Reality TV: A New Crop of Crap

Or How We’ve Become A Nation of Fame Whores.

Reality tee vee has been the “It Girl” of Hollywood for well over a decade. Americans can’t seem to get enough of them which is why the tee vee industry feels compelled to keep churning ’em out. The shows are cheap to produce and they give ordinary folks a shot at stardom (refer to Andy Warhol & his 15 minutes of fame claim). We’ve witnessed ordinary people top the douchebag chart after stints on a reality tee vee show, and as a result, we are slowly turning into a nation of entitled half-wits who believe they are due for a spin in the spotlight at whatever cost.

Mark Burnett and Andy Cohen need to be taken away and reprogrammed since they’re both partially to blame for the dumbing down of American society. Well, Mr. Cohen more than Mr. Burnett. All Mr. Burnett really did is introduce us to watching relatively thought-free, yet pretty people, run around nekkid in some of the more remote locations on Earth. So, he opened the flood gates a titch. And, to be fair, I watched maybe 3 episodes of “Survivor.” I just couldn’t get into it, and I found that watching my toenails grow to be much more interesting.

Now, Mr. Cohen, probably believes it would do society good by giving us the “Real Housewives” series. Again, I watched more than my fair share of those shows, but when I realized that the women featured in the episodes were basically the lowest common denominator, I had to change the channel. In a weird way, Mr. Cohen should be commended for elevating mediocrity to an art form. <slow clap>

Of course, there is a plethora of crappy tee vee–not just the reality sort–scattered about, and no one is forcing me to watch it. But watching such low-brow tee vee is better than me cutting myself to take away from the pain from witnessing those with room temp IQs profit nicely while the public watches.

Since my three readers are curious as to which shows have my Costco knickers in a wad, well, here they are.

This idea just hurts. Seriously–what woman, in her right mind would want to plunked down in the middle of the wilderness, all nekkid with NO feminine hygiene? Yes, that’s the first thing I thought of when I heard one of the participants was a woman–how is she gonna deal with getting her little red friend when she’s fighting off bahrs and other wild life? Don’t get me started on the whole not bathing deal and having to forage for food in order to FUCKING STAY ALIVE part of the show. There must be an easier way to achieve your 15 minutes–how about blowing a d-list celeb in a Gremlin and having a friend record & post it on the Internets? Or, cause a ruckus (preferably with breastesses flinging about) whilst being arrested for stealing a chicken leg and get a friend to once again, record  and post it online? These folks surely coulda come up with something better. “Naked and Afraid” is just a few clicks away from entertainment–it’s almost sadistic–it’s misery wrapped up in pit viper bites, chafed testicles, malaria and uncontrollable diarrhea.

It premieres on June 23rd on the Discovery Channel.

Screen shot 2013-06-17 at 5.57.13 PM

Full disclosure here–I’ve watched all three episodes of this next show. Honestly I couldn’t help myself because not only is it scraping the bottom of the reality tee vee barrel, but I gotta see if one of these broads actually hooks up with some dude. I’m talking about “Pregnant & Dating” which airs on WETV on Fridays. Oh, and this show is a huge self-esteem booster for someone like me. Why, you ask? Hey, I may not have a job or a ton of money, but at least I’m not single, pregnant and so fucking desperate for some dick that I’m hauling my pregnant ass out on dates OR hitting up a matchmaker for help instead of concentrating on having a healthy baby. That’s exactly what these women are doing.

Don’t believe me? Take a gander, won’t you please?

These women are the apex of awful. So are their friends. Call me crazy, but shouldn’t your first concern be when you discover you’re in a family way, be to make sure you spew a healthy spawn from your haunches in nine months time? Oh wait! How dare I forget! Kids are accessories these days and it’s more important for most pregnant women to look good (“don’t gain too much weight now!”) than to make sure their time on the nest is as worry-free and safe as possible.

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What gets me is the women get upset and pissy when the dudes they’re out with act all aloof and shocked upon learning that their date is with child. It’s also apparent that if the cameras weren’t rolling, these men would leave skid marks as soon as their date uttered the words “I’m pregnant.” No offense to the men, but who would want to date a woman who’s carrying a child that isn’t even theirs? Yes, yes, I’m sure there are men out there who would step up to the plate, but the men featured on “Pregnant & Dating” so far have the depth and character of a shoelace. In short, I don’t see it happening. But, it’s early in the season, maybe they’ll each find someone who won’t mind recording the episiotomy for posterity, and will help make shampoo and other yum yums out of the placenta.

