Dexter Is Still Sexy

I am way, way, way behind on this show. It is great. If anyone leaves a comment telling me anything that happens halfway after season two, I’ll make like Dex and chop you up (just kidding, that’s creepy and I’m a little squeamish).

But I have a problem, and the problem is that I can’t watch it without wanting to fuck Dexter. Not Michael C. Hall. Michael C. Hall has been divorced twice and seems a little slutty. Dexter, on the other hand, is a delicious sexy monster man with emotional issues and seriously jacked arms (well, I guess Mikey Hall has those too, but moving on).

And I’m sorry, but the scene in season one where he goes to the therapist and uncovers some cray-cray emotional flashbacks and then goes over to his girlfriend’s house and gets it in? Hottest. Thing. Ever.

See, I hate blonde men, and I really hate gingers, and Michael C. Hall is a mix of both. And he has blue eyes, I think, and despite the Cro-Magnon brow he has a tiny bit of a pretty-boy face. None of these things are my thing; in fact, they are the opposite of “my thing.” But something about Dexter makes me want to do omhfdngfjnjksgnd ridiculous things. He just has some kind of magic sexual sparkle dust that he, like, throws into my eyes from the TV screen. I mean, I’ve written a post about how hot he is before, but lately I am just overcome with lust watching that show.

I think it’s just animal magnetism. Like with Kayne West or Eric Dane or the guy who plays Thor–none of those guys are my scruffy, scrumptious type, but they just have that something sexy. And, well, yup, that’s pretty much my whole point with this post: I THINK CELEBRITIES ARE HOT AND I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH THEM. There, that would’ve summed things up. But then you never would’ve seen that shirtless photo of Dexter, and I couldn’t deprive anyone of that pleasure.

The New, New Sexy?

There is this really awkward battle that all magazines seem to be waging about what is sexy. Splashed across every Cosmo and Vogue are “sexy secrets” and tips on how to look sexy this season and blah blah blah. That’s good. That’s great! I love sexiness, and advice about how to have more of it is always A-OK with me.

But. I’m just saying, I think somewhere in the past forty years or so, what actually constitutes “sexy” has changed. For the worse. Take a look at this month’s Runner’s World‘s cover girl, for instance.

Now, before you get all up in arms saying that Runner’s isn’t a fashion magazine and isn’t touting sex appeal and you break a key from slamming on your laptop so hard, relax. I fully and totally agree with you, but I am just using that as one of many examples of how the standard of what looks good has changed. The editors at Runner’s picked someone they obviously thought was attractive and had a good, fit body. Similarly, Miss Wintour’s bella counterpart threw Karlie Kloss in her latest edition of Italian Vogue, and she might not have the jogger’s creepy six-pack, but she is one hell of a string bean.

OKAY. So now we have established that people–specifically, media moguls, since most guys I know would still rather date a curvy girl than a stick–today find no-waisted, four-pounds-and-fit girls attractive, but for the love of God, what about the fine felines of the 50s and 60s? What happened to my girl (as ever) Brigitte Bardot? What about everyone’s favorite sexpot, Marilyn Monroe? Betty Grable? Sophia Loren? Anita Ekberg? I mean, I fully admit that I have a total love for all things vintage, and that includes the way-sexier, thirty-thousand-times-more-appealing stars of the past, but come on. Scroll up and look at Ms. String Bean, and then have a gander at BB here. (Ooh, I just realized, it’s KK vs. BB!)

Right? Right. Brigitte (and Marilyn, and Betty and seemingly every other famous lady in the past) had a waist and hips and breasts and didn’t look like you could draw her body by tracing a ruler. If I’m not mistaken, most people don’t find rulers sexy. All I’m saying is that I think Ye Olden Days had a higher class of woman–sexier, better-dressed, and all-around more attractive than the stabby-boned/overly-toned celebrities who are popular now. And I miss it, and fuck all of you, I’m going to wear vintage skirts and Bardot eyeliner until the end of time.

*Disclaimer: 1.) There is nothing wrong with being skinny. I know plenty of girls who are not naturally born with curves and could eat a horse and still be Ruler Girls. Not their fault, and it doesn’t mean they’re ugly. But…I’m just saying, I’d take Brigitte Bardot’s body over theirs any day. 2.) There are plenty of curvy, gorgeous women today, but to be frank, I don’t really trust that 90% of them are REAL in the Age of Implants. To the other 10%, kudos.

