for the crowd

Are Men Becoming Extinct?
December 5, 2008, 5:55 pm
Filed under: People | Tags: , , , ,

I have bad luck with men, or, maybe, I’m just being my own worst enemy and put myself in these situations. The good thing is that I’m not one of those people that needs to be in a relationship. I’m pretty happy with being by myself. After all, since I tend to have such a high opinion of myself the majority of the time (I swear I’m not a narcissist! Or possibly I am) I figure I’m in pretty good company. Anyway, when it comes to the opposite sex, I fail. I am always attracted to males who don’t care to have anything to do with me, and no matter what I do (which runs the gamut from swearing to being completely hostile) those I know who are of the male gender seem inevitably attracted to me. I don’t get it. “Well, you are pretty damn cute,” my friends say. Well, yeah, no shit, but I could not make it more clear if I am not interested in someone short of running them down with my car and screaming out the window.

Well, okay, not true. I could probably sit them down and have a talk, but that poses a lot of problems. For one, that is acknowledging there is a problem in itself, and really I’d rather just pretend not to know what’s going on and ignore the fact my male friends are sending me longing glances or laughing forcibly when I comment on how attractive another man is. I’m sure I’m not alone in this problem and there are tons of girls who suffer similar fates. Anyway, even people who know they shouldn’t be are completely silly when they’re infatuated, me included, so maybe I shouldn’t be so irritated by it. 

My point is, though, that I never respond to any advances that are sent my way because they’re always wrong. I don’t want to hook up on the dance floor with some farm boy from Saskatchewan who is only interested in seeing if my mouth does more than talk, because I’m not really a fan of hooking up at all. I don’t care for the guys who managed to wrestle out my number from me during my weaker moments when I was a newbie to the bar scene, and who called me minutes later, just to make sure I really gave them the right digits. Sometimes I get frustrated when someone offers to buy me a drink and I refuse, kindly, and they insist politely until I say, sure, why not, and after we do a shot of tequila I feel like a complete tool once we dismiss each other and head in separate directions. I know I must be like a welcome relief to guys in comparison to women who walk up and ask for a drink and then skidaddle, but it’s still not like they get anything for their efforts.

Anyway, the point I’m trying to make here is a bit unflattering, because I’m pretty sure Men are dead, or at least scarce to the point that they might as well be extinct. I mean, like, real men. All of my experiences thus far are with what I classify as either “guys” or more commonly “boys”. So yeah, I’m being completely sexist here, but let’s not kid ourselves, pick up any men or women’s magazine and no matter how tactful they try to be, they are sexist. And I don’t think it’s really a good thing, but it’s not all bad either (as anyone who believes in “Femininity” or “Masculinity” will argue for). The thing is, I don’t like boys. Boys are completely ridiculous. Boys want to make me feel like I’m treasured and loved, but are too thick to actually figure out the right way. Boys get tangled up in their emotions. Boys are completely psychotic.

I’m writing this because awhile back I read Where Have All The Cowboys Gone? by Amanda Pagliarini, who says she fears that all men are becoming teenage girls, and it got me to thinking. Seriously? What’s with boys harassing you via text messaging or email and deluding themselves into thinking it is all your fault because you happen to be a girl? The terrible thing about texting is that it’s now easy to make a complete fool of yourself, and it’s also easy to be psychotic and stalk people. I’ve had my fair share of being woken up at four in the morning because some idiotic boy (who was previously a friend) thinks it’s cool to tell me I’m a slut because he’s had one too many drinks and is still smarting from the fact I haven’t responded to any of his advances. With technology it is easier and easier for boys to be boys. (By the way, I think when people get drunk they should just turn off their cell phones, or have a friend looking out for them to chuck it in the garbage before it does any harm. Don’t you?).

I think Men are becoming extinct. You know, men. I’m tired of the losers in bars who drag me aside and try to talk to me when all I’m thinking about is trying to get away from their bad breath. I hate guys who want to be friends with me but only to get with me, or are friends who unload their baggage on me because I’m not attracted to them. I hate how men blame homosexuality if women have standards that are too high, and who don’t understand that some girls get freaked out if a stranger sneaks up behind them on the dance floor and starts grinding against them without permission. I don’t want men who treat me like a notch on their belt, or who consider my disinterest with them a personal insult. What I want are real men. Where did they go?