WETV has turned out to be Darwin’s Waiting Room when it comes to reality shows. The people featured on their shows aren’t the best or the brightest. Case in point: “Bridezillas” is now entering its tenth and final season. Thank dog. For those of you not in the know or aren’t into watching people who have as much class as a fart in church, this show is about bridezillas, or horrible women who are about to get married. These women are so awful, they’ve even left me speechless at times with their unty-cay behavior. If you know anything about me, it takes a mighty display of largess to render me speechless.

A taste. (Warning: you’re gonna need a sedative–or 12–after watching. Fuck it, take ’em before watching the pre-matrimonial mayhem)

At first, naive me thought, “Naaah … no way. People don’t act this way. Nuh uh! Noooo waaay! What would their mothers say if they witnessed such abhorrent behavior?” But after ruminating about it for a bit, it became obvious to me that why yes, people DO act like assholes no matter who’s around. It’s the way we were wired, and it can be quite profitable if there’s someone filming it.

However, “Bridezillas” is not the main focus here. “Marriage Boot Camp: Bridezillas” is. Surprise, surprise, some of the bridezillas have found themselves smack-dab in the middle of shitty marriages, and since they’re trying to stretch their 15 minutes out for as long as possible, they’ve decided that fixing their poisoned unions is best done in front of millions of people.

Jesus be a fence. That’s all I can say about the whole, sordid subject.

Yes, it does get worse. But this time, with a real bad wig on an adult thumbsucker.

 

Hands Across My Labia

(WARNING: NSFW)

There’s a new movement afoot to get women to love their labias.

Why? Huh?

Because we women are supposed to feel like shit about our physical selves–even when we don’t–so some twink somewhere (probably a plastic surgeon) makes up a new neuroses for us gals to glom onto. Of course we do this since we women are also major people pleasers AND this society is allllll about promoting beauty over brains and brawn. What happens next? Our self-esteem takes a major hit, and we’re looking for the next beauty miracle to make us perfect instead of, oh I don’t know, maybe reading a good book that will make us a scosch smarter/wiser. Help us, Judy Blume!

Now, I was taken aback by this new love thyself no matter what proclamation because I had no idea that some women hate their labias.

Wait..clarification desperately needed here–90% of men don’t know what the LABIA is (no, it’s not the latest Italian sportscar, although most men ride it like it was –HEY O!), so I will do the honors of explaining to the menfolk just what AND where the labia is.

From FreeDictionary.com:

labia

[lā′bē·ə] sing. labium

Etymology: L, lip
1 the lips.
2 the fleshy liplike edges of an organ or tissue.
3 the folds of skin at the opening of the vagina. labial, adj.
Here’s the perfect graphic for show n’ tell: And to the dudes who read this blog–commit this image to memory–with particular attention paid to where the clitoris is. *AHEM*
(Courtesy of The Mayo Foundation)

(Courtesy of The Mayo Foundation)

Apparently, the hot trend these days–labiaplasty–is for women whose twats have had quite the workout birthing humans, riding horses, doing the splits during their Nadia Comaneci phase, and well, just by being a modern woman. That shit gets stretched out, see, and some women are uber-self conscious about their labias looking like elephant ears.

Huh?

Really?

This is where we get into trouble.

Ok, let’s walk through this one, mmkay? So, some woman, who has done her fair share of living (see above graf), suddenly feels like CRAP because she’s seen what the porn goddesses have and decide that them gals are the new high standard in pussy perfection.

(Side note: I’m sure most of this myth is perpetrated by men who never leave their parents’ basements.)

Yes, even though the only folks who will actually feast their peepers on her vajay, are her doc (hey, she/he has seen ’em all & they don’t care), her significant other, her lover, her mistress, and perhaps her waxologist–but she’s still quite self-conscious. Let’s be honest–any dude who is THAT LUCKY to get close to a labia–would be wise to shut his yap-yap about what it looks like or he’ll find that he is no longer welcome in that fleshy, magical, wonderful kingdom.

Apparently, and thanks to the world of social media, there are blogs, blogs and tumblrs & more tumblersand whatnot dedicated to celebrating the labia–no matter the size. Bravo to those broads who are all about putting puss pix out there for all the world to see. <golf clap>

This is what has me flummoxed: Women do the crux of the living and breathing in this society, and our bodies are the physical evidence. We’re the ones who keep this world from sliding deeper into the shitter. However, even though we are the ones made of sterner stuff, we’re still made to feel like shit if we don’t look absolutely fucking perfect all the live-long day.