Shoes That You Could Wear Instead of Uggs

It’s winter. Your poor little feet are cold, and you want some adorable boots that go with everything. There’s snow on the ground, and you need to buy some shoes, stat. So what do you do? You snatch your mom’s credit card, bop on down to the Ugg Emporium, and spend $150 on these things.

Now, there are worse shoes. Crocs, for example. Or those boots made out of denim that JLo used to wear back when she was Jenny. Uggs are actually kind of adorable, like little fluffy puppies you shove your feet into, only without the animal abuse. (Unless you count all the dead sheep used to make le Uggs.)

This might be abuse-ish if no one takes down their laundry, but awwww!

But. $150? $150?!!?!? I have a friend who owns about ten pairs of the things, and you aren’t supposed to get them wet, apparently, because it ruins the outside (unless you buy their $20 Care Kit!). She said hers came also with a slip that told her not to wear them with socks, because it’ll wear out the fluffiness of the inside. So, in summary, Uggs are $150-$350 winter boots that you can’t get wet or wear with socks?

WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY. Why. I don’t understand. They are casual and comfortable and you just plop your tootsies in there and go, and the colors are nice, and from what I understand they’re fairly well made. These things all make sense. But there are so many better options! If I’m going to spend $150 on shoes, I’m going to spend them on shoes that don’t look like a 5-year-old girl’s galoshes.

Here are some great alternatives to making your feet look like fat sheepskin pillows buying Uggs: these Steven Madden boots ($150), these gorgeous heeled ones from Mod Cloth (only $50!), these classy J. Crew boots ($350), these two-toned platforms from Clark’s ($210), or these Guess boots ($105).

Pick any of them! Just, for the love of God, if you’re going to spend some people’s weekly paycheck on shoes, at least make them beautiful boots that will make you look sophisticated and sexy, instead of I’m-a-fashionless-drone-whose-Uggs-perfectly-match-my-ripped-Abercrombie-jeans-and-hoodie!

See, Sophia Loren can rock a pair of boots.

 

Things I Hate, Part Hatey-Two

Sometimes I hate things. These are some of the things I currently hate.

Not tigers. I love tigers.

1.) People who call women “females.” A girl cat is called a female cat, a bitch is a female dog (or your mother), and a chinchilla with lady parts (ew) is a female chinchilla. A female human is called a woman, or a girl, or any-fucking-thing you want besides female. It sounds weird, and kind of degrading considering the only other time it’s used is for animals. This fellow, Mr. Treat Women Right of Twitter fame, posted a tweet that said, “#Females have a bad habbit of holding on too long, #Men have a bad habbit of letting go too easily.” Dear Mr. Treat Women Right: First of all, I don’t know what a “habbit” is, and second of all, tweeting “females” and then “men” instead of “women” and then “men” is retarded. Would you say, “I’d like a peanut butter and preserves sandwich” or “Bread and margarine”? Well, you probably would, because you’re a weird freak who reads Cosmo, turns the advice section into mushy tweets, and then probably gives STDs to one of your 314,116 followers.

2.) The ridiculous, overgeneralizing, sappy, feel-bad-for-me quotes on Tumblr. SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP. I am not really sure when teenage girls are going to realize that 100% of people–even other teenage girls–would rather be around happy people than miserable people, but for the sake of my brain, I hope that time comes soon. I would just unfollow every single Tumblr who posts that shit, but then I would offend a lot of friends and also be following no one.

3.) Stare-ers. Put your eyes back in your head or else I will do it for you using something spiky. I absolutely loathe being stared at. I know that I am a ridiculously sexy, gorgeous person, but when people look at me for longer than, say, ten seconds, their eyes have worn out their welcome. The world is a large and glorious place with much more interesting things than me to look at. This weird girl who looked like the Michelin Man stared at me for so long her head kind of turned around like an owl’s. I hope it got stuck that way and now she has to spin in a circle to do her full creeper stare.

4.) Not coming during sex. This only happens in circumstances where being interrupted or cockblocked is involved, because the Boy knows how to do his job, but I firmly believe there is a lady version of blue balls. Blue boobs, maybe? It makes me feel like a tingly pent-up bomb. (Except diffusing me is a lot more fun…ooer.)

5.) Feeling like a dick because I hate things other people like. I don’t like feeling like a ranty neurotic nitpicky weirdo. So now I double-hate all the things I hate!

I still love you, though, my faithful delicious readers. If I could I would send you all bonbons for Christmas, although I have never have bonbons, because they sound delightfully French and fancy, and those are two good adjectives.