Happy Friday my beautiful babies!
Sorry about no newsletter yesterday. I just freaking forgot. Guys my memory is so bad. Yesterday, at the same time as my newsletter was supposed to be coming out I described my one friend to my other friend and she had to remind me that she’s met him before. Right before the foursome we had. And it’s not like I’ve even had that much group sex.
This is so me I’m screaming:
@BrandyLJensen:
Me on twitter: I’m hot and funny and destroy men for sport
Me irl: *writes you a poem inspired by Bright Eyes lyrics*
If you’re not following @theblowout, you’re missing a lot of her telling dudes on Twitter to eat her.
I hate Hillary but this was so good. via @mekosoff
Canada has an unusual problem with Syrian refugees: Too many people want to help.
Ugh. You know what? Fuck Canada. Fuck their perpetual niceness and their effective government and their general having their shit together and being ruled by a hot, feminist, dreamboat of a man instead of having to choose between a Cheeto-faced fascist and a woman who couldn’t tell the truth or turn down a Wall Street banker’s request if her motherfucking life depended on it.
I love this simple exchange. You are not allowed to use the natural result of stigma you’re perpetrating as an excuse for further stigmatization. Nope. Fuck off with that.
Apparently the Tesla owner who made a viral video about autopilot saving him from collision died in the first fatal self-driving car crash. Let me get earnest with you for a second (as if I have any other mode). This dude is a hero. This is what we need MORE of in this life. We need people willing to put their lives on the line to test out new innovations that will eventually make all of us safer. People need to ditch the precautionary principle and understand that people have different risk tolerances. And not only is that okay, but it’s actually really, really useful.
Double X wants to know whether we should be concerned that most women are doing something with their pubes other than letting them run wild. Let me tell y’all a little story that you might not believe is true. One time, when I was in middle school, I packed a skirt to wear to the airport to increase the chances we’d get into first class (mom had flight privileges because she worked for Delta). The only problem is that I had either forgotten a razor or neglected to shave, and my leg hair was quite visible from quite a distance. Guys, I was HUMILIATED. All day in the airport all I could think about was who could see my leg hair and what they were thinking about it.
Now, looking back, the answers are very obvious. A. No one. and B. Nothing. No one gives a fuck about my leg hair. They didn’t then. They don’t now. And those that did? Fuck them. I was listening to 2 Dope Queens yesterday and Jessica was talking about being new to dating and sex in NYC in her mid-twenties and asking r/women what to do with her pubic hair. They told her not to shave, to trim if she wanted, because men don’t care and the men who do tend to be pieces of poop. THAT’S LIFE. The people who care don’t matter and the people who matter don’t care.
Now, another thing to know about me was that I was so embarrassed about my leg hair because I was so judgey myself. When I saw visible leg hair on a woman I felt grossed out and judged her.
To this day, I have to work on letting go of judgment, toward myself and toward others. One thing I used to do is look for something beautiful about every person’s body in yoga class. Instead of looking for flaws so I could compare myself and feel better, I’d look for what was pretty. And I could find something in every body (of course, you judgemental shit). Maybe I’ve written about this before. See above on memory.
The point is, the hair is not the issue. The hair is never the issue. The issue is shame and judgment. The issue is not feeling good about yourself, and feeling the need to pick other people apart and find their flaws to salve that wound temporarily. But that salve is acid. It numbs you a bit but it makes the wound bigger and bigger. Because every time you find something to hate on about someone else you raise the bar a little bit on yourself.
I go on and on and on about shame because I am so ensnared by it myself. I have to work hard to stop judging other people and myself on shit that doesn’t make anyone better off. What makes the world better: Policing other people’s appearance or working to see the beauty in every person? This is not a hard question, but it’s a very hard thing to live out. It’s easier for me to shave off my body hair and stay skinny and wash my hair and wear appropriate clothing than it is to work toward believing that I’m okay and you’re okay even if we’re hairy and greasy and our hoodie has stains on it.
And I’m not there yet. Progress is uneven. I wear what I want to wear for the most part, but last night I felt the need to look great for the Reason happy hour because they fired me and I had to prove I’m doing okay. But then despite feeling like I looked good, no one (save my dear and wonderful boyfriend) hit on me. Which I noticed and didn’t love. Then a friend said he saw some dudes hovering, waiting to pounce, and suddenly I felt great again, like I still had it.
Anyway. Should we be concerned that women want to groom their pubes? Of course not. It’s okay to not want to make your partner forage for your pussy. But I need to think about what I think when I see some pubes stick out of a bathing suit. If I am repulsed, I want to check myself. Because it happens to me. Them shits is hard to get when they’re all spread out here and there and I’m not trying to shave my whole thigh area all the damn time. I have to catch up on Orange is the New Black. Is the world a better place when women spend more time making sure all the pubes are gone instead of writing thinkpieces about the politics of my favorite shows? Hell. To. The. No. So I’m working on being the change I wish to see in the world. One pube hair at a time. Join me.
Comments are closed, but trackbacks and pingbacks are open.