Boys of Facebook

My favorite thing about Facebook is the fact that I get to see pictures of the girls who were mean to me in high school who are now hideously fat. Or burdened with five crackbabies and a meth-dealing ex-husband. Or live in trailer parks. Or, preferably, all three. My least favorite thing about Facebook (other than seeing pictures of the girls who were mean to me in high school who are now fabulously wealthy, accomplished and even more beautiful than they were in adolescence) is receiving messages from boys who were mean to me in high school.

The boys have, without exception, seen the error of their ways, and are hoping to get back in touch. And by “error of their ways,” I mean “my boobies,” and by “getting back in touch,” they mean “with my boobies.” It's amazing what losing 10 pounds, gaining two cup sizes, getting contacts and learning to love tequila shots will do for a girl’s popularity.

I went from this:

To this*:


And now all the boys love me! There’s nothing like going from a chubby bespectacled über-nerd to a slender full-bosomed über-nerd to reinforce one’s complete and utter lack of faith in humanity. It’s like a real-life “She’s All That,” except instead of Freddie Prinze there’s just cynicism.

That’s not to say I haven’t enjoyed the attention from time to time. My favorite message came from a boy I don’t remember who honestly confessed to having had a crush on me back in the day, when I was ugly and wore stretch pants. Whether ‘twas a cover story or not, it surely gave me the warm fuzzies. My least favorite message came not from Facebook, but in person during one of those “ let’s reconnect over drinks but this isn’t a date OK?” things:

Him: “You’re hot now!”
Me: “Um, thanks.”
Him: “I mean, you used to be all, Sarah with the glasses. And now you’re all… Sarah with the hotness!”
Me: “OK then. I think I’ll go home and wash my hair.”
Him: “But I want to get you drunk!”
Me: “Sure you do, honey.”

What’s a girl to make of all this? Are there any lessons to be taken away other than “humans are hopelessly, incurably shallow and narcissistic”? Should I take advantage of the few years of attractiveness I have left before age sets in to turn the tables on these would-be suitors and be terribly cruel to them? Would they get the message? Or would they just mutter “bitch” under their breath and find some other girl to torment? Either way I doubt it'd make me feel any better.

*Please note: I am neither Lindsay Weir nor Lindsay Lohan, just in case you were confused. I didn’t feel like digging up pictures of me IRL. Plus, I’m not really that hot. But I assure you I was very very nerdy in high school. Please confirm in the comments, fellow members of the Nerd Herd.

Related Posts: MySpace Sucks, I've Figured it Out!

Today in Animal Rights

UPDATE! This afternoon I learned of a most curious incident: A whale named Tilikum at SeaWorld in Orlando killed a female trainer today. I know that I'm not supposed to say this (and I'm equally sure it needs to be said): Capturing wild animals, "training" them to do tricks for an audience using motivational tools like pain, hunger and fear is bound to lead to tragedy. As horrible as this is for the trainer, her friends and her family, it's far from the first incident of its kind. I hope it will be a wake-up call to people that using animals for entertainment is just not right.

This morning I spied a really groovy piece of street art: The word "Vegan" scrawled on the side of a building in fancy graffitti font*:


I smiled to myself and began wondering why I don't know any people that go around drawing dietary diatribes on Division Street. Then I remembered that many vegan activists identify as such merely so they can lord their holier-than-thou attitude over everyone else. Either that or they're just college students still gifted with the charming delusion that their stupid little opinions matter, who'll grow up to inherit Daddy's money, join the corporate world and in all likelihood begin plowing their SUVs through flocks of endangered seabirds for fun.

Which is what Charles Belgard did, as reported by NPR this morning in connection with his too-light-in-my-opinion sentence of 45 days in jail and a $1,000 fine. My hope is that, for 21-year-old Belgard, who is the sort of person that breaks speed limits on the beach and thinks killing is AWESOME, $1,000 is a LOT of money. That and an angry seabird or 400 peck his squinty little eyeballs out a la Hitchcock's "The Birds."

*Portland people: It's on 39th and Division.

Related posts: The Rogue Vegan Strikes Again; Vegan Vandalism Pandemic

Lady parts

I interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you pictures of everyone's favorite female physical attribute: long hair! Every time I start to think seriously of chopping off all my hair, pictures like this one of a famous person named Jameela Jamil, from Black Tee Skinny Jeans, pop up to convince me otherwise:



Of course a shorter style can also look pretty awesome, although I have to say I question the context in which this picture appeared (Twilight-themed Bing commercial featuring another famous person whose name I don't know. I'm so ashamed):



And my all-around favorite style so far, appearing on the internet-famous Sarah Evans, who is a PR maven and all-around nice person. This is what I like to imagine my hair would look like if I owned a flat iron and actually cared enough to use it. Which I don't and I don't. So it doesn't:



If you can't tell, I really like bangs. I'm just sort of bad at executing them on my own mug. For context, here's an example of my bangs at their glorious heyday:



And here's an example of my bangs having an off night, but they don't care because they're at a disco with Mother Hubbard and a bunch of drag queens:



* This photo is courtesy of Heather. You can see her picasa album here.

