The Trouble with Being White

Okay, I probably already pissed off a bunch of people with that innocent little five-word title. Yes, yes, you’re right, being white is generally a cakewalk. People don’t yell racial slurs at you, and you aren’t given less of a shot at job interviews, and people don’t have a whole category of jokes about you based off of untrue stereotypes. I fully concede that being white is not tough, even for me, who is almost-totally white but still has a dash of Native American.

But. We honkeys will never, ever, ever be as beautiful as the rest of the world. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Sure, there are total knockouts who happen to be white, but then you compare them with someone who’s half-Cuban and half-Chinese and you’re like, “Sorry, Casper, but they’ve got you beat.” People with non-white heritage, especially those lucky ducks with a whole melting pot of it, are just stunning.

Take my girl Signe here, who’s Swedish and African.

Now, if you’re white and reading this and thinking, “Bitch, I am beautiful,” I’m sure you are! But you’re not exotic and you’re going to age terribly if the sun has ever touched your skin. I know, I feel it too. We can go get Botox together in twenty years to maintain our gorge levels.

See, I am from a tiny little podunk farm town, and everyone is white. Then I went to college in a city, and people were less white and lots of them were annoyingly beautiful. Then I went to an even bigger city, and almost threw up because everyone was so drop-dead gorgeous I felt like a sack of pasty potatoes. Everyone in that city is a quarter Jamaican, half Indian, one-eighth African, and the rest fairy dust, from the looks of it. People who have mixed heritage seem to automatically get the most stunning parts of each ancestry and then some.

So, yes, whiteys are totally unfairly privileged, but we will never be the hottest. C’est la vie.

5 Good Reasons to Date a Foot Fetishest

The title says it all.

Number One:

I’ve been dying for these Valentino Rockstar heels since I first saw them. What can I say, it was love at first sight.

Number Two:

Number Three:

Number Four:

I’m not the hugest fan of platforms–heels without platforms are so much more elegant–but how cute are these velvet shoes?

Number Five:

Crush That Girl

Everyone has a girl crush. Guys and gay girls, sure, but everyone else too–straight girls and gay guys and the people who fall somewhere in between. See, the reason is that a “girl crush” doesn’t have to be sexual, and usually isn’t, so EVERYONE has one. Girls are magical creatures, kind of like unicorns but with soft lips and shiny hair instead of a weird deformity in the middle of their head. Personally, I think it’s impossible not to have a crush on at least one.

Mine is my girl Candice, which I agree is probably narcissistic since I’ve been compared to her on more than one occasion. But far be it from me to make Girl Crush rules–if your girl crush happens to be the fox you see in the mirror every day, more power to you. But COME ON–look at Ms. Swanepoel. I don’t care who you are, she is gorge.

Now, I pretty much have a GC on Candy because she looks like a human Barbie and she has a really awesome accent that should be used to record soothing fall-asleep tapes. And girl has some serious yoga flex. But usually, people’s Girl Crushes are a little more complex. Take the most girl-crushed-upon girl of all time, the indie darling Zooey Deschanel.

Now, yes, people like Zooey for her looks. As with most (but not all) girl crushes, it’s all about appearance. Zooey is a normal-looking pretty girl with big boobs, so naturally a lot of people like her. But toss on the thick bangs, vintage dresses, and the occasional pair of quirky-cute glasses, and Zooey is the world’s Girl Crush extraordinaire. I’m not hating at all, I just don’t happen to have a GC on Zooey so that drooling, hearts-a-pitter-patter feeling Crushers have is absent in me. Which means I find it a little annoying when people squeal, “Ugh, I just love Zooey, she’s so unique!”

That brings us to…the dark side of Girl Crushes. When you have a total GC on someone, and your best friend says, “Oh, really? I don’t like her,” and you stare daggers into them because OBVIOUSLY THE PERSON YOU CRUSH ON IS PERFECT…yeah, that’s when it’s gone too far. Then you need to stop bidding on their used tissues on eBay, making a scrapbook of their tabloid appearances, and doodling their surname in your checkbook. A girl crush is just that–a crush. Obsession? Come on, now you’re just creepy!

