Things That Ruin Real Life (But Never the Movies)

Movies and TV are a dream world, and I get that. But lately, the trend has been gritty, hyperrealism–take the hungry, dirty cast of The Walking Dead and the depressing personal lives of everyone on Mad Men, for example. Everything about modern movies and shows is as real as possible…but damn, do they still forget some important details. Such as…

  1. Periods. Yeah, people, I’m going there. Sometimes–usually about once a month–girls have some “lady business” going on. And for those of you who don’t know, it’s not a one-day affair. I am really not sure how all the women of The Walking Dead are coping without tampons. And if you’re saying, “Oh, they have some but they just don’t show it,” bullpuckey. They made a whole episode about getting baby formula, so don’t tell me one of those girls isn’t in need of some feminine hygiene products. And Lost is even worse. There is NO WAY they were getting pads from anywhere, but nobody breathes a word about that.
  2. Haircuts. See above–how the fuck is anyone in end-of-the-worldia making time for a nice trim with haircutting scissors? Or a straight shave?
  3. Dead bodies. In a lot of movies and shows where a large number of people die, there are WAY less bodies around than one would expect. Or, said dead bodies are pretty as a peach, since no movie wants to show the beloved main character looking like a bloated beluga whale. Let’s get real here–corpses aren’t cute.
  4. Bullet counts. Oh, wow, the main character of EVERY MOVIE EVER has a magical 42-round pistol! Better buy me one of those before it’s illegal, ammIright? Count the shots in the next big fight scene you’re watching, and I’d bet my bottom dollar the hero is not reloading when his double-barrel shotgun kills 9 people.
  5. Makeup. Unless the movie is about beauty queens, you’re supposed to assume that everyone just looks like that. They show the girl next door lying down peacefully with a full face of makeup, and you’re supposed to believe part of her “natural beauty” are eyelash extensions and lipliner. Or said girl will be running through the woods for 6 weeks without food and water, but her eyeshadow is still flawless.
  6. Clothes. No one in movies or TV shows EVER repeats an outfit. Even characters that aren’t supposed to be loaded seem to have a limitless closet. Take Sookie from True Blood–she’s a bayou waitress with noooo money and yet she owns more sundresses than a Macy’s.
  7. Sex. I know that showing the two hot-and-heavy leads taking out a condom kind of kills the magic, but damn, people, STDs!

Now, I could go on and on, but I’m in the middle of a movie marathon, so I’ve gotta go soak up more deliciously flawed entertainment.

She’s a Lady (Whoa-Oh-Oh)

I don’t like feminists. I don’t hate them–my own darling mother is one, for God’s sake–but I’m not really fond of them either. Mostly because the only thing they ever seem to talk about is how women should be treated exactly the same as men.

Um…excuse me? So no one will hold the door for me, and pull out my chair, and get me out of a ticket when I bat my very ladylike eyelashes, and not draft me into the Army? Why in God’s name would any woman give up being treated like a woman to be treated like a man?

Now, I understand that’s not the point, but on the other Manolo, it kind of is. If you want fair-square equality for everyone, that’s nice on paper, but that means everything has to be equal, even for door-holding and ticket-dodging. Equal pay at work and government-subsidized tampons, I’m all for. But saying women have to be like men in order to be “equal” is just what pisses me off about feminists. If you want to wear Birkenstocks and never get your eyebrows waxed, that’s just fine. But don’t tell me I’m setting back the cause of womankind by twenty years because I like makeup and a good heel (and put my feminine wiles to use).

Which brings me to my next point. Being a true lady is so undervalued in today’s society. Look at the French. Women there are chic, glamorous, and independent–they make paper (or whatever French money is printed on) in sexy cardigans with perfect hair. Here, if you like to take care of yourself–which means nothing compared to how the French do it, with their obsessive beauty regimes, or Japanese girls, who wear makeup and nice shoes every. single. day–you’re “high maintenance,” not “a lady.”

There is nothing wrong with wanting equal rights, or wearing ugly clothes and not caring how you look, but there’s also nothing wrong with being just the opposite. So how about a  little equality between the Birkenstocks and the Manolos, please? (OR, even better–I can just teleport back to the 1950s, when dressing up for everything was normal and everyone left me alone about equality while I drank Bellinis with Cary Grant.)

