This site will identify movies, books, media and objects that I consider porn for women--not because it turns us on, not because it coincides with sexual fantasies (although some might), but because they relate to whatever it is that makes us female.
From early childhood they warn you not to judge books by their covers. This can mean a number of things--that situations aren't always what they seem, that ugly people can have beautiful personalities, or even just that dusty, unattractive books can be really interesting.
But I don't like the phrase because it ignores the women's intuition. The women's intuition relies on snap judgments. It's is how you can tell if the guy eyeing you across the bar is a total sleazebag, even if he doesn't say a word. It's that feeling in the pit of your stomach that stabs you when you've made a wrong decision even if every piece of logic is pointing you in that direction.
It's how we stay out of trouble and also how we succeed. I'd be willing to bet that no successful woman in the world didn't at one point say, "fuck it" and do exactly what she wanted to do, even if she wasn't entirely sure why she was doing it.
I was browsing through the fiction section at Borders a few days ago when I noticed that a good number of the authors mentioned that they had a pet in their bios. So, I decided to run a little test. I went to the fiction new in paperback table and read the about me sections in 40 books. Four of the authors said they lived with their families and pets, and all four were women.
Granted four out of 40 doesn't sound that impressive, but that's 10 percent! Plus I spent a good 30 minutes going through all of them so I was damn well going to get a blog post out of it.
Besides, four out of 40 wouldn't be a large number if we were talking about, say, books with a sex scene or unrequited love. But this is kind of an obscure topic, so I'm standing by my first reaction--that female fiction writers are particularly prone to animal loving.
This is especially good news to me since I've always dreamed of being a famous novelist. I already have the animal loving bit down, so I'm hoping it works in reverse too-- that female animal lovers are prone to being famous, prize-winning authors. But I'm not holding my breath.
Notice I say animal and not dog or cat. Sara Gruen, author of "Water for Elephants," says she lives with four cats, two goats, two dogs and a horse.
Judy Reene Singer actually describers herself as an "all-around animal lover." Author of "Still Life with Elephants" (no, I know nothing about the apparent fictional elephant trend," Singer is a foster mother to two baby elephants and owns cats, dogs, horses and an African gray parrot.
"People of the Book" author Geraldine Brooks has three dogs and Maria Snyder, author of "Sea Glass," mentioned a pet too but I can't find it online, so I'll update when I go back to the bookstore later this week.
Juno MacGuff, in former stripper Diablo Cody's cinematic debut, "Juno," gives a unique perspective to teen pregnancy. Ellen Page portrays a fast-talking curious teenager, who, through what seemed like innocent experimentation, was left with an unwanted pregnancy and an awkward but adoring adolescent father, played by Michael Cera.
Juno shatters the Lifetime movie stereotype that teenager pregnancy is always a product of deeply troubled adolescent girls, or dumb, slutty ones. It takes the stance that teenagers do stupid things sometimes without devious intentions or a sex addiction that lands them in situations they're not prepared to cope with yet.
She's not so beautiful that the boys couldn't help themselves, she doesn't have Daddy issues, and she's not so in love that sex was the only way to express her feelings. She's just curious about sex. Who wasn't at 16?
Juno handles her pregnancy with grace and an unbreakable (though flippant) attitude. She takes responsibility by giving the baby up for adoption, and shows tremendous courage when she gives birth and must ignore the biological instinct to keep her baby.
The movie ends with a not pregnant Juno returning to her youth, riding her bike to her baby-daddy's house and fooling around on the guitar without a care in the world. Unlikely conclusion, but endearing nonetheless.
This Upper-East side princess negates the idea that blondes have more fun. "Gossip Girl's" Blair Waldorf (Leighton Meister) is the devil to her angelic (and kind of boring) blonde best friend Serena (Blake Lively).
Blair knows exactly what she wants and doesn't care how far she has to go to get it. Using her Queen Bee status and somewhat unconventional beauty, there is no obstacle she can't overcome to obtain what she knows she's entitled to, whether it be the heart of the elusive Chuck Bass, straight A's or surpassing Serena on the popularity scale.
