five years, said it as she watched the couples who had clearly been together one year or less – you had your ones versus your fives.
Ones. Oh, to be in the throes of the ones. The stage where you’re actually aware of whether or not you need to shave your legs at any given moment, and you still pervertedly enjoy doing nice things for the other person. You know … because you like them.
Fives. By now you’ve learned exactly what pisses the other person off, and on a good day you actually try to avoid doing that. You’ve tested so many boundaries that you’re legitimately more disgusting around that person than you are alone.
Now, as I’m sure you can imagine, I can’t stop labeling couples as I walk around just living life. For instance, I’ll see a guy shopping with a girl, holding her hand and (here’s the giveaway) smiling. Ones. I’ll turn the corner and see two people who clearly haven’t showered in at least two days silently eating an obscene amount of food in the food court together … fives.
My problem is, I don’t want to become a five, but I don’t want to always stay a one; I think the ideal to get to is a two or a three. Like, you guys can laugh about a poorly (or well, depending on your point of view) timed fart, but details never, EVER have to be given after anything has happened behind closed doors … ever. I won’t wake up to put makeup on before you, but I’ll at least shave my legs if I’m wearing a dress. Comfortable enough to call the other person out on their shit, but still smitten enough to overlook the stupid little things.
Yep. Aim for the middle, people.
So, I’m newly single. Well, not really “newly,” but finally beyond the stage where every single song/TV show/movie/joke/reference/smell/taste/the action of breathing reminds me of him, and the stage where I feel like even my food has abandoned me after I’m done eating it. So I guess I’m just newly back to society and being as normal as a girl with a group of friends that openly describe themselves as badgers (probably the least attractive animal a girl can associate herself with – we’re not your typical Playboy/Snow/Puck Bunnies, that’s for sure) can be.
The best part of this has been re-connecting with my friends and my passions, for sure. I also live alone now (unless you count my cat) which has been the most amazing thing to ever happen to me. I eat in my bed, I watch ALLLLLLL the crappy TV I want, and I hog the shower. Bliss.
The worst part? The sea. As in, the sea that holds all those “fish” I’ve been hearing about during my past seven years of monogamy. I was told it was like a buffet of men to choose from, and the most fun I’ll ever have. What I’ve found is that it’s more like a typical Christmas party buffet, two hours after everybody has eaten and the cheese is starting to sweat: you’ll only eat it if you’re REALLY drunk and REALLY lonely. The following actually happened to me … and this is why I’m still single.
1.) After making my breakup real (aka making it real on Facebook), a man I used to work with approached me to express interest. I had never really thought about this before, but thought, “Hey, at the very least we’re friends, and it could be a fun night out to just catch up.” So I suggested a beer at a local pub. His reply? “So, is that place expensive? I’m not exactly ‘rich,’ as they say. How about you just come over to my place?” Really? Really. I’m not a coin-chaser, but there are so many things wrong with this:
- You basically just told me I’m not even worth $5.95 to you, and honestly, that’s just for your OWN beer. I would have gladly bought my own.
- I haven’t seen you in six years, and you invite me to your place. Yeah … ’cause that doesn’t sound like you want to date rape me while your roomie films it or anything.
- WORST BANTER EVER. I live for wit. So, sorry bud. CUT.
2.) During a night out on the town with some of my girlfriends, a 23-year-old boy (I say boy because I’m the old and dreadful age of 27) tries to pick me up in line by quoting Wayne’s World and Chappelle’s Show. So far? Very excited about this prospect. Nice smile, great banter, super confident. Up until he starting miming masturbating to the thought of me while choking himself out. Yup. THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED TO ME.
