women

That time my photos were used by a Catfish: My experience with online deception

I could see the headlines now,  “Canadian nobody lures London woman to her death in mistaken identity sex trap”

A little wordy, but fitting.

On Tuesday evening I received the following message via Instagram,

Hey! I hope you’re okay. So random- I came across your Twitter profile because of the bachelor and realised I noticed you from somewhere

I had just arrived home after a long day of travel and was aching for my bed. I brushed off the message as a scam, and thought some hacker was trying to get me to follow a link to a virus and carried about my plans to turn in early.  Then I received another message…
I think that someone’s using your pics with ur blonde friend on a threesome website here in London! (Don’t judge me for using it lol) But I saw you live in Canada…So yeah thought I should let you know!” 
My stomach dropped. Ever the wordsmith, I typed my reply, ” Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat. Is this for real?!? Random yes. But…Really?!?”
I frantically paced back and forth while waiting for proof that I was being used in some kind of 50 shades of Grey meets Catfish type scenario. Within minutes, my online soothsaying  guardian angel provided a screen cap of an online profile with several of my personal photos under the username “AmyJo.”
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I couldn’t contain my laughter.
I say a lot of dumb shit. I’m constantly joking about diabetes being the ultimate diet, about my plans to start an online dating site called Daddy Issues for children of divorce, and most recently, while watching an episode of Catfish on MTV, I declared that the ultimate validation of my looks would be to have someone use my photos to Catfish another person.
I giggled to myself while musing on the way the universe works. Just my luck. The universe doesn’t listen to me when I say, “I want to marry Jake Gyllenhaal” or “I wish I won the lottery.”   No. That would be TOO good. This is the one thing the universe picks up and brings into fruition.
I was flattered for a good two minutes, before I burst into tears. I looked at the photos that were being used and realized they came from my blog. I immediately blamed myself for being foolish and sharing my personal life on the internet. My knee-jerk reaction was to delete everything and live off the grid, off the land, in a Podunk town in Iowa. I felt exposed, vulnerable, stupid, angry… the whole spectrum of emotions.
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Then, I stepped outside of myself and my feelings and thought about the people who thought they were talking to  “me” online. The fact that someone used my photos to make an online dating profile is one thing, but the sexual component to the site introduced an entirely new set of concerns. I’m all for people doing what they want to do sexually, but  hours of Dateline and Law and Order episodes immediately brought the worst case scenario into play. I would hope that anyone using ANY kind of online dating site would arrange to meet in public first, but I was worried someone would arrange to meet with “me” and be in danger when they discovered little ol’ AmyJo is not who she appeared to be. I couldn’t bear the thought that someone could get hurt physically or emotionally because of this fake profile.
I immediately contacted the site about their user, but 12 hours later I still hadn’t received a response. Taking matters into my own hands, I joined the site and sent AmyJo a message to stop using my photos because the jig was up!
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The next day I received a response from the site that the user had been deleted, and they gave their apologies.
Whatever.
I decided it was best to see if any of my photos were being used online, and ran several Google image searches uploading my images into the search engine as well as the image location. (For more information on how to run these searches, click here).  Nothing out of the ordinary turned up.
The problem with sites like LikeThree, is that they require you to sign up in order to access user profiles. This means, no Google search would detect that your images are being used. It would be up to the users of the site to save an image, and then complete a search to see if the user in question, is in fact, who they say they are.  Had it not been for Twitter and the #TheBachelor hashtag, I would never have known that my images were being used for a fake profile. The scary thing is, I don’t know if they’ll be used AGAIN or where else they’ll appear.
There are all kinds of crazies in the world – all kinds of people with ulterior motives looking online for images to steal. There are ways you can protect your images (watermarks for example) but how much of what we do, create and upload is at the mercy of the ethics and morals of other users?  With an open Instagram, Twitter and WordPress, should I really be surprised that my images were stolen?
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These questions have been swirling around in my mind for the past few days, and I still feel strangely vulnerable even after everything’s been taken care of (to my knowledge). Even though the real issue is with the people who are stealing these images,  I’m not sure there will ever be a way to ensure people stop creating fake accounts and profiles. Unfortunately, we can only practice safety and caution when meeting and talking to people online.
Click here for more details on safe online dating practices.
I can’t tell you how grateful I am to the person who came forward about this deception, and I’m glad they’re safe and caught AmyJo in these lies. My friends have been really great about the ordeal, sharing in my fears as well as doing their best to make me laugh. It’s been decided that if ever I do something out of the ordinary, a little risque or out of character, I will be affectionately dubbed “AmyJo.”
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No, it’s AmyJo

Has this ever happened to you? Have you or anyone you know been the victim of a Catfish?
Tell me!

