Tag Archive: women

In preparing for my trip to Philadelphia (alone, because my travel buddy bailed and had to stay home to work all weekend 😦 sad face for me) I had to do laundry.

I read, you know? I read other blogs. And I read books. And it’s all, like, girly stuff. Stuff about relationships and being a mom and cooking and shiz. You know, all stuff that doesn’t apply to me since I’m not in a relationship, I’m not a mom, I have no domestic skills and consider getting a box of triscuits out of the pantry cooking.  But don’t judge. It’s my life. I can read what I want. You’re not the boss of me.

Anyway.  Laundry. Even though I know that laundry is a universal thing, you know, something everyone has to contend with, a lot of what I read about laundry is women (usually older than me) bitching about it.

I’m not mad about it. Go ahead and bitch. More bitching I say.

In fact, if I had to do laundry that didn’t belong to me, I’d probably bitch about it too.

fancy, fancy machines! I love the buttons! They make little noises!

And if I had little mess-makers who are noisy and get dirty, like really dirty, I’d probably hate laundry too.

If I had to fold tiny things that are hard to fold, like tiny pants and onesies and bibs and stuff, like Nikki does or like other moms on the internet, I’d be irritated.

If I had a husband who was clumsy and spilled shit all over his shirt or if I had a significant other (whose laundry I was responsible for doing) who changed outfits four times a day (like I do sometimes), I would be irritated.

If that was the case, I would bitch about laundry. I would be annoyed with how it never ends.  I’d be irritated that things don’t fold easily and look nice when it’s all said and done. I would probably be overwhelmed by how often I move items between the washer and the dryer. I’d probably hate the makers of all of this laundry as I sorted it into different piles.

But, alas, it’s just me.

Just my laundry.

So when it comes time for me to do laundry (read: when I run out of underwear- and trust me, I have a lottttt so it takes a looong time before I muster up the courage to partake in a domestic skill), I don’t really have anyone to blame but myself.

And I really enjoy sorting my clothes into color piles. I can examine how big each of the piles are and be like Damn, how do I have that much clothing?!

And then I enjoy pushing the buttons on the washing machine. And measuring out the soapy stuff and sniffing the fabric softener.

I enjoy dedicating hours to laundry. Because while my clothes are being washed and dried, I can chill out and watch The West Wing or Grey’s Anatomy under the guise that I’m doing laundry, or I’m waiting for my clothes to dry. That I couldn’t possibly leave or run errands or something because God forbid my clothes would wrinkle. And you would be correct in assuming I don’t know how to operate an iron.

The best part, though, is folding. I really, really love folding my laundry. There’s something about seeing a perfectly folded shirt or matching up my socks. I love it.

I guess we can add laundry to the list of reasons why I’d make an excellent wife someday. (lolz) Sure, it may be the only thing right now on that list but that’s fine since I have no marriage proposals on the horizon. Also, I’m not really interested in being a domestic goddess. Carrie Bradshaw did just fine in life and she kept sweaters in her oven.


Some people do their best thinking in the shower. When I’m in the shower my mind is usually blank, or singing Christina Aguilera songs at the top of my lungs like I’m the winner of American Idol. And in between songs, I could be thinking really excellent thoughts, like MmmMMM! Shampoo smells yummy OMG I need a band-aid why is shaving my legs so hard!? DAMN IT!

When do I do my my best thinking? When I’m driving.

One minute I’ll be blasting *NSYNC and singing along obnoxiously (Laaaance, Joey, Justin, JC, Chriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis!!!)* and the next I’ll have an idea pop in my head that makes me wonder something.

This very thing happened the other day. Only it wasn’t *NSYNC, it was John Mayer featuring Taylor Swift (OMG love love love!). And it wasn’t so much of a great idea as it was that I realized yet another thing in this world I just don’t understand.

Item # 58,492: The Compass

I don’t get how they work. The only way I know what direction I’m going is by the little green letter on my rear-view mirror. And even that means nothing to me. I forget it’s there because I never, ever use it. N, S, E, and W mean nothing to me. Nor does NE, NW, SE, SW, or any other combination of those letters that is actually possible that I may be forgetting. (I don’t think you can have EW or WE or NS or SN?? Baha!)

One time or another, when I was asked by a boy which direction he needed to be driving, I used my hand to point. It wasn’t really the answer he was looking for.  Communication fail. He was asking a NSEW type of question while I was answering in a(n) (almost) Left or Right type of way. But I was mostly thinking “that way” or “this way” or “over there.”  So, yeah, obviously, it went well.

Exasperation ensued. I explained that NSEW meant nothing to me and it really shouldn’t exist anymore since L and R tend to suffice. He explained that it has something to do with how our brains are wired (men and women, that is. Not he and I, specifically.) Apparently, men are wired to understand NSEW while women …. aren’t?

Perhaps it goes back to evolution and how men left the nest to hunt?

That makes me wonder, though, about those tribes or areas where women are the “breadwinners” and the huntresses for their villages. In those places, women are the ones that go on a quest for food while the men sit home and do jack shit except get fat and talk shit about how the women are never there to take care of them. Even now, women do the grocery shopping. That’s today’s “hunting and gathering” and you don’t need NSEW at the grocery store!

Penguins = Love


(This is clearly very professionally researched.)

My point is, in these cultures (yes, penguins included), do those women understand NSEW or do they go by landmarks? Because that’s what I do. Give me a landmark and I will direct the shit out of it.

