Tag Archives: men
My boss knows a pretty high end jewellery maker quite well. He comes in today after meeting with him last night, hands me the swanky new folder of his latest stuff and says “Here, show [boyfriend] – see if you can put in an order”. I say “Yeah, I’m not really into the whole ‘Hey, buy me shit’ thing”. He says “Yeah, you all *say* that”. At this point I think I’d really like to kick him in the balls.
How much do you wanna pull a “Girls don’t like boys, girls like cars and money” line on me?
Mostly I ignore it when I have to ask for his credit card to pay for work stuff and he pulls out the whole ‘It’s like being married’ line. I grit my teetch and use the card. Guess what? Not like being married at all. My experience of being married was that my arsehole husband drank and smoked my money and his. My relationships have *never* involved someone financially supporting me, and sometimes I’m so stupidly determined to pay 50% that I end up paying more than that which is extremely stupid given my shitty income.
So when I say “I’m not into telling guys to buy me shit”, I mean I’m not into telling guys to buy me shit. And when I say that in a workplace? Feel free not to throw around your jaded generalisations from the one experience like that that you’ve had in order to make derogatory sexist remarks. Or you know, feel free to kick yourself in the balls and save me the effort.
Sam in the City has written another delightfully insightful post – this time she talks about ‘deal breakers’ – what attributes can another person have so absolutely heinous that you will not consider dating them? Atrributes that make your stomach turn, your knees tremble (in a bad way) and have you heading for the hills screaming “Get behind me Satan [not in a good way]“?
Her list is fairly instructional for the novice ‘Ask Sam’ reader as to who her bread and butter commentors are and what sort of tribalistic fevered ‘let’s assert our power by verbally tearing apart women and the kinds of women we *particularly hate*’ kinds of comment themes she’s fishing for. If you can get them going on that the comments (and therefore the hits) come rolling in.
So. What makes the list? Let’s see? Violent crimes? Blatant aggression? Terrifyingly poor attitudes to life? No?? Um…wait…gambling addictions? Fundamentalism? Wait, wait, I’ll pick one…a lackadaisical attitude to personal hygeine?
No. You guessed it. *Chicks with tats*, *Feminists*, *nice guys* and *pretty boys*
It’s just so EASY – she’s like a sitting duck. A big one. Out in the open. In duck season. With two broken wings, one leg and you’ve got a bazooka. Doesn’t seem fair really.
Let’s see. First up a *friend* with a dilemma “My b/f will dump me if I get a tat…should I do it anyway?”. Heavens NO young child, a man (ANY man!) is THE MOST IMPORTANT THING IN THE WORLD!!! What are you THINKING???
Then to illustrate her pearls of wisdom she goes for a little Paris Hilton slut-shaming and advises (quietly, carefully, like her friend’s an easily spooked animal who’ll freak being talked to like a real grown up) that said friend try a henna tatoo first – the alleged result?
” So she did. Half an hour after getting it done, she was ready to scrub it off. “It’s ruining all my outfits,” she wailed, and then removed it. Luckily she could …
She *wailed*??? After *half an hour*??? And a rose on her hip was ruining…all…her outfits? I’m beginning to suspect Sam in the City is not a *real* journalist, like sometimes she makes up pretend idiot friends who can’t make decisions and wail helplessly over the dilemma of a temporary tattoo that is ruining their outfits. Cos that is how women act. For real. We don’t know what we want. We change our minds more frequently than our underwear. When something goes ‘wrong’ we can’t fix it – even if it’s just washing a little texta off our hip, we have to sit on the floor and shriek over it first. We’re just *like that*
Then – feminism – new friend/contact “Oh helps! I’s feminist. Can’t find boyfriend! Should I sell out beliefs for boyfriend? Because clearly I must choose!” [Of COURSE you should ditch the lezzo hairy legged politics *girlfriend*, you''ll never get a root otherwise, and then HOW will you fake a pregnancy and make him marry you and fulfill your destiny by hating your husband, making him miserable, stealing his kids, taking his money and leaving him a shell of a man???]
Then…nice men. Oh yes, that old chestnut, thrown out by angry men world over. “It’s because I’m too nice…that those fucking bitches won’t fuck me! Goddamn those stupid sluts! They’re all the same! And they all want Collin Farrell! Or James Dean. Treat em mean keep em keen! They LOVE that shit! Why don’t they realise how NICE I am, that I’m hot shit, ready for action and they’re useless dumb girls who don’t know what’s good for them? I mean SHIT! It can’t be me right?”
