Ten Things I Don't Care About This Week

 

It's crazy what will pass for news these days. Here are ten of the most pertinent headlines about which I don't care:

1. Kristen Stewart Cheated on Robert Pattinson 
Who are these people anyway? Are they that famous that I should care about their relationship ins and outs? She's twenty-two. Most people's love lives are disasters at twenty-two. Is it realistic to believe that she had already found her soul mate in Pattinson at such a young age? People make stupid choices in their early twenties. The real question is, what's up with a forty-one-year-old director cheating on his beautiful family with a young twenty-something, a child compared to his middle-aged butt? Men . . .

2. Celebrities' Reaction to Aurora Massacre at Some Dumb Red Carpet Event
I don't want to hear a bunch of celebrities in designer gowns lament the Aurora shooting. I want to hear an intelligent conversation about gun regulations, and I want to know what is being done to guarantee our safety as American citizens. And please don't make me sit in a dark theater surrounded by a crowd of untrained NRA-card-holding civilians packing firearms.

3. Man in China Loses Penis in His Sleep
Police think his multiple jealous lovers are the culprits. Enough said.

4. Demi Moore is Dating Another Man
She has been seen out and about with another actor, a decade her junior. And this is news because . . .

5. Twitter Outage on Thursday, July 26
Not only did Twitter go down for a few measly hours, but the reports on the blackout were updated every thirty minutes. And then it was fixed. Technology not working properly? Inconceivable! Read a book, go for a bike ride. I'm sure you have better things to do.

6. Lindsay Lohan Involved in Her 5412th Car Accident
She's still around? And she has a car?

7. Special Privacy Screens Installed at San Francisco Library
Now visitors can view pornography in private. According to one frequent library-goer, "lots" of pornography-viewing was going on there. I'm not judging. I just don't care.

8. The Jackson Dysfunctional Family Disputes
All I have to say is that I'm glad my family doesn't have twenty-four-hour security cameras. I already expose enough of my neuroses in this blog. Nobody wants to see the number of times I act erratically throughout my day.

9. John Noble from Fringe Suffers From a Sleeping Disorder
The man who plays Walter Bishop on one of my favorite TV shows is "not sleeping well." Me neither. Add night terrors to my list of my neuroses. During the calm times of my life, I have night terrors about once a month. During the stressful times, I have them about once a week. I'm surprised the neighbors don't call the police when they hear blood curdling screams coming from my house at 1:00 a.m.

10. I Don't Care That Snooki is Pregnant
I care even less that she dreamed that her baby turned into Chucky and tried to kill her. I have this dream at least every other night. (Please refer to my sleeping issues in #9.) I blame it on the Corky Doll from the late eighties.

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Put a Gag on Her (Silencing the Female Voice in the 21st Century)

Around the time of the Republican Presidential primaries, I ran across an editorial on Time's website entitled, "Subject for Debate: Are Women People?" It was so clever, I wished I could claim it as my own. At the time I read this article, I was extremely discouraged by the way women were being not only degraded but outright silenced and dismissed as non-entities in our society.

Also around this time, Rush Limbaugh called Sandra Fluke, who was advocating for women's health, a slut and a prostitute and requested that she broadcast her exploits on the Internet. He received a slap on the wrist. A few advertisers pulled out (which is not 100% effective by the way, ha ha!), then returned, while he and many other male politicians demonstrated a complete lack of understanding about the way contraceptives really work: "She has to use so much birth control . . . "

Limbaugh has now moved on to claim a new liberal conspiracy, that the villain's name in the new Batman movie (Bane) was expressly conceived to suggest that Romney's ties to the Bain corporation are evilllll. Never mind that the two Bains/Banes are not even spelled the same; they are what we call "homophones" - can you say it with me? And never mind that this comic book villain was created long before Romney's tax returns and corporate world track record came into question. Okay, crazies . . . at least my birth control is still insured for now.

