I've never seen "Rosemary's Baby": Here's a live-ish-blog thingy

Roman Polanski is a terrible gross rapist. I did like The Pianist because Adrien Brody. I do not support rapists. That is all.

So Rosemary's American uterus-havers and Guy is, like, Rick Perry or John Kasich, and the coven is the Republicans and Satan is, I guess, the Patriarchy. THE END.

New York, 1965 (movie 1968): There is a black man operating the elevator. Mia Farrow is SO young. Always super-skinny, though. Some old coma lady died and her apartment's full of plants and weird writing. The landlord is perturbed that a giant dresser is blocking a closet. SURELY THIS BODES REAL GOOD. Inside is a vacuum cleaner and some linens. Mia Farrow is so pretty and talks funny, like a movie star from the '40s. She's from California, according to Our Lord IMDB, so there's no regional excuse.

Skinny, skinny Mia and her husband in blue have moved into the dead lady's apartment, but all her creepy stuff is gone. She just suggested they "make love." I hate her. Also, they had to turn out the lights so they could bang on the floor. This is a really, really unsexy sex scene. Isaac just said, "This seems like an awfully nice apartment for a TV actor." And then I asked what Mia Farrow does, HAHA LADIES DON'T HAVE JOBS. She is good at putting up shelves with plaid contact paper in the haunted closet, however. Mia meets a new friend with a hideous '60s blouse in the "creepy" basement. The ex-prostitute has some sort of special smelly amulet the dead lady (or the lady she's living with?) gave her.

Mia is wearing a hideous robe thingy and their neighbors are making creepy chanting noises. Out on the street, Mia and Guy (her husband) come upon a dead lady, who is the ex-prostitute lady. The blood is fakey fakey red paint blood. Her benefactors in the apartment building are so dapper and amazing and the lady (MAUDE)'s wearing so much lipstick and in denial that that ex-slut jumped out the window. Rosemary has a dream about nuns and Catholic school girls and bricking up windows. Maude comes over looking amazing. Her bracelets are so dangly and jangly. She keeps touching and looking at all their shit and has curlers in her hair. She wants Rosemary and Guy to come over for dinner. What the fuck does Rosemary do all day?

I just poured another drink (half glass gin/half glass lemonade). Rosemary acts like a 12 year-old. The fucking white collar/floral dress situation isn't helping. Old man Roman Castevet has "been everywhere." Maude's dress is terrible/amazing. "No pope ever visits a city where the newspapers are on strike," Roman says. I don't know why he's saying this. Rosemary gets to reveal her Omaha Catholic upbringing now. CATHOLICKKXS. The ladies chat while washing dishes. There's an uncomfortable amount of talk about Rosemary's fertility. Guy's going to be bros with Roman now. Rosemary thinks they took pictures off the walls for them. SUSPISH. Maude/Minnie barges into Rosemary's place with a friend and starts knitting. This drink is REAL gin-y. Uh-oh Minnie just gave Rosemary the dead girl's smelly necklace. It's full of tannis root, which I googled and apparently only exists in this book/movie.  That's some ugly deep-pile carpet. Guy got a role in a play because the first choice actor suddenly went blind. OBVIOUSLY.

Rosemary thinks Guy's all "preoccupied" because he's an actor. He got her like nine dozen roses and announced, "Let's have a baby. Let's have three babies, one at a time." Rosemary's got nothing else to do, so why not? Isaac just called the romantic jazz they're listening to "proto-Kenny G." Minnie came over again. AWKWARD. Booze drippin' on my leg. Minnie's chocolate mousse has a "chalky undertaste." It's demon poison. Guy gives Rosemary shit for not liking it, and she dumps it in her napkin like a kid. She's clearly been drugged, she's all dizzy and shit even though she hardly ate any of it. So she is kind of insisting that they "try to make a baby," even though she's way too drugged up to consent properly. And Guy is undressing her and she's having crazy dreams while he is (presumably) fucking her unconscious body. Now there's some weird naked cult chanting. Guy is worried she's awake and there's blood all over her body and the devil is fucking her now, I guess? This is going to be a terrible hangover. BTWS, from now on, if I've got a nasty hangover, I'll say, "The Devil really raped me last night."*

Rosemary's all scratched up and her husband says he'll file his nails down and said he "didn't want to miss baby night." RAPEY RAPEY RAPE RAPE. Guy can't look Rosemary in the eye anymore. Guy is monitoring her period. Ew. So she's pregnant. Apparently the devil's sperm works real fast. Guy runs immediately to tell the neighbors. AWKWARD. They are way too happy. Minnie's making her an appointment with some doctor. Rosemary's cheersing with a glass of wine. Definitely frowned upon nowadays. This Dr. Sapirstein says, "Don't read books or talk to people and also take Minnie's herbs." Rosemary chops her hair and has stomach pains, which Sapirstein dismisses. Her pixie cut is so cute. Guy is a dick about it. VIDAL SASSOON. Rosemary is losing weight and in pain. Totes normz preggz. Roman barges in, basically to meet their old friend. Roman's got (suspiciously?) pierced ears. Rosemary looks so gaunt and terrible.

Guy sits roughly 8 inches from the TV screen while Rosemary convalesces in their yellow, yellow bedroom. The old friend, Hutch, wants to talk to Rosemary. She is in a lot of pain, I do not believe this is normal. Rosemary finds out Hutch is suddenly in a coma. Minnie blows a whistle for a taxi. Rosemary is in so much pain, not normzz. Rosemary eats all the meat. God, she's so thin. Rosemary's throwing a party for all their non-old people friends. She's trying to keep Minnie out of it. The party looks fun and very sixties. God, I can see her whole ribcage through the back of her dress. Her lady friends are like, "Constant pain is not normal." Guy is calling her ladyfriends bitches a bunch. Guy is being a dick about her getting a second opinion. But the pain is suddenly gone and she feels kicking. I think it's too early for that?