Then…pretty boys. Because men should be rugged, manly and able to open beer bottles with their eye sockets. And if they are “hotter” than you, you will spend your life an anxious wreck, breathing into brown paper bags and vomiting into pot plants…because you couldn’t have anything else going for you. Since a woman is just a decoration, if he “outpretties” you, you’re FUCKED! (duh!) men CHEAT! Biological destiny! Written in the genes. Poor buggers.
Then she opens it right on up asking what are deal breakers for the readers, and what they think of her list. Let the slut-shaming, judgmental, woman bashing CRAP begin in earnest. Yeeeehaw! I gots me rifle, let’s shoot some kangaroo and drink rum til we pass out in our own vomit! (Where are all the supermodel hot, sports watching women who think that’s hot???)
I whinged at my boyfriend the other day that it’d be nice to be a man, to get up, put on pants and a shirt and go to work.
He responded “Women can do that too. And it’s damned sexy.”
Granted, many women can carry that look off and it’s hot. Those of us with those *nasty curvy bits* though don’t tend to look ‘sexy’ at all if we whack on an off the rack shirt and pants. And here’s why:
Men’s clothes are measured: you can buy a shirt to *fit your neck*, a shirt with sleeves the *right length*. Now that’s great. Obviously some men have bigger necks than others, and we wouldn’t want their necks to be uncomfortable, so we give them some options.
Women? Apparently we’re all of the same body shape, just larger or smaller, like human stacking doll sets. While the shape expands, there is no space for, say, being a generously proportioned, yet short woman, or a thin but very tall woman. There’s no space for flesh in general and there is certainly no space for breasts, which leads me to think that “If you’ve got it flaunt it” actually means, if you’ve got big tits, walk around naked cos you won’t get a shirt to close over them. I also remember an aunt of mine saying when you get up into the upper clothes sizes they seem to think you have arms like tree trunks, and said that often the under arm of the garment would be on the side of her lower ribs. (On a side note she also said it was like they were dressing circus clowns, you couldn’t, for many years, get something in a “plus size” range in neutrals or plains, it was all loud patterns, as if they were forcing the *jolly fat person* role on you).
And where men can have allowances made for neck size, women don’t get the same allowance for breast size…with the result that I’ve never, ever been able to find a button up shirt that looks good on me. They don’t close over my breasts. I’m a size twelve to fourteen through the abdomen, but I cannot get business shirts, or for that matter many dresses, to do up over my tits! Grr!! If I go up in size they swim. They rarely meet my wrists anyway, any more than jackets, and if they do, the only *just* do with the result that I can’t move my arms freely, which just doesn’t work for work clothes!!
Length: I suppose shorter women can go to the tailor to get pants taken up…but what about women like me, where most of my height is in my legs, and I’ll try on pairs of pants that fit…til I look down and see my ankles poking out like Steve friggin Erkle.
Width: Again, we’ve got the standard 8, 10, 12, 14, 16, 18, 20, 22 etc. But let’s be real. What is usually stocked is 8-14…small makes to save on fabric, so *actually* 6-12. With the result that most women can’t get their thighs/arse into a pair of pants in a majority of stores making them blame the one Krispy Kreme they ate in 2002 rather than the fashion industry’s bizarre attitudes to women’s bodies. If I could go into a store and find pants upon pants upon pants which were made to specific measurements, ie said, if your waist is x cm, and your arse is x cm and your leg length is x cm, these will totally fucking fit you (as they are for men) I would be a happy (and well dressed) woman. As it is I can buy jeans off the rack, and occasionally a pair of business pants, but usually, to get them to fit me well enough that my body looks good (and my ankles aren’t poking out nerd-style) I am looking at boutique shops for $400!!! $400!!! When’s the last time a man had to pay that much for a pair of pants just to find a pair that look good?
Why am I crapping on about this? I have to go shopping for clothes again soon. I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel, and I have nothing appropriate for work which is summery. And I’m dreading it already. I have a great body. It’s just not catered to in women’s fashion – or in men’s, as the problem is really not a neck-size thing. So I’m gonna be standing there trying on overpriced garment after overpriced garment, only to feel like a total fatty all because I have big boobs and long legs so nothing fits me. Grr! I mean surely, surely, if we can measure for a man’s neck, we can measure clothes to fit women’s bodies without them having to hock their belongings to pay for it?