But I digress. Lately, it seems that we want to silence women in a way that would make the Apostle Paul happy. Let me just say that if women were not allowed to talk at my house (or at any of the houses in my family for that matter), it would be a very quiet world indeed. It might make my husband happy for a while, but he would eventually miss my intellectual discourse. I guarantee it.

Situation #1
Recently, I heard a Fresh Air interview with Sister Pat Farrell, the president of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious. Toward the end of the program, it was noted that in response to the LCWR's "questioning the role of women in the church and asking . . . to be able to speak more openly about what women are thinking," a panel of three bishops (obviously male) have now been assigned to review and reform the group.

Implication: Women are incapable of creating and/or leading organizations, especially in regards to issues that directly affect them.

Situation #2
Just for kicks, I was watching an unnamed conservative news channel one evening (don't judge me). My husband was out of town, and it reminded me of him (don't judge him). Let me explain.

In one of Idaho's smaller mountain resort towns, this is the only news channel available at the hotel in which we typically stay. We occasionally watch the programming with the intention of ridiculing it, but we usually end up silent and staring at the TV monitor in horrific disbelief. In some twisted way, watching this unnamed news channel helped me feel closer to my absent husband that evening.

I guess, considering my track record with this station, I shouldn't have been surprised at what I witnessed that night - the blatant disregard of the female voice.

The discussion turned to women's rights, health issues, and the "Liberal War on Women" referencing the so-called "attacks" on Ann Romney (poor multimillionaire politician wives). The female panelists, mostly conservatives who spent the time ganging up on the one liberal woman, started to contribute to this discussion but were cut off mid-sentence (conservatives and liberal alike) so that the host could get the opinion of . . . drum roll please . . . a man.

It was almost as if the moderator said, "Excuse me, ladies, you've talked enough. Let's listen to the voice of reason now."

Then the voice of reason spoke. And since he had much higher levels of testosterone than those XX'ers, he obviously knew so much more about the issues women face in our quickly regressing 21st Century society.

We all know that the male political pundits arguing with and yelling over each other on these 24-hour news networks represent the more rational gender.

Implication: Women should be prohibited from discussing issues and/or policies that directly affect them. They should not be allowed to have the last word on anything. Every conversation should conclude with the male perspective.

Solution: Isn't it clear? Put a gag on us. You obviously don't want to hear us anyway.

The Best Suit for This Apple

This summer, I resigned myself to the fact that I needed a new swimsuit. I don't know what finally clued me in. Maybe it was the stretched out bra cups that made my bust area look like a pair of deflated water balloons or the bottom that was so worn that my "cheeks" were starting to show.

Or maybe it was just the simple, tentative comment from my husband: "Your swimsuit is looking a little threadbare."

I mean, just the other day, Dan was wearing a pair of boxers with a hole that exposed his entire upper thigh. If even he was starting to notice, it was probably time for a new suit.
 
Although I had promised myself a long time ago that I wouldn't buy new swimwear until I had lost ten pounds, I bucked up and commenced my quest for the perfect suit.

Those "Best Suits for Your Figure" articles in women's magazines always insist you can find a flattering swimsuit. Don't despair.

"Swimsuit shopping might seem like a painful and futile exercise . . ."

That was as far as I read.

Apparently the article goes on to say, "but it's possible to find a suit that fits your body well and makes you feel great by knowing what flatters your body most."

This article also suggests that you ask for "professional help," probably referring to store clerks. But I think there is a subliminal, inherent truth in that statement. By the time we women finish swimsuit shopping, we may actually need professional help.

These articles are all the same. First, you have to pick out your body type from a lineup of women whose bodies all look like they could use a couple of cheeseburgers. We (average women with average bodies) are named after fruits - apples, pears, mangoes, bananas, etc. Body type descriptions like "athletic" or "busty" are reserved for supermodels, and the term "hourglass" usually points toward Playboy bunnies.

All of these articles insist that anyone can look good in a bikini. I am here to tell you that not everyone can. I haven't worn a bikini since 4th grade, mostly - I am not ashamed to admit - because of my stomach cellulite, and there are women I would rather not see in a bikini.