Do You Remember Your Weekend?

Hello, darlings, it’s been a while! I’ve been tragically neglecting this blog because my laptop died (funeral services will be held today at 3:00 pm, BYOB) and using the man’s computer is a bit of a drag–it’s a Mac Mini hooked up to a TV and the screen is so far away from my weak eyes. First World Problems, ahoy!

Anyway, how areeeee you all? Still sexy, I presume. Or drowned in a river of spam (and I don’t mean the canned meat–I came back after my hiatus to find a bucketload of comments and was so excited only to find they were all spammity spam spam spam). How was your weekend?

Mine was like a fire in a circus–intense. Friday was a bestie’s birthday, and I drank two cranberry vodkas at my house (with twist of lime, of course), then we went out and I had a Bahama Mama and half of the two GIANT complimentary birthday margaritas that particular establishment offered (you’re  only supposed to get one but we’re very convincing), then at one thirty we stumbled on to the next place with intentions of a free Das Boot. We both hate beer so we were going to give it to our gentlemen escorts and friends, but as it turned out, this place ALSO gave away margaritas. So naturally I had a White Russian–fine end-of-the-night-drink–half a mint-chocolate shot (don’t ask why half), and most of that even-GIANTER margarita. It probably will surprise no one that I woke up in my slutty clothes, with my purse still on, the birthday girl asleep on my bathroom floor, and three boys sprawled out in the living room (one of them snuggling his head on my 10-lb weights). 

Yesterday, I slept until 3:00 pm to kill my massive hangover (milk thistle helped), went to the movies (Taken 2–I would literally get kidnapped just to fuck Liam Neeson), and was somehow still out until one-thirty. Hope your weekend was as smashing! I promise a real post about something other than my drunken adventures soon.

Fall Favorites

Fall is my favorite season. It’s the perfect temperature–hoodie weather!–and everything is beautiful (extra so to me, since reds and golds are some of my top colors). Plus, the best parts are that you can wear anything. Literally anything! It’s still warm enough for skirts with cozy cardigans, or jeans, and…okay, if you couldn’t tell, this is just going to be me talking about the clothes I want for fall.

So, foxy little foxies, here is my mandatory wish list for fall. Feel free to buy anything and everything seen below and overnight it to me. Or buy it for yourself and roll around in leaves–or have sex in some! (Just watch out for slugs…I can think of few mood-killers worse than a slug in the wrong place.)

1.) Riding boots. Riding boots are sooo quintessentially fall. I don’t really know why, maybe because they’re preppy–all great fall clothes are, because of memories of going back-to-school or something? Who knows, who cares, buy me some. Snap snap, my delicate feet are catching a chill!

2.) Plaid. Especially in red. So cozy and cute and cuddly, and it crosses over into winter so easily. I have a super-cozy red plaid flannel button-down and you just look so effortlessly cute (or I do, anyway).

Best part? The gents look sexy too

3.) Wool skirts. Are you catching the drift here? Schoolgirl chic, with a kick! (Ha.)

Are you still just sitting dumbly at your computer screen waiting for more things to list? Well, so am I…but I refuse to post them until I get some creamy mocha leather riding boots in my size. Giddy-up!

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.)

Great and Terrible Beauty (Products)

If you read this blog, you know that I’m a pervert  I love Ian Somherhalder   most of my posts are stupid I love makeup. I love to put it on my face, in my tea, and draw on things with it. Okay, only the first one, but trust me, I. Love. Makeup. And I consider myself something of an expert, since I’ve been messing around with it since I was 11.

The thing about makeup, though, is that it’s just like a man: some of it is just fucking terrific and leaves you glowing, and some of it is trashy and awful. And, also like men, the awful ones might surprise you.

So I did what I do best and put together a little list. I full expect my lady readers to run to their makeup drawers and throw out everything I say is bad. And dudes, I would say to buy your gals some of the nice things, but then they might take it as a, “Hey, ugly, please put this on to cover up your face” kind of thing and that would suck. Maybe just stick with lingerie.