To that nonsense I say “What the entire fuck??!”

In short, there is nothing wrong with you–you’re perfect.

My Uh-Duh! Moment

Remember Oprah? You know, the one-woman media magnate who revitalized Chicago’s West Loop, gave audience members cars, did Stedman and maybe Gayle, got people reading again, is responsible for unleashing the hackfests that are Drs. Phil & Oz and Suze Orman, and who empowered millions of upper-middle class women the world over? Yep, that Oprah–the one and only.

During her media tenure, Oprah had several positive, love thyself phrases that were seen as avenues her fans could travel in order to live better lives. (Nothing wrong with trying to better one’s life, of course.) One was the whole “Remembering Your Spirit” vignettes that were popular in the early aughts, and one of the last ones was “Aha! Moments.” Basically, Aha! Moments are similar to “Come to Jesus” moments or EPIPHANIES as they are known to us non-religious folks. Some person (usually a woman) figures out somewhere along the line that her life is more than a dress size, her baby-making abilities and by being a dutiful daughter/sister/niece/wife/aunt, etc.

Oprah’s magazine and tee vee show featured mainly the Aha! Moments of famous folks, who have all the money ever but decided it’s necessary to give back to us serfs. Most efforts are to be applauded because, dammit, they should be giving back. Some of these moments are just famous folks engaging in navel gazing and that’s just boring as all hell.

I’ve had a few Aha! Moments in my life. (this ain’t one, but the vid still works)

One moment urged me to go to school in Southern California, then another brought me back to finish my studies in Madison. Oh, then there was the engagement that ended badly in my 20s…then the switching of careers and moving back to the Midwest….yeah.

What else? Yes, getting a master’s degree which lead to me getting my ass kicked in a new, but fab, career. Super fun!

Most of my Aha! Moments have been good for my soul, but then there are those that kicked the ever-lovin’ crap outta me, watched me crumble, then came back and kicked me AGAIN just for shits and giggles. I’ve realized since that life is one, big, fat, steaming pile of chunk-filled Aha! Moments. The trick is learning how to handle them with grace, humor and a pair of handwraps, boxing gloves and a heavy bag.

Now that I’ve got THAT figured out, onto what Uh-Duh! Moments are. Simply, Uh-Duh! Moments are “what the hell did I just do?” moments. I’ve had a shitload of them in my life and it’s safe to say that MOST of those moments have occurred in the past couple of years. I’m not exactly proud of these “oops” either, but I figured I’d share them here so y’all can either point & mock, or nod your heads, sigh and utter ‘Yeah, I’ve done that too, Julia.”

The first one involves honey.

This particular Uh-Duh! Moment made me realize that I truly hate honey. Loathe it actually. I think it’s disgusting and tastes like what I imagine rancid bee sweat mixed with bee urine tastes like. I’ve given it my all–tried to develop a taste for it by serving it on toast, in my tea, my oatmeal, and I even used it in my hair–what the fuck for–I don’t know. Well, I thought I’d be the bigger person and give it one more shot.

This time, I used it on my face because the woman who waxes me (shut UP) said it made a great facial mask because it was all natural and has some sort of healing qualities. Ok, ok, I said to her as she was putting wax on places that don’t normally need wax (ahem), I’ll give it a try. Again.

So, a couple of nights ago, I had a couple of gals over for a semi-nude slumber party and we decided to try the honey facial mask treatment. We each put our hair in pigtails, giggled A LOT, slipped into our silk camis, Hello Kitty! tap pants, and our Uggs, and then slathered our mugs in warm honey.

Then, we left it there for about 15 minutes and during that time, chose teams for the midnight pillow fight (my team won, natch). After rinsing the golden ooze from my face and hair, I kept waiting for the healing qualities to happen. Five minutes went by–nothing. Fifteen, 20, 25–still nothing. At thirty minutes, my skin was starting to tighten and darken like the skin on one of Ed Gein’s lampshades. Feeling the anger starting to rise and my feet starting to sweat in my Uggs, I slathered my face in uber-hydrating moisturizer, and kicked my Uggs off. After a brief tickle fight with the gals, I tossed the bottle of honey in the trash.

