My Forward Thinking (In Relation to Gender Roles)

Yes, I know, two in one day! Damn insomnia has me up and thinkin more about the differences in gender, these damn gender roles for example. LOL. So in my thinking, I realized that I have some serious forward thinking on a lot of ish, a lot of which I'll expound on in further blogs.... My guys all say, "Ash, you think like a ni99a!" LOL, I guess that's true.

I'm worried about all these damn gender roles that men and women have, as well as this double standard shit...for example...if a guy sleeps with 50 girls, he's a playa, whereas a girl sleeps with 50 dudes, she's a slut. Now, in no way have I slept with 50 dudes in my lifetime, but I would appreciate being able to explore my sexual freedom as openly as my male buddies.

A few days ago, I was kickin it with some of my guy friends and one of them, who I'll call George*, is a big time pretty boy. I mean, girls see this dude and they go apeshit crazy...when we were younger, George tried to spit his game at me, but I told him to go kick rocks. Why? Well, his face was too perfect. I like guys who have something wrong with their faces. Like their ears or nose or their eyes are too big, or they have a scar or two, or something like that. Basically things that add character to a face. George hasn't even been in a serious fight in his life. Anyway, George was sleeping with a girl named Amy*. Amy was cool with a girl named Sasha* who George also slept with. Then, this fool got Sasha and her own sister Paula* in a threesome. When he came over, the dudes were giving him mad props, like he built the pyramids all by himself. Now, I had mentioned to my boy that one of the chicks he used to mess with got burnt by some dude, and everyone started screaming "she's a whore", but i knew at least two of the dudes in the room had at least had her on her knees once! 

So I was not letting that ish go...I said, "So since some of y'all in here have fu**ed or let her su*k you off, I guess that makes y'all hoes too" and I got immense boos. So my question is, what is the deal with that? Why are there different sexual standards for men and women...is it because women have the 'cavern' while men are the 'explorers'? (That's something that i heard once referring to genitalia, and it always made me laugh my ass off). Give me your thoughts...

*Ashley Robin*

The stick figures picture, I find so hilarious and probably will try to use them when I do talk about sex, (which will be in upcoming posts, since I've gotten emails to do posts about that) are from about.com. I don't think they had THAT in mind when they made those stick figures, eh? Oh, and just so you guys know, (before I get a ton of questions about it) that picture of the "After Sex Towel" is an of actual product, which can be purchased here, either for actual use or as a gag gift. *No joke meant by the word 'gag' either.

*- Names are changed, please do not try to find these people in my friends list...they are there, just not under these names. LOL.

Randomly Random Holiday Thoughts

I was up at the god-awful hour of 530am the night before New Years Eve, and I found out that Vanilla Ice aka Rob Van Winkle starred in a movie called "Cool as Ice" in 1991. The movie is like when you are driving down a highway and see a bad car accident, ambulances and all, and want to look away, but you can't. Eventually traffic slows down to a slow crawl because everyone is staring. Maybe it was the combination of just seeing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Part III, since I was in a 90's movie mood, but  it was pretty bad. The movie is about a guy, named Johnny, who is played by Vanilla Ice, who rides cross-country with his band. And yes, in a strange coincidence, he is a rapper. The movie even opens with Ice rapping in his usual flamboyant style...and the song's chorus (or hook) is sung by none other than the cell-phone tossing Naomi Campell, who appears in the opening. Johnny gets the bright idea to travel across country with his band mates, and along the way, meets Kathy (Kat) played by Kristin Minter, an honor student. She catches his eye, and he decides to stay in town long enough to get her attention. Meanwhile, the town is so supportive of Kathy excelling in school that a local news crew comes to interview her. In the interview, they talk to her father, who makes a lame attempt to cover his face. It is revealed later that her father was put into the Witness Protection Program and is found by the crooked cops looking for him, who just so happen to be watching the interview. At this point, Im laughing so hard that I can barely understand anything going on. Not only is this movie poorly acted, its storyline is predictable (Johnny must help Kat save her dad from the crooked cops who want to harm him while still managing to be cool and wear the flashiest pants ever designed), and the dialogue is terrible. An example:

Johnny goes to Kathy's house to see if she's home and possibly talk to her...instead of seeing her, he finds Kathy's mother, Ms. Winslow.

Johnny: Hey-yo, wasup ma'am? Ms. Winslow: Can I help you? Johnny: Yeah, I'm looking for Kat. Ms. Winslow: We don't have a cat. Johnny: Kathy, your daughter.