God I hate babydoll dresses. Though now that she's pregnant, there's an excuse to wear them. Apparently the rest of the pregnancy is totes normzz. Guy is so lame. Isaac pointed out there's so much mansplaining in this movie. UCK. Also, Hutch is dead, which is news I expected since the day she was supposed to meet him. Hutch left a book for Rosemary. God, this kind of movie makes me so paranoid. The book's called All of Them Witches and is supposed to be an anagram of something. The main warlock's name is an anagram of Roman's. WITCHY WITCHY. Rosemary has figured out that they're all witches. Guy takes away her book and puts it up high like she's a small child. Sapirstein claims he's sending the Castevets out of town. Now she's got pills and Guy threw her book away. BULLSHIT. Rosemary drops the creepy necklace down  a storm drain and gets some books about witchcraft.

Rosemarez figures out that the actor going blind was witchcraft and packs to move out. She goes to Dr. Sapirstein's for an appointment. She just figured out he's in on it, too. ROSEMARY, YOU IGNORANT SLUT. But SRSLY, way to go smarty pants. Isaac is mocking the rotary telephone booth. It's the sixties, bro, what do you expect? Dr. Hill is skeptical about the witch plot. A guy is outside the phone booth. Ruh-ROH. Not a witch? She goes to the doctor's office. She sounds insane, but there really is a witch coven. Is Hill in on it, too? He tells her to lie down. MALE GYNECOLOGISTS ARE NOT TO BE TRUSTED. She keeps calling the witches "monsters" and "unspeakable."  Rosemary dreams about a good, healthy baby. Hill has called Sapirstein and her husband. They threaten to take her to a mental hospital and make her go home. The taxi driver is a white guy. I don't think I've ever had a white taxi driver.

Rosemary tries to escape in the apartment building's elevator. I don't believe there's anyone who's not in on it in this building. She's got to take stairs if she's going to get away. Really, your own apartment, Rosemary? Go out the fucking fire escape, bro. You are not safe here! There are dudes in the apartment. Now they're all sedating her. God this is scary and I hate everything. She's in labor. Fucking Guy. They've now got a little boy. Rosemary wants her baby. Guy and the doctor say the baby's dead. She doesn't believe them. Guy thinks she's okay now and that they'll move to Hollywood soon. Rosemary hears a baby screaming next door. She hides her pills instead of taking them. They're clearly collecting her milk for the sacrifice baby. Rosemary consults the haunted closet. DOORWAY! Fucking patriarchy/witches.

Rosemary's got a knife and is ready for some kind of action. They're just going to kill you, R, no way you save the baby also. She goes into the witch party and finds a devil baby. "Hail, Satan!" the witches say. The devil baby is named Adrian. They all want her to "be a real mother" to him. Rosemary spits on Guy's face. She should murder him incredibly violently. But she gets up to calm the devil baby. This is terrible and I hate it. THE END.


*Note: I will not ever say this.

The Sexy Gay Jesus and the Wedding-Industrial Complex

Dear Sexy Gay Jesus,

Look, I know that You never went through this particular bit of ritualizing on account of You were really busy healing the sick, curing the lame, cleansing the temple, and being patiently (but, you know, maybe not without second thoughts, which is totally cool, no worries) crucified, and also the marriage laws of the old-school Galilee probs weren't totally in Your favor anyway, BUT. I'm getting married in T-minus six weeks here, and instead of being all uplifted on happy clouds I'm just feeling super anxious about the whole thing. Not the marriage -- he's my best friend, love of my life, and frankly we've been married for all intents and purposes since that sunny day back in September '09 when we bought a Hyundai together -- but the wedding itself is causing me enormous worry. Will people have fun? Will people show up? Will it be special and magical and wonderful, or will I collapse under the pressure of trying to make it be all of those things before I even get down the aisle (which is more of a sandy path through the woods, but still)? I could really use some of Your perspective and calming wisdom, so I don't spend the next six weeks grinding my teeth and dreaming up every nightmare scenario that surely won't happen anyway, and arrive at the altar (er, woodsy place) exhausted. Help me get my groove back, JC?

Yours,
Anxiously Engaged

Dear Anxious,

Congratulations on your impending nuptials, my child! While it is true I have never gotten married, I have been to many, many weddings. I get invited to a lot of them. I would like to point out that just because a ceremony mentions my name, though, doesn't mean I bless the union. I'm not so much a fan of virginity fetishism and/or patriarchal property (lady) transfers. But anyway, weddings. As you point out, Anxious, there are many upsides to being married like state benefits or your grandma letting you share a bed when you come to visit. But GETTING married is another story. I have a few things to contribute that I hope will help you stay cool in the coming weeks:

1. It is both normal and okay to be dreading your wedding to a certain degree. Weddings carry a LOT of cultural baggage. Like, you don't just get charged for checking a bag, but for extra baggage and they are all overweight. (Haha, air travel joke!) This is especially so for ladies since it is your "big day" and the planning is considered girl stuff that your husband-to-be can just show up to hungover with a couple of his bros in matching tuxedos. I am sure your fiance is not one of those bros, but you should definitely make sure he is shouldering his share of the planning and fretting responsibilities. You may feel extra pressure nonetheless, but that's because patriarchy is stupid (sorry, Old Testament bros).

That's all the wine you brought? Seriously people, do I have to do everything around here?

2. Delegate, delegate, delegate. Though sitting down and making a list of everything that needs to get done both before the big day and on the day itself may be super-overwhelming, you can then start enlisting friends and family for various tasks once you know exactly what needs to happen. Tell your friends they can take pictures at the reception, pick up some food, or help set up as their gift to you. Non-douchey guests will be eager and happy to help you out and make your day easier. My forte is that whole Bottomless Wine Bottle trick, of course, but you may have an overbearing aunt or obnoxious younger cousin or something who will feel useful by being assigned glass-filling or table-busing duties.