Fetish Week: WAM

Come one, come all to the grand opening of Fetish Week! I’ve decided to devote one post a week to a fetish I find on Wikipedia, because that is clearly a good use of my time. Besides, it is really hard to run out of things to write about with all the, um, sexy fetishes out there. I decided to start Fetish Week off with a non-creepy one: WAM!

WAM is “wet and messy” fetishism, which is not as gross as it sounds (or is exactly as non-gross as it sounds, if you don’t have a dirty mind. Which you clearly do, because you’re reading a post about fetishes, you filthy fuck). WAM-lovers just get off to people covering themselves [Ed. note: I totally typo’d that as “them elves,” and I’m pretty sure that’s a whole different fetish] with messy things, like mud or whipped cream. It’s not even weird, really. Like, what guy doesn’t want to see his girlfriend rub oil all over herself?

Plus, the best part? WAM doesn’t include anything disgusting like “wet and messy” kinda implies. No bodily fluids, no puke (apparently that’s a thing? Thanks, Wikipedia), no nothing. Mud is pretty much the grossest thing on there, and since mud wrestling is about as common as a ladybug with spots, even that doesn’t faze me.

So, now that you’ve learned and adopted a new fetish, enjoy jerking off with ketchup like one WAMmer did! Or, you know, stay tuned for next week–but put on your seatbelt, because I’m going to pick freakier and freakier ones until your minds explode. (That’s called brainexplodingophilia.)

Why Women Hate Samantha Brick

(Hint: it’s not because she’s beautiful.) I’m not sure if any of you have had the pleasure to read Samantha Brick’s columns in The Daily Mail, but she came out with a doozy, titled, “There are downsides to looking this pretty–Why women hate me for being beautiful.” This is Samantha, by the way.

I’ll just let that sink in. Now, in the interest of fairness, Samantha is British, so the semi-busted teeth are not her fault. And besides her mouth (and looking slightly like Sloth from The Goonies if you look at her really fast then look away), she is really not ugly. She’s pretty, even–look at this picture.


But holy mother of pearl, is she delusional. You really have to read the article, but I’ll spare you and just pop in some highlights.

“While I’m no Elle Macpherson, I’m tall, slim, blonde and, so I’m often told, a good-looking woman. I know how lucky I am. But there are downsides to being pretty — the main one being that other women hate me for no other reason than my lovely looks.”

“I’ve been dropped by countless friends who felt threatened if I was merely in the presence of their other halves. If their partners dared to actually talk to me, a sudden chill would descend on the room.”

“Unfortunately women find nothing more annoying than someone else being the most attractive girl in a room.”

Um…yeeeeeah. Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t think people hate you because you’re so ridiculously beautiful that their husbands would fall at your feet and your smile makes them want to rip off their own faces in jealousy. I’m pretty sure the reason people actually hate you is that you’re more conceited than Kanye West.

Loving yourself is just ducky, and thinking that you are a hot motherfuckin’ tamale is also totally kosher. Even kind of secretly thinking you look better than everyone in the room is sort of acceptable. BUT YOU CAN’T ACT LIKE IT. That’s the cardinal rule. There’s confidence, and then there’s swaning around complaining in a newspaper about how tough life is when you’re sooooooooo beautiful. I mean, you just sound like a twat.

On one foot, I sort of feel bad for ol’ Sammy Brick, because she really isn’t ugly and the whole Internet has just gone insane with comments about how hideous she is. Her personality isn’t cute, but her face is–she’s just not drop-dead, knock-’em-over gorgeous, which is how she writes about herself. I mean, has she ever seen a model? Or a celebrity? Or, you know, someone with white teeth (stupid question, she’s English)? But still, she writes in the article about how “not one girlfriend has ever asked [Samantha] to be her bridesmaid.” She obviously attributes this to the fact that she’s so stunning, the bride’s husband would inevitably veer over to Samantha and give her the ring instead. But, tragically obviously to the rest of the world, it’s clearly because she’s annoying as fuck and has no real friends.

On the other foot, come on, Sammy. You get free champagne and have doors opened for you and all that, so shut the fuck up and enjoy it.

How to Be a Girl

If you have lady-parts and you prefer to dress like a trucker and spit tobacco juice out of the corner of your mouth, that is cool (as long as you don’t get any spit on me). And if you are genetically female but you hate clothes and prefer reading maps and doing long division, that is also…well, maybe not cool, but totally your prerogative.

