One D at a Time

Camera Shy

My dog hates when I get the camera out.

"He may beat Rihanna but he won't beat a Bad Girl!"

Yikes.

The new season of Bad Girls Club starts on December 1. In this scene, one of the cast members, Natalie Nunn, who reportedly is/was hooking up with Chris Brown, talks about how Chris is not a woman beater—he's just a Rihanna-beater. Will she be wearing Bad Idea Jeans to her induction into the Bad People Club? Christ.

An Important Question

People really asked this.

Bitch, Please

Edie's has been farting more than usual, and it feels like my face is melting off. Her ass bombs practically change the temperature and humidity in the room. I'm afraid to breathe in because they seem carcinogenic. And that says a lot, since I chain smoke and all.

Out of My Inbox

Craft Cheese

As my wedding date quickly approaches, and the workload associated with it intensifies, I found myself genuinely enjoying one of the more laborious facets of it: making my invitations. Mostly, I just love anything that involves crafts or design, as it enables me to sit on my ass while also providing the satisfaction of accomplishment. (Also, the project involved heavy use of a hot glue gun, which proved to be cathartic, since I've been feeling like shooting something lately, anyway.) Here's how they came out:

I feel like I've learned a lot in this process, so I may as well give step-by-step instructions.

Modern-Day Flappers

It's Funny 'Cause It's True

Honesty Is the Breast Policy

20 Things That Make Feminists Angry

I write for a site that technically isn't feminist, but has that kind of a reputation, and thus, attracts that kind of a commenter. The overwhelming amount of varying opinions can sometimes feel like a PC prison. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, and I'm lucky to be doing what I really want. But, working in the trenches of feminist discourse day in and day out over a period of several years, can be tiring—and being in the trenches of anything on the internet can be demoralizing. Sometimes it all makes me hate internet feminism so much that I literally daydream about vacuuming in high heels while pregnant and smoking a cigarette.

But I've come to the realization that feminism on the internet is kinda like a queef: cunty, noisy, a little embarrassing, but ultimately amusing. And frankly, I'd rather have a vagina with air trapped in it, then not have a vagina at all. Which is to say, I'd rather have feminism with imperfections, than not have feminism at all.

So, wanna know what gets a modern feminist's panties in a bunch? Welcome to my home:

1.) Pit Bull Discrimination
"This is why I get REALLY FUCKING IRATE when people give their UNINFORMED opinions about pit bulls. The ignorance hurts animals.People hear some of the myths being spewed all over comments sections like this and they make up their minds based on that misinformation and prejudice. As a result, people vote for breed bans, refuse to allow pit bulls at dog parks (yep), and refuse to give them a chance when adopting, among other things. It's not harmless to preach nonsense about bully breeds."

Perez Hilton Thinks He Knows What Women Want

Perez Hilton is launching a women's site, CocoPerez, on August 14, which one of my bosses (a gay man) believes will be in direct competition with the site I work for. Perhaps I'm in the minority here, but I do not subscribe to the notion that gay men intrinsically "get" women, know what's best for women, or are the authority on what women should be wearing. (In fact, I think that gay men are actually the most to blame for many of the problems in the fashion industry, like the absence of womanly curves on the runway, and the hideous, figure-assaulting trend that is the tent dress, which no women who have tits, and no straight men who have an appreciation for tits, have any use for.)

From the minute I heard that Perez was launching a women's site, I was not at all concerned about him "stealing" our audience, because, even if some chick will be writing it, his brand is based on vacuous frivolity with a lack of insight, and commentary that could give a girl an eating disorder. Just like mainstream women's magazines! Which is to say, CocoPerez might end up being wildly successful. However, this was exactly the kind of thing that (thinking) women are sick of, and what we, at Jezebel, set out not to do, so if anything, his new site will give us fodder for our own posts, rather than competition for page views.

But ultimately, the best indication that Perez Hilton has no idea what women want is the ponce and circumstance of CocoPerez's logo (click to view larger):

His body is the central figure!

Hell to the Yes

I wasn't sure about this whole Whitney comeback thing, although I never can get enough of her. It seemed more than likely that her pipes were destroyed by, well, the pipe. And it's true that her voice sounds scratchy and thin, but as long as she's headed in the same fun disco-y direction as "Million Dollar Bill" on the rest of her album, it doesn't really matter if she can belt out ballads anymore (although, it is a bit of a shame). But who am I kidding? I just want her back in my life, and on my TV set. Chaka Kahn. Chaka KAHN!

New England, Old England, & Paris (Not Hilton)

I've been jet-setting around for the past two weeks. It was a lot of fun, but I'm tired, and glad to be home, where I can actually poop on a semi-regular schedule. (I always get constipated when I travel.)

First we went to visit my future in-laws in Maine. They have a beautiful 19th-century B&B—that they converted into a private home—on a lake, but unfortunately, the weather wasn't cooperative. It was raining and incredibly cold. I only packed bikinis, sundresses, and sandals so I ended up having to borrow Dan's mom's fleeces and [gasp!] Crocs. Because we didn't get any opportunities to swim, I ended up spending most of the time secretly getting stoned by myself, and obsessively taking pictures of the many giant spiders that populated the grounds.

 

I Thee Dread

About a year ago, I met someone. Within a week, I began telling friends that I was going to marry him. They were shocked, but no more than I. As a jaded New Yorker, I'd been dating for half my life, had been around the block several times over, and had encountered some of the worst men that the human species had to offer. Repeated exposure to such people, coupled with the abrasive nature of each failed relationship, caused me to become more and more callous. I secretly began to think that nothing would be able to penetrate my cynicism. I never thought I'd be able to experience or even appreciate the kind of love that not only requires, but is based on trust.

But when I met him, I just knew it was right. And I knew that he knew, too. I can't even explain it. Six weeks later, he asked me to marry him. I said yes. The old me would have thought the decision was absolutely retarded and ill-fated. And I knew many of my friends felt that way. But I didn't care. And I still don't. One friend—masking judgment with concern—asked me why my feelings were so "urgent." I knew how it looked, but the only answer I could offer was, "I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with him." I was that excited.

And I'm still excited—about our relationship, our future, and even when he walks through the door at the end of the work day. I just wish I could say the same about the wedding.

Hiking in Heels

I went upstate this weekend for Gavin's birthday. It was very nature-y and not good for four-inch heels.