3. Just let go (as much as possible, anyway). No matter how nontraditional, simple, cheap, and/or casual your wedding plans, something will go wrong and somebody will do something crazy. There's nothing you can do to control this. When bringing a number of people together for an event, mishaps, forgotten details, and a certain amount of interpersonal drama are basically inevitable. Accept that. The wedding is not really about you, anyway. This is a day for other people to celebrate you and your fiance and your decision to publicly announce your intention not to break up. Even if not everybody you want to be there can be there, it's okay, it's not like you'll never see them again. Trust that your friends and family will make their own fun without you having to orchestrate every moment of the reception. Booze helps, obvs. If anybody judges you because some detail wasn't taken care of, then they are douchebags and deserve to have a terrible time as they eat your food and drink your booze.

Once the wedding is over, you will have photos of that wooded path, your pretty dress and/or other fabulous outfit, and all the people who were able to make it. You will also have stories of what went wrong, who drank too much, who gave you that crazy concrete cat statue, and whose father refused to help with anything whatsoever. You will also be relieved! That is okay, you do not have to have a Magical Princess Best Day Ever just because you are a bride, despite what our culture might tell you. It's a big party with lots of details and expectations wrapped up in it, anxiety is normal. In the meantime, as the day approaches, try to remember how you felt when you and your dude bought that Hyundai together. That's why you're doing this, so your loved ones can share in your contentedness. Also, people give you money and presents and shit. That part is pretty good.

There's no cure-all to make you stop worrying, but hopefully some of these tips will help alleviate some of it. I will use my best Powers of Omnipotence to grant you beautiful weather and a happy, relaxed day. I also recommend some kind of post-reception after party with just the kids and lots of irresponsible/relieved drinking if at all possible. It'll give you something to look forward to when you are being forced to hug another poorly dressed in-law you have just met.

Love and champagne flutes,
The Sexy Gay Jesus

I went to see "Eclipse," and all I got was this righteous indignation

Shockingly, the latest "Twilight" movie is super-terrible, but slightly less boring than the first two movies. Still too much horrible "vampire" makeup and sad-face from Edward and Jacob joins the team of dudes who want to control Bella. Anyway, the whole thing smacked of a fucking purity ball. The scene when Edward rejects Bella's sexual advances and then immediately proposes to her and totally makes it all better is when I lost it. That might have been about the time my flask was emptied of vodka, making the rest of the film more painful. Anyway, I used MSPaint to make a visual summary of the film's plot (sans all that stupid vampire/werewolf fighting shit that is really beside the point):

I can stop any time I want, okay?

Hey guys. So I got married last week. It was kind of awesome, but I'm so glad it's over. I tore a hole in my dress's armpit area while stacking chairs, so that's hardcore. Of course, the dress did come to me from the internet direct from the 1950s, so it makes sense that it might be slightly fragile/I seem to have giant hulk shoulders or something because I'm always ripping out the armpits of shirts. While stacking these chairs however, I was accosted by my new father-in-law and a friend of his who had finally decided to get up off their asses and help us (finish) cleaning up at the reception:

F of FIL: "I like a working woman."
FIL: "Especially a working bride."
Me: (horrified silence)

Later on we got drunk with friends and in the morning made the requisite hungover visit to Waffle House. I rallied enough to accompany some of my pals to the Hayes Presidential Center. On the tour of the Hayes home, we were treated to a terrible tour guide as well as another older woman on the tour who kept trying to one-up her with her Hayes home knowledge. "I'm sure you're going to talk about the cat." (Lucy had a siamese cat, apparently). "Is this butternut?" (Who gives a shit? It's fucking wood.) Annnnyway, the I-Man and I are trying to figure out what to do with all our various gift cards and monies (we still have one more reception to go, too!). I'm pretty sure we'll be investing in a fancy new TV AKA something flat-screen but available at Target for around $400.

This could be me, but it's not. Source.

But so today is my last day at my temp job. Hopefully I can find some sort of employment between now and when school starts and my assistantship kicks in (sweet doctoral level stipend, here I come!), but whatevs. Anyway, to me work = caffeine and that usually means Diet Coke. A dentist once told me that drinking aspartame was like pouring acid on my tooth enamel. That's why I use an anti-cavity mouthwash, people. Because I can't don't want to stop drinking it. I was never a big sody pop person growing up what with the Mormon caffeine-(sort of) avoiding and the fact that the only pop my mom ever bought was Diet Caffeine-Free Pepsi for herself, which GROSS. Anyhow, I learned to love Diet Coke from my stoner friends whose fridges were always full of it when we'd get high at their houses and pretty much everything is awesome when you are high. But so a lot of people--especially the ladies--are addicted to the Diet Coke.* Over at The Frisky, you can read Kate Torgovnick's entertaining and informative Social History of Diet Coke. Did you know an early celebrity endorser was Judd Hirsch who now plays TV's Most Jewish Dad? Facts! They are fun!

My dear friend and wedding officiant The Reverend Sergeant Manda V. Hicks said recently that "Diet Coke tastes like manufactured desire" (Hicks, 2010). You know, guys? She's right. And it's one of my favorite flavors.

*Not because we're all on diets, people, but because regular Coke is gross.

In which I substitute my own Facebook updates for an actual post

How could you resist a trailer like that?

Over the weekend I was awoke to find that Isaac was watching a film from the stellar Patrick Swayze Collection he bought for $5 at Wal-Mart when we were really supposed to be buying wedding soda in massive quantities but were drawn in by the cheap movies also. I was grateful it was not "Red Dawn" (because it is so boring and terrible). Instead, it was a glorious 1986 sports classic that actually stars a young Rob Lowe (not that he ever ages anyway) with Swayze as the older brother-type mentor on a competitive junior hockey team or something. I think the moral of the story is that real men know how to fight bearded dudes on the ice, even if you think you shouldn't have to throw punches to win at hockey or at life. Or something. Anyway, partway through I started posting ridiculous things about the movie that my friends seemed to enjoy so I'm copying and pasting that shit here:

The pinnacle of masculinity is perfectly portrayed in a 1980s Patrick Swayze/Rob Lowe hockey movie.

"Just hit it, pillowhands." Now Rob Lowe's brother is teaching him to fight so he can avenge Swayze's head injury!

In the barn. Barn training montage!

Okay, now his dad is making him fight him on the ice.