The following morning while I was cleaning up post-semi nude slumber party, I wondered why I had given honey another chance–I hated it years ago–how was that going to change now?

Hmm…maybe it’s not only a Ah-Duh! Moment, it’s an I’m frickin’ stupid moment too.

Ladies & gents, Madame Weebles

A must-read post by one of my fave bloggers evah, Madame Weebles.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Also, I strongly suggest you read, follow and worship her blog–totally worth it and you’ll get that warm feeling down there when you do.
Peace and love,
Julia

Fear No Weebles

[Disclaimer: This is not aimed at my Republican buddies here, who are intelligent, thoughtful human beings.  This is for the members of the GOP who are hell-bent on fomenting hatred and encouraging discrimination, among other things.  Anyone who is offended by this, however, is exactly the type of person I’m referring to below and should be offended.]

[Note: I’m not generally a politics person.  I will probably never write another political post, so I wanted to make this one count.  I’m coming out swinging.  I might lose some readers, and that’s okay.]

Hey, wingnuts.  You don’t know me but you hate me.

I’m from New York City.  To you guys, that’s just another name for Sodom.  Y’all hate us city slickers because we’re not honest, hard-workin’, church-goin’, “real” Amuricans.  Yet my city, along with 3,000 people, took a big hit for you 11 years ago.  Fuck you.

I believe that a…

View original post 641 more words

Putting on airs

There comes a time during long-term unemployment when a gal has to figure out what else she could do for a living. It would have to be something she’s good at, enjoys and will sustain her for a lifetime. While pondering my attributes, I decided to focus on my strengths — my intelligence, sense of humor, wicked wit, strong writing skills, wide knowledge of film making, and a built-in asshole detector — just to name a few.

A few friends have suggested I open my own business (doing what? Being a smartass doesn’t pay all that well). Small problem with starting  a business —  you kind of need a product to sell, and way to get and keep customers. I love how friends and acquaintances feel so triumphant when they tell me to ‘start my own business.’ That smugness is quickly dashed when I tell them I’m not an entrepreneur and not interested in ‘starting my own business.’ What’s truly is sad is they haven’t been paying attention and don’t know me well at all.

And, frankly, I’m sick of building my ‘brand’ and trying to sell myself to others. What brand would that be? Getting folks to click on ads on my blog is not my idea of ‘brand building’ — it’s bullshit and not worth the .001 cents I would get per click. While I’m at it, Tweeting and re-Tweeting my blog posts with the appropriate hashtags is not my idea of ‘brand building.’ Unless, of course, my ‘brand’ is porn because we all know that sex sells.

Until I spied this. From Untapped.Sf

I’ve edited it a bit since it’s waaay too long. Maybe Untapped.Sf should hire an editor.

Urban Profile: Jacki and the Business of Farting…for the Camera

Why didn’t I think of this?

Here’s a fact: WOMEN FART. Yep, we do. We belch, fart, rub one off every once in a while. We flick our nipples, use vibrators, pick our noses, scratch our asses, and walk around our abodes nekkid (shut UP).

In other words, we’re human.

With that, I don’t know why folks are getting their knickers in a twist about some broad who farts on video for money.

I met Jacki at a dance class three years ago. I remember noticing two things about her right off the bat. The first was a large, u-shaped scar on her chest that she made no effort to hide, and the second was just how open and upfront she was about…well, everything. Within minutes of meeting her, I learned that Jacki is, in her own words, a fetish video producer (more on this later), and that a few years prior she had had a life-saving lung transplant (hence the scar) born of a rare respiratory illness.

But first, who is Jacki and what does she do? Quite simply, this Bay Area native is a producer of farting videos. Her videos, which are posted on various fetish-exclusive sites are downloaded and paid for by hundreds of consumers. These video clips, featuring Jacki in various stages of undress, farting noisily into the camera, fulfill a niche community of men who get off on women farting. Yes, you read right. Men watch her fart and tell her how hot she is, how hard they are for her and her farts, and how much they want her to sit on their faces and fart on them.

Fetish isn’t something new to Bay Area folks. As a city that celebrates nudity, ass-less chaps, Kink.com and the Folsom Street Fair, San Franciscans are generally unfazed by what our more conservative counterparts call “sexual perversion.” But Jacki, my girl-next-door friend does not fit the typical profile of a San Francisco sexual deviant. With her fresh-faced cheeriness, completely unblemished skin (no tattoos, no piercings) and Euro-chic dress sense, Jacki looks like the furthest thing from a fetish girl. She jokes:

“When people hear that I’m in the fetish business they think latex, S&M, piercings and dominatrix whipping stuff. Seriously Suicide Girls is so 1998. We’ve moved on to farting people!”

