Monthly Archives: June 2009

The Wear Dare

As some of you may know, I intern at Vice Magazine. My job description is pretty much limited to researching and writing for the blog, but for the Fashion Issue, I was assigned a little something extra. My best friend and I were to go to the Salvation Army and pick out one week’s worth of hideous clothes for the other to wear. We were to sport these repulsive outfits for seven consecutive days with no exception – whether you were at work, a bar, or even a church, you had to wear whatever your friend picked out for you. So we did it. Unfortch, our article didn’t make it to print because of a production error in the New York office. Maybe that was a lie and our article just sucked. Whatever, we’re posting it here anyway. All the pictures were taken by my buddy Robby. He’s awesome. Before we start, here is a photo he took of me holding an ugly skirt.

Picture 1

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My Beef With Budweiser

I have to rant a little bit today. I’ll keep it short and sweet. Promise.

A few mornings ago, as I was on the escalator at Lucien L’Allier metro, I noticed a big ass Bud Camp billboard with three horribly Photoshopped girls staring back at me. I cringed and moved along. That same day, as I was goinBUD CAMPg down the escalator on my way home, I noticed that the poster was staring at me again – except this time it was on the opposite wall. I now have to see these bimbos twice a day. Honestly, I’m transfixed by these ads. I just stand there staring at them, looking like a zombie, completely puzzled. The reason for my hatred is two fold. First of all, the Photoshop on this ad is just ridiculous. It doesn’t even look like a photo, just some computer rendering. The middle girl’s eyebrows look totally painted on. It’s kind of hard to tell on this picture, but if you see the life size poster you’ll know what I mean. Before I get to my second reason, let me explain the point of the ad (yes, apparently this ad has a point!), as per the Budweiser website:

A WILDLIFE EXPERIENCE IS WAITING

An epic adventure. A legendary party. A wildlife experience. And it’s all waiting for you and a friend. Look on the Bud Camp postcard found in specially marked cases of Budweiser for your PIN. Plus, you can enter as often as you like, just pick up a new PIN.

OMG, everyone! An epic adventure! A legendary party!

So basically, you get a chance to win a trip to the Bud Camp, where you’ll hang out with sexy Bud Girls. I drink beer, and I’m a girl, and I like going up north. What if I win? Where are the Bud Boys? There are none. You may remember similar contests by Coors Light, such as the Coors Light Mystery Mansion & the Coors Light Maxim Golf Party. What a crock of shit. I have no interest in partying with scantily clad beer girls. It just boggles my mind that companies are still reinforcing these sexist ideals. The message is clear, “Drink beer (or any alcohol) and get women.” Oh, okay.

I could go on and on about society and subliminal messages and sexism but I really just needed to vent. I despise that ad so much. Maybe if the Photoshop wasn’t so awful I’d be able to ignore it, but it’s in my face every day, and I just wanna draw comical mustaches on all the girls’ faces. Is that childish? Don’t judge me.

-Maria D

UPDATE: I’m not the only one who thinks this campaign is sexist!

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Ass Doctor

I have the worst stomach of all time. It drives me crazy! It’s always hurting (like right now). I found this post I’d written for an old, personal blog about a year ago. I know, I know, this is recycled material, but in all fairness, no one read that blog anyway. I wrote it after I saw an ass doctor. Here you go:

I just farted about five minutes ago and holy shit, it still smells so bad. I wouldn’t normally write about this but I’m both surprised and impressed by the duration and intensity of this scent. I think it’s because of the new pills I’m taking. As some of you may know, I have stomach problems. I have a constant tummy ache. After years and years of pain, I decided to finally deal with it. This week, I went to a butt doctor. I was very nervous. A coworker convinced me I had tapeworm. I didn’t know of this tapeworm he spoke of, so I Googled it. Good lord, it is disgusting. I became obsessed with the thought that I had it. I went to the doctor’s prepared to admit to my gross problem. The waiting room was filled with the city’s elderly population. Everyone was easily four times older than me. I was also surprised because though I’m sure this doctor has loads of money, his office did not reflect it. The waiting room was equipped with what was possibly the first AM/FM radio ever invented. His secretary was using a typewriter. The fake plants were covered in dust. I eventually heard my name called and went in. The doctor was a nice man that asked me lots of questions. He wasn’t able to diagnose me based on my answers, so he brought me to the examination room. He told me to get into somewhat of a fetal position, with my face directly facing a wall and my bare ass directly facing his body. As he prepared to insert his finger, I was like, “Don’t do it, I have to go to the bathroom. You’ll get poop on your finger!” He assured me that he has his finger in poo like, all day. So he stuck it in and I made faces that expressed my discomfort. Then, oddly, he put his finger in my face, proudly showing me that it was clean. He continued speaking to me for an awkward amount of time, with my ass in his face. I interrupted and asked if I could pull my pants up. He said he had to wipe me first. I found this very unpleasant. I told my dad and he was outraged, saying that the doctor is supposed to leave while you wipe yourself. Apparently, wiping is an intimate act. Anyway, he prescribed me some Apo-Chlorax pills that I have to take 4 times a day. The first day I took them all regularly. They made me feel like I had to poo. And for the first time in my entire life, I sharted! I don’t really have a funny story about that because I was on the bowl. Still, I was shocked. Anyway, I kind of stopped taking the pills after that. I’m trying to get back into it because I want to be cured. Whatevs, at least I don’t have tapeworm.
-Melissa