It's true that Blair doesn't care who she has to step on to get what she wants, and that much of the "Gossip Girl" cast has lain helpless in her path of destruction, but there isn't anything Blair wouldn't do for the people she cares about, as long as it doesn't conflict with her own interests.
So I can't take complete credit for this one. I recently read "Good in Bed" by Jennifer Weiner about an overweight journalist coping with an ex-boyfriend and a career with body issues. In the Q&A section with Weiner after the book, she said the only heavy protagonists in books and movies always shed the pounds and become model-beautiful by the end.
Wanting to do something different, she created Cannie Shapiro, an outspoken, under-confident, 28-year-old Philadelphian. The book begins when she reads a magazine column called "Good in Bed" by her ex-boyfriend about being in a relationship with an overweight woman. Eventually, she finds another NJB (Nice Jewish Boy) who loves her for who she is and not what she looks like. Shocker.
But a lot happens in between. While almost every page of the first person novel is fueled with some sort of self-deprecating comment about her body, it's ultimately not about being fat. It's about finding your place in the world when everything feels mediocre, and what happens when mediocre gives way to excitement--for better and for worse.
Two movies come to mind on the topic. "Hairspray" and "Real Women Have Curves." Both of them give off the impression that they're going to be about women hating their bodies. But both of them--even more so than "Good in Bed"-- turn out to be much deeper than that.
"Hairspray," under the guise of a cutesy Jackie Kennedy era musical, features protagonist Tracy Turnblad, played on the big screen in 2007 by Nikki Blonsky. Tracy is overweight with a heart-of-gold, lusting to star on the fictional version of "American Bandstand," determined to overcome prejudices about her weight to get what she wants.
However, the movie/musical quickly transitions into a satire of segregation and racial tensions in the 1960s.
America Ferrera portrays Ana Garcia in "Real Women have Curves," a subtle coming-of-age story about a first-generation Mexican girl battling with the conflicting conservative values of her mother and the possibilities for smart women in the modern day.
Her weight remains constant through the film, but the end scene is a shot of her walking confidently on a busy New York sidewalk. She looks drastically different, though nothing is physically different, proving that you can change your appearance internally.
I'd say this is one of the most inspiring portrayals I've seen, but then again Ferrera was cast as Ugly Betty a few years later.
I've had the same favorite song since I was 12. "Going Away to College" by Blink-182. Yes, I said Blink-182 and yes, I'm 22-years-old.
That song soothed me when I went to camp for the first time, when I broke up with my first boyfriend, when I actually did go away to college, and when I graduated college a couple months ago. And everything in between.
I've heard that song performed live twice, with three different people I was once close to and now have nothing to do with.
It's true that nostalgia runs in my family. My brother used to cry when he got new shoes because he felt bad for the old ones (even though now he likes new things more than anyone I know).
But I don't think that's why I've held onto this song for so long. Like everyone else, I go through phases where I just can't get enough of some song for a couple months, and then it's replaced by another one and I never listen to it again. If I happen to stumble across it a few years later, it will remind me of whatever was going on in my life at that point.
I don't associate "Going away to college" with any person or event or milestone because it's been there the whole time. I never got sick of it and I never stopped listening to it.
More than anything else, it's just a reminder that I've come a long way to grow into the woman I am today. But in so many ways, I will always be the little girl listening to Blink-182 on her Walkman wondering when I would have my first kiss, when my parents would let me see PG-13 movies (they must not have been aware of the parental advisory sticker on the Blink CD), and if and when I would ever grow up.
Every few years, since I was 10, I pick up an Agatha Christie novel. I started reading "The Body in the Library" a couple days ago.
One of her characters says, ". . .Do you like detective stories? I do. I read them all and I've got autographs from Dorothy Sayers and Agatha Christie and Dickson Carr ad H.C. Bailey."