 

I know what girls like: 9 Ways to appear more attractive to women

I would be lost without my Flipboard App.

Mostly because then I would have to actually talk to other people instead of looking busy on my phone.

I came across an article the other day that caught my eye, called 17 ways men can appear more attractive to women, published on the Business Insider website.  The article suggests choosing, “someone in your league,” and “wearing a new cologne,” to help attract the ladies.

Since I consider myself to hold a P.H.D in Sociology, Anthropology, Psychology and Cosmetology, I thought I would help a brother out and provide my own list of suggestions to help those with danglers get a P in a V this Valentine’s Day.

Shower. Seriously. 

You would think this would be common knowledge, but unfortunately, I have to put hygiene at the top of my list for ways to appear more attractive to women.

Please, for the love of God, shower at least once or twice a day. Preferably in the morning, before our dates, and after you leave the gym. This is what separates the boys from the men.

Attraction is about pheromones and don’t get me wrong, I love a little bit of man-musk but there’s a difference between “Hot guy with a hint of Irish Spring soap” and
“Hot Guy who I’ll never call again because he smells like aged cheddar.”

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If you REALLY want to make us weak in the knees, how’s about a spritz of cologne for the fancy occasions? Just a spritz. I shouldn’t be able to taste you when you walk by me.

Groom Thyself 

If I have to shave my legs, armpits, bikini area, tweeze my eyebrows, wax my upper lip, and unfortunately pluck a stray chin hair, you sure as shit have to at least match me in the level of grooming.

You think I do all this for fun? No. I do this so that you’ll have sex with me.

All bets are off if if  I get close to you and realize you’ve got one eyebrow, a mustache starting from your nostrils and back hair coming out of your shirt to wave hello to me.

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Quit focusing so much on shaving your man-brambles. Truth be told it’s kind of terrifying if you’re a complete Yeti and then from the waist down your penis has bangs and is looking at me. We don’t really care, because we don’t want to even SEE it. Seriously. A trim will suffice.

I don’t expect you to take off your shirt and all of a sudden be Channing Tatum, but gimme something. Show you care. That’s all I’m asking.

Change your sheets 

Men who do laundry are attractive. Men who voluntarily wash their sheets are husband material. I like to know that if we’re having adult sleepovers, I’m not rolling around in a month’s worth of your dead skin cells, your ejaculated children, or any other bodily fluid that isn’t the direct result of our wrestling match that day.

Change your sheets once a week. Every week. Seriously.

Wear dark wash jeans 

An independent study conducted by me noted that men who wear dark wash jeans are 100% more attractive than those wearing acid wash or classic light blue denim.

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Leave your sneakers at home 

Remember when you were in elementary school and you got a sick new pair of running shoes that you couldn’t wait to wear to school to show your friends? Yeah, well we aren’t in elementary school anymore. Unless we’re at the gym, going for a mild jog, or taking a hip-hop class, put the tennis shoes away. Be a big boy. Diversify your wardrobe.

When women meet a man (if they’re smart) they look for the following:

1. Wedding ring

3. Jeans

4. Shoes

Go home, rent Crazy, Stupid, Love and let Ryan Gosling educate you in the art of style.

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Smile 

Just like men are always saying that a woman with resting bitch face is intimidating, a guy wearing a perma-prick face is a red flag.Smiling is an easy way to say to women, “Hey, I might be a serial killer or I might not, but don’t you wanna find out?”

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Hold a puppy

Works every time.

Talk to me

Ladies, how many times have you been out, locked eyes with a beautiful stranger, and then NOTHING happens?  Story of my life.

I get that making the first move is scary, trust me, I get rejected ALL the time – but 9/10, people are actually, surprisingly nice!

Take a chance and say, “Hello.” We want you to!

 

Put your phone away 

Not only does being on your phone in public give you a double chin, but it signals to women that you’re mentally somewhere else and presumably talking to someone else who has a vagina. Give your undivided attention to whomever you’re with.