As an apple shape, however, I am mostly encouraged by these body-image-shattering magazines to wear one-pieces that "whittle down the waist" or tankinis, a wonderful invention that allows apple bodies to wear a two-piece that still just looks like a one-piece. But if I do decide that I absolutely have to wear a bikini, the magazines say I can try a bikini with a granny panty bottom in order to cover my lack of a waist.

When I mentioned I was apple-shaped to Dan, he raised his eyebrows seductively and said, "I like apples." 

"We're not talking about 'Bonita Applebum' here, you know, '38-24-37.' My whole body is an apple, not just my butt."

I spent several weeks shopping for a new bathing suit. I just shuffled from store to store and rack to rack dejectedly. Occasionally, I let out a pathetic sigh, watching as tiny-figured teenagers held brightly-colored bikinis up to their petite bodies.

There were suits that promised to slim you in seconds and make you look 10 pounds lighter by compressing your body. Personally, I will opt for comfort over looking skinny any day.

And have you ever noticed how these suits are made for old people anyway - solid colors (usually black), lots of ruffles or skirts to cover up jiggly body parts, thick straps, heavily padded and supported breast cups? The bright colors and cute patterns are reserved for teen girls who have not yet reached their full puberty potential or women who are shaped more like vegetables than fruits (i.e. string beans).

I did find a swimsuit eventually, a cute halter top tankini. Now I can tell everyone, "As a matter of fact, I am wearing a two-piece even though it may not look like it." (The real truth is it's much easier to go to the bathroom in a tankini.)

But I did not complete my quest without overhearing a skinny, vegetable-shaped teenage girl say, "I swear. Swimsuits are only made for girls with big boobs."

I suppose we women will never be satisfied with our bodies.

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Sharing the Path

No moral lessons or deep insights this week due to the holiday. The following is a random list of people (and possibly one alien) I encountered on my run the other morning:

Walkers Who Don't Understand Greenbelt Etiquette (and Think It's Funny):
I called out, "On your left," as I came up behind two middle-aged walkers who were blocking the trail. Instead of moving to the right as this classic audible Greenbelt statement implies, they jumped around from side to side, giggling and exclaiming, "Oops! Which way should I go?" Another group of  walkers made me go through the middle of their pack later that morning.

High School Cross-Country Girls Who Don't Care About Greenbelt Etiquette:
I ran toward a group of high school girls who are members of a track team. They were running four abreast, also taking up the trail. Even with an animate figure lumbering toward them (me), they refused to move over. The forced me off the trail and into some weeds that, with my luck, could have been concealing ticks or rattlesnakes. It seems like, "Please run in a single file line for two seconds if someone is coming toward you," is not such an outrageous request.

High School Cross-Country Boys Who Do Practice Greenbelt Etiquette and Are Polite to Their Elders:
On the other hand, the young men from the track team gave me plenty of room and even greeted me with a cheerful, "Good morning!"

People With Off-Leash Dogs:
I came across a woman bent over, bottom up in the air, stretching in the middle of the trail, and taking up the entire path. She was not paying attention to the dog that was standing guard beside her. The operative words here are "standing guard" because the dog was obviously ready to protect his owner. He perked up when he saw me running in their direction. Then he began to run toward me while his oblivious owner's butt still flailed in the air.

I stopped for a second, "Could you please call your dog?" And she did, quite kindly.

Woman Killing Two Birds With One Stone: 
I passed a woman twice on the trail, and both times she was running while talking on her Bluetooth. In case you hadn't guessed by the sense of entitlement illustrated in some of these descriptions, this trail runs through a couple of very wealthy neighborhoods.

Fuzzy Round Pine Cone-Sized Inanimate Object:
Yeah, I don't know what it was. Sure, it piqued my curiosity. But I've seen enough sci-fi to know not to pick up strange, alien-looking things in nature. Also, don't get it wet and don't feed it after midnight.

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