Confession Session

December 30, 2010

My Confession.

I am confessing something of which I am honestly deeply ashamed and embarrassed (and there are precious few of these) in the hopes that my public contrition may bring about a better new year than this last medical and emotional sinkhole of a year. Chronic migraines—yeah you.

So, here it is. The only thing I’ve ever stolen from a store since being old enough to know better: a set of fake eyelashes. I stole fake eyelashes from a makeup store I shan’t name back when I was in college.

But at least her lashes were perfect.

Now, I should tell you—because I feel this is very important—I think stealing is deplorable. Truly, I can’t stand it. If you are my friend and with me when you steal something, I will be angry at you for a very, very long time for simply doing it in my company. I probably won’t ever go shopping with you again.

And I thought it was just as loathsome when I did it. In fact, I couldn’t wear them for 3 years after I stole them, I felt so guilty. So guilty immediately after I stole them that I wound around the store for half an hour afterward trying to think up some crazy scheme to put them back without being pinched for it. But I didn’t.

So, what prompted this minor act of terrorism against a maquillage Mecca (which, again, I shall not name)? I mean, for crying out loud, it wasn’t even anything I needed. I have eyelashes of my own. I do. They’re neat.

(Representative of my actual eyelashes)

For whatever reason, a sudden and ill-advised spontaneity seized my conscience, and I put the thing directly into my purse. From conception to action, it was about 5 seconds. Like a knee-jerk reaction to a stray thought. And then I politely purchased my three other items at the counter…

And for this inconsiderate theft, I’m truly tremendously sorry. I think about this often, actually. It was stupid, and pointless, and flatly wrong. I am not a bad person, but that is an instance of me doing a bad thing.

So, there you are. The humiliating confession of an (outwardly, at least) ethics-hound. I was a criminal too, once.

Now bring on my good new year. And a stunning New Year to all of you too, darlings!

Both of you.

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Singing Bras

December 13, 2010

Wow. I’m so not sure how I feel about this. I mean, on the one hand, there is the total and creepily complete objectification of women smacking you in the face here like an enormous, over-eager erection. These women are nothing more here than their musical notes. …which are actually determined by their cup sizes. I mean, the only voice they’re given is the note they sing, which means their only means of expression is nothing more than their cup size. Wowww.

A collection of immobilized women only distinguishable by their cup sizes, who are only here to please you with the pretty sounds they make. Then they rub the tuning fork on the skin, or else they get the hose again. Ya know? Because what sort of person would have such a collection, if you were to take this thought out of its cute little Christmas wrapping and flesh it out a bit. And all of them laying on beds in the darkness making porn faces like that, seemingly oblivious to one another. Does anyone else feel like some creepfest decided to make human ornaments here? Or ordered Real Girls that emit recorded noises to deck the halls with them? Just me? Jingle belles? Ho ho hos? Mary Christmases? The marketing for real girl ornaments practically writes itself.

This is decidedly not okay.

Additionally, you notice how they only show the fuller-figured girls (and oh my god, do I use that term lightly here. The E, F, and G girls are still skinny enough to…well, be in a bra commercial this day and age) are only shown laying down, so you don’t see the enormity of their monstrous 5 pounds of extra bod within the context of gravity. God forbid something other than their breasts isn’t actually inverted.

Yeah. That pissed me off.

But, on the other hand.

As a fan of burlesque and a bi enthusiast of the lady bits, I happen to not mind the idea of girls in lacy underwear, and… it’s so preeeetty. I’m torn. The feminist in me is raising a fist in solidarity with my sisters. And the other part of me wants to know how to arrange this sort of party this Christmastime.

Wrong? Probably?

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