the one in which i explain why there is drool on my screen.
While it’s hard for a girl who regularly incorporates what are essentially slutty Halloween costumes into her everyday wardrobe to cry foul at the over-sexualization of women, because honestly, I’m pretty much just a strawberry with eyes at this point, I’d literally have to posses a.) the IQ of Heidi Montag’s left breast or b.) Stevie Wonder’s eyesight to miss the fact that there is perhaps a discrepancy when it comes to the amount of flesh flashed by both sexes. And even then, I’m pretty sure Mr. Wonder is quite the connoisseur of ass, regardless of his ocular endowments, though I’m not so convinced that Heidi Montag has any redeeming attributes.
Or, you could just skip the above musings about Stevie Wonder, strawberries, and plastic lady parts, and read my lol cat translation of the same:
BOOBZ. THEY BEEZ EVERYWHERES.
So yes, I get it. Woman are all sorts of used for their bodies, blah, blah, blah. As a hyper sexualized fruit, I don’t really care.
But you know what I do care about?
Gratuitous male nudity.
Because OH MY GOD YUM.
Because oh my god even if I didn’t think Lost was fucking incredible (which it is), I would so completely watch it just to oogle the shirtless man offerings.
Because OH MY GOD SAWYER.
Seriously, as if I didn’t already bow down to JJ Abrams and Co. for their fucking brilliance, they have me ON MY KNEES with their apparent fondness for writing storylines in which Sawyer never has a shirt on.
There’s no reason that man should ever wear a shirt.
The above? The above is how men talk about women. And we get all bitchy and righteous and indignant about how that girl has a brain! and should be valued for her degree in astrophysics! And she’s someone’s daughter or something!
But when I rhapsodize about how I swear to god I contemplated licking the screen (lie. did lick screen. shut up, it’s not like you never made out with your Scott Baio poster), it’s taken exactly how I intend it.
Light heartedly.
So why because I have a vagina am I allowed to objectify the opposite sex, but we lambast men for doing the same?
Not sure. I’ve give up my anthropologist title, I don’t care why we do what we do, my brain is befuddled with screen shots of his chest hair, and I’m currently content pursuing another moniker:
Mrs. James Ford.
(Or really any of the forty-two chicks he has thus far banged on that show. Seriously. Any. I’ll be an extra. As long as it’s a naked with Sawyer kind of extra.)
rubylocks 