[Matty: Oh my god. Please keep going.]

Though is apparently a junior league of some kind, Rob Lowe's arch rival appears to be at least 29 years old with a full beard.

Coach's pep talk: "All right, one period left. One period away from winning it all or losing to these miserable hackers with their shit-eating grins and their Saturday night wrestling tactics."

Rob Lowe scores again to tie it up, even while missing a tooth!

Beardy goes to the penalty box and Rob Lowe takes the penalty shot. Also, the rival goalie with the skeleton mask just did the splits to intimidate Rob!

Rob's got to prove to the coach that he can stay on and get the beardo in the last 3 seconds. "Watch your stick," the coach says.

Rob: "Let's go, pretty boy." They are jousting with their hockey sticks!

Dad, brother, coach, and team are so proud of Rob Lowe for punching the other guy out after the game was over.

Now he's kissing the girl despite all his facial injuries. I miss the beginning when he was being hazed through tequila shots and forcible balls-shaving.

BTW, I am so downloading this amazing soundtrack.

Also, Keanu Reeves made a cameo as the goalie and may or may not have been sporting a Russian accent. This shit is '80s sports movie gold.

I'm just going to copy and paste this to my blog and pretend I wrote a post.

Quote o' the Day: Male Privilege Not Actually Good for Men Edition

Privileged men's achievement gap, and the associated atrophy born of the observable resistance, or inflexibility, to make quick course corrections, is the inevitable result of a culture that continues to sell privileged men a patriarchal narrative of birthright entitlement, despite the fact that it is nothing but an empty promise of an illusory bounty in which most men will never share.

-Melissa McEwan at Shakesville, The End of...Something

A post about stuff other people have been posting about

For awhile, Ta-Nehisi Coates over at The Atlantic has been singing the praises of our own Ulysses S. Grant's memoirs of the Civil War. Apparently he's kind of bitchy, and that sounds awesome. You know I've covered Grant myself here (he's also the one next to Lincoln on the banner above), but ever since I read Doris Kearns Goodwin's awesome Team of Rivals a few months ago, I've gained a greater appreciation for the old drunkard.* Especially since that book really traced out what an incompetent douchebag George McClellan was. Anyway, Coates thinks Grant is basically a real-life superhero and wants Kevin Costner from the '90s to play him in an awesome movie. I support this. Also, 20 extra points for Marvin Gaye reference. The point of all this is that history is cool and now I'm getting Isaac to check out Grant's 500+ page memoirs for me to read. For fun. Because I'm a nerd. But apparently I'm not really a student here right now because I graduated and I don't technically enroll in the PhD program until later this summer. Or something. Whatever. Isaac can do my library bidding since he's on campus anyway and I am in a cubicle in Toledo.

On an unrelated note, have you guys heard this shit about the little girl in Seattle whose white teacher couldn't handle the "smell" of her hair product or something and kicked her out of class? Yeah. That happened. Over at Racialicious, Andrea Plaid takes on the various gendered and racialized stereotypes brought out by this classic example of "the Delicate White Woman Frightened by the Negress’ Physical Being" (Plaid). Because SRSLY: I'm sensitive to a lot of perfumes, etc., but I don't ask people to LEAVE my presence. Especially ironic in this case was that the girl was the only non-white student in an advanced placement class at a school named for Thurgood Marshall. Seriously. That part happened, too.

But in case that doesn't make you depressed enough about the world, Jill at I Blame the Patriarchy attacks the disgusting coverage surrounding a 13 year-old girl whose self-induced abortion with a PENCIL with the help of her 30 year-old "boyfriend" are causing people to call her a stupid slut. Now, I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to go ahead and say seventh graders can't consent to fucking 30 year-olds. So this grown-up man has been dating raping her for a year, gets her pregnant, and she (or HE) so desperately doesn't want this baby that she tries to induce a miscarriage with a fucking pencil and basically bleeds for three days. That sounds to me like an action taken by a terrified victim. One who happens to still be a CHILD. But apparently some people think she should be charged with a crime. Because they are assholes and don't understand what rape or abuse are and don't understand why she might not have had access to a proper medical abortion. Have I mentioned that I hate the world?

If that makes you too sad, just think about how awesome Ulysses S. Grant is. The Civil War's not, like, depressing or anything, right?


*I do have some issues with Goodwin's depiction of Lincoln's mental health in this book, however. She claims that because he was mostly functional he was merely "melancholy" of temperament and not actually "depressed." I haven't done the archival research she has, clearly, but he sounds like a classic depressive to me. We don't all just lay in bed all day and cry, sometimes we accomplish things and manage to also have a sense of humor at the same time. Just sayin', Doris Kearns Goodwin, it's okay to admit he was depressed. It's not actually that big a deal.

So I'm Getting Married

Regular readers of my irregular posts/97.3% of you who know me in real life and are probably invited to the wedding anyway will recall that I am engaged. No, not busy, but betrothed to a (nominally) heterosexual man. We are getting married one month from tomorrow. People keep asking about wedding planning. Apparently I should be doing some wedding planning. Here's some things that being soon-to-be-somebody's wife makes me think about:

Why do people feel like they must throw you extra parties? See, we have very specific motivations for holding an actual wedding ceremony and reception instead of just eloping at the courthouse or something. I have constructed a pie chart to demonstrate:

Okay, so we've got the whole party/gift thing covered with the actual wedding. Now, we're seriously considering an after-party for the kids (AKA non-relatives/random parental social obligation invites) since the wedding's in the afternoon (so we don't have to serve a meal) where people can get properly drunk (possibly for the second time that day). But sometimes people think they should throw you a bachelorette and/or bridal shower party thing or something even though you tried to politely convey that you are not really interested in having another event thrown in your honor. I mean, like us, most of our friends are poor grad students (see: yellow section of graph), and can't afford to get us any (more) shit/shouldn't have to hold an extra event just for girls because that's weird and if I was going to do that it would be with my high school girlfriends/college roommates, none of whom live in this state/country. It's just a lot of money and effort for something that is an unnecessary tradition. Anyway, I may or may not be able to get out of this, but it's weird that people want to do all this stuff for you even above and beyond the wedding thing.

