Dear Metrosexual Twig-Men and/or Men Who Look Like Boys,
I am almost at a loss of words here... but, unfortunately for you, I will soldier on.
What. The. Hell.
I think that about covers it.
Whatever happened to embracing your masculinity, guys? When did it start becoming cool for guys to dress like a chick? Why are we so overrun with men who would rather scribble madly in their black spiral notebooks, or get a manicure, than go punch something/someone when they're upset?
The last I checked, the following is what most women find attractive about you/why we keep you around:
1. Your muscles are sexy
2. You look so, so good in jeans and a t-shirt
3. Your communication skills are... sparse
4. Your recreational choices befuddle us
I fail, then, to understand why you have decided to chop off your collective cojones and embrace the twisted world of emaciated, Emo fashion and high-priced cocktails. How am I, an intensely pro-sex, straight adult female, supposed to fantasize about a guy who looks like a jacked-up, butch lesbian or, at best, a teenage boy with whiskers? You're making this way, way too hard for me, fellas.
However, since I have a vested interest in seeing your ranks improve, Oh Twig-like Metrosexual Abomination, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Put down the eyeliner and pick up a barbell. And a hamburger.
(I don't care how nasty your gym bag smells after some time lifting weights, playing basketball with the guys, or a quick pick-up game of baseball, I would rather smell dirty-dirty man stink than some unisex cologne you dropped $100 on. Oh, and please... if anyone should be ordering a salad with the dressing on the side, it's me; I'm the girl in this relationship, m'kay... and I would likely order something with a little more punch. Unless you're really, really craving the dandelion greens with crumbled feta and an aged balsamic reduction, order the 'Entire Rib of Cow' special with a side of 'More Beef', roll up your sleeves, and tear into that sucker like a kid at Christmas. There's something primal and sexy about a guy who shows healthy-to-high levels of testosterone... one such exhibition being food choices. Now, I'm not a big girl by today's health standards, but I don't want to look at a man and think, "Hm... nice eyes, cute smile, but I'd break him in a second." I want a guy who has the muscle tone he should have for his age, not that of a high school senior.)
2. Put down (or burn) the skinny jeans, and put on some sweats.
(Why... WHY with the skinny jeans, guys? I see so many of you walking around with tattoos (a personal attractant for me, yes) on your arms and scruffy, sexy faces... only to find your man-junk all vacuumed sealed into these size 2 pants. It doesn't stop at skinny jeans, either. No, I like to call this craptastical wardrobe brainwashing the 'Jonas Brothers DiCaprio Effect'; khakis (not so bad, in moderation), a polo shirt (gag me), and/or a sweater vest (wave 'bye-bye' to your chances of getting laid), and some loafers (no words), and you've got yourself a Mr. Douche doll. I'll be completely honest and say that yes, this may seem like sex-on-a-stick for some women, but me? I'd rather see my guy in a pair of jeans (that don't advertise the size/lack of size of his unit) and a t-shirt... or, really, whatever he's comfortable in. That, to me, is incredibly sexy.)
3. Put down the notebook and raise your voice.
(Ah, poetry... the centuries-old method of self-expression, and super-romantic 'wooing tool'. I don't really know how to proceed with this one, Oh Man of Missing Masculinity, as I have some mixed feelings here. While I can appreciate the time, effort, and creativity that goes into writing a poem or love song for a girl, and have had a couple written for me that I treasured, it has always felt... off... to have a guy be that expressive. I'm sure I will get many an e-mail/comment about this from my male friends, but this is just what I feel. I like my men a little more closed-off; willing to cuddle after sex, but not wanting to immediately jump out of bed to write a sonnet (or ten) about my breasts. Hey, I like 'em too, fellas... but poetry as self-expression for a guy? If it's the only form that you're using, it's going to be a turn-off.)