In other words, she named herself as one of the most renowned mystery writers in her own novel. Hurray for self loving (even if it is sort of obnoxious).
I wish I could say I bike to work every day because I care about the environment. I just don't want to pay for parking and I'm not smart enough to figure out the buses.
But there's this gigantic hill (on Linden, for you Madisonians) at the end of my ride, and there's a stop sign at the very bottom of it, which would force me to forego any speed I can build up beforehand. That is, if I stopped.
Biking through stop signs early in the morning on a street where there are no police anyway allows me to savor some of the feminine rebelliousness that we all give up when we graduate college and get a real job. But no matter how conformist I may become in my quest for a solid career, I am still a badass because I don't stop at all the stop signs.
We've all heard of smart phones, but I think my smart phone should also be called a polite phone. My Palm Pre won't get rid of the missed call icon on my screen until I call that person back. Kind of annoying, but sort of sweet at the same time.
The star of Bravo's "Millionaire Matchmaker," who coined the phrase "Does the pecker get off the couch?", embodies two of the qualities that never fail to make me squirm: superficiality and hypocrisy.
She's superficial because makes a living (and her stardom) by pairing scuzzy millionaires with beautiful women--and charging them enough to feed Rhode Island for it. Basically, she's reenforcing the LA driven stereotype that only rich men and supermodel-quality women deserve love.
On the client profile for women applying to be in her Millionaire's Club, she asks them their dating age range, encouraging them to "remember men don't make serious money till they get into their 40's."
It doesn't look like the men have to apply, they just have to be able to afford it.
And she's a hypocrite because she looks like an ogre. Every week she tells women they can't be in her club because they're too fat, too short, wrong hair color, or just plain ugly.
She also tells women that if the guy doesn't put a ring on it within a year, then they dump him. But she dated a guy for five and a half years before he proposed, and when he finally did, The Frisky congratulated her. I thought you were better than that, Frisky.
The worst part is that she's Jewish, and often accredits her matchmaking prowess to her Jewish upbringing. Remember all those fun stereotypes of Jews being JAPy, money-grubbing, power-hungry fiends? I think I speak for Jews everywhere when I say thank you, Patti.
How could we ever forget Britney Spears' sexy school-girl-gone-bad video "Hit Me Baby One More Time?" She wasn't even 17.
But at least Spears never pretended she wasn't marketing sexy. Now, girls are sexy younger, and the messages are subtler.
The holy trinity of tweendom--Selena Gomez, Demi Lovato and, of course, Miley Cyrus--first took over little girls' televisions everywhere, and have infiltrated billboards, magazines and now our clothing stores.
Miley's various photo scandals--from Vanity Fair to MySpace--are pretty much common knowledge. But Gomez and Lovato have maintained their reputation for being family friendly, even when they shoot suggestive glances and dance seductively in videos like this.
Don't get me wrong. I think Gomez and Lovato are adorable (not so much Miley), and I don't think it's their fault. They're just imitating the girls before them, just like every other girl in the country.
Abercrombie's tween line's, Abercrombie Kids, homepage features tweens photographed from the waist down.
Hollister's new tween shirts feature slogans like "legal-ish" and "I heart the Woody"
I think some marketing dumbass decided to armor the young stars with promise rings to stay virgins until marriage as a weapon against accusations of sexy poses with lips slightly parted and eyes half closed. They can't be inappropriate because they're virgins. But for some reason, it seems to have worked.
Frankly, I'd rather have a sexually active daughter than a virginal one that looks like a slut. But neither would be preferable.
"Almost Famous" is one of my favorite movies of all time. Mostly because it's about a journalist, who happens to be the geeky, awkward, sweet baby-faced kind of guy I always go for.
But I also fell in love with Penny Lane (Kate Hudson) because she is like no other movie heroine out there. She is innocent without being virginal, sweet but not selfless, smart but not intellectual, and just plain weird.