There’s a fine line between a manly man and someone who’s just a dick. Walking that line is an art. Any rough-and-tumble man I see nowadays is never into me, so I shrug and move on. Half of them are jerks, anyway. It seems like you can’t get a good, fit man without having to deal with him being a jackass, and nice, sweet boys are never in shape or healthy or stylish. Where are the freaking cowboys? Where are the guys that think women are great but don’t want to puzzle them out one bit? Where are the guys that are smart enough to remember your birthday?

I don’t want a sickly sweet boy who wants to talk about my feelings. My feelings are my own. And believe me, I’m a total wimp – I’ll cry at the drop of a hat because I have an eternally bleeding heart – but I’m not going to talk about it, I don’t want a heart-to-heart. During the summer, my friend got drunk, accidentally threw a racial slur at me, and then sloppily cried on me and begged my forgiveness and told me she loved me unconditionally, which I didn’t particularly like because that’s just an awkward, touchy-feely situation all ’round. When that shit happens, I just want to walk off in the other direction and go talk to someone who isn’t ruled by her ovaries.

I don’t want to be called every day to see how I am. I’m probably doing fine. I don’t want to see a guy every day of the week, because I need my personal space and I have other things to do. I don’t want someone who lies to me to try and preserve my feelings – I want honest, unfeeling truth. As terrible as it is, I want somebody who drives a fast car, will open the door for me from time to time, will be rugged and masculine and spontaneous, who can sit through a documentary and actually remember more than half of it, who wears dark colours and killer boots, and who isn’t a philandering scumbag. Oh, and while we’re talking about near impossible things, I’d like to have the Parliament Building converted into my own personal lovenest, and an international holiday declared in my honour. Yeah, I know. But a girl can dream. Sigh.


Samantha Schultz
August 20, 2008, 10:33 pm
Filed under: Music, People | Tags: , ,

I met Samantha when I volunteered at Edmonton Fashion Week in the Spring. I thought she was nineteen at the very least. She looked mature and sweet and gorgeous and she had what looked like a slightly younger version of herself tagging along with her that turned out to be her sister, Emily. When I talked to her for just a little bit, I asked Samantha how old she was. “Seventeen,” she replied, and I couldn’t believe it.

I still couldn’t believe it when, during the gala, she got up to perform. She brought Emily with her doing some very light percussion, to help keep time to the song. “This is a song I wrote when I was thirteen,” she said, and then proceeded to wow every single person in the hall without further ado.

Apparently, this girl’s been playing guitar since she was eleven, and she is pretty freaking talented. I’m actually not sure why she isn’t sickeningly famous yet. She’s got a beautiful voice, and a real handle on a tune. Maybe she wants to graduate from school first.

Don’t know why, but yesterday night I youtubed her. Between the gala and now I’d seen glimpses of her on local TV stations, but always kept forgetting to look her up. While cleaning my room (it’s still a mess, harr) I came across a brochure for Fashion Week and checked out the schedule to get her name again. So I decided to give her a quick link on this ole blog here. Really, you gotta support local talent, right?

And the proof of that talent is right there for all to see.

Now, her recorded stuff doesn’t seem, to me, to be wholly complete and dynamic and so on yet, but 1) I can be really hard to please, and 2) she’s sure a Hell of a lot better than half of what’s playing on the radio these days.

Searching for a New Stylist: Part 1
July 16, 2008, 9:14 pm
Filed under: Fashion, People | Tags: ,

I’m obsessed with my hair because… because my hair is freaking awesome. I love to go into the salon and give it a good chop or a little snip and change up my look. Actually, I’m amazed at so many people I know who won’t cut their hair because they’re convinced that they’re ugly and long hair is their only saving grace. I used to think that way, before I went in and chopped off the majority of my two-foot mane and transformed myself from unkempt bookworm to Ms. Sexy Sexerton. It works, people. Find a good stylist and go for it.

But unfortunately, I called the spa where I normally get my hair done today and found that my hair stylist has gone off, either quitting the business entirely or moving to a different company. My queries of “Where is she now?” were unanswered. I don’t have the time right now to track her down, so I had to result to picking another salon on the fly and going with that. Because hey, it’s never too early or late for a change.