But for all the ladies who put the “girly” in “girly-girl,” this is for you. Oh, wait, I forgot, it’s actually just a weak front for me to blather on about my makeup because I LOVE MAKEUP. So, amendment, this post should be titled: The WildHeart’s Guide to Making Your Face Look Less Bad, but I’m not changing it because “How to Be a Girl” is catchier.

It’s kind of awkward that I am writing this and absolutely no one who reads my blog will be interested in it. But it’s y’all’s own fault, because I go all Oliver Twist and beg you for comments but no one tells me what to write about, so ha! This is what you get. A makeup guide. I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY. (Really, though, I don’t even know what you darlings like to read about, because I post such random things that it’s hard to tell what is a hit and what is shit. Sex posts? Drug posts? Rock and roll posts?)

ANYWAY back to the pressing matters at hand: Stuff Girls (and Guys Who Like to Be Pretty) Can Do to Their Faces!

My general makeup routine goes something like this. And if you’re a mascara-and-lip gloss girl and you don’t know what I’m talking about, keep in mind that I could literally fill a whole duffel bag with my makeup collection alone, so don’t be daunted.

  1. First, I wash my face! (Can you believe it? I’m really cutting-edge with my makeup routine.) Then I toss on a little toner, and wait for it to dry. Then it puts the lotion on its skin.
  2. Primer! Primer is this sexy new thing I just got into that makes your face all smooth and perfect like a smooth, perfect cloud. You can wear it by itself, allegedly, but every makeup-lovin’ person I know just uses it under makeup to make your skin more perfect.
  3. De-puffing under-eye roller!
  4. Foundation! I never used to use it, and now I look back at all my pictures and want to puke. It makes you look sooooo much better, as long as you don’t pick the wrong color or cake it all over your face like a drag queen (unless that’s what you’re going for). Some people have beautiful skin and don’t need it, in which case, don’t fucking wear it! But it makes me look a lot better. I use a stippling brush for mine, and I own four different shades for my varying levels of tan throughout the year.
  5. Loose powder! It sets the foundation and really gives an all-over flawless finish. The only slight problem is that it makes your skin really matte, which is okay but I prefer a dewy finish. Which brings us to…
  6. Bronzer/blush/highlighter! I don’t usually use all three unless I’m getting drunk and slutty, but combining any 2 is usually okay for daytime. Highlighter gives you that glowy look, and bronzer and blush make you look…bronze and blushing, respectively.
  7. Eye primer! It makes your eyeshadow stay on longer. Yup.
  8. Eyeshadow! Eyeliner! Mascara!
  9. Lip liner! Now, I absolutely loathe that horrid early 90’s look where someone outlined their mouth in red marker and filled it in with pink, but I bought lip liner in the color Natural and I fill in my whole mouth with it, like you’re coloring your lips with crayon. It makes the color last and the shape of your mouth more defined, and lipstick doesn’t feather. Which brings us to…
  10. Lipstick or lip gloss!
  11. And now for taking all that shit off…makeup wipes, followed by a good cleanser. Then I use nighttime face moisturizer and an eye cream!

You’re thinking, “Wow, she is one high-maintenance bitch.” But this is like my full-on, balls-out face thing. (Ew, I don’t like using “balls” and “face” in the same sentence.) Usually, I do foundation and bronzer and lipstick, which is enough. I mean, when you’re as good-looking as me, you don’t really need much help. But you people…no, just kidding, you’re gorgeous. So why did I write this long boring post that most of you probably didn’t even read (which means probably no one is reading this part right here…PICKLED OREOS!)? Because I couldn’t think of anything else at the moment. Cheers!

 

 

Wow, They Really Straightened Up the Place

Last night, I went dancing at a fine establishment known as a gay bar. Now, for any girl who likes to dance and doesn’t like 400 horny guys trying to rub their dicks on her, a gay bar has always been the perfect solution (gay girls are a lot less pushy than straight dudes). You get to dress up, break it down, and have fun with your friends without having boners shoved everywhere.

Or so I thought, because apparently, some giant asshole TOLD STRAIGHT GUYS. Yeah, that’s right. Some giant douche decided to spill the beans and whisper, “Psst! Pass it on! Tons of straight girls go to gay clubs–it’s the perfect place to meet the ladies!”