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Playing Doctor

I saw my first real life penis at the tender age of 8. As soon as I glanced at it, I knew it was something I shouldn’t be looking at. His name was Louis. He was a chubby strawberry blond kid with freckles and sweaty palms and a huge Pog collection.

We were neighbours so we used to play at each other’s houses pretty often. One fine day, he decided we should play doctor. He pretended he was a trucker and that he fell out of his truck and hurt something “down there”. I was the nurse who was supposed to take care of him. He pulled down his pants and he told me to put a band aid on it. I said no. He yelled at me and told me that we were no longer friends. I came home crying and told me my mom what happened. Bad move.

Kids forget fights easily, so me and Louis were playing in our alley a few days later. It was like I had never seen his weewee in the first place until his mom told me to come over because she had a gift for me. I sat at the kitchen table, as excited as an 8 year old could be, expecting a surprise – maybe she was going to give me Louis’ sick Pog collection, who knew? I went from excited and happy to mortified and freaked out in under a minute. His mom pulled out a book about the birds and the bees along with a sex education board game! I was stunned; I just sat there in awe and disgust. I listened as she told me about how a man and a woman who love each other come together to make babies. Eductional Sex BookThere were pictures of penises, hairy vaginas, ovaries and sex. After reading the book, we played the board game. I think the object of the game was to be the first sperm to fertilize the egg. I never forgave my mother for ratting me out like that. She got away with the sex talk by having another mom do it, which was pretty low.

I stopped playing with Louis as much. Whenever I did though, I made sure to steal a few of his Pogs.  

-Maria D

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Sex With A Stranger

I always envisioned that my first one night stand would be an incredible and sexually liberating experience. I seriously thought I’d turn into a 22 year old Samantha Jones, boasting to my gal pals with juicy gossip along the lines of, “Oh, we had sex on his yacht all night long”. OK, maybe I’m exaggerating. To be honest, I had just gotten out of a two year relationship and the prospect of riding a different penis really piqued my curiosity.

I met Zack, an Indian guy, at a club (Bside, to be specific). If memory serves me right, his pickup line was something like, “You have a really beautiful face, I love your eyes.” Of course, I blushed and giggled and thanked him. We exchanged phone numbers at the end of the night and texted until the wee hours of the morning. We made arrangements to meet up the next day.

I remember sweating profusely while waiting for him to pick me up. As soon as his car pulled up, I blushed bright red and a fresh wave of nervous sweat came over me (I think I have a sweating problem, more on this in future posts). He proudly announced that he was taking me to his condo. Yes, his own condo. He was a 30 year old dentist. I was both impressed and excited.

When we got there, he immediately uncorked a bottle of wine. “This guy wastes no time,” I thought. I was wrong. We ended up talking for two hours. Disappointed, I took a look at the clock while he rambled on. It was 11pm. Because my bedtime had come and gone, I told him I was leaving. I worked the next morning, after all. I got up and he offered to walk me out. As the elevator doors opened, he leaned in to kiss me goodnight and BAM! We started making out in the most aggressive of manners.

We rushed back to his unit, our mouths locked while trying to rip off the other’s clothes. He threw me onto his couch and we began the standard ten minute foreplay sesh. He eventually asked me for a condom. I have to admit, that sort of bothered me. His excuse for not having one on hand (or in this case – on dick, har har) was that he’d just moved in and wasn’t sure where they were. I felt like a bit of a ho for having one (actually several) on me.

Anyway, we started going at it. I think it was doggy style on the couch. It wasn’t anything special but I was a bit drunk, so it probably felt better than it would have under sober circumstances. He had a really good body, but I think he waxed. That bugged me. I don’t really like pretty boys; it’s a bit of a turn off. After a few minutes, he looked into my eyes and said, “Uhh, sorry but I really have to pee”.

Excuse me?

He went to the bathroom and I wondered if he was actually peeing. I didn’t hear any telltale tinkling sounds. Suspicious. I assumed he felt nervous or wasn’t into me or something bad like that. When he came back, neither of us seemed into it. He asked me if I had another condom. I lied and said no. He could have easily looked for one but he didn’t offer. I said I was leaving – for real this time.