 I am speechless. Why the hell didn’t I think of this? I’d be a gazillionaire by now had I done this first. Thank god for fetishes. Seriously.
Immersing herself full time in the world of selling fetish items, Jacki quickly became highly sought after. She soon transitioned her business from selling used items such as shoes and underwear (and tempting fate by shipping these items with the US Postal System) to filming and selling only fetish videos on the internet, her specialty being fart videos.

Her vidyas are plotless, last anywhere from five to ten minutes in length and are for sale via her website (which she doesn’t want posted). Candid is the name of the game with Staci — she just turns on the camera and let’s ’em rip, but not after telling her viewers how bad she needs to cut one. Charming. And, what’s even better, is she’s basically a gal-next-door type. How refreshing, but the gal-next-door turn-on bodes well for someone like me, who looks like she’s just been found bound and gagged in someone’s crawlspace right next door, and is in dire need of a shower and a shave.

What’s even better about Staci is she’s a true Philosopher Queen when it comes to farting on camera, and what works and doesn’t. Also, her dietary needs that are helping her become as famous as Le Petomane. Spoiler alert — her roughage requirements aren’t that extraordinary.

“All farts are not created equal. Some men like farting girls in underwear, some men only like white underwear farts, some like thongs, some hate thongs, some like farts through jeans, some like bare-bottom farts, some like women farting on furniture, like chairs, or couches or mattresses. … Kashi cereal. I had some this morning, and now I’ve got so much gas!” she groans. “Raw cabbage will do it too, but who wants to eat raw cabbage?”

I’m in awe of this woman because she obviously isn’t filled with the crippling WASP prudishness that invades every single cell in my body. If I didn’t have family OR friends, I’d make over-40 farting vids because you know damn well there’s a market for it.

What makes me say something so bold?

“If you have a sense of humor about farting, you’ll stay young.”

Forever pregnant

A few thoughts on Arizona’s brand, spankin’ new anti-choice law.

But first, a brief summary. Let’s see if I can get through this without wanting to gut myself with a Spork. I think I’ll let my pals at The Raw Story do it for me.

Jan Brewer signs abortion ban defining pregnancy before conception

You read that correctly, monkehs. According to Jan and her minions, all of us gals who are still dealing with menses are pregnant — right now.

Um ….

“Republican Arizona Gov. Jan Brewer on Thursday signed one of the most controversial and restrictive abortion bans in the country, which experts say effectively bans abortions after 18 weeks and declares that a woman could be pregnant 2 weeks before she even had sex.”

Oh holy fetus suction device, you’ve got to be kidding me. How Draconian must we get? And the GOP says there ain’t a war on women.

Of course, after ruminating about this for a titch, I had a few thoughts — with a little help from some friends.

Are maxi-pads and tampons considered baby blankets now?

If you say “Not tonight dear, I have a headache” are you, in effect, committing pre-meditated murder?

What about those folks who don’t believe in the Immaculate Conception?

If a woman is murdered, is the killer now responsible for two murders?

If you drink or take drugs at any time during your cycle (which is all the time) could you be locked up for endangering a fetus?

Eventually will new life start with a filthy thought? (if that was the case, I’d have a million chirrun running hither and yon)

Will there soon be anti-jackin’ it bills introduced in the Arizona Legislature to prevent male Arizonians from spilling their sacred seed? Can’t have one without the other, see.

What if you’re a eunuch? A castrato?

If you’ve had a hysterectomy, will you be considered a serial killer?

Will New Mexico now construct a large Abortion Plex near the Arizona/New Mexico border?

What about women who aren’t on the perfect 28-day cycle? How will they be ‘regulated’?

Will all stillbirths and miscarriages now be considered homicides?

Is cooking eggs now considered animal cruelty?

Is a douche now considered a weird kind of baby shower?

If you’re a post-menopausal woman, does that mean you’re eternally pregnant?

Knowing how Arizona feels about brown people, does this law apply to women of color too?

Does a uterine lining now get a social security number?

Finally …

Does the law really mean two weeks AFTER conception?

*thanks to Michael, Liza, Paul, Jennifer, Donald, Jeff, David B. et al. Big kisses!