Unless that person is really boring. Then go on Instagram and look at kittens.

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Welp, I think I’ve said enough for today. Now I’d like to hear from you!

What do you think a man can do to be more attractive to women?

 

 

 

 

So you’ve realized you’re an online stalker: Welcome to the club

The Huffington Post recently published an article reminding women everywhere, that the grand romantic gestures that happen in movies, don’t always translate in real life.

The article spells it all out for you in the title, Romantic Comedies Teach Women That Stalking is a Compliment, with writer Chloe Angyal reminding us with ovaries, that unless it’s Ryan Gosling writing you a letter every day for  a year, it’s just f*cking creepy.

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This article assumed I have no concept of reality , which is sort of true, but made me surprisingly introspective of my own stalker-ish behaviors when it comes to dating. Don’t call the police (again), I’m not referring to Fatal Attraction level boil your bunny, “Why Don’t You Love Me,” type stuff. I’m talking about the little things we do online, to learn about and track the people we’re interested in.

When does it go from social media savvy, to stalking?

It’s fairly common to Facebook the object of your desire, or look them up on Instagram. When you meet someone new, and send the initial invitation to connect on social media, the friend request is the virtual acknowledgement of a burgeoning relationship of some kind; romantic, friendly, or other.

What you do next is what separates you from the rest of the pack.

Personally, I’ll admit that I’m an adorable creep.

When I connect with someone on social media, I unleash research skills that should have already peaked the Canadian government’s interest. I can find out where you went to school, where you work, what you like to do and I’ll begin piecing together an idea of your family, your previous relationships and your own level of social media comfort based on the effort you exhibit to cultivate your online image.

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From there, I’ll search tagged photos to see who you socialize with the most versus who comments the most on your photos, rule out that frequent commenter as the friend you only talk to online, find out that your parents are divorced but you’re dad’s re-married to a nice woman named Sheila, Sheila has three kids from a previous relationship, you all seem to get along well and celebrate the holiday’s up North at your cottage, where you once broke your leg skiing .  Of course I won’t admit to any of this and when we hang out casually ask whether or not you’ve ever broken a bone, if you like to ski, or if you have any brothers or sisters. I’ll feign surprise but correct you when you say you broke your leg in 2008.

It was 2007.

If I REALLY like you, I’ll see what events you’re attending and maybe, JUST MAYBE suggest to my friends that we attend, “Just because.”

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If we’re chatting and you all of a sudden don’t respond, but two seconds later like a photo on Instagram, I’ll know you’re avoiding me. I’ll know, and do absolutely nothing about it because I refuse to double text, and instead will just sit here and watch what you’re liking online.

This is creepy, right?

Totally creepy, but slightly adorably because I’m just being extra cautious of stranger danger and vetting a potential match before I invest time and effort into getting to know them. Also, the fact that I have zero muscle tone and am inherently lazy automatically makes me a threat to nobody.

Ok. I exaggerated…slightly.

But what’s more likely to happen: Me doing all of this recon before a coffee date, or a man scaling a Ferris Wheel threatening to kill himself unless I go on a date with him?

Firstly, I’d commend his climbing abilities. It’s rare that people show any kind of initiative anymore. Secondly, the fair only comes to this neck of the woods once a year, so his window of opportunity is incredibly small, but I can online lurk 12 months a year, rain or shine, night or day.

I’m really not this weird.

I swear.

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Happy lurking, Y’all!

Things that make you say, “Nope!” Pt. 2

Today’s post is definitely a direct result of #PeriodProblems that I published on Monday. I’ve passed the threshold of walking with my body at a 45 degree angle to help with cramps and have moved into the, “bitchier and hungrier than usual” phase which will take me through to next week.

Ever see something in the news, on social media and just think, “NOPE!” ?

Me too. All the time.

Here’s what has me shaking my head this week…

People who’ve been married for over a year and are still posting their wedding photos…

NOPE!

The only person who cares to see more photos of your wedding are you and your mom. That’s it. Maybe your Mother-in-Law if she likes you.

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Don’t get me wrong, I love weddings and I follow a shit ton of wedding vendors and photographers on Instagram, but if it’s been 3 years and you’re still putting up a profile pic or a TBT to your wedding like it was yesterday, you’re being judged.

By me, God, and probably everyone at Style Me Pretty.