4. Put down the gourmet Gouda and pick up a Wii controller.
(I'm sure you've heard plenty a stereotypical woman spout-off about "I just wish HE'D cook some of the meals", or have watched your fair share of The Food Network, but really...? When did the weekend plans of the (admittedly stereotypical) American male turn from video games, movies, sports, projects, etc. to sauteing, blanching, scrap booking, or intensive, voluntary manscaping? Stop taking over the woman's hobbies, damn it! Go back to your Wii's, your ESPN, your table hockey, and leave our stuff alone! Not only are you infringing on our millenia-old territory (what do you think cave drawings are, if not the earliest form of scrap booking?), but you're becoming too much like US. If we wanted to date other women, we would... hence lesbians. Totally fine, just not my bag. I want my man and I to have a few, key differences other than the obvious anatomical ones.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Strong and Mighty Tower of Masculinity that I know you have inside of you.
I love me some men-folk. I do. I also understand that men, like women, are multi-faceted creatures with widely differing personalities within their own subset. I respect the rights of each individual to pursue the lifestyle that makes them happy... I also happen to respect my own right to wonder what the hell they're thinking when they walk out the door looking and acting like a neutered version of themselves.
All of that being said, I'd still do you.
Stay out of my closet,
Krystal
Showing posts with label clothes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clothes. Show all posts
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Perfect Mothers
Dear Soccer/Hippie/Overly Opinionated/Overly Involved Moms,
I am finding it increasingly difficult to relate to, let alone tolerate, you... and it is leading to some pretty serious urges to slap your hand and tell you "NO" like I would to my own toddler. (Oh yes, you read that correctly; we use hand-slaps in my house. Feel free to report me to CPS.) Whether it is my own insecurities or not, I resent feeling inadequate when compared to your Mothering Might.
The last I checked, all capable, loving, sane and otherwise "good" mothers do the following with their children:
1. Feed them
2. Clothe them
3. Diaper them
4. Play with them
5. Watch them
I fail, then, to understand why there is a 'holier than thou' attitude amongst us moms. Aren't we all on the same, spit-up covered side?
Since I already have enough crap on my hands, what with my son's increasingly disturbing diapers, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of "behavior modification" suggestions.
1. Stop acting like the food you provide your child is the freaking Bread of Life.
(So what if you provide Jr. with all-organic, homemade, gluten-free mush? I'm guessing it comes out the same way that my frozen fish stick meals do. Don't believe me? Feel free to stop by Bruce's daycare in about, oh, 45 minutes... I'm sure he'll have a fresh example just for you.)
2. Making your child's clothing, or spending $50 on a name brand onesie does not a great mother make. Stop acting like it does.
(It does, however, make you come across as extremely condescending when you preach about this in chat rooms, at play dates, and in casual passing. I don't care if you raise the sheep, shear them, spin, dye, and weave the wool yourself; making your child's clothes is a great thing... for you. I, however, don't have the time or talent to do so. I also don't have the interest. When it comes to spending large amounts of money on something your child will grow out of in a month (if you're even that lucky), well, great. I think it's stupid but, most importantly, it's passing along the belief to your children that they just have to have whatever is most popular. I can't wait to see how THAT turns out.)
3. Preaching about your chosen method of diapering makes you sound like a freaking hippie.
(This is where my bias will come raging to the forefront. I, like most mothers-to-be, considered the pros and cons of cloth diapering vs. disposable diapers; the effect on the environment, the cost, the convenience and, most importantly, the effect on my child's butt. When Bruce was born, the choice was clear for my husband and I, and disposable it was (and is). Here is where I get a little pissed (pun intended):
Asking how another mom diapers her kid? Totally fine.
Proceeding to tell her, whether directly or passive-aggressively, about the evils of her chosen method? Grounds for throwing a mashed-banana diaper in her face.
You have your routes, I have mine. LEAVE IT ALONE ALREADY.)
4. Play should be fun... not dysfunctional.
(Whether on a play date or spending some good old fashioned 'tummy time' on the floor, do you know how to play with your child? I mean, actual play; that thing you do when your entire existence, for that moment, is comprised of trying to make your little tyke coo, laugh, or smile. That's it. When did the point of playtime become expanding your two month-old's vocabulary, or teaching your toddler the violin? Children only get so long to live life completely worry-free, so why would you cheat them of that simple, sweet quality time? Think back to when you were a kid, coloring in your favorite _____ coloring book (for me, it was Barbie). How would it feel if your mom took it away and replaced it with a book on fractions?)