My favorite scene is when she's alone in a hotel ballroom, dancing on rose pedals to Cat Stevens's "Wind of my Soul." Why can't I have that much fun when I'm by myself?
Pride and Prejudice was the original porn for women. In Elizabeth Bennet, Jane Austen created a woman, in a time where women were valued for their trousseaus and face powder, whose spunk and wit would turn heads even today.
What amazes me most about Elizabeth is how she overcame her upbringing to become a woman so ahead of her time. While her mom and most of her sisters had a one track mind-marriage and money-she somehow embodied the values that weren't common place until more than 100 years later. Truly, a testament to Austen herself.
It's a love story about loving someone for who they are and what they stand for, in a time where love was about beauty, submission and riches.
The stories of the free thinking woman with a big mouth finding love with someone she originally despises are a dime a dozen today. But this was the first, the source of the hatred- turned- sexual- tension and woman-falling-in-love-without-losing-herself stories that we can't seem to get enough of.
Thanks to almost every aspect of the media, sometimes it seems like pretty girls are the only ones being taken seriously. The stigma of pretty girls being dumb may have existed at some point, but I think it's long outdated. Sorry.
The girls I've heard say this for the most part are known for their vast insecurities and bar-time sluttiness. It's just a way to announce to the world that they're good looking without seeming arrogant.
I'm not saying beautiful women are never discriminated against. But so are plain looking and not-so-pretty women. So get over yourselves.
I'll admit it. I'm a VH1 reality TV junky. I've watched all three seasons of "Rock of Love," the last two seasons of "Charm School," "I Love Money" and most of "I Love Money 2." I've seen bits and pieces of "Daisy of Love," "Real Chance of Love," "Tool Academy," and, well, you get the point.
I like them because they're mindless enough that I don't have to concentrate, but engaging enough that I can place high-stakes bets with my fellow shamed VH1 addict, who shall remain nameless (achem Jeff) on who's going to be dismissed tonight, who's going to punch who tonight, and who's going to take their top off first.
My VH1 obsession was exactly how I became acquainted with VH1 vixen Megan Hauserman. She made her reality TV debut on "Beauty and the Geek" and her first VH1 appearance on the second season of "Rock of Love." Since then she's starred in "I Love Money" and the second season of "Charm School."
Almost always bikini-clad Megan is a super bitch. She's manipulative, selfish and shallow. But she is ridiculously smart. She knows how to convince people to do things, and she gets her way almost every time. On "I Love Money," she controlled almost all of the eliminations.
A couple weeks ago, "Megan Wants a Millionaire" aired on VH1, where a group of sleazy millionaire's competed for Megan's heart. Recently, the show has been postponed and pulled from VH1's Web site due to contestant Ryan Alexander Jenkins being wanted for murder. He later starred in "I Love Money 3," which has not yet been aired.
Though the murder of Jenkins's ex-wife was tragic, I'm glad "Megan Wants a Millionaire" is no longer on air. As someone who's enjoyed watching Megan's antics and celebrating the unprecedented intelligence of a VH1 reality TV contestant, I hated watching her do nothing except being doted on and fought over. I missed the play-dirty Megan.
How can I be a fan of such a despicable human being? It's reality TV, where you don't get famous for being a good person, and you definitely don't watch it for its moral fiber. So lay off.
Even though "Megan Wants a Millionaire" is officially off the air, for now at least, I still made one more bet with Jeff. He bet CNN would pick up the story. I thought no one would care that much. Guess who won?
Again, this doesn't have much to do with my theme, but I thought I'd point it out anyway. I recently discovered, via IMDB stalking, that two characters from two of my favorite shows guest starred on Sesame Street.
Will Arnett, who plays Gob, a failing magician, on "Arrested Development" guest starred as, well, a crappy magician on Sesame Street. No "Final Countdown" but still worth looking at.
And for comparison:
Amy Sedaris from "Strangers with Candy" guest stars as Snow White. Although very different characters, she brings her same comedic style from "Strangers" to the part.