If you want a nice picture, you’re going to to have to wait for someone else’s wedding and get dressed up and snap a photo like the rest of us. Let it go. Your time is up.

Rob Kardashian’s Snapchat handle @robphuckedme…

NOPE!

Really? Reaaaally. What’s happened to you. What are you doing to yourself. You went from the lovable little brother of the Kardashian fam, to the little brother of a friend who I would be afraid to run into in the kitchen at night during a sleepover.

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Get it together, man. Stop being weird.

You literally have every opportunity to succeed in front of you and instead you’re being someone people report on Tinder.

Guys who complain that they’re, “Too nice to get a girlfriend…”

NOPE!

Instead of riding the pity train with you, I’m going to throw you under it, Anna Karenina.

I spend all day listening to my male coworkers complain that, “Girls only like assholes and nice guys like us finish last.” Wrong. You’re finishing last because you’re thinking you’re morally superior to your male brethren whilst simultaneously being a dick to the girls that are actually interested in you. There’s someone for everyone. You’re not immune to heartbreak just because your Mom said you were a “good boy.” Pull up your big boy pants, take a hard look at yourself in the mirror and go forth into the battlefield with a different mindset.

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If you’re having a hard time figuring out what’s actually wrong with you, come to my cubicle and I’ll tell you.

People who say Grease: Live! was bad…

NOPE!

Grease: Live was fantastic.

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Was it better than the movie? No.

Was it well done for being a television production 38 years after the movie was released? Yes.

We get it, you loved the movie. We all loved the movie. We all loved when John Travolta was hot and possibly straight. You know what I love more? A new generation of kids being introduced to Grease.

Sure, the kids didn’t get to learn that Grease Lightnin’ was a real pussywagon, but still. They’re going to learn the songs and want to watch the movie because they thought the live production was cool shit.

So you have two options: Either singalong or bite the weenie, Rizz!

 

 

 

 

 

 

#PeriodProblems: Reasons I’m crying

There are some people who are grossed out when I talk about menstruation. Those people usually have penises. It’s not that I think the female reproductive system is a beautiful thing, I’m really just  looking for any and every opportunity to commiserate with my fellow egg baskets over our monthly massacres.

This morning I woke up with a week early monthly guest and a horrible nosebleed. I just tilted my head back, looked to the heavens and let everything just flow south. The only plus side to this unexpected horror, was that my best friend and I have synched our cycles, which I’m hoping means we can FINALLY fight crime and make others shed blood instead of shedding our own.

The whole thing seems very Wiccan to me. I kind of dig it.

Until then, I’ll be sitting in pajama pants, clutching my pooch, waiting the week out so I can stop crying randomly at anything and everything.

What makes me cry during my period?

Day 1: Getting my period

*Tears of Joy*

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Day 2: Catching a glimpse of my bloated self in the mirror and wondering, “Hmm, this is what I would look like at 4 months pregnant.” Then hyperventilating because you can’t imagine yourself ever being ready for motherhood

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Day 2: Afternoon

Crying because you’re worried, that if you ultimately do want kids, what if you later discover you’re infertile, and then you’ve just got your period to waste tampons and good underpants on a monthly reminder of what you can’t have.

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Day 2: Evening

Crying because you’ll get to adopt a kid and keep shit right down there.

*Tears of joy*

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Day 3: Watching old Hollywood movies and crying because everyone in the movie is probably dead

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Day 4: Checking online dating profiles and crying because you’re online dating

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Day 4: 10 mins later

Crying because you’re worried nobody will love the guys you’re swiping left to. SOMEONE SHOULD LOVE THEM!

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(Just not me. Never me)

Day 5: Seeing an old person take their dog on a walk. The dog’s wearing a coat and little booties.

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Day 6: Adele.

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Day 7:

Happily skipping out the door without a feminine product only to find that your body is a traitor and released a last wave of assault to remind you that you should never, ever, think you understand your body.

(Oh yes, Girls. Some of us are full week-ers)

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Day 8: PTSD

You only have 21 days before you have to relive the carnage.

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Brb. Gotta go eat some cookies.

 

 

2016 So far: Where I was when I wasn’t here

Happy 2016!

I’m a little late to the party, but I took a much needed break from blogging. Blogmas was a son-of-a-bitch. Seriously. Blogging every single day?

For free?