3.) Being approached by dudes who honestly think that yelling the word “HOT” in my general direction will somehow be like casting a fishing line and hoping to catch something. Like, seriously?I put in the effort to:
- Shave my legs
- Tweeze my eyebrows
- Straighten/curl/put up my hair (and there’s a lot of it so this is no easy task)
- If I’m feeling particularly confident, taking care of down there (nothing is more enticing than the thought of standing on one leg in the shower with a razor butt in your mouth putting 1,345 pounds of shaving cream in your palms and saying a prayer to whatever you believe in that you have steady hands)
- Putting on makeup
- Putting on something that walks the line between trendy/slutty/doesn’t try too hard (actually VERY hard to do)
- Brushing and flossing (yes, I’m counting this, because I cannot believe how many men out there seem to have forgotten this long lost art … aka BASIC HYGIENE)
and so on. So, if you want a pretty girl, seriously, put .001 seconds of thought into it. PLEASE. Or else you can have an extremely hairy chick with bad teeth and steez. Up to you.
Here’s hoping my travels through this sea full of stinky fish catch me a quality tuna here soon. Because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
(me … soon)
Maybe it’s sick, but after being dumped, nothing cheers me up like watching ridiculously skinny and pretty girls bail. Over, and over again.
Today I said “obvs” to the Vice-President of Finance.
Today … this afternoon … I said “obvs” to the fucking Vice-President of Finance.
This was followed by some deep and dark self-reflection. Have I really sent that many texts? IM’ed with just a tad too much passion? Has my basic ability to form small, simple words in the context of a term so common even toddlers can understand and use it perfectly gone out the window, along with my ability to actually use my cell phone to call people?? I think it has. But what can I do? If I start talking in big words I would just be seen as loquacious albeit condescendingly sarcastic with a touch of good humour (aka a total douche). Yet if I continue on this path I’ll be saying LOL NM JK to my boss at my next review and before you know it I’m texting everybody from my imaginary cell phone because I can’t afford a real phone because I live in a refrigerator box BECAUSE I’M BROKE AND HOMELESS … unless you count that refrigerator box as my home, in which case I just live in a really shitty house and have no money … which still sucks anyhow.
Fuck it. I’m going to start being one of those people who correct grammar on Facebook. THEY HAVE FUCKING SPELL CHECK. I feel it is my duty to society, and also to my own integrity, to point out those opinionated assholes who can’t even distinguish between “they are” and “those people’s property (whether it be a name or whatever the fuck)” despite the fact we all learned it back when Pogs were selling like crack on the playground.
10 points for the most expletive-filled paragraph ever written on PGPT, and 10 points for trailing off and having no real conclusion to this post.
What started me thinking about this topic was the insane amount of media attention (social and traditional alike) that Ms. Samantha Brick has received and the conversations I had with my friends about this following the shitstorm.
If I get told one more time I’m beautiful just the way I am I’m going to lose it. Because as much as the Dove Foundation and every mother in the world wants us to believe it, it’s simply not true for all of us. Let’s just say it – there are some really ugly women out there. Am I being mean? I don’t think so. I think if all of you can honestly sit there and say you’ve never elbowed your friend in a food court so hard they spit out their CinnZeo just to point out the freakshow wearing the Tazmanian Devil t-shirt, fried blonde mullet and multiple chins (complete with zits in every stage) standing in line at Arby’s (of course) then you’re a dirty liar. Unless of course you’re taking me very literally, in which case you’re probably not a liar, but you’re also missing my point completely and kind of just being a jerk, because you know what I mean.
So now that you all think I’m a shallow asshole, hear me out. Yes, I can openly admit that there are uggos out there. I can also openly admit that there are women so beautiful it simply can’t be denied. They are perfect. I have no response.
Then, there’s the rest of us who fall somewhere in between that spectrum. And that’s okay! I am well aware of the fact that I’m not gracing any magazine covers. At the same time, I’m just as aware of the fact that I still get checked out by those men who haven’t yet seemed to learn that I can see them staring directly at my breasts. So my question is – why are we all so obsessed with categorizing women as either “beautiful” or “not?” There’s about a million points on the scale in between that that are being left out, and are thus making us all feel like shit when we don’t measure up to Kim Kardashian’s ridiculously perfect proportions.
Maybe I’m simplifying it, but seriously, I think we’d all be better off if we thought more like this guy:
Warning: This isn’t going to be ridiculous. It’s an article written by Ashley Judd about media criticizing women, and how sad and damaging it is that women not only participate, but initiate. Love, love, love it. I think it’s so important that we all at least give this point of view a listen.