There are few things more romantic than being admired from a distance. I'm not really sure why this is, but maybe it has to do with being idealized or the empowerment of obliviously going about your own business while someone can't sleep because they can't get that glowing image of you sauntering off humming "Oh what a beautiful morning."
Well, maybe not.
But in reality, a lot of secret admirers turn into stalkers and sweet talking strangers are just trying to sleep with you. That's why it's better to get your romantic fix vicariously, and there's no better place to do that than on Craigslist, where today's Missed Connections subject lines range from "Quaker Steak and Lube Car Cruise" to "I hate time, but I love fate" to the vengeful "I told you that you were the one- I meant it. I'm done."
You can hope that wrote one for you, that you're on someone's pedestal somewhere, and that maybe that hot blonde who showed the writer where the laminate cleaners are was, in fact, you. But for your own safety, keep your Craigslist activity to selling your moldy futon.
No, I don't mean in the 8th grade girl way where you tell the girl with the frizzy hair who can do math better than you that no one will ever love her.
I mean in the "get stuff done" way (see Tina Fey below)
Last year I had the landlords from hell. For you Madisonians, don't ever live in the Saxony. Ever.
Our problems started on day one. I was recently interviewed by the Cap Times about getting in trouble for letting my boyfriend and his roommate move their stuff in for a few days between the end of their old lease and start of their new one. Management told me because of my breach of contract, I wasn't allowed to use the elevator to move them out. I lived on the 8th floor.
Cap Times writer Kim Ukura wrote this about my experience:
When apartment management found out about the plan, one manager accused Wiatrak of breaking her contract by having extra people moved in their apartment.
"I told her I didn't have them move in; I just had guests for a few days with lots of stuff," Wiatrak says.
My bitchiness didn't end there. I later went off on the same manager about holding my package from Amazon with my class books in it for two weeks without letting me know, and after winter break, I moved back in with my new guinea pig, Penelope, I had fallen in love with and adopted from my sister even though pets weren't allowed.
Eventually, I got caught with the guinea pig on the surveillance camera (I know, who watches those tapes anyway?). I was immediately served with a pompous letter written in pseudo-lawyer jargon telling me to get rid of the pig or be evicted.
So, I begged. I told her how much the pig meant to me, I offered her money and I cried. Her response? That she could make an exception but she won't because she doesn't like me.
In other words, because I was a bitch.
With two months left on my lease, my very, very generous friend offered to take care of her until I moved out. It broke my heart, but I got through it. My friend took amazing care of her, I snuck her into the building on the weekends when management wasn't there, and when I moved into my new place, Penelope moved back in with me.
When I moved out of the Saxony, I made sure there was not a trace of the pig anywhere in the apartment. But during my walk through, psycho management told me she would not refund any of my deposit because Penelope had once lived there even after admitting our place was impeccably clean.
Eventually she figured out this was illegal and sent me my deposit anyway.
Even though I lost my guinea pig for a couple of months, I'm glad I stood up for myself when I did. I'm glad that I was a bitch, that I didn't lie down and take it just because she said she was in charge, and that I wasn't so nervous I couldn't speak up.
She once said to me, "I don't know who you are or where you come from that you think the rules don't apply to you."
I ignored her and continued begging to keep my pig, but I think that was the defining moment in our relationship. I never said the rules don't apply to me, but I was raised to question the ones that are just plain bullshit.
People who don't believe that will never make a difference. They will walk this earth as nobody's until they die and nobody remembers them.
Even if no one remembers me, at least I'll know I tried. And if at least one person calls me a bitch, I'll know I got somewhere.
I've lived with my boyfriend officially for three months, and unofficially for two years. By the time I moved out of the dorms into an apartment with a kitchen, Jeff and I were already serious and committed to eating together.
Meaning, I never had to cook for one. When he wasn't around for meals for whatever reason, I never found it worth my time to make a hearty meal just for myself and usually ended up with easy Mac or a concoction of whatever was in the fridge.