I dislike doing anything for free. I literally look for incentives in everything I do. My friends know this and have Diet Pepsi chilling in their fridge whenever I come over, because they know how much I loathe pants and would much rather be sleeping than run a brush through my hair and interact with people.

Anyways, I overdid it with the blog posts and fell out of love with the WordPress world, but I’m refreshed, have some new stories and am ready to get back to embarrassing my mother with my posts.

I’ve been quite the little gypsy this month, spending most of my time in a train, plane or automobile travelling for work and pleasure. I’ve been going non-stop, have barely had time to cuddle my cat (which you know upsets me tremendously), but things are FINALLY slowing down, and I’ll be able to reconnect with you good people of the internet, and of course myself… and my cat.

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Here’s what you should know right now…

I think I must have had a spiritual stroke, or been touched by the Holy Ghost because I’ve legit become like a walking Pinterest inspiration board. I’ve caught myself saying shit like, “It’s better to have loved and lost than never loved at all” and “Everything happens for a reason,” and “I’m open to the possibilities of love.”

I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I was hoping that if I ever had some kind of medical issue it would be the fun strokes where you wake up with like, a Pakistani accent but you’re still a white girl from the suburbs. I never thought I would become this monster who can self soothe and rationalize with Christian Broadcast television-like values. It’s quite disturbing, and yet, healthy? I don’t know. I haven’t had a session with my therapist in almost two months, so this is either a huge breakthrough or the calm before a storm and I’m going to be shaving my head and attacking cars with umbrellas in a hot minute.

I’m still single. YAS, Queen. Single and accepting it, thank you very much!

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It’s really not that bad. I’ve only cried twice this month, and both times were right before a cycle started so, I consider that progress.

I’m still living a carb-centric lifestyle, but I’ve been using the My Fitness Pal app to guilt me into healthier choices. I’m basic, but trying to get healthy because it’s a new year is just TOO basic. I’ll get healthy, in like, March – when my first wedding of the year is a month away and I need to shove myself into a dress. I’ve been receiving Save the Date cards in the mail and have already begun financially planning for wedding season. I’ve decided that this year, instead of being thrifty and recycling dresses, I’m just going to go balls to the wall and use every event as an excuse for a fashion show and a new profile pic.

Other than that, I’m essentially just living for Monday nights when I can watch the Bachelor with my girlfriends, have been on some serious Netflix binges because it’s too cold to do anything else, and I’ve been planning new adventures for 2016 because it’s cold as fuck and I need an Eat, Pray , Love STAT.

 

That’s really it for me, kids.

What about you?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Blogmas Day 10: Love, Actually? Love, Kinda

I’m very 2015 when it comes to romance, meaning my standards are pretty low. Taking me someplace that offers unlimited refills on Diet Pepsi is essentially the real life equivalent of meeting me at the top of the Empire State Building at midnight on Valentine’s Day. In a world of late night booty calls and unwanted dick pics, I consider a guy to be a ‘gentleman’ if he uses proper grammar and remains fully clothed throughout our date.

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However, at Christmas, my expectations take a sleigh ride to the next level.

The fact that there’s an entire holiday celebrating a virgin becoming pregnant without having sex makes me believe that  at Christmas, anything is possible. This includes the possibility that your crush will magically appear at your doorstep on Christmas Eve to proclaim his or her undying love.

The year’s winding down, the romantic comedies are airing on Lifetime and the W Network, Mariah Carey is still singing at that pitch only the neighbourhood dogs can hear, and all of a sudden, you’re fantasizing about PG, first base, over the shirt stuff.

This is my first Christmas as a single lady in a few years, and I’m happy with my relationship status. It’s my choice to be solo right now, and do the ol’ personal inventory and figure out what I’m looking for.

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That being said, I’ve still got this secret desire that I’ll be wearing my cowl neck cream coloured holiday sweater, I’ll have finally learned how to contour my nose, I’ll be just about to crack open a bottle of wine and break my sobriety-ish vow when there will be a knock at the front door.  I answer the door to see snow gently falling and an out of breath Stud wearing a turtleneck, but I’ll let it go because it’s Christmas and I can’t be picky right now.

I’ll feign surprise, “What’re you doing here! My word!”

Then he’ll say, “My car broke down so I ran here.”

Aw, he has a car. But it’s broken. Regardless, I’ll be batting my eyelashes, “Studly, what’s going on?”