I picked the place where I sometimes get my eyebrows done, and called in to book an appointment. What followed was one of the dumbest conversations I have ever had with a receptionist, ever. Maybe I was expecting too much, and admittedly I wasn’t too bright while on the phone either, but in my experience a good receptionist usually guides you along, and doesn’t wait for you to do her job for her. Hm.

Me: I’d like to book an appointment.
Her: Sure. What time? And what day?
Me: Well, tomorrow or Friday would be best.
Her: Tomorrow’s not Friday.
Me: Yes, I know. Tomorrow or Friday.
Her: Oh, ok! What time?
Me: It’ll have to be any time after six.
Her: Six?
Me: Preferably after.
Her: So like, seven?
Me: Sure.
[call waiting beeps]
Her: Oh, could you hold on?
Me: Yeah, sure.
[thirty seconds later]
Her: Thanks for holding!
[long pause as I wait for something more]
Me: … OK?
Her: So, around seven?
Me: Sure, if there’s anything open.
Her: Oh, well, you can come in tomorrow and we’ll be open.
Me: Ok?
Her: At seven?
Me: Oh, so I can just come in and you’ll accomodate me whenever?
Her: Well, we do do walk-ins, but it’s better if you were to make an appointment.
Me: … Um, could I make an appointment?
Her: Sure, what time?
Me: … seven.

So there you have it! I’m going in tomorrow (at seven, remember) and we’ll see how that goes. Hopefully my receptionist will not be the one cutting my hair. I’ll be sure to mention it in my next post if this is the case.

happy birthday, you awesome bastard
May 17, 2008, 1:23 pm
Filed under: Music, People | Tags: , ,

birthday boy

Today is Trent Reznor’s birthday. He turns a lovely, dignified 43.

I’m one of his fans, and yeah, I adore the man’s guts. He’s one of the coolest musicians out there right now, and he’s a veritable whirlwind of talent. I happen to think he’s a great role model, among other things. He kicked drugs and alcohol when he finally stopped being stupid and realized they were destroying everything; he does his best to be honest, and doesn’t compromise himself or his music to fit anyone else; he’s ridiculously patient and thoughtful towards his fans, even though most of them have got to be the most unstable maniacs that I’ve ever had the misfortune of being in contact with. Also he’s super-muscly. Yum.

Gala Darling (also a very lovely person) figures that one should live a celebratory life. She celebrates Salvador Dali; I celebrate Trent Reznor. Both are artists in their own rights. So today, I’m going to be a bit more happy and joyful than I usually am, because today is a day for celebrating.

Today, Trent, I celebrate you and the fact you’re around. I celebrate that you didn’t die alone in your house three years ago after all the drugs caught up with you. I celebrate your very manly, imposing figure, and your freckles. I celebrate your giving away of music. I celebrate you being a complete nerd, with your video games and the fact I have no idea what you’re saying when you start talking about the technical aspects of your music. I celebrate how you always sound like you just woke up. I celebrate your hazel eyes, because along with Ben Linus you’ve got one of the most intense stares I’ve ever seen. But finally I celebrate you because you taught me by example to create art the way I wanted, to experiment and learn and to do things to please myself, not others. So thanks, bro.


Happy Birthday. I hope you have a good one. But watch out for flying cakes.

It’s Whitney, bitch!
May 15, 2008, 11:49 am
Filed under: Fashion, Movies and Shows, People | Tags: , ,

Don’t you love my new header? It’s Bai Ling. She’s been vectored. Ooooh. The very lovely person who made it for me (after I badgered her, of course) is guilting me to take back my previous comment. So. Do not screw Prince Caspian. You may see that instead of Speed Racer and you will not be judged. Because while one has Matthew Fox, the other has Ben Barnes, and of course you go to family-oriented movies just to sit in the dark and think dirty thoughts about the hot actors, and then immediately feel ashamed. That’s what all my friends and I do, anyway… or maybe that’s just me. So don’t screw Prince Caspian, I take that remark back (but it’s entirely up to you whether to want to screw Prince Caspian… you know, sans italics).

So anyway, onto more important(?) things.