I am going to be so girly in my dress with a poofy skirt and I'll wear mascara and heels. Kind of weird to be photographed in anything other than a thrift store t-shirt. I think that I will feel like I am in drag. I'm kind of excited to be complimented all day about how pretty I look, but in the meantime I am paranoid that if I don't go running like every day and do lots of push-ups I will bust out of my dress and my triceps won't look as toned as they should. I will not be changing my diet from exclusively pasta, booze, and fruit snacks though. There's no need to be cranky for the next month just because of my (mostly) irrational fear of looking fat.

I am (obviously) not changing my last name. This is because my name is already awesome. This is also because the patriarchy wants to erase my identity and I am not friends with the patriarchy. This is also because even if I wasn't totally opposed to changing my name, I think it would be hard to accomplish AKA require filling out forms. And let me tell you, as somebody who has just purchased a car, I'm sick of fucking forms. Even/especially online forms. Being an adult is really boring and requires a lot of forms. Also, if I'm still Lauren Chesnut, then I never have to REALLY grow up. However, while doing all this grownup crap that forces me to talk to strangers on the phone and ask banks for money they won't give me and whatnot, I've finally become comfortable calling Isaac my fiance (instead of boyfriend). It sounds more grown-up and "permanent" to strangers, I think. Though apparently I still appear to be an undergrad. Whatever. Weddings are kind of stupid, but I'm doing it anyway. That is all.

If you are not in pain, you are insufficiently feminine

So, can I just say some things? I read the feminist blogs. Obvs. And I am always seeing shit people find that is supposed to make ladies better ladies. Like makeup or impractical but pretty shoes, diets, plastic surgery, banishment of the appearance of intelligence, humor, and/or self-esteem, and fucked up shit that is supposed to make your vagina "tighter" or "more youthful." Today I saw an ad via Feministing for something called "Hymen Gel" that is supposed to tighten middle aged ladies' vaginal canals. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY? (this should be read inwardly in the whiniest voice possible) I am going to make some points that are numbered because writing full paragraphs with topic sentences and shit is not conducive to the rage:

It is possible I have edited these ads in MS Paint.

1. Having a "youthful" vagina AKA having an intact hymen (which has very, very little to do with whether or not one is a virgin, BTW) is a creepy aspiration. Fetishizing virginity is messed up in that it leads to the sexualization of young girls by gross adults and perpetuates the societal myths about sexually experienced women being "used up" like old duct tape.

2. One of the ads asks whether there is a "gap" in your "relationship." If this means that your tired old vagina is just too big and saggy for your man's tiny penis and it gives him performance anxiety, then, well, that is fucked up. Because if your PIV sex is unsatisfying for your man, then CLEARLY there is something going wrong with the V! The natural state of your vagina is wrong and you need a pink, girly GEL or CREAM or SPRAY or DOUCHE to fix it, you icky, icky, girl.

3. This product and its thousands of marketplace brothers and sisters perpetuate the idea that heterosexual PIV intercourse is the only legitimate form of sexual expression and that women should be applying weird muscle-contracting gels to their ladyparts in order to MAKE IT WORK GODDAMMIT, because heaven forbid we try something else. It privileges the heterosexual male's pleasure and disregards the fact that for many women, vaginal penetration can be fun but doesn't really do it for us.

Ew.

4. Perhaps most importantly: COMPLETE DISREGARD FOR FEMALE PLEASURE. Now, I'm not going to go set up one of those quiz widgets to survey all y'all, but from my own experience and those of my straight female friends I've actually talked to about this, I'd say a product that makes it "feel like the first time" is pretty much the most unappealing thing ever. I've got no regrets about my sexual choices, and The Sexy Gay Jesus knows we've all got to start some time, but I would say that without a doubt my first (and second) times having the PIV were really quite painful. I know this is not everyone's experience, but at least a little bit of pain is fairly common for women and girls their first time(s) out, and the idea that we would willingly recreate a "tight" vagina to eliminate the "gap" in our sexual relationships is completely ignorant of this fact. OUCH.

So fuck you, Hymen Gel. I am not broken, my vagina is not "too big,"* and if that hurts some man's precious penile-focused ego, then TOO BAD. Applying medication that makes your vaginal muscles seize up so that your husband can feel like a big man who fucks teenagers is WRONG and, I'm assuming, painful. I'm sorry for the women who have been convinced by the patriarchy that it is their fault if PIV isn't a rollicking, youthful, multi-orgasmic experience for everybody involved, so I don't want to tell women who buy this shit that they're stupid. THEY are not stupid, they are trying to cope with the culture and/or relationship they live in. But it is sad. Sad, sad, sad. And people need to know that and know why. While I certainly understand that people's sexuality is variable (between individuals and at different times of our lives or even our days), if in general, you're not enjoying it, if you're doing yourself more emotional or physical harm in order to please someone else than you are receiving pleasure, you're probably doing it wrong. It might be time to reevaluate. Go to a sex therapist, don't buy Hymen Gel. For god's sake, please don't buy Hymen Gel.


*I'm no gynecologist, but I do know that a vagina cannot be "loosened" by "too much" sex. It can permanently change in size through the process of childbirth, causing the muscles of the vaginal wall to slacken some. For some women this may become a legimate health problem  if it leads to prolapse, etc. HOWEVER: giving birth is actually one of the biological purposes OF a vagina, so if you do choose to have children, you're not doing anything to your body it wasn't meant to do. Meaning: YOU'RE NOT BROKEN.

Shockingly, Adam Lambert is not a feminist icon

He and Kate with all the babies have the same hairdresser: y/y?

The interwebz tell me that some pretty shiny guy from American Idol or whatever said some shit to a magazine:

To some people, me being sexual is really offensive because I’m gay. They’re like, ‘He’s being really gay.’ And I’m like, actually, ‘No, I’m just being sexual.’ Male sexuality is frightening to America [but] female sexuality is all over the place.