And then bam, he hits you with the good moves…and all of a sudden….

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But he verbalizes it. Says it out loud, like an articulate, emotionally available winner.

Then he’ll tell me that he was in a dark place on a bridge, and an angel will appear and show him what life would have been like if he had never been born. I’ll say this all sounds terribly familiar, but I’ll encourage him to keep going, because this is disrupting my quiet evening at home with mother #GreyGardens.

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He’ll say the angel said that if he was never born, I would be home alone on Christmas Eve with two men trying to rob my house and nobody would be there to save me.

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That’s when he realized he would be heartbroken if I died, because he’s been in love with me from the moment we met and it’s OK that I cuss like a sailor, can’t cook to save my life, and am probably never going to make my target weight.

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Then he’ll dip me dramatically and kiss me, and we’ll live happily ever after or for at least two years because that’s my track record.

Totally possible, right?

RIGHT?

 

Am I the only one who feels this way, or do you find the holidays incredibly romantic as well?

 

Girls with high mileage

“All guys want a virgin. If you can get a girl that’s untouched, you marry her.” I was sitting with my guy friends sipping a mediocre cup of tea, listening to Marcus explain the Holy Grail of the fairer sex. “You want to be the only guy your girl has ever been with.”

I smiled. “That’s absolute bullshit.”

“Not at all, that’s the truth.” Marcus replied with confidence. “Nobody wants a girl with high mileage.”

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I mentally ran through the list of “Must Haves” Marcus and Roman had imparted to me. According to them, the ideal woman had to cook, clean, want children, produce children, stay in some sort of physical shape after birthing the aforementioned children, but now she had to have a fully intact hymen, too?

You would think by now my blood would be boiling, but after nearly a year of exposure to conversations like this, I’ve become incredibly immune to their stupidity.  I almost take pleasure in it. Like I said, it’s like watching apes in their natural habitat.

“Riddle me this,” I asked the table. “When you’re out and about hooking up with girls, are you thinking, ‘I’ve got to keep my mileage low for my future wife?'”

I was met with a tither of laughter from Marcus. “It’s a double standard, I know, but it’s true. I’m just being honest.”

“I wouldn’t want my future wife to have had sex with like, 20 people, or have been in several long term relationships.” Roman, the devout Catholic of the group added to no one in particular.

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Is 20 a lot of people?

In our group, I’m the youngest at 28. Everyone else is in their mid 30’s, and aside from Ken, still single. If the average person has been sexually active from the age of …say…17, and hadn’t been in any serious or long-term relationships, was it unreasonable to believe that by the age of 30, said person was having sex with at least 2 people per year?*

WHAT ARE WE? MONKS?

Marcus decided to turn the tables on the conversation, “Would you ever have sex with a guy who told you he was a virgin? No, you probably wouldn’t. The double standard is real.”

Always needing a backstory, I pushed for more details. “Maybe, I said. Why is he a virgin? Is he waiting until marriage? Is this for religious reasons? Because if it is, that’s a hands-down no.”

“Why not?” asked Roman, the Pope’s representative in Canada.

“Because that would mean we have different beliefs and values. Why would I waste someone’s time if they were upfront with how they live their life? ”

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Unsatisfied (just like my imaginary religious suitor), the guys shook their heads at my unwillingness to prove their point. 

This was obviously a prime example of patriarchal thinking. Using the word ‘mileage’ to compare women to cars, something that can be acquired as a possession.

What confused me even more, was the idea that these guys were actively engaging with women who weren’t “wife material” but still expected their untouched, virginal spouse to be existing somewhere in the universe going about her day sewing buttons on clothing. Were they not just “ruining” these women for their future husbands?

Were they aware that they were talking to a woman who can’t cook, is on the fence about procreation and who most likely broke her hymen in a bike riding accident when she was a kid?

Listen folks, what I do, who I do, or who I don’t do is none of your GD business. I’m not judging anyone. Do you. Do him. Do the whole football team, I really don’t care.  You should never feel bad about your sexuality and sexual history or lack thereof.

What do you think we can do to help rid the world of this kind of sexist, antiquated thinking?  Is it too late for these guys?  Do all men think this way?

Tell me what you think!

 

 

 

 

* Note: I have not had 20 partners but fingers crossed!

Things that make you go “NOPE!”