Maybelline Great Lash Mascara: Terrible. This mascara is super popular and is always winning beauty awards, but I think it is one of the worst eyelash enhancers ever invented. Personally, I think the only reason it’s popular is because it’s ghetto cheap and it’s been around since the 80s, so moms keep buying it while fondly reminiscing about Duran Duran concerts. It does NOTHING for your eyelashes except make them darker and clump them together.

Maybelline Volum’ Express Mascara: Great. See, I’m not biased against Maybelline or anything–this mascara has been my one and only since I first bought the yellow tube. I seriously have about five tubes rolling around in my makeup case. It does exactly what you want mascara to do: makes your eyelashes super thick and long. To be fair, I have very long eyelashes, but they’re not thick, so I’m not sure about the fantastic lengthening powers of this stuff, but it makes your eye-dusters super lush.

Covergirl Trublend Pressed Powder: Terrible. Okay, maybe it’s not terrible, but I gotta have some continuity with my rating system here. This stuff is just powder for your face, and it’s not good for your skin and looks like powder when it’s on. Not the worst thing ever, but certainly not good for the whole “flawless face” look that, um, everyone wants. Grandmas who like to look like they just dunked their face into a 40’s flour bucket, rejoice–this one’s for you.

Physicians Formula Mineral Wear Talc-Free Mineral Airbrushing Loose Powder: Great. And yes, that’s the full name. It is lovely. It doesn’t make my ridiculously sensitive skin break out, the colors are really blend-y, and unless you apply it super heavy-handedly it doesn’t look powdery. Plus, one container lasts forrreverrr.

Physicians Formula Blush: Terrible. (I can’t find it on their website, so I don’t know the full name, but maybe they know it’s terrible and discontinued it.) The palest pink gives you rouged-on bright red cheeks no matter how little you use, and the applicator is weird and doesn’t work. I love Physicians Formula but this stuff was/is terrrrible.

Logona Blush Powder Duos: Great. So great they deserve all-caps. GREAT! If you’re not familiar, Logona is a German, BDIH-certified brand of all-natural makeup that is fucking stellar. I get their stuff at a crunchy natural-junk store near my job, and everything they make is good (their red lip pencil is amazing). This blush is right on par, and the palette has two colors for the price of one.

L’Oreal HIP High Intensity Pigments Concentrated Eye Shadow Duo: Terrible. Now, I have only tried one color set of this, and it was greens, which is a little weird to begin with. So these might not be all bad. But holy fuck, do I hate this eyeshadow. It goes on really dark and uneven, some parts going on super matte and color-packed and other parts sheer. A clean sweep leaves you looking like you rubbed your eyes after crying. AWFUL.

Revlon Colorstay 16 Hour Eyeshadow: Great. I own about seven different color palettes of these. They are color-true, although a little sheer, but you can layer them to get the darkness you want, and they don’t smudge unless you fuck around with your eyes, and then what do you expect to happen! These are, I have to say, definitely not the best eyeshadows in the world or anything, but totally solid for the price.

Okay, stop reading, and go throw out your old-ass green-and-pink tubes of Great Lash already!

Scrap-Person

When I was little, I had this really weird habit of wanting to be just one “type” of person. A perfectly encapsulated stereotype of a human, 100% of the time found in some movie I liked. And it usually never made sense. Some of the people I remember wanting to be are: a gladiator (guess what film that one was from?), a grease monkey, a glamorous lady, and Alison from Judy Blume’s Just as Long as We’re Together because she was always nice and everyone loved her.

And then I grew up, and nothing changed. Okay, a little changed–I stopped caring about making my personality like people from books and movies (because I’m AWESOME) and mostly wanted to look/dress/have hair like people from books and movies. So I’d go all bananas on one style for a few weeks, then move on to the next one. Bada-bing. But some notable characters stuck out, and so these are the people whose style I steal in some kind of twisted self-scrapbooking way:

Brigitte Bardot

Brigitte is my girl forever. She’s gorgeous, crazy, timeless, and her clothes are un-fucking-real. I love her giant hair and raccoon eyes, but it’s her outfits that go into my WildHearts scrapbook of life.

Candice Swanepoel

Scrapbook element: makeup. After all, if you’re going to have face-paint inspiration, who better than a Victoria’s Secret model?