5. Quit thinking that daycare is the devil.
(While I completely agree that the ideal situation would be for the mother and father of little Susie Homemaker or Jack Sixpack to stay home all day, every day with their child for the first year, that is next to impossible. Not only is there this small thing called "money" to consider, but you also have to take into account the mother or father's feelings on the matter. In our case, I HAD to go back to work full-time when Bruce was 7 months old; we needed the money, we don't believe in going on DSHS support while I could be working, and I need adult interaction to keep me sane. By looking down on moms who work outside the home, you come across as judgmental, lazy, or ignorant. My holding down an 8 - 5 job with travel and the occasional late-night required doesn't make me less of a mother than you, it just means I go about caring and providing for my son in a different way.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Relate-able, Less Egotistical Super Mom that I know you have inside of you.
Just like every child is different, every approach to mothering is going to differ as well. I respect the hard work and great effort that so many of you go through to provide what you feel to be the best possible environment for your child, and understand feeling so passionate about your chosen route toward child-raising. I hope that your children know how lucky they are to have someone who cares so much for their well-being. Your choices are your own, and no one should make you feel inadequate or unqualified for how you have chosen to raise your precious child.
Now, get ready for the first tattooed President of the PTA, 2014. It'll give you a whole new topic to gossip about, I'm sure.
See you on the playground,
Krystal
I am finding it increasingly difficult to relate to, let alone tolerate, you... and it is leading to some pretty serious urges to slap your hand and tell you "NO" like I would to my own toddler. (Oh yes, you read that correctly; we use hand-slaps in my house. Feel free to report me to CPS.) Whether it is my own insecurities or not, I resent feeling inadequate when compared to your Mothering Might.
The last I checked, all capable, loving, sane and otherwise "good" mothers do the following with their children:
1. Feed them
2. Clothe them
3. Diaper them
4. Play with them
5. Watch them
I fail, then, to understand why there is a 'holier than thou' attitude amongst us moms. Aren't we all on the same, spit-up covered side?
Since I already have enough crap on my hands, what with my son's increasingly disturbing diapers, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of "behavior modification" suggestions.
1. Stop acting like the food you provide your child is the freaking Bread of Life.
(So what if you provide Jr. with all-organic, homemade, gluten-free mush? I'm guessing it comes out the same way that my frozen fish stick meals do. Don't believe me? Feel free to stop by Bruce's daycare in about, oh, 45 minutes... I'm sure he'll have a fresh example just for you.)
2. Making your child's clothing, or spending $50 on a name brand onesie does not a great mother make. Stop acting like it does.
(It does, however, make you come across as extremely condescending when you preach about this in chat rooms, at play dates, and in casual passing. I don't care if you raise the sheep, shear them, spin, dye, and weave the wool yourself; making your child's clothes is a great thing... for you. I, however, don't have the time or talent to do so. I also don't have the interest. When it comes to spending large amounts of money on something your child will grow out of in a month (if you're even that lucky), well, great. I think it's stupid but, most importantly, it's passing along the belief to your children that they just have to have whatever is most popular. I can't wait to see how THAT turns out.)
3. Preaching about your chosen method of diapering makes you sound like a freaking hippie.
(This is where my bias will come raging to the forefront. I, like most mothers-to-be, considered the pros and cons of cloth diapering vs. disposable diapers; the effect on the environment, the cost, the convenience and, most importantly, the effect on my child's butt. When Bruce was born, the choice was clear for my husband and I, and disposable it was (and is). Here is where I get a little pissed (pun intended):
Asking how another mom diapers her kid? Totally fine.
Proceeding to tell her, whether directly or passive-aggressively, about the evils of her chosen method? Grounds for throwing a mashed-banana diaper in her face.
You have your routes, I have mine. LEAVE IT ALONE ALREADY.)
4. Play should be fun... not dysfunctional.
(Whether on a play date or spending some good old fashioned 'tummy time' on the floor, do you know how to play with your child? I mean, actual play; that thing you do when your entire existence, for that moment, is comprised of trying to make your little tyke coo, laugh, or smile. That's it. When did the point of playtime become expanding your two month-old's vocabulary, or teaching your toddler the violin? Children only get so long to live life completely worry-free, so why would you cheat them of that simple, sweet quality time? Think back to when you were a kid, coloring in your favorite _____ coloring book (for me, it was Barbie). How would it feel if your mom took it away and replaced it with a book on fractions?)