I’m in the first 24 hours of Red Wedding Week, which means everyone around me is treading lightly like they’re looking for landmines with Princess Diana. If I don’t constantly have a chocolate bar or cookie in my hand, I’m a miserable human being to be around.

Since I’m hormonal and volatile, I obviously thought, “Why not channel this ovarian rage into a blog post?”

DONE.

Here’s a list of things I’m irrationally hating this week.

Zooey Deschanel reveals the name of her baby girl to be Elsie Otter.

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NOPE.

Really? An Otter? Is that a family name? Unless it’s after a relative who fled Eastern Europe during the Holocaust, that’s a dumb name to give to your baby. In fact…

People who name their babies after animals – NOPE.

Bear. Birdie. Raven. Hawk. Phoenix. Fox.

I don’t even like the name Joey because it makes me think of Kangaroos. Sure, it’s cute to say, “This is our little baby Bear” but in 20 years when Bear’s applying for a job, I’m worried he’s going to wear his best Birkenstocks and shirt made of hemp to the interview.

Seriously-dont-Veep-GIF

People who Instagram pictures of themselves doing Yoga – NOPE.

There’s nothing zen and in the moment of you asking your friend to get out of warrior pose and snap your picture. You’re not searching for balance and inner peace, you’re thirsty for likes. Buddha’s judging you.

Drake’s Turtleneck – NOPE

Like all girls within a 100km radius of Toronto, I for sure have a lady hard-on for Drake. What I refuse to accept is that he’s trying to bring back the turtleneck for men in his video Hotline Bling. Not just a turtleneck, a chunky knit turtleneck of 98 Degrees proportions. I’m not against people keeping their necks warm, but I will not stand by and let the early 2000’s come back into fashion. If we let this happen we’re opening the door for bedazzled boot-cut jeans and studded belts.

I won’t stand for it.

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#NormalizeBreastfeeding – NOPE

This hashtag drives me up the wall. Normalize breastfeeding? I can’t think of anything that’s MORE normal than breastfeeding a baby. Seriously. There was literally a point in history when there was a woman, in your village or town, whose job was to breastfeed babies that weren’t even her own. It’s called a Wet Nurse.

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This is you, 300 years ago  Source

Just like I don’t enjoy when people Instagram food, I don’t enjoy people who post pictures of themselves breastfeeding their children. I get it, it’s natural. It’s good for your baby, and all those who don’t breastfeed will burn in the fiery depths of hell (yeah right), but please. I came on Instagram for two reasons :

  1. To stalk randoms and celebrities with beautiful hair and to feel like shit about my life
  2. Kittens

That’s it.

I want to have unrealistic ideas about other people’s lives, and I want to look at foster kittens. I don’t want to interrupt your child’s dinner. Frankly, it’s rude. No phones at the dinner table. Have some manners.

So, that’s me for the next 4-6 days. If anyone needs me I’ll be in bed by 5pm with a giant bag of Skinny Pop binge watching American Horror Story.

I bid you farewell.

NOTE:

To all the babies and future babies named after animals, I’ll still love you.

Let’s Discuss: Is this body shaming?

Alright, I’m on the fence with this one and thought maybe we could discuss.

Michael Buble is making headlines because he posted the following pic to Instagram:

Capture

Of course, Huffington Post picked up the story and noted that Buble has been trolled by angry users accusing the crooner of body shaming this unidentified woman and her itty bitty shorts.

Maybe I’m just overly protective because he’s Canadian and I look out for my own (yes, even you Avril/Chad/Biebs), but I’m not entirely convinced this is body shaming. If Buble had hashtagged his photo something overtly negative instead of #beautifulbum,  then I’d be the first person slapping his hand.

What do y’all think? Are we too insecure/sensitive/hyperaware of the body positive movement that we look for any reason to jump all over someone?

Kudos to this woman, though. I’m particularly insecure of my booty and WISH I had her derriere.

Is her clothing choice influenced by her culture/environment? Miami, like the rest of Florida, generally exposes more skin  than say, Ohio.  Obviously this woman felt comfortable going out in public in her short shorts and flaunts what she’s got. Is it any different than someone posting a sexy pic of themselves in revealing clothes on Instagram? Or is the problem here that someone ELSE posted a booty pic for her?

I’m TORN!

TORN LIKE A WELL WORN PAIR OF DAISY DUKES!

Discuss. Discuss!