Not so much a post as a quick complaint – catching the train last night to visit family I get to the top of the stairs, dragging an enourmous suitcase, child in tow and get asked by a guy what station we’re at.
I’m a bit startled, thinking he’s missing his stop, but I answer and find a seat. I notice his friend when I sit down as we are separated by a few seats, and the aisle, but are facing each other and he’s looked at me. I immediately put my head down and I think about the reaction I’ve had to them. I have immediately gleaned that they are both drunk, possibly stoned (massively red eyes), tres blokey, absolutely enourmous, “good looking” I suppose in that footballer type of way.
I don’t wanna make eye contact given my vast experience with drunken men on trains. Anyway, I dig out my book and I hear the first guy (not the one facing me) say “Stop staaarin maaaan”, but don’t really register or think anything of it. I look up at some point, and we make eye contact and I give the look – I’m sure women out there know the look, it’s well rehearsed – the ‘smile’ that is acknowledgement of eye contact, enough not to be rude, so as not to be challenging and provoke abuse, and not enough to encourage conversation.
I start thinking about my wariness and where it comes from (a good 20 years of awareness of danger, of random “drive-by” harrasment in its various forms, but I wanna analyse whether my reaction is “fair” or not). So I start thinking, Well, he’s totally enourmous, like Holy Shit, this guy could knock my teeth out without cracking a sweat. Then I think, well, shit, that isn’t his *fault*, he can’t help being enourmous. But you know, having been followed, having been hit, having read the rape stats and having had numerous unpleasant, though less physically violent interactions, I can’t “help” my radar going off, and I can’t “help” thinking of his size in this way.
I can hear the guys talking, and it’s all football and grog talk, but I decide I don’t mind the guy facing me, he shows some awareness of his surroundings etc and makes a few quips as to the other guys idiocy. Anyway, I’m deep in my book and I hear the first guy say “Stop starin man, you’re embarrassing yourself” and my eyes flick up and I make fleeting eye contact with the second guy who’s looking embarrassed and telling his friend to shut up.
I go back to my book, still not thinking much of it, when I hear the first guy (slurring and loud) say “Whaddya starin at HER for? She’s a [missed this word]. SHE don’t wanna suck no cock.”
Now, let me say I don’t know who the “she” he was talking about was. It was, by all indications, either me, or the girl sitting one seat ahead of me. I went back to my book as I was most certainly not wishing to make eye contact now. The second guy was really pissed with his friend and telling him to shut up as he was embarrassing him. It kept going for a while.
I don’t know who it was they were referring to, but it hardly matters does it? I mean “she don’t wanna suck no cock”??? WHERE do I start? Well, you know, I certainly don’t wanna “suck” yours you moronic arrogant cunt, in fact I wish it was detachable by velcro so I could toss the fucking thing out the window. But “what” was it that either I or the other girl “was” that meant definitively that we didn’t wanna suck no cock? A lesbian? A mother? A brunette? An adult?
And CHRIST – imagine, if you can, what joys might lay in store for the “type” of girl, judged as wanting to suck cock. What stimulating and witty conversation she would have been treated to. What slow, drawn out, delightfully playful seduction. What romance and laughter. It sounded very much like it would have been a case of “Knees, bitch”.
It’s really bizarre to me, that it is this kind of blanket judgment as well, like you either like to “suck cock” and therefore will do it anytime, anywhere, on command, indiscriminately or you just don’t. I kinda wanted to point out that even for those who do actually enjoy fellatio, it isn’t like liking chocolates, that you don’t see one whilst strolling around and go Oooh, might just pop that in my mouth because it *is* a “cock”.
I don’t know…I don’t know where exactly to go with this – I don’t feel personally offended by this guys judgment, I don’t give a toss. I also know that he didn’t spring from the ground a fully formed misogynist prick, that the area he grew up in, the family, the school, the books/movies etc he interacted with had an impact on the way he views and talks about women.
