October 31, 2011 § Leave a comment
I know that I have been preaching about sexy-slutty-skanky costumes disgracing our streets, setting poor examples for our youth, and reducing the female gender to blow up dolls. Okay, maybe not that extreme. But let’s be interactive here. Just like the gossip sites, lets play a game of who wore it better.
I know it’s a challenge, because both are pretty apeeling. Vote by submitting your comments below or on TIB’s Facebook Page. I’ll post the results on the Facebook page tomorrow.
October 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
October 24, 2011 § 1 Comment
I was getting in the spirit by reading through some old posts when it occurred to me that TIB is over one year old! We didn’t throw a proper birthday party or anything. Anyway thank you to all the readers who keep hitting up the site. If you are so inclined (which I hope you are), please wish a happy belated on her facebook page.
I thought it was appropriate to re-run last year’s Halloween post today, so everyone can learn a thing or two from All Hallows Eve past.
The spookiest night of the year is kicking off another lonely holiday season. Let’s see what normal occupation I can slut up this year… What was once about scary is now about sexy. Really, most of the costumes you find in Halloween Super Stores that pop up for those six sacred weeks before the day of dress up are starting to offer what looks more like bondage than a nurse or a witch or a pirate.
Even a hooker couldn’t walk in those ruby slippers. And who knew the Mad Hatter made such a good drag queen? Dear God, I don’t remember any of the cast members of Harry Potter dressing like that. I can honestly say, I have never met a bumblebee with so much cleavage. If sports officials looked like Hooters Girls, I don’t think there wouldn’t be much of a game. Will the real Playboy Bunnies please stand up? With fishnets, platforms and a Miracle Bra, you can be anything. It’s like a stripper’s closet exploded.
We are all aware that the slut-o-lantern lights up in front of every single lady’s door this time of year. Screw carving a pumpkin, I need to figure the proper wind chill to alcohol ratio in order to determine how much skin can I show without being too cold. The only thing that’s putting on a costume is my chest. Throw a badge on my nipple and I’m an officer of the law.
Every year, men are more and more likely to get laid at a Halloween party. The naughty angel hikes up her skirt and tosses her halo to unleash her forbidden sexuality while the girl with the animal ears wags her tail and more. What kind of animal? Does it matter? Guys everywhere time break-ups to occur right before this day in order to take advantage of all the ripe pussycats. Meow. A couple years ago, my relationship was one such casualty.
Personally, I love Halloween not because it’s an excuse to unleash my inner whore; I go there too regularly to save it all up for one night. I like to take a more traditional approach and go 100% in the opposite direction, bananas and beavers (yes, I’ve been both, neither were sexy). My 2006 Wicked Witch of the West had complete strangers coming up to me asking to take my picture. Needless to say, I get a little excited when dreaming up a costume. Naturally, when I found myself with a BF for the holiday I started brainstorming couples costumes. What’s better than a Willy Wonka accompanied by an Oompa Loompa? Starting the first of September and not a second later, I began flooding his inbox with my suggestions. Will you please be the bacon to my eggs? The bolt to my nut? The Fred to my Wilma? The plug to my outlet? The spoon to my fork? Not exactly a subtle approach. Big mistake.
We had been dating for a while, long enough to assume making plans one month in advance was perfectly reasonable. And we were practically living together, there was no escaping me. He darted the issue going white as a ghost when I brought it up, executed a couple impressive disappearing acts, and even claimed that he was not that into dressing up. Excuse me, bud, but I did go through your tagged Facebook photos at least two years and it seems to me that you do like Halloween. What you like even more is sporting a mustache and taking pictures with the sluttiest getups of the night. He wasn’t tricking me.
Somewhere around October 10th and my list of 101 famous movie couples, he broke it off. Being tied to me through costume would ruin this holiday for him, surely. I spent the next two weeks baking and eating an unghouly amount of pumpkin bread. I spent Halloween watching a Rosanne marathon with my head in a bowl of fun-sized candy bars. I wasn’t asking to dress as a bride and groom wedding topper, but he couldn’t take the pressure. I suppose it saved us both bullshit Christmas presents and an awkward Thanksgiving. But be forewarned, if he’s resisting going as a pair, he doesn’t plan on giving out any treats later on.
October 22, 2011 § Leave a comment
Yesterday I was censored. That means that someone must be paying attention. Help keep the voice alive. If you like it, subscribe to the blog and “like” the facebook page. Show your support for all the modern women out there trying to break the mold.
October 21, 2011 § Leave a comment
October 19, 2011 § Leave a comment
Remember in 1999 when Kari Russell cut off all her hair after Felicity’s break-up with Ben? Yes, it was hard on all of us. Her pretty little face nested in all that hair… then she shrewdly butchered it with a hack saw, I’d imagine. It looked like she was about to start “experimenting” with a softball player and we’d have to watch her wear Birkenstocks for the next three seasons until she graduated.
It’s argued that the decline in ratings was due to the show’s move to Sunday night, and not the hair cut. And this bit of information comforted me as I selected a salon to chop over a foot off my hair.