FALSE. There are multiple things going on here. Let me attempt to list them in a short, numeric manner: 1. "Female sexuality" is not everywhere. "Dudes's idea of what they want female sexiness to be so they can consume it is everywhere." Using pictures of naked ladies to sell everything from underwear to toothpaste to children's Tylenol is NOT a stand-in for actual female desires. MMMkay? 2. What's "frightening" is female sexuality in general because it upends traditional narratives of female passivity/essential asexuality (except for WHORES). So don't be trying to pretend you don't benefit from male privilege by being allowed to express an assertive sexuality at all. 3. What people fear from YOU, Adam Lambert, is the desiring of the male body. It undermines our ideals about masculinity, dominance, and heteronormativity as propped up by this dominance. Boys FUCK, they are not to BE FUCKED. Duh. 4. Also, you like sparkly shit and that messes with people's gender stereotypes. Which, ya know, is not the same thing as SEXUALITY, though it may or may not be closely tied to it, not that anyone besides me and a few select others really gives a shit about such definitions and/or debates. WHY DOES NOT EVERYONE HAVE TO TAKE A REQUIRED COURSE IN HIGH SCHOOL ON FEMINIST AND QUEER THEORY THAT TEACHES PEOPLE HEALTHY SEXUALITY AND BREAKS DOWN GENDER BINARIES AND GOOD GOD I WILL HAVE TO HOME-SCHOOL MY POOR CHILDREN WHO WILL ALREADY BE ALL SKINNY AND TOO SMART FOR THEIR OWN GOOD AND AWKWARD AND NEUROTIC BUT HOPEFULLY AT LEAST BEARDED LIKE MY MAN. So apologeez, future babies: but I have found counseling to be very helpful at certain critical junctures of my life. So what I am saying is that while I agree that there are some serious issues of homophobia in the world and in the media and whatnot, I think Adam Lambert is pretty uninformed about what constitutes representations of "sexuality" and/or sexual objectification in the public eye. That is all. Stupid Adam Lambert: GO TO COLLEGE (and take a gender studies class). Via Just Jared (linked above) and Jezebel, of course. P.S.: WANDA SYKES CAN DO NO WRONG. Although I am skeptical of her male sidekick on her new show, which I-Man and I watched on Saturday night because we love her. However, it was only episode 2, and I hope Fox gives her enough time to settle into a consistent (and no doubt AWESOME) tone.

Women's "Health" AGAIN

Dear House of "Representatives": Hey, way to go on that Stupak shit! Heaven forbid we act as if uterus-bearing bodies need medical care. I mean, different kinds than boys. Icky stuff like that is only for special interests. And ladies should have to pay for that shit themselves. Especially what with women having all that total economic equality and whatnot. Insurance companies can't possibly be asked to cover lady procedures. Especially not for slutty slutty slut women who have S-E-X. Besides, I know all y'all congresspersons are too busy struggling with the concept of "majority" and trying to be all, like, REVOLUTIONARY in your "reform" bill-passing. Concessions take a lot of energy, AMIRITE? Anyway, girls are gross and conservatives are intimidating and LIFE TAKES COMPROMISE. Besides, it's not like the Democrats need women to get elected or anything. Love, Lauren "I hope Planned Parenthood takes food stamps!" Chesnut Hey, remember this?

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
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TMI Alert: It's Not Pissing, People

Apparently British Film censors are among the many people who are under the erroneous assumption that "female ejaculation" is just pissing during sex. From what I understand, the phenomenon is far from universal, but still quite common. And can I just say? Yes, I can. This is my blog, I can: as a lady who sometimes ejaculates, um, it is so not urine. How can I know for sure? First of all, if it is urine, I should really be doing a lot more laundry. Second of all, as a human being with a normally-functioning bladder, I'm pretty familiar with urine. It has a color. It has a smell. In fact, in females, it comes out of a TOTALLY DIFFERENT ORIFICE than lady juices. I would know if I were peeing my pants or my sheets or whatever, and it would not make me happy, even if I were simultaneously orgasming. It's as if no one actually believes that female sexuality can be independent and/or different from anything involving sperm. "No, honey, you just lost control of your bladder, that's all. It must be so rare for you to orgasm since for a lady IT TAKES FOREVER and is only achieved by mysterious means. You must've just gotten excited and wet the bed." Assholes. P.S.: There are people into actual urine play in sex, and to that I say, "Gross." But whatevs, as long as you take a shower before we hang out, it's not really any of my business.

Energy Drink Review: Money-Shot Raven

WARNING: This is not a joke. This product and website exist.

Warning: this energy drink will make you want to strip down to cheap pink underwear and boots and play beer pong with your identically-dressed hot friends!

The beloved I-Man recently went to a fancy academic conference at Cornell and brought me back what I am assuming is a fabulous New York state delicacy, the Money-Shot energy drink, "Raven" flavor. Apparently it is distributed by Dirty Blonde Brands which has the classiest website ever. I stayed up too late editing and uploading my latest fantastic vlog and I just finished a response paper and have class in an hour. It is a good time for a porny caffeinated bev. It comes in a rare size for U.S. energy drinks: 12 oz. Let's see how this goes. Maybe it'll convince me to put on a bikini and some heels for class.* Flavor update: It tastes like orange soda. I feel like I am eleven years old. At that time, my favorite thing to do at parties was to mix orange soda and root beer. It was delicious. I was a prodigy mixologist. According to the "Champagne Room" recipes, mixing the Raven & Jade Money-Shot flavors with Jack is a "Menage a Trois". CLASSY. Also, no dudebro's wardrobe is complete without one of these: Also, they supply important advice:

Will my girlfriend like a Money-Shot? We hope so for your sake, because it tends to be a really awkward moment afterwards if she doesn't. We suggest discussing it with her first....Oh, you meant Money-Shot the drink! We hope you both like it, and if she's hot, we hope she sends us pictures of her with our product (for marketing purposes of course) and we hope if she doesn't, she'll tell us why so we can make it better (unless she's got a problem with the hottie on the can, in which case we suggest you dump the prude).