I mean, clearly, if I am a straight girl at a club with rainbow flags everywhere and bouncers who look like they just walked off a gay bondage porno, I am there for a reason. And the reason is not that I love listening to gay icons blare through speakers at 5,000,000 decibels. The reason is that I want to dance all night without having to awkwardly reject people. Nothing against guys who mack on girls at clubs–I mean, it’s a club. That’s like going to an opium den and being like, “God, what a bunch of drug addicts!” But come on! Sometimes, I just want to dance like a slut for me, you know?

Instead, I was assaulted last night by 387 straight dudes asking me to dance and following me around the club and totally trying to rub their creepy penises on me. And I’m not a bitch–I didn’t say, “Fuck you,” I said, “No, but why don’t you dance with all of us?” and gestured to my lovely friends. At which point the straight-man infiltrator would then proceed to shake his head to that request and then superglue his crotch to my butt.

This happened the entire night, including guys who just kept. Coming. Back. I would let them do their exciting little boner grindy dance for about two seconds, and then very smoothy lift their hands over our head and twirl around so we were all dancing together. Which worked for a while, until the Ted lookalike (of How I Met Your Mother fame). But I’m pretty sure he was gay (maybe? Do gay guys get boners when they dance with girls, because that was not a wallet pressing on my ass), so I just went with it.

On one hand, I can’t complain. They were all actually totally decent-looking, and three of them could even be classified as something approaching “hot.” And they were all, with the exception of a seriously misguided lil’ dude, taller than me. On the other hand–listen, dolls, if I was single, I would rub against you like a kitty cat and then do something a little naughty outside the club, BUT I’M NOT. So go back to a straight bar where one of the girls you dance with might actually sleep with you (but she probably won’t).

In the Ink of an Eye

Wow, that title was dumb! I’m talking about tattoos.

Yes, tattoos. Lately, I keep running into boring pieces about why they’re bad, then why they’re good, then why they’re kind of okay, blah blah blah. It’s all kind of like saying, “I really adore sardines, and since I just love them you have to eat them too!” or, “I really loathe sardines, and since I just hate them you have to not eat them too!” Or something. I mean, what is the point of writing an article telling other people how they should feel about tattoos? Your pen/keyboard/quill (kicking it old school, I like that) is not magical, and no one is going to agree with you just because you put it on your Facebook.

So you might be asking yourself, Well, you sassy minx, then what in the name of Dickens is this post going to be about? I’ll tell you: different kinds of cheeses and their native lands. First we have Gouda, and Munster, and…oh, did you know tattoo artists practice on cheeses before stabbing their inky needles into human skin? Damn, we’re back on the tattoo thing.

Basically, my point (disclaimer: I don’t have a point. What do you think this is, a paper? I just type things) is that you can feel however you want to feel about tattoos, but don’t push your bullshit on other people. One of the articles I read said a lot of boring blather about how women are classy and take care of themselves and paint their toenails (seriously, it said that…I mean, I skimmed, but those were main elements), and that tattoos totally ruin it and make women “trashy.” It also said women “hold the world’s beauty in their hands,” which totally discredits the face of Johnny Depp and the body of Channing Tatum, as well as some seriously impressive ab work by David Beckham.

And then all the pro-tattoo articles say that tattoos have meaning and your body is a beautiful butterfly of a canvas to paint with Ed Hardy logos meaningful art. And no, that tattoo sleeve does not make you trashy, it makes you a glorious walking Jackson Pollock/Your Favorite Artist Here.

I, personally, love tattoos, so if you think my summary of the pro-tattoo side sounds a little bitchy, it’s only because it does. I had to, to make it sound like I was being fair and not making fun of the prudish no-tattoo people (kidding, my milk-skinned dears). I think well-done, meaningful, not-done-at-3-am-on-a-Jack-and-Coke-binge tattoos are truly a form of art, and gorgeous.

But, if you hate them, and think that every dude/lady sporting a tramp stamp is, well, a tramp, that’s cool too. Because I don’t care. Isn’t it cool? I have my own opinion, and it doesn’t match your opinion, but it’s okay, because we’re grown-ups and I don’t even hate you! Aren’t you glad you read this? Now you can look down at your Mike + Jenny 4Eva tattoo fondly, or look down at your bare skin glistening in the moonlight and be all, yeah, fresh as a baby’s bottom! The WildHearts guarantee: EVERYBODY WINS.

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