Grokking the touch barrier

How many times have you found yourself jogging alone at 4 a.m., on a poorly-lit street, blissfully rocking out to some old-school tunes via your trendy compact music gadget of choice, when you spot a gang of no-goodniks looking for some Bad Touch?

Or, perhaps you like to go out on weeknights and have a few pints with your buddies, but woefully underqualified potential suitors, emboldened by booze, keep approaching you. Maybe sometimes they think they can touch you on the shoulder. Maybe sometimes they think they can touch you elsewhere. Maybe sometimes they get a little pushy. Maybe you’re tired of handing out black eyes and running out of bars from which to get 86’d.

Or maybe you’re a 9-to-5er and you have a coworker who just doesn’t grok the touch barrier. Perhaps he touches you to drive his points home, so to speak. Maybe he holds your hand just a bit too long when shaking. Maybe he just annoyingly taps your shoulder when trying to get your attention.

Well fret no more, touch-o-phobes! Ladies and gents, I give you the No-Contact Jacket:

Perfect for fending off hoodlums of all varieties, it’s electrified to deter any and all who’ve not gotten the memo about unwanted touch. Just don’t wear it in the rain.

Alone on Valentine's Day, ladies? Maybe you're overeducated

According to the enlightened cognoscenti over at the New York Times, we ladies a) only go to college to meet men; and b) are having a hard time meeting those men because too many of us go to college to c) you guessed it, meet men. The amazing part is that the article, by the estimable Alex Williams, is not an editorial. It appears in the style section, which makes an equal amount of nonsense.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I know why I went to college. I thought to myself, "You know, self, these high school man-hunks are just not up to my brute standards. I think I'll spend a few dozen grand on a bachelor's. Then maybe I can finally find that special someone on which to perfect my fellatio technique! I do hope he'll cheat on me, though. Fidelity is something up with which I will not put."

My favorite quote? This one, from a guy surely unaware of how on-the-head he's hit the cultural nail:

“It’s awesome being a guy,” admitted Garret Jones.

The article cites some sketchy statistics (sources are nowhere to be seen, so one can only assume they're completely fabricated), namely that some colleges have a male-to-female ratio that is representative of the general population. I don't know about you, but I smell a Pulitzer! It should be noted that Williams also mentions that the Ivies and other "prestigious" schools are still disproportionately male. So manhunters, apply yeselves, get into an Ivy, and ye shall be rewarded with better husband-trapping odds!

The only shred of truth can be found in Williams' nod to that old antiquated idea of "fair and balanced" so tragically co-opted as a marketing slogan by an even worse news organization that shall remain unnamed:

Many women eagerly hit the library on Saturday night. And most would prefer to go out with friends, rather than date a campus brute.

No shit, Sherlock.

Conclusion? Not only does the NY Times format their headlines all wonky and stair-steppy, but they are also stuck in the 1950s and happily give page space to complete incompetents who were apparently high during Reporting 101 at their Ivies. Brutes.

If you're into vapidity, you can read the sad excuse for an article.

For more on horrific coverage provided by Alex Williams in the style section, I highly suggest checking out the nytpicker.

For a counterpoint to this piece specifically, see Bust Magazine's rebuttal.

*Photo courtesy of Hot Chicks with Douchebags, which needs no further explanation.

Pregnant women are smug

When you are a lady, and associate with other ladies, eventually you will either be forced to attend, or worse, forced to organize a baby shower for one of your many lady friends.

These things are weirdly sex-segregated excuses for the knocked-up to extort presents from their friends, and are one of my least favorite kinds of parties. The stupid games do not make up for the lack of booze, and the dearth of men seems unfair. After all, most babies are still made with sperm delivered the old-fashioned way, are they not? If we can't do away with the antiquated baby shower tradition, we might as well spread the pain around.

So, in lieu of banishing baby showers and all they represent (a culture where motherhood is the be-all end-all of a woman's life, where the drudgery of child-rearing is still primarily women's work, where even "accidental" fetuses are greeted as if a glorious blessing), I give you this amusing video about how annoying pregnant women are:



A caveat: This clip fails to make fun of a big ol' demographic of annoying dads-to-be, not to mention a whole swath of annoying actual dads. My hunt for parodies of fatherhood shall continue.