Haha, prudes! Energy level update: It's hard to say whether it's working because I've perked up just from exploring the Dirty Blonde Brands website and it just tastes like Orange Slice. *This would never happen. Not even if this were "Weekend at Bernie's: Lauren's Dead This Time." I would COME BACK from the Great Beyond and put some clothes on.

Disturbed

Guess who had a delightful new experience today? Yes, me! Good guess. I have never called the police before this morning, but today I got lucky. See, I was awakened at 7:30 this a.m. (traumatizing already) by a woman very nearby repeatedly screaming "Get off me!" OMFG I totally thought a lady was getting raped in my building and I got up and grabbed my phone and put on flipflops to go investigate where this terrifying yelling was coming from. I soon realized that some of my neighbors were involved in a very heated argument. A man and a lady yelling a lot and an occasional loud noise (I do not even live next door to these people). So, I called the (non-emergency number) police. By the time they came, it was quiet (of course), but I heard the coppers talking to them and no one was arrested or taken to the emergency room or anything. So that's good. I am now irrationally afraid to leave my apartment as I do not want to run into this particular man neighbor and have to say hello like I totally didn't call the cops on them this morning. At least I didn't have to call 911 and report a rape in my building, because that would have been slightly more scary. Friends, have you ever called the police? Did you ever think you were in the middle of a terrible rape scene while first emerging from sleep? Is it normal to feel kind of guilty? But wouldn't I feel more guilty if a lady were being raped or beaten and I just pretended it wasn't happening like the rest of my neighbors? This was not a regular argument, people. And WTF, who is that angry first thing in the morning? Tell me about your brushes with domestic disturbances, friends, and we'll all feel better together.

Unsettling but apt comparison of the day: sperm in the face and weddings

Amanda Hess explains how the fact that some ladies apparently enjoy "facials" is totes like getting married:

[B]ecause even though we all know it’s sexist as fuck, weddings—like facial ejaculation—still make some people happy.

I'd really rather not think of them as analogous, because EW. Have I mentioned that I'm getting married, BTW?* Because I am. Next summer. To Thrift Store Champion/Isaac/the I-Man/Beardface/that dude I'm always hanging out with. No creepy patriarchal property-transfer type traditions will be enacted. Also, no facials. See: Semen Facials Are Like Weddings (The Sexist). *In case you are one of the .23 people who I don't talk to frequently in real life who also happen to read this blog.

This blog was really lacking posts about rape

Men never victimize women who carry weapon-y things! Oh, wait.

Remember a while back when I published that terrible email from Ye Olde University's police department about how some girl got raped, so everybody should try not to get raped by meeting new people, talking to them, or generally being alive? Amanda Hess over at The Sexist apparently received some sort of chain email that draws from supposed interviews with convicted rapists about how women can avoid being raped. Here's a hint: It does not contain the tip "Stay away from me. I'm the one who'll be wearing the 'RAPIST' t-shirt." (Rape Prevention Tips From Rapists: Stay Inside Or Die A Horrible Death ) Highlight of Amanda's awesome response: "You know the old saying: better off carrying a useless decorative cane than sorry." It's so true! Amanda effectively breaks down why these recommendations are such bullshit: they put all the onus on the ladies, trying to convince us that no matter what we do, we're wrong and are pretty much just asking to get raped. Which is, like, double bullshit because though we all already know to carry our keys sticking out between our fingers and to park under street lamps and not to talk to repulsive Axe-wearing dudebros, sometimes we still get raped! Usually by people we know, who aren't necessarily looking for a grocery store parking lot victim with an easily-grabbable ponytail! Actually they are often usually our friends, family members, or boyfriends! That is why people call it "date" or "acquaintance" or "marital" rape. But whatever. Nope, we should only teach women to "watch out" for bush-hiding strangers, to live in fear, and not, like, teach men to not be rapists for godssakes. But Lauren, you might say if you were an asshole, like, dudez are totally evolutionarily set up to be rapists sexually aggressive. Haven't you seen an Arby's/beer/car/power tools/name that thing marketed to guys commercial? They can't help it! And anyway, it's not like they're RAPISTS or something if they coerce you into sex or get you so drunk you don't know what's going on! Haha, RAPISTS are registered sex offenders who carry guns and knives and also are really good at hiding in the backseats of cars. If the dudes you KNOW and might voluntarily hang out with or invite into your apartment are rapists, too, how can we convince you that there's a set of rules that will keep you from being assaulted? Pay no attention to the patriarchy behind the curtain, ladies. AND WATCH OUT FOR BIZARRE FAKE BABY SCHEMES. (Seriously, go read the whole thing. It's horrible/awesome.) And anyway, if you're not going to get serious about carrying that deadly decorative cane with you everywhere, then all those convicted rapists are just going to assume that you wanted it.

Quote o' Today: Patriarchal religions, huzzah!

Allah certainly had a roundabout way of approaching the subject, if in allowing multiple wives, he *really* meant to suggest multiple wives would be impossible to have. That tricky Allah! That sly guy! Why, if you scratch the surface, he’s almost a feminist. Funny how Mr. Feminist-Allah can’t ever say what he means.

-The Apostate on Muslim apologetics. Reza Aslan is a dishonest asshole (The Apostate)

Swift Boat Veterans for Truth Are Totally Pluggers (Slightly epic middle-of-the-night finals week procrastination post!)

