The Dirty DL

Ahhh!  I’m back!  And I promise, no more hiatuses.  Which, by the way, is a word.  Apparently.  And I did think to use “hiati,” but spell-check was having none of it. 

 But I digress.  I read something funny today in an article titled The 7 Deadly Sins of Blogging:

 5. Identicality

Some may disagree, but I think it’s totally fine to start your blog wanting to be someone else. That might be because I started my first blog wanting to be Seth Godin.

 Ok, so maybe I misinterpreted number 5 (that is how I got through university…I’ll regale you with tales of my genius another time, or never).   But again, before I go off on a tangent, I started this blog wanting to be someone else.  Tall, busty, and blond.  I thought a blog would make me pretty.  But according to genetics and my hairdresser, I shan’t be any of it.  Well, that’s only because I haven’t consulted a doctor.  Sighh, now I guess I’ll never be pretty and popular.  Damn society.

But I’ve discovered a website that would make me think twice about wanting to be anything but homely.    Have you seen  What a malicious, childish piece of…social networking? Well, the stereotypical American highschool, “Mean Girls”, movie-version of social networking.  But it is very much a social network.  It connects people together from all over the world, by bringing them together for a common cause.   And it most definitely reaffirms the insecurities people had in highschool.   I upload a photo of you, defame your character, and then the rest of the world adds their 2 lascivious cents. 

But what I find even more remarkable is that every girl who has had their over-sexed looking photographs pilfered off of Facebook and then uploaded to this site is of exactly the same breed.

So what’s the deal?  Why do so many inherently classy ladies desperately want to be those girls?  We, society, perpetuate the expectations of “hot” for young women and then just as quickly, we belittle it, chastise them, to their faces, behind their backs, and all over the internet completely eradicating the character of anyone who attempting to live up to society’s unrealistic expectations.  Sorry, but you can’t be classy and still wear a sequined, cleavage enhancing, backless halter top.  Or, wait, can you? 

What’s the line between sexy and skanky?

ex oh.


The man in the ankle socks

I was ispired by a man in ankle socks.  The description itself seems like it should belong to a dark, brooding, mysterious, man you may briefly pass in an airport lounge.  The kind of man who wears a long dark trench coat, a pin striped fedora tipped just over his eyes,  and carries a dark leather briefcase for no real reason except that he understands it exalts his character.  He ought to look at his wrist watch, but he’s so self-assured, with a confidence that can’t be decribed as anything but sexy, that he is the type of man to reach into his coat and pull out a pocket watch.  A gold one.  He is as unaware as he is aware.  You watch him.  Untouchable and inpenetrable he seems.  But then you drag your gaze downward.  You see a patch of skin and the mystery, in a flash, dissipates.  And you realize, that this man, this dark, brooding, mysterious man who exudes sexiness, is really an over-compensating, douchy guy with an affinity for socks that don’t cover his ankles.

I dedicate this epic piece of pseudo-journalism to that man.

ex oh.