Maybe in those cultures, the lady penguins are like, “Oh, giiiiiiirl, I REMEMBER that glacier! It’s this way! We’ll be home and ready to vomit into our freshly hatched baby’s mouth in, like, twenty minutes! Let’s get waddling!”

Maybe I don’t feel bad about not understanding compasses. It’s not like I’m outdoorsy and enjoy going places where there isn’t a starbucks and a sushi place within ten minutes of wherever I am. I probably won’t ever require the use of a compass. It’s not like I’m a pirate. I don’t even like boats! I have terrible motion sickness. No open seas for me.

I’m sure this lack of understanding of direction has nothing to do with the fact I get lost all the fucking time.

*Oh, I’m sure you were wondering why I made a little note for this footnote about *NSYNC. Here’s the deal: if you do not understand why I typed out the guys in *NSYNC’s names like that, click the link. Watch that video. And around 2:10, you will know why I did that. Whenever I listen to that song, I sing their names in that order at that part because it’s fun.  Also, at 1:25, Chris looks like a chimp.

That is all.

Do you believe in magic!?

Magicians are Douche Bags.

With that said, I will tell you that last night I watched a hypnotist perform. And I liked it.

There were many reasons why I didn’t voluntarily attend last night’s Student Life event at my school. Those reasons include, but are not limited to, I’m not 18 years old and/or a freshman, I am not a joiner, I don’t attend social events alone (if I can help it), I skipped school-sanctioned “welcome week” activities to go get drunk with my friends when I was a freshman in college, I don’t live “on-campus,” yada, yada, yada.  I do, however, have a mother who is the VP of Student Services, which includes Student Life, so she had to make an appearance at one of her own events. I happened to be out to dinner last night with Mother and was tricked into attending this school-sanctioned community-building welcome-week activity. One Car. Tricky bitch.

When we arrived, I sensed crickets. There were, like, five people there. All employees. My mom also really enjoys introducing me to people she works with and the students she interacts with, so I get to shake a lot of hands and say “it’s great to meet you!” a million and a half times.

Michael C. Anthony. Magician/Hypnotist/Douche Bag.

So, we walked a little further into the building to another clump of people, including a couple familiar faces. This clump of people were entranced by a tall, dark-haired man wearing too-tight jeans and a ridiculous button-up shirt. He had a deck of cards in his hands and was talking with a lot of inflection in his voice. I immediately bristled. Magician, I thought. Douche Bag.

He did another trick for the group because we had walked up. He had new audience members. Why the hell not?! So, he did another card trick and I wanted to hate him, I did, but, DUDE, it was like MAGIC! I don’t understand how that works?!!?! And then he totally showed us how the trick worked. It includes fancy “shuffling” and deception I’m incapable of performing because I’m just not lame enough to “practice” card tricks. So then he fiddled around with his iPhone, showing us this app he “invented” and how it goes along with that silly card trick.

For a moment, I may have been entertained (and even impressed) but once I learned his secret, I went back to This guy’s a douche bag in too-tight jeans. And I was a little pissed, ’cause for a moment, juuuuust for a second, I believed it was real. And when it turned out to be a lie, it made me think that magic really isn’t real, which made me think that Harry Potter isn’t really real, and that made me sad.

Anyway, so then he got whisked away to “backstage” and we went and talked to more people and then sat down to watch this guy. I was skeptical. And excited. He came out a did another card trick, and I was like Mom, if this is all he’s gonna do, we need to GTFO. But thennnnn, he called like 30 kids on stage and started to “hypnotize” them. At first, it was lame and I didn’t believe it.

It wasn’t until he had these kids stretching out all over the place (pushing each other off the chairs, dropping to the floor, laying down on the floor, snuggling up to one another) that I believed he may be doing something awesome. He managed to make these kids do really crazy shit- hilarious crazy shit.  He convinced one kid his name was Cha-Cha, and when he pronounced it wrong, Cha-Cha got pissed. Cha Cha also fell in love with and danced with a broom because he told him it was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.  It was hilarious. He made another guy howl like a werewolf. He made one girl launch her body across groups of people at the word “safety” so she could pretend to be a human seatbealt. He created one awesome “dance party” and made them all think they were on the beach and it was, like, 1000 degrees. They started taking their clothes off and everything. Bahaha He convinced them that one guy’s belt was a snake. Oh em gee, I was DYING laughing.

So maybe this guy is legit. Maybe he can actually hypnotize people. I still think he’s probably a douche bag because he reminded me of  this guy:

Mystery, from VH1's tacky old show "The Pick-Up Artist" He is SICK.

I hate all of that. The show was sick. The guys on that show were sick. And the fact that women actually …. acknowledge their existence upsets me.

For one of my COM classes in college, we had to read pop culture relationship books and apply communication theories to the behaviors exhibited. I had to read THIS BOOK. I made it halfway through, and that was only because I read it in the airport, on the plane and sitting by the pool in Vegas during spring break senior year of college. I was embarrassed. It offends reason, and it certainly offended me. These men are clearly delusional and emotionally stunted. Not to mention they think women are sub-humans and completely demean them every chance they get. I assume it’s because they hate themselves so much, and they blame their mothers for not loving them, or some bullshit.

Regardless, the hypnotist I watched last night probably knows the douche bags from that VH1 show and from the book I had to read.  And his jeans were seriously wayyyy too tight. Even though he did a good job, I still stand by my original statement.

Magicians are douche bags.