It’s finally happened. America’s Next Top Model has an ass.

 mmm, hips!
(full picture: here)

For a moment, near the end of the episode, I thought the judges were going to pick Anya. Not that I have anything against Anya – I loved her, she was adorable. But I wanted Whitney. Maybe it was infuriating because Tyra, definitely not a size zero, was still heading a competition where only bony, skinny girls were picked. Maybe, even though everyone talked about changing the standards of beauty, no one was actually doing anything.

I didn’t really expect them to pick Whitney. Hell, I thought they’d boot her once she reached the top three so that the judges wouldn’t be forced to pick the skinny over the booty. Unlike all the other plus-sized models the show has had, Whitney didn’t fall apart and talk about going on a diet or feel bad about herself. Instead she was a complete bitch (heeheehee) and kept a thick skin. She just did her own thing, and look – she made it.

Let’s face it, America’s Next Top Model isn’t award-winning television, and I pretty much watch it and am very aware I’m not being intellectually stimulated, but it’s nice to just watch trash tv and not have to think. It’s especially nice to see the trash tv actually doing something constructive, too.

I guess the real test will be to see whether Whitney stays the way she is, physically and mentally. Don’t go all skinny on us, Whitney. And stop letting them put corsets and cinchers on you, christ.

this photo makes kurt cobain cry, wherever he is
(full picture: here)

So About Bai Ling
May 8, 2008, 9:43 pm
Filed under: People, Rambling | Tags: ,

So I’ve got this huge crush on Bai Ling, and you should too.

kiss kiss!
Dude, she’s wearing, like, a garbage bag, and a fake butterfly.
I want to party with this woman.

If you’re unaware, Bai Ling is the super gorgeous Chinese actress that you’ve no doubt seen around in films but never recalled her. I had no idea that the cute tattoo artist in Phuket on that one Lost episode was played by the same woman who was the creepy sister/lover of that bad guy on The Crow. But there you have it! Now, I like me my manly menfolk, but the more I read about her (and from her), the more smitten I am.

Her blog (oh, yeah, she has a blog, which I’ve got linked on my page for easy access… you can stop reading this now and follow that link, I won’t mind) will often be trolled by angry people with their own issues who like to call Bai Ling a slut/whore/some other sexually demeaning word, or slam her for her choices in life and the industry. It’s pretty much like junior high all over again. Bai Ling, though, obviously doesn’t care. She just posts more pictures of herself in her dressing room or hanging out with Pink, and liberally uses the word ‘sexy’ no matter what she’s talking about.

She’s one of the few celebrities (and heck, it’s a rarity among the rest of us) that just does what she wants, when she wants, and just lives her life. She puts on wacky clothes and doesn’t care what people think – as she should! Clothing is for the wearer, not anyone else, after all. She updates her blog with her strange, poetic rambles, takes photos of herself, and claims to come from the moon. Do you see what I’m getting at? She’s completely charming. Not only has she figured out that others will judge you no matter what – because lots of people know that – she totally went with it, and really believed it. People will mock Bai Ling, but hey, everybody gets mocked in one way or another. The world (and especially the internets) is petty. So why bother getting worked up about it?

More great things about Bai Ling:

She comes from a highly conservative country, but has no qualms about taking her clothes off in front of a camera. She talks about how the human body is absolutely beautiful, and she loves hers. Look – it’s a woman that loves her body! And she’s not afraid to show it! She’s also completely unbothered when it comes to accidentally flashing her nipples (or, as she put it in one blog post, they just make a bid for freedom). Whenever asked a question, she responds openly and honestly, not really caring about her public appearance. Bai Ling is really just here for the ride, I think – whatever people write about her is really no concern.

Now, I can’t say what she is like for certain, because it’s not like I’ve ever hung out with her before. All I can do is remark upon her public persona. But you know what? I like her public persona. So there.

And seriously? If I could speak my second language with as much charm, strangeness, and eccentricity despite grammatical incorrectness as Bai speaks hers, well. I’d make a killing in the bars next time I’m in Mexico. So yeah… I heart Bai Ling, and you ought to as well. Or at least heart somebody famous, but I guess that’s becoming really, really difficult considering the selection these days.

Hm, I appear to be posting a grand total of once a week. Lucky you, chicos.