I guess I’m not trying to offer some kind of theoretical conclusion, I just think that there is value in telling these incidental stories of casual discrimination and harrasment that get levelled at women everywhere and everyday, that it *happens* with no warning, you can’t *avoid* shit like this. I think sharing these kinds of anectdotes, and having a look at the attitudes behind them have value just for women to reassure themselves that it’s ok to be angry, to relate to one another in the fact that while you wanna say “Get fucked” you know you are taking a big risk. I think it’s valuable to guys in hearing the everyday stuff and in thinking about the crap we put up with and ways of negotiating it amongst their friendship circles. Because it isn’t just up to *women*, it isn’t a *women’s issue*, as Figleaf, of Real Adult Sex [a blog] says, feminism is about making the world better for men and women.
Ok – ENOUGH!
The other day I went to a doctors surgery and I read through a copy of a “womens” magazine. You know the ones? The ones with the “raunchy” sex section? With suggestions like “When you’re going down on him [cos it's always assumed it's a him] try pouting and moaning like a porn star. HOT!”
So anyway, having waited forty minutes already I thought I’d check it out. Fuck me.
Under the banner of something like “Are you GOOD in bed? Do you wanna be GREAT in bed?” it had about eight suggestions. Two stuck in my mind as particularly outstanding – one for being so galling, the other just made me laugh out loud.
So girls, when you are going to have sex and you are ashamed of your body because it doesn’t look like a taut skinned pre-pubescent boy’s body, what you should do to make the sex “hotter”, to be “great” in bed is to lie on your side facing away. Get him to lie behind you, lift your leg and let him enter you from behind. That way you don’t have to be worried about all the ‘bits’ of your body that you are ashamed of. That way he can get off without ever having to look at your hideous disgusting women’s body.
I am NOT making this up!
The second??? This being the one that made me laugh, cos the one above is so NOT funny…”Don’t be afraid to initiate sex”. ???…….????????????
Wow. Now I know that I am a feminist and I am over thirty so perhaps it is alzheimer’s kicking in, but was I ever afraid to initiate sex? Is it something women are afraid of? Or should be afraid of?? See the article said “I know this one sounds scary girls” then it went on to say you didn’t need to be so bold as to say it, to ask for it, or just to get on with setting it in motion…”anything you do that makes him think of sex” (like not killing him dead) is good to initiate sex while protecting your gigglish girlish innocent persona.
They are talking (as they always do) about sex in the context of a relationship…what sort of a relationship do you have where if you wanna have sex with your partner you have to wait til they initiate it??? What exactly is your boyfriend (cos only hetero relationships get a look-in in these mags) gonna do, what is he gonna think if you grab him, kiss him and push him up against a wall? Is he gonna freak that he’s dating Sharron Stone and your gonna go get the icepick? Are we still after all this time being forced to choose between playing damned whores and gods police? Sluts or timid little ladies who blush and only have sex because they are doing someone a favour?
So…given the above I thought maybe I should start up a regular column for women so we can know what our men want (stay away from other women girls, unless you’re pashing your female friend in the pub for ten bucks and the guy’s amusement) and can plan ahead to ensure that we are great in bed.
PART ONE OF HOW TO BE A SEXY, HOT HETERO GIRL:
First I suggest taking a good look at your body. If you are female, chances are you have some flesh. That is wrong, out of place and disgustingly unsexy. You could of course choose to kind of grab it in chunks, tie it back with rubber bands and enter the room sideways like a crab so he is amazed by the tautness of your skin and can’t see all the wierd rubber bands.
This then requires that you choose certain positions in order that he doesn’t see your back. Also do NOT let him touch you. While the feel of hands running over your skin might be sexy, this is not about you. You are here to do a job and to fit in with current stereotypes of beauty. Straddle him carefully, facing him. Tie him up so his hands can’t wander. Then proceed to move carefully so as not to begin pinging rubber bands across the room.
The added advantage of tying his hands up is that he then can’t touch you “down there” – cos we all know how gross it is down there. That’s why labial cosmetic surgery is so popular. But that’s a topic for another day.
For today, consider the rubber bands. If this is too high maintenance, you could always try starving yourself til ‘acceptably’ thin, saving a fortune from your low paying, non-threatening job, and investing in surgery to cut away all that disgusting womanly flesh. This is the only true method to ensure that he can have sex with you from in front and behind so he will not get so bored with you. It’s a worthwhile investment in becoming a hot hetero girl.