This video's border is red in remembrance of the blood of Christ John Kerry this guy (ew, sorry). Hey, remember those guys? Well, apparently I can't do ENOUGH remembering! By which I mean, I didn't pay that close of attention back in 2004, at least not until we moved into our sweet campus-owned apartment with cable because one of our roommates was a Wheelchair-American who got sweet preferential housing treatment, but then we religiously watched Jon Stewart every night (and Colbert starting the next year when he got his own show). Although I did vote for Kerry Not Bush. Anyway, last fall I did a project for my War and Gender history class where I got all John Kerried-up and read about 509868976 biographies about him and got obsessed and then wrote a paper about how the Swift Vets totally used Kerry and 9/11 and gendered bullshit to remasculinize their images as Vietnam Vets. It was awesome. At one point, after far too many energy drinks and who knows how little sleep, I composed an impromptu tune called "John O'Neill Is an American Hero." Isaac still remembers it fondly, but my taurine-addled brain cells have only managed to retain a few lyrics that may or may have not gone something like this: "John O'Neill. John O'Neill. John O'Neill is an American hero. Also, did I mention that he gave a kidney to his wife? Yeah, John O'Neill. John O'Neill had a really extreme side part back in 1971. Yeah, John O'Neill. John O'Neill has a bizarre, lifelong obsession with taking down John Kerry. It's actually kind of creepy. By creepy I mean heroic." Anyway, the John O'Neill tune is in the queue for songs to be written as soon as this semester is over oh my god how is it not over yet? I am up reading, reading, reading about SBVT and the 2004 election and trying to figure out how to write a 10-12 page paper for my Theories and Methods of American Culture Studies class about this horrible awesome self-published victory lap book that doesn't just read:

Hahahahaha This book is full of quotes from random conservative blog commenters from 2004 and crappy screenshots from the group's own website. hahahahahaha (Chesnut, 2009). Scott Swett's name is like 'sweat' and he refers to himself in the third person throughout the book. hahahaha Did you know that the "nonpartisan" vets saved America from John Kerry in 2004 by utilizing* that Magical Series of Tubez everyone's talking about (SBVT, 2008)! .... Let's not talk about what happened to the conservative netroots in 2006 and beyond, even though this book came out in 2008. Ha. Ha. Ha. It's really good, I swear (Some Guy at Amazon.com, 2009).

I suppose if I write out the John O'Neill lyrics, that'd take up some more space. Anyhow, I'm going to go back to reading the glowing reviews of the book on Amazon after this and pretend it's legitimate research. You can wait, two more books about the 2004 election! It's only, like 3:30. Paper's not even due until slightly more than 36 hours from now. Duh. Anyway, now I will make fun of some Pluggers I recently picked out for the mocking. I just realized that John O'Neill is probably best friends with Gary Brookins, as Gary Brookings is also an American Hero who would give his kidney to his wife and also Tell the Truth about Lying Liberal Liars who don't understand Real Americans who wear flannel just like Jesus Intended:

Hahahahaha. Women's unpaid labor, right? Love it! Also, why can't anyone in this family find anything? Is it their bear(?) penises that prevent them from doing so, or are they all just too high (as per usual)?

This is because they hope someone will feel sorry for them and hook them up with a fresh prescription. "Oh, my HMO cut me off the pain killers because our plan doesn't cover it, and we can't afford a better one what with us being all working-class and salt-of-the-earth and OHMYGOD do you have any VICODIN?!" That's totally why Pluggers are so diehard in their support of privatized medicine; if we got a government plan, there'd only be one drug company in town: the U.S. Government. All the doctors and pharmacists would have access to the same computer records, and they'd have to try harder to game the system in order to fill their astonishingly well-documented and wanton drug addictions. Or, you know, learn how to use the internet. *Recently, I had a delightful professor tell me that this is a "puff word," and that I should just use "use" over and over again. Or a synonym of "use." You mean, like, "utilize"? This same professor wrote on the same paper--after having written "syntax" next to a number of sentences--"SYNTAX = SENTENCE STRUCTURE." REALLY? It DOES? If only I could go back and retake that semester of English Syntax I had while earning my bachelor's degree in linguistics. That would've really cleared a few things up. WHAT.EVER.

Quote o' the Day: Judd Apatow Sucks Version

You sully the name of the Royal Brotherhood of the Beard, douchetron.

Funny internet lady Sady who normally blogs at Tiger Beatdown, made the ultimate sacrifice of watching a Judd Apatow movie marathon. In her conclusional post at Shakesville, she confirmed my suspicions about such an activity: "NEVER DO THIS. IT WILL DEVOUR YOUR SOUL." But anyway, after subjecting herself to the dangers and emerging somewhat victorious (only partially-devoured soul, perhaps), Sady gives us the composite Apatow movie plot synopsis:

Man-Child resides in the beautiful, carefree, recess-all-day-long, ice-cream-for-dinner world of Man-Childsvania. Man-Child nevertheless feels the nagging lack of the social status and power that comes from being a Successful, Important Grown Man in patriarchy. Man-Child finds some lady to drag him, kicking and screaming, from Man-Childsvania into the real world. Man-Child makes the bittersweet sacrifice of his freedom, unless he doesn't have to, because a really, truly nice lady will make do with a few superficial changes (like, say, getting a job, or spending only 80% of your time with your bros instead of the more desirable 99.987%) and let you stay a Man-Child forever. Blah blah offensively blatant Republican-family-values conclusion, The End.

Go read her, it is teh awesome (she writes on each movie individually at her blog). Also, a note from me: Dear Paul Rudd and Jason Segal and Michael Cera who are cute and I want to like but I can't if your politics suck too much, Stop producing/being complicit to this kind of bullshit. Seriously. Love, Me & other people who don't hate women

Problematic Crime Alert: Watch out for Rapists, Ladies!

I just received this message to my campus email address:

BGSU Crime Alert Incident: Sexual Assault April 7, 2009 A female resident student of XXX Hall reported that she was sexually assaulted by a known subject in the early morning hours of Sunday, April 5, 2009. The assault occurred in her room after she had fallen asleep. Criminal charges against the suspect are pending. Individuals are reminded to be wary of individuals who may be friends of others but not well known to them. Do not allow someone to stay with you when you are unsure of their trustworthiness. Remember to always report suspicious activity to the BGSU Police Department at 419-xxx-xxxx

Dear BG police, I realize you're trying to be "helpful" by telling people to "be careful," but you're MISSING THE POINT. How can you tell girls, "Don't trust people you know or sort of know or that other people know or don't know"? How about a message that says, "There was a rape on campus. HEY, DUDES: STOP BEING RAPISTS." Fucking fuck, people. No rape culture, my ass.