My hair had been Mermaid long for about 11 years. I would constantly threaten to cut it all off every six months, then chicken out four inches before my shoulders. Years of this. I’d wait until it was long enough to get caught in my armpits aka “the hair-bra.” I’d then take my trash talk to the stylist to only muster the courage to cut a mere two inches (or just the split ends whatever came first).
This even lasted through my dressing-like-a-lesbian faze when I first got out of college. I was all about gender equality. I thought that to be “taken seriously” meant putting on a t-shirt, cargo pants, and hiking boots. Although none of us will deny, cargo pants are more comfortable than flannel pajama’s just because they are acceptable for a grown woman to wear in public. Still, I would tie the blonde locks tight in a bun, as if it were the only thing I had left of my femininity.
I really was only a year before I came to my senses and resumed my normal classy business casual. I missed cute shoes too much. I’d have dreams of ankle boots and platform heals. But even after I redeemed my figure revealing outfits, I still clutched onto the hair.
I was really close once, even visualizing it through a photoshop mock-up, but my boyfriend at the time told me not to. He was very stern about it too. It wasn’t just a good-natured giggle, “No-no, I love your hair long and I’m going to be cute and playful until you forget why you even wanted to cut it to begin with.” It was more of a demonic, “Do not cut your hair, if you do I will leave you and slit the throat of your kitten.” No kittens were ever harmed as a result of a haircut.
I took this in later years to mean that I should never consider short hair because I would be hideous and have to hide out with several cats, eating canned tuna and hotdogs until it grew back. I like sushi and social events so I grew it, and kept growing until I looked like that person we once knew as Jennifer Aniston, peaking from behind golden ropes that may strangle her if she sleeps wrong, or finds out Bradgelina is a real thing.
Even ol’ Jen has since done some weeding. More than Felicity, she may have a head of locks further celebrated than any other. I had the Rachel just like the rest of you in the 90s. And it looked awful on all of us.
11 years after the Rachel, I was finally ready, this time more of Barbra Streisand. Like a post transformation Mirror Has Two Faces. That’s when Jeff Bridges was hunky. The 90s are coming back, I was going to go for the angled bob. So I saved the picture on my phone, told the ex-boyfriend’s voice inside my head to go jerk off somewhere to funny cats 2, then I made an appointment.
I made Mister Red aware of my intentions. He seemed impervious to the situation, but generally liked the idea. About as much as he likes country music: he’ll listen to it and sing it when he’s drunk, all the while respecting that you can’t take the country out of the girl, but you can make fun of her for it. If that’s how this hair cut was going to be, I could live with that.
To be honest, it was a very cathartic experience. I was shedding the old me, renewing my spirit, changing my thinking cap. That’s really all Felicity wanted to do, she just picked the wrong haircut. My stylist was nervous I was going to start crying, after all we really didn’t know each other and not many people bring in a picture of Barbra Streisand. But there were no tears. In fact I was giggling, which might have made me come off even more crazy. I’m really pleased with the transformation. I’m glad I did it. I feel like I have a secret that no one with long hair knows. I’ve seen life from both sides now.
Aside from the dramatics, it turns out, Mister Red has been secretly hoping I’d cut my hair this whole time. He’s got a thing for short haired girls, but as a true gentleman he didn’t want his tastes to influence my decisions. I’m the one who has to wear the hair on my head. And I have to wear this head out in public. The face? Well, the face is a different story all together.
October 17, 2011 § Leave a comment
For those of you who don’t know, and for those of you who are pissed because someone forgot you, this past Saturday was “Sweetest Day,” (not a real holiday). It’s one of those Hallmark-i-days that leaves the ladies disappointed and their sweeties in hot water. But let me shed some light on how this all went down and maybe you won’t feel so bad that no one cared to remember how sweet you truly are.
In the 1920s it started in the Great Lakes region, specifically Cleveland, by a confectioners movement. It was originally for the philanthropist at heart distributing candy to shut-ins, orphans, old folks, and the underprivileged. So really it never had anything to do with anybody’s sweetie unless they fell into the above categories. Really it seems like a marketing ploy set up by the candy companies, pioneered by 12 confectioners on a committee for the sweetest day for revenue.
Later in 1937, the National Confectioners association along with backing from the candy industry tried as they might to make Sweetest Day rank right up there with Mother’s Day. Keeping with the theme of charity they handed candy out to organizations that were working with the sick and needy. Promotional support, marketed it as the “sweetest day of the year.” Meaning you give out candy, which is kind of like that ritual that happens during another holiday occurring in the same month, but who’s really paying attention anyway.
The idea really didn’t take off and somewhere along the line the sentiment got confused with Valentine’s Day. Which I would attribute to the greeting cards designed for the day. But I get it, Hallmark, it’s hard to make “take some candy because I’m too broke to donate anything real to your cause,” feel like rose petals and teddy bears.
Retail confectioners claim that the holiday is more important to candymakers near the Cleveland and Detroit areas, as companies in those cities were huge promoters of day to begin with.
So don’t be so sore, like I said, not a real holiday.