A week passed and he hadn’t called, texted or emailed. I was fine with that but I was still curious about his whole peeing thing. I instinctively surveyed every guy I know to see how often this happens. I was hoping to relieve my self esteem a little bit but sadly, their communal answer was, “very rarely.”

Anyway, I ended up seeing Zack a while later at Bside again. We made eye contact and he quickly looked away. What a dick! I stared at him furiously until he felt pressured enough to approach me. He said hi, we talked a bit and he left. I don’t know what to make of our situation. We’re not friends, we’re not even acquaintances, really. We’re just two people who slept together – or sort of slept together, until his supposed urination ruined the whole experience.

Not exactly the Sex & The City moment I’d hoped for. God damn that show.

-Maria D

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Crushing Hard

When I was in the sixth grade, I had the hugest crush on a boy named Shannon. He hadn’t entered my mind in many, many years but I thought of him earlier. A man on the bus was sporting a braided rat tail just like his.

I’d always assumed that Shannon was a girl’s name but that only made this little boy cooler. He was different. He had torn jeans and  bad ass ‘tude. He looked like one of the 3 Ninjas, though I forget which.

My crush on him was a pipe dream. I held out hope that it would someday happen between us but I knew it wouldn’t. He’d seen me pee my pants during an oral presentation in third grade. My body hair was coming in thicker than his. I had Coke bottle glasses. It could never be.  

I always tried to be on his dodgeball team at recess. I gave him chocolate chip cookies. I once offered him a drawing. I made sure he knew I existed. 

Still, I knew that my first crush would remain just that. I was ghastly and he was gorgeous (for a 12 year old).

One day, a rumor zoomed through the schoolyard saying that my friend Charlene had sucked Shannon’s dick. I immediately thought, “WTF? You’re supposed to suck it?” I later felt sad and betrayed. I wondered how she could do that to me. She knew how much I longed for Shannon’s light brown locks and bleached rat tail. 

I never played at her house again. I never liked another boy (well, not until my teens). I resorted to hanging up pictures from Tiger Beat, Teen Beat and various other Beats on my wall. I remember getting an Andrew Keegan poster, cutting his eyes out and replacing them with eyes from other posters. One was slightly to the left, one was slightly to the right. It looked like he was always looking at you! That was my favorite.

I wonder what Shannon is up to now. Is he a computer analyst? A warrior? I guess I could look him up on Facebook but I don’t have one and even if I did, I don’t care enough to find him. I know I made it seem like I did. That was just an embellishment for the sake of the story. Sorry!

-Melissa

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Tattoo Hate

Can people stop bashing other people’s tattoos already? So fucking annoying. Guess what – they didn’t get those tattoos to please you. I realize that people are allowed to have their own opinions and that the Internet is the perfect place to voice them, but this shit is getting annoying. I’m a pretty faithful ONTD reader and I’ve noticed that every single time a Megan Fox (who is absolutely gorgeous, by the way) post comes up, dozens upon dozens of comments are posted about how her tattoos suck. I don’t even think these reactions stem from jealousy – the commenters are just being brutally honest because let’s face it, celebrities’ bodies and their personal decisions on what to do with them are simply items for us to mock and criticize – even if that translates to posting the same comment over and over again.

meganfox

I’m not even a Megan Fox fan (bad acting – there’s something you can comment on!), but I’m not down with that. I love tattoos. All tattoos.

You could have an abstract Tazmanian Devil wrapped in tribal barbed wire right on your forehead and I wouldn’t mind it. I just think it takes guts, patience and will to sit through having a needle roam in and out of your skin for what can often be hours.

More importantly, tattoos are fun. They’re the best! They make you happy for a long time. I got my first one when I was 16 or so (the shadier places won’t ID you) to make my parents mad. It worked. I probably felt like the world’s biggest rebel and it was just so cool. Well, I’ll admit that six years later, that butterfly didn’t look so cool anymore. I got it covered up with my favorite tattoo yet. 

Anyway, that’s not even my point. You don’t need to cover up your tattoos if you don’t want to. Everyone needs to have one or two corny tats. If you can laugh them off, it shows that you don’t take yourself too seriously and that you’re an awesome person. Plus, they represent a time in your life that might have been really fun. Maybe you like that your flaming dice serve as a constant reminder of the day you rode roller coasters for 6 hours with your then-BFFL and got such a sugar high off the cotton candy you’d been eating that you suddenly thought it would be a super cool idea to go get your first tattoo.

So everyone needs to lay off other people’s ink a little bit because in the end, the person being criticized probably doesn’t even care. Or worse – they’ll listen to what’s being said and start second guessing their choices and become totally unhappy with what they’ve done to themselves and that would be sad. Maybe they’d cry about it. Making someone cry isn’t cool. So chill out.

-Melissa

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