Not to mention I shared the kitchen with three other girls.
But since Jeff and I moved in together, sans roommates (except our beautiful guinea pig Penelope), we've made an effort to learn to cook real food for each other. We've made kugels, casseroles, gazpachos and more.
I've learned to put food in the oven without burning myself (he still has to take it out) and Jeff has learned that if he gets hungry at night and eats all of the soft tortillas while I'm sleeping, I get really, really mad.
But the point is, we've learned about cooking and food together. Sometimes he surprises me with cooking big meals while I lie on the couch watching TV, and sometimes I cook for him while he's reading to the guinea pig.
Jeff reading to the guinea pig (no, he's not a Republican)
I grew up afraid of the 50's housewife. I didn't want to become her so I rejected anything that was associated with her. As a teenager I refused to cook, clean or straighten my hair, and as a result, I kind of came out like a spoiled brat (except for the hair thing, I've since learned to tame my curls).
But there's nothing wrong with learning to take care of yourself. Now when Jeff's not around and I want a big meal, I make a big meal. For me.
And if you have a boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/whatever, you're not going to become that subservient woman as long as the taking care of each other is mutual.
What does this have to do with female pride? Not much, but I couldn't let this go without commenting. The class A douchebag spends a couple years in prison and then picks up his NFL career where he left off. Way to go Philadelphia. I know I'd want a heartless bastard representing my city, so good for you for snatching him up so quickly!
I could go on about the value of dogs in the lives of women, how no one will ever be as enthusiastic to see you come home, how they have this uncanny ability to know when to play, and when you just need a snuggle buddy to cry with after your most recent breakup, work stressor or Lifetime movie. How they love you unconditionally no matter how bad your breath is in the morning, or how many marathons of crappy VH1 reality shows they've caught you watching.
But the truth is, I come from a long line of animal lovers, and the men in my life have just as fulfilling relationships with their K-9 companions as women, and it wouldn't be fair to credit dog loving just to the female population.
Except, of course, for Michael Vick. Fucking waste of sperm and egg. It's people like him that make me wish I believed in hell. Dante should have a special circle for animal abusers. Coat them in gravy and dog biscuits and feed them to the dogs. Regurgitate, and repeat.
My high school English teacher told our class that the reason men are always in search of the holy grail in literature is because women already have all the answers. When we read about Chretien de Troyes' Perceval, who was in search for the Holy Grail, but really in search of how to live life. He meets women along the way who give him insight into becoming a knight and becoming a man. But they always stay put and don't continue with Perceval on his adventures because there's nothing more that they need to learn.
The theme of women as all knowing prevails in Medieval lit, like Beatrice in "The Divine Comedy," and in tons of classic stories that stood the tests of time. Cinderella's fairy godmother, the old beggar who turns the prince into a beast in Beauty and the Beast and Sleeping Beauty's fairies. Pretty much all of Shakespeare's witches and soothsayers were female. Pinocchio's fairy godmother knew to build in a visible lie detector, and Peter Pan's Wendy was the only one with enough sense to grow up.
It works the other way too, with smart, evil women wreaking hell on their dumb, docile and naive princesses. Like the queen/sorceress in Snow White, or Ursula in the Little Mermaid.
But I think you see these women plenty today, just in a different form. Basically, today's holy grail women are able to tell men when they're being dumbasses, because they've missed the point all along.
Some of my favorite examples have been in the books I've read over the last couple of years. Like in the who-dun-it thriller "Into the Woods" by Tana French, where a detective, the male first-person protagonist struggles to solve the case, but realizes his female counterpart has known from the beginning. She was just smart enough to know he had to come to the conclusion on his own.
"The Answer is Always Yes" by Monica Ferrell chronicles the freshman year of college of Matt Acciaccatura, who, in his constant struggle to be cool, gets mixed up in the drug culture of New York's night clubs. While the night life sucks in his friends little by little, his good-girl girlfriend Sophie remains unseduced.