Ballerinas

They’re the reason I love black tights. Ballet clothes are so pretty and simple and effortless and, sure, look way better on anorexic dancers than the average person, but who said I was average?

Bohemians

I forgot to add “gypsy” to the list of things I really wanted to be when I was little.

I’m bored now. You’re probably bored too! Or, if you’re an American, you’re probably too busy watching your dad blow off his fingers with a firework to read this post.

 

Notflix

I like movies. A lot. I wouldn’t call myself a “movie buff,” because I’m not an emaciated nerd with who gets woodys for his Woody Allen collection. But I like movies.

The problem with movies is Netflix. I don’t know what drunk group of monkeys picks what movies go on there, but I think they have some kind of arrangement with B-list Hollywood. So finding a watchable movie on there takes longer than watching the movie, and it’s killing me.

Some Horrible Movies I’ve Seen on Netflix

1.) The Killer Inside Me. I might not be qualified to speak on this, since I turned it off 20 minutes in, but I’m obviously not alone in my opinion because Jessica Alba “won” a Razzie for it. First of all, it was confusing in just the first few minutes, and second of all, there are two violent sex scenes and child-rape in just the 20 minutes I watched, plus a horrible beating scene (the Razzies were unfair–Jessica Alba totally looked like someone who got punched in the face after she got punched in the face) where I turned it off. The reviews said he basically keeps that up for the rest of the movie. Ooh, what a story!

2.) Everything else. (In case you couldn’t tell, I just watched that unwatchable 20 minutes of The Rapist Inside Casey Affleck and I just wanted to complain. I don’t really know what other terrible movies are on there well enough to write about them, because they’re CLEARLY TERRIBLE and so I don’t watch them.)

 

Hey, Beautiful

MY BEAUTIES I HAVE MISSED YOU!!! I’m so sorry I’ve been neglecting you…BUT, you guys have been neglecting me too, what with your lack of comments and all. Don’t you know I love every little thing you type into the comment box? Besides, you should appreciate the hard work and effort it takes to type these posts, because my left-hand shift key is broken and I have to use the right-hand side which just feels wrong.

There is absolutely nothing to say, because everyone knows the zombie apocalypse is coming and we’re all going to be eaten face-first by naked zombie men. So I thought I would make a list of all the things I love before the world ends. But then, because I am a glorious and loving person, I thought that would take too long, so I shortened it to…

A Few Things I Happen to Love

  1. Cardigans. So sexy, so under-appreciated. I used to think they were so bizarre when I was younger because my friend wore them all the time and I kind of hated them, and now I own a million. If you have the mindset of a 12-year-old WildHearts, get one with a v-neck and wear it buttoned with nothing underneath like I did last night, mmm, scrumptious!
  2. Ice cream. While the world is ending let’s all ransack Ben and Jerry’s (or Hagen-Daz, which is better).
  3. Lip pencil. You draw your lips on with a crayon and it lasts all day like lipstick; I have a lovely all-natural variety that cost me $17 dollars and was worth all 1,700 pennies.
  4. All-natural things. Speaking of my lip crayon! I love them. I try to use mostly natural everything not because I’m a dirty hippie but because the idea of shoving chemicals into my pores is gross when I could shove earthy normal things in them instead. I have lotion made of Royal Jelly that makes me feel like a glowing Queen Bee. Try it, you’ll like it. (And the first time I used it, I came out of the bathroom powder room and the Man said, “Wow, you’re glowing!” so it’s boytoy-approved.)
  5. Kissing. Doesn’t it throw you back to middle school to just kissandkissandkiss until you’re breathless and have beard rash and no more Chapstick?

Five is one of my luckier numbers so I might as well stop there. I miss you, lovelies! My long absence is best explained by the work-sleep work-sleep routine that is my life, and also because I have been focusing on ideas for my new blog. (Ideas, and no actual posts, of course. I don’t even know where I want to host my blog because WordPress–bless its little heart–doesn’t let me edit the layout enough for me.) What have YOU chickies been up to, besides missing me and wondering if I am combing my locks 100 times before bed?

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