5. Quit thinking that daycare is the devil.
(While I completely agree that the ideal situation would be for the mother and father of little Susie Homemaker or Jack Sixpack to stay home all day, every day with their child for the first year, that is next to impossible. Not only is there this small thing called "money" to consider, but you also have to take into account the mother or father's feelings on the matter. In our case, I HAD to go back to work full-time when Bruce was 7 months old; we needed the money, we don't believe in going on DSHS support while I could be working, and I need adult interaction to keep me sane. By looking down on moms who work outside the home, you come across as judgmental, lazy, or ignorant. My holding down an 8 - 5 job with travel and the occasional late-night required doesn't make me less of a mother than you, it just means I go about caring and providing for my son in a different way.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were to read this, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the Relate-able, Less Egotistical Super Mom that I know you have inside of you.
Just like every child is different, every approach to mothering is going to differ as well. I respect the hard work and great effort that so many of you go through to provide what you feel to be the best possible environment for your child, and understand feeling so passionate about your chosen route toward child-raising. I hope that your children know how lucky they are to have someone who cares so much for their well-being. Your choices are your own, and no one should make you feel inadequate or unqualified for how you have chosen to raise your precious child.
Now, get ready for the first tattooed President of the PTA, 2014. It'll give you a whole new topic to gossip about, I'm sure.
See you on the playground,
Krystal
Monday, March 29, 2010
My Sweet Son (v.1)
Dear Bruce,
While I'm sure you have a very valid reason for standing up in your crib in the middle of the night, shaking the bars and screaming in a way to cause the cats to hide in fear, I simply do not get it.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. You do not work in a sweat shop in Taiwan.
2. Your diapers are changed regularly.
3. Your food is not only non-toxic, it is not found in a trash can or other such receptacle, nor is it comprised of feces, the flesh of other babies, or anything containing olives (which are equally as disturbing to your dear Mother).
4. You have ready and immediate supply to Infant's Motrin for your teething concerns... which appear to be many.
5. Your bed is not made of rock, nor is it outside in the elements.
6. Your clothes are made from comfy things, such as 'cotton'... not 'barbed wire'.
I fail, then, to understand why screams of terror and perceived abandonment were flowing from your sweet, little toddler-sized mouth.
However, since I am a loving Mother, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Go work in Taiwan.
(That way, your screams of mistreatment will be justified.)
(Mommy and Daddy could also use even a fraction of the money spent on your diapers back, thankyouverymuch...) Which brings me to:
2. Potty-train yourself.
(That way, your diaper will not only NEVER be of concern again (and, believe me, my son... your diapers produce a stench that is of considerable concern)).
3. EAT. MORE.
(That way, you will stay full longer... and not feel the need to suck down more milk than a freaking newborn at 3:22 in the morning.)
4. I really do feel sorry for you about all those sharp little teeth pushing their way through your gums. I do. Could you just find some way of communicating that that is the cause of your tantrum?
(You've mastered the 'feed me' sound of smacking your lips... you have a great handle on the sign for 'please' and can even say the actual word from time-to-time (even if it does sound more like 'mezz')... so is pointing to your mouth while you scream really that hard?)
5. Consider using that nice crib of yours for something other than a podium from which to spout your shrieking monologues.
(That way, Mommy and Daddy will have had the chance to do one (or more) of the following - sleep, have sex for only the third time this year, and/or have conversations that don't necessarily revolve around how ketchup somehow got in our hair after your lunch, the consistency of your diapers, or our rapidly depleting bank account thanks primarily to your rapidly depleting wardrobe. Which brings me to:
6. Consider the fact that Mommy had two older brothers as well as an older sister, meaning that she got boy hand-me-downs as well as girl hand-me-downs... which means, ultimately, that Mommy had to freaking cross-dress for a couple of years. You, my sweet son, are so, so lucky you don't have an older sister.