Finally, "The Secret History" by Donna Tartt brings to life a group of too-smart-for-their-own-good college students who, when things get out of hand, end up murdering one of their own. The group, which consists of five men (later four) and one woman, Camilla. The three men go along with the murder mainly because they are in fearful awe of their leader, Henry. But it is later revealed that Henry is in love with Camilla, and that she's been pulling her share of the strings all along. Although Henry remains the leader of the pack, Camilla has his heart, and therefore way more power than he probably intended to give.
Alaska's own Sarah P. ran for Vice President in the 2008 elections. She's bold, she's beautiful, and she's loathed by many men and women alike. It's been said that John McCain might've actually had a chance at the presidency if it weren't for her. And I whole heartedly agree.
An idol to some, many women despise America's most famous hockey mom for a number of reasons ranging from her lack of experience, her faltering historical knowledge, her uber conservatism, or her famous fall shopping spree.
She's an embarrassment to our gender, but the point is, we recognize that. Less than 90 years ago women couldn't even vote, and now that there was a woman to vote for, we didn't feel pressured to vote for her just because of her sex.
Having a woman in office is less important than having someone in line with our values. We're strong enough as the suppressed gender that has come a long way, but still has a ways to go, to understand that Sarah Palin's gender is secondary to who she really is.
Your body releases the same lovable I'm-so-happy endorphins whether you're eating dark chocolate, exercising or having sex.
So when you need a good pick-me-up, you have quite a range of activities to choose from depending on whether you want to eat, get in shape or get intimate.
Though a vigorous love making session that incorporates a few chocolatey treats will get the job done too. Would that be triple the happiness?
I've always sucked at science, particularly biology. But apparently an increasing number of women are not sucking at biology.
According to AAMC, the percent of first year med students that are women has increased from 43.3% to 47.8% between 1997 and 2008 while men have decreased from 56.7% to 52.2%.
Hopefully this will lead to a higher female selection of gynos. Their male counterparts are just as effective, but I'd rather show mine to someone who has their own. At least they can tell me first hand on why it does or doesn't do things, and if it should or shouldn't do them.
I love this blog. The Frisky has the best of everything-sex, relationships, celebrity gossip, style and random tidbits that make the day a little bit more interesting.
There are plenty of blogs out there that cover said topics, but this one has a compelling mix of personal accounts and journalistic articles that seem to go beyond the tired concepts and promote honest camaraderie among women when it comes to dating, independence and careers. They update several times an hour, so it never gets boring. Plus CNN often links to it, which is how I found it in the first place. That's pretty awesome.
Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a good make-out session as much as the next girl, but quick kisses on the cheek, nose and forehead can be just as powerful.
Making out is passionate, but quick kisses are secure. They remind you that you're protected, adored and more than just a sexy playmate.
USA Network's inexplicably invincible outcasted spy, super sexy Michael Westen (Jeffrey Donovan) comes with a feisty female friend Fiona Glennane (Gabrielle Anwar).
An ex-IRA affiliate, she's now a successful freelancer in arms dealing, tracking, combat and a hell of a lot of explosives.
With super model good looks, intelligence that would leave Bill Gates speechless and the ability to catch hardened criminals for bounty in a bikini top and heels, Fiona is pretty awesome.
Not to mention she's the only one who seems to be able to kick her ex-boyfriend Michael's ass.
While Fiona spends the entirety of the first season trying to get Michael to sleep with her, when he risks his life for selfish reasons, she calls off their relationship on the grounds that she won't be anyone's second choice--even if it's second to themselves.
Add a couple batteries and some good vibrations to the best childhood bath toy for some grown up fun. Sure neck massagers, electric toothbrushes and really powerful cell phones could get the job done as well, but the duckies are just much more adorable.
And finding a hiding spot isn't a problem either, just stash them on the shelf next to your hair products to add a little spunk to your decor in plain sight.
