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Wednesday, 31 August 2011

Dear Future Husband

Somehow in the middle of tests, assignments, friends and the battle against the bulge, i still find the time to surf the internet aimlessly like I don't have a degree to get. But today all my procrastination actually bore fruit..

I found this beautiful piece written by Christina Hendricks, who just also happens to be smouldering! It says all the things that women want and like and don't even know we like. Literally mind blown and sitting on the edge of my seat waiting for the guy that calls me radiant :)

"Christina Hendricks: A Letter to Men

We love your body. If we're in love with you, we love your body. Your potbelly, everything. Even if you're insecure about something, we love your body. You feel like you're not this or that? We love your body. We embrace everything. Because it's you.
Speaking of your body, you don't understand the power of your own smell. Any woman who is currently with a man is with him partly because she loves the way he smells. And if we haven't smelled you for a day or two and then we suddenly are within inches of you, we swoon. We get light-headed. It's intoxicating. It's heady.

We remember forever what you say about the bodies of other women. When you mention in passing that a certain woman is attractive — could be someone in the office, a woman on the street, a celebrity, any woman in the world, really — your comment goes into a steel box and it stays there forever. We will file the comment under "Women He Finds Attractive." It's not about whether or not we approve of the comment. It's about learning what you think is sexy and how we might be able to convey it. It's about keeping our man by knowing what he likes.

We also remember everything you say about our bodies, be it good or bad. Doesn't matter if it's a compliment. Could be just a comment. Those things you say are stored away in the steel box, and we remember these things verbatim. We remember what you were wearing and the street corner you were standing on when you said it.

Never complain about our friends — even if we do. No matter how many times we say a friend of ours is driving us crazy, you are not to pile on. Not because it offends us. But because it adds to the weight that we carry around about her.

Remember what we like. When I first started dating my husband, I had this weird fascination with the circus and clowns and old carnival things and sideshow freaks and all that. About a month after we started dating, he bought me this amazing black-and-white photo book on the circus in the 1930s, and I started sobbing. Which freaked him out. I thought, Oh, my God, I mentioned this three or four weeks ago and talked about it briefly, but he was really listening to me. And he actually went out and researched and found this thing for me. It was amazing.

We want you to order Scotch. It's the most impressive drink order. It's classic. It's sexy. Such a rich color. The glass, the smell. It's not watered down with fruit juice. It's Scotch. And you ordered it.

Stand up, open a door, offer a jacket. We talk about it with our friends after you do it. We say, "Can you believe he stood up when I approached the table?" It makes us feel important. And it makes you important because we talk about it.

No shorts that go below the knee. The ones almost like capri pants, the ones that hover somewhere between the kneecap and the calf? Enough with those shorts. They are the most embarrassing pants in the world. They should never be worn. No woman likes those.

Also, no tank tops. In public at least. A tank top is underwear. You're walking around in your underwear. Too much.

You don't know this, but when we come back from a date, we feel awkward about that transition from our cute outfit into sexy lingerie. We don't know how to do this gracefully. It's embarrassing. We have to find a way to slip into another room, put on the outfit as if it all happened very easily, and then come out and it's: Look at me! Look at the sexy thing I've done! For you, it's the blink of an eye. It's all very embarrassing. Just so you know.

Panties is a wonderful word. When did you stop saying "panties"? It's sexy. It's girlie. It's naughty. Say it more.

About ogling: The men who look, they really look. It doesn't insult us. It doesn't faze us, really. It's just — well, it's a little infantile. Which is ironic, isn't it? The men who constantly stare at our breasts are never the men we're attracted to.

There are better words than beautiful. Radiant, for instance. It's an underused word. It's a very special word. "You are radiant." Also, enchanting, smoldering, intoxicating, charming, fetching.

Marriage changes very little. The only things that will get a married man laid that won't get a single man laid are adultery and whores. Intelligence and humor (and your smell) are what get you laid. That's what got you laid when you were single. That's what gets you laid when you're married. Everything still works in marriage: especially intelligence and humor. Because the sexiest thing is to know you. "

Amazing right?

Saturday, 27 August 2011

Pat for your weave?