(This does, however, pose a budgetary dilemma. The rate at which you are growing - lack of sleep and erratic eating habits apparently aside - is freaking us out. You're only 15 months old, and yet you're about one french fry away from 24 month old sizing. Easter is next weekend, and I'm starting to worry that you won't be able to fit into the nice Easter shirt that I bought you last month... even though I bought a bigger size than you currently were.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were able to read, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the shining Beacon of Babyhood that I know you have inside of you.
In all seriousness, I love you with all that I am and then some. You are the most amazing creature I have ever met, and I would gladly spend the rest of my life (and have a strong suspicion that I WILL...) looking after you in any way I can. You are the best son a Mommy could ever have, and I love you now and always.
Now, sleep through the night again or Mama is going to lose her damn mind.
Hugs and Lovies,
Your Mommy
While I'm sure you have a very valid reason for standing up in your crib in the middle of the night, shaking the bars and screaming in a way to cause the cats to hide in fear, I simply do not get it.
The last I checked, the following apply to you:
1. You do not work in a sweat shop in Taiwan.
2. Your diapers are changed regularly.
3. Your food is not only non-toxic, it is not found in a trash can or other such receptacle, nor is it comprised of feces, the flesh of other babies, or anything containing olives (which are equally as disturbing to your dear Mother).
4. You have ready and immediate supply to Infant's Motrin for your teething concerns... which appear to be many.
5. Your bed is not made of rock, nor is it outside in the elements.
6. Your clothes are made from comfy things, such as 'cotton'... not 'barbed wire'.
I fail, then, to understand why screams of terror and perceived abandonment were flowing from your sweet, little toddler-sized mouth.
However, since I am a loving Mother, I have brainstormed a (brief) list of solutions.
1. Go work in Taiwan.
(That way, your screams of mistreatment will be justified.)
(Mommy and Daddy could also use even a fraction of the money spent on your diapers back, thankyouverymuch...) Which brings me to:
2. Potty-train yourself.
(That way, your diaper will not only NEVER be of concern again (and, believe me, my son... your diapers produce a stench that is of considerable concern)).
3. EAT. MORE.
(That way, you will stay full longer... and not feel the need to suck down more milk than a freaking newborn at 3:22 in the morning.)
4. I really do feel sorry for you about all those sharp little teeth pushing their way through your gums. I do. Could you just find some way of communicating that that is the cause of your tantrum?
(You've mastered the 'feed me' sound of smacking your lips... you have a great handle on the sign for 'please' and can even say the actual word from time-to-time (even if it does sound more like 'mezz')... so is pointing to your mouth while you scream really that hard?)
5. Consider using that nice crib of yours for something other than a podium from which to spout your shrieking monologues.
(That way, Mommy and Daddy will have had the chance to do one (or more) of the following - sleep, have sex for only the third time this year, and/or have conversations that don't necessarily revolve around how ketchup somehow got in our hair after your lunch, the consistency of your diapers, or our rapidly depleting bank account thanks primarily to your rapidly depleting wardrobe. Which brings me to:
6. Consider the fact that Mommy had two older brothers as well as an older sister, meaning that she got boy hand-me-downs as well as girl hand-me-downs... which means, ultimately, that Mommy had to freaking cross-dress for a couple of years. You, my sweet son, are so, so lucky you don't have an older sister.
(This does, however, pose a budgetary dilemma. The rate at which you are growing - lack of sleep and erratic eating habits apparently aside - is freaking us out. You're only 15 months old, and yet you're about one french fry away from 24 month old sizing. Easter is next weekend, and I'm starting to worry that you won't be able to fit into the nice Easter shirt that I bought you last month... even though I bought a bigger size than you currently were.)
All-in-all, I'd say this was a very therapeutic letter. I was able to get things off my chest and, if you were able to read, you would (of course) take all of my suggestions to heart and magically transform yourself into the shining Beacon of Babyhood that I know you have inside of you.
In all seriousness, I love you with all that I am and then some. You are the most amazing creature I have ever met, and I would gladly spend the rest of my life (and have a strong suspicion that I WILL...) looking after you in any way I can. You are the best son a Mommy could ever have, and I love you now and always.
Now, sleep through the night again or Mama is going to lose her damn mind.
Hugs and Lovies,
Your Mommy
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