In 2011, or as I like to refer to it: the “pansy” generation we are urged to speak our minds… but as euphemistically as possible. *yawn*
My problem with this, other than the fact that its just pansy, is that I don’t understand why people want to behave in socially abhorrent ways and then expect us to just snicker and side-eye them quietly. So today I’m going balls to the wall, and yes girl with the synthetic or multi coloured weave, I see you and no, I do not like you.
Now I am the ultimate weave person, by that I mean, black weaves, brown weaves, long weaves, short weaves, as long as it’s a weave (and it can stand heat without shriveling like I’d imagine the dignity of the person with a plastic weave) then I’m a fan.
Before I get into it, let me first give you a clear explanation of what is and is not a weave:
1.       If it is synthetic, it is not a weave.
2.       If there are three strands of it on your entire head, no hunny, not a weave.
3.       If it is green, or pink, or it has blue streaks, it should not be a weave.
4.       If it is any combination of the above? Get the fuck outta here with that! (yeah, I said it.)
I get it, weaves- like other people’s boyfriends- are what’s done in 2011. But what people need to understand about fashion and life in fact, is that some things are not for everyone. And some things which are “fashionable” are not fashion, they are just a tacky gang mentality.
In my many spirited discussions about these pseudo- weaves people say things like “maybe she can’t afford a human hair weave” and granted, maybe she can’t… THEN SHE SHOULD’NT!!!! I cant afford a Louis Vuitton handbag, so guess what, I’m not prancing around with a bad knockoff, I simply pine in silence.
The there are those poor souls who apparently just have no taste. Now, that happens… apparently. But where are your friends?
Now I am not suggesting something drastic like, go live on an island where there is no sun to blind us with the glare of the disrespect on your head, I’m just saying, get braids. Simple as.

In preparing for this blog I decided, rather than have a seizure every 5 minutes, to celebrate those people doing it right! So here are a few pictures of those people living every day like the camera lights are flashing. Viva le Good Life!

Wednesday, 3 August 2011

Prince Charming

Im sure we’ve covered this already but I am genuinely not your cuddly, approachable, poncho wearing, skips down the road kind of girl. I sincerely doubt I ever read fairytales or if I did I am quite certain I did not believe in them. The natural extension is then, that I wouldn’t believe in all the faggy, naïve business about there being this “the one” person for every single person- well I didn’t… Until I did.

While speaking to my friend *Boo she said one of the most profound things ive heard since “Do-rags are no longer in fashion”.  She said “I cannot wait until I am worthy of the man that God has prepared for me”.
Now I’m a Christian and I genuinely believe in the fact that God wants us to have everything that we need and even want for an awesome life. But “the one”?? In a world where fidelity is just about as rare as Christians who are actually Christians?? Cumaaan right? Well I’m not so sure anymore.

After breaking down what *Boo said, I saw too things: WAIT and WORTH. The truth is we live in a very quick fix kind of world, and that translates to us changing boyfriends between Tequilla shots and “falling in love” with any guy who so much as smiles or buys us a drink and two minutes later says he loves us.

I don’t think when it comes to love- REAL love- its meant to be some sort of heady gallop down the aisle. I think real love takes waiting and saying no, not just to that free drink but to the insanely cute guy holding it.
But what is love really in a world where it is thrown around at even the chance of it resulting in a shag? Look im 20, I don’t really know, but I when I think of real love, I imagine the kind of love which is patient and kind, which is slow to anger and quick to forgive, the kind of love which is faithful and honest. The kind of love which does not beat you or berate you or sleep with your best friend. The kind of love you have to work for and wait for, where your head and your heart are all but screaming yes.

But if my incredibly idealistic version (now that im proof reading) is anything like what love really is then the idea of worth makes sense. Look, if you’re a crappy person I sincerely doubt that it makes sense for God to send you a man who will give you that kind of love, because you’re not worth it. Maybe that’s why we keep dating different kinds of the same asswipes, because shit attracts flies.

So yes, girl lying in a strange man’s bed, yes, girl passed out in the ladies bathroom at the club every weekend you are not worthy of Prince Charming, mostly because you are a frog. 

Highschool never ends.

So I am in varsity, or so I thought. It seems everywhere can all of a sudden transform into an episode of mean girls and lipgloss and dirty looks. Be it crèche, high school or the inside of a lecture theatre there seems to be no difference.  But these days we have traded diapers for plaid skirts and plaid skirts for sparsely attended lectures and it seems all of those for some misinformed belief that we form some sort of panel to judge people’s lives.

So where is this coming from? Its coming from laughing at all the kids who didn’t get gold stars in crèche, cringing at the fat girl in the class in high school and tutting at all the girls we label “ho’s” in varsity. But mostly it is from the realization that we think its ok, that its expected.  That we live in a world where we are held hostage by other people’s opinions of us.

So whether we are biting back tears when we are the butt of someones joke, pretending we don’t care when we realise what that statement really means when you remove the “lol” or laughing at some poor sap wearing cordrouy pants in 2011, the fact is, we are all of them.

We are the panel of haters, we are the girl we shake our heads at, and sometimes, we are a mix of the two. Its at this point that I want to throw in my plaid and my lectures for some common sense. Can we all just grow up and get lives? Can we get to a place where we our smiles are genuine, our exes aren’t crazy and we stop the running commentary on other peoples lives?

Really. If you’re anything like me, you should be too pretty and well dressed to care that the next person isn’t.