It's so bad, its good...well no actually, it sucks. I see movies like this and wonder, what Hollywood exec said, "Hey, let's greenlight a "hip-hop" remake of Rebel Without a Cause, and let's do it with Vanilla Ice! It'll bring in MILLIONS!" I hope it wasn't because V. Ice, his "down" nickname, said he was like the "James Dean of rap", and Rebel was Dean's most well-known movie. Cool as Ice was received so badly by critics that the director, David Kellogg, didn't work again for EIGHT years after this movie came out. He is now known for directing 1999's Inspector Gadget. Many reviewers said, and I agree, that the whole budget for the film must have been spent on V. Ice's wardrobe, since everyone else looks like they just kind of fell out of the second-hand clothes shop. Almost 20 years later, in Indiana, I bet James Dean is STILL rolling in his grave.

A.

"Look Mommy, There's a Volkswagen Sittin on the Side of the Road at 1am"..."Ooh, Let's Keep Drivin!"

Last night had to be the suckiest night ever. Seriously. I felt like goin to see my cousin in the suburbs and drowning my sorrows (more about those later) in a sickeningly-sweet alcoholic beverage. I got there, had a good time, probably a little too much to drink and spent an hour sobering up over ridiculously hot buffalo wings and blue cheese, leaving out only because my stomach was doing more flips than Mary Lou Retton on speed. Driving on the way home, I was thinking about my current situation, trying to get as much mental process done and started feeling a little tired. Lucky for me and all the other drivers on the highway, I had a can of Red Bull in my backseat. So, not realizing my gas tank is damn near empty, I pull over to get it out of my pseudo overnight bag. Unfortunately, the bag was in the trunk. I remembered reading somewhere that people were getting out of their cars while leaving the keys in the ignition and wound up locked out of their own car, so I cut the car off and hopped out, using them to get the trunk open and my taurine-flavored energy drink. I stood there for a minute, gulping down the can's contents in what my mother calls "Bumblefu*k" (i.e. Nowheresville, USA population: YOU) and watch the cars whizzing past me. I can't help but feel that Bumblefu*k doesn't seem like such a bad place to take residence..at least temporarily. Anyway, I got a little chilly and decided to get back in the car and on the road, because the cool air had given me some additional energy. I get in the car, turn the ignition and whoops....car's not starting. I keep trying, my three inch heel boot covered foot pushing the gas pedal damn near to the floor over and over when a voice in my subconscious says to me. "Hey dummy, you forgot gas before you left her house and got on the highway...you decided to wait because it was cheaper out here...now the car's pretty much on empty and won't start!" I feel even more sucky. I look at myself in the mirror as if to say "Stupid, Stupid, Stupid..." but suddenly feel the buffalo wings coming up....(you don't wanna hear about the next part, but let's just say I have a reason to not eat buffalo wings that are that hot again). After that, I find my cell phone that is damn near dead and call my boyfriend. He doesn't answer. I would call my mom, but she's knocked out on demerol for a painful tooth, and my dad's in New York, so all he's gonna do is try to call my mom. As I'm thinking about who would be up at 1-something-am on a Monday morning, and out of those, who would be willing to drive out to Bumblefu*k to rescue a half-awake, mostly sober with a stomach churning more acid than the vial that created the Joker, Red Bull chugging, buffalo wing and mojito breath having 5 foot 2 and 1/2 nitwit who forgot to put gas in her tank because she's too preoccupied with other issues, the phone dies. Hahaha...now the joke's on me. Sadly, I ain't laughing. As I walk to the nearest exit, which was a little bit of a ways, but luckily I have a flashlight and an umbrella in the car. (The flashlight so I don't get lost in the dark and the umbrella for thwacking whom or whatever may feel the presence of mind to pounce on me..), I reflect, "How did I get here?" "What was I thinking?" and more importantly, "What would Lois Lane do?" (Superman was on earlier, and my thoughts late at night are almost always completely random). Finally, after staggering up the side of the off-ramp without being hit, feet aching and somewhat irritated at myself and my own silliness, I spot the best thing I've seen all night, a BP Amoco, which logo strangely reminds me of the LimeWire file sharing application. Debit card in hand, ready to borrow gas can from the station, I am sure that unlike dear Lois, I can save myself and will not require the assistance of a red-caped, blue-tight adorned gentleman.
Fate or circumstance, whichever you believe in, was not through with making my evening worse, however. I'm all ready to take said gas can to said stranded vehicle with about five or six dollars of gas in said can when the attendant, a weird fellow named Sherman, informs me my debit card isn't being read by his lovely machines. Many lovely profane words later, I am standing outside staring at a pay phone. I have to call someone to help me out of this mess, and I am slightly pissed. Saving myself would have been so much more interesting. Luckily, a buddy of mine who suffers from insomnia, along with his need to rescue people is known for being up and going on crazy missions in the middle of the night has a similar phone number to my own. (You must realize that my own memory at this point of the night is crap, and my cell phone is worthless.) I call, and luckily, he answers, saying he is on the way. Bless insomniacs when you need them. A strange conversation and a courtesy cup of hot chocolate later, I am accompanied with gas in a gas can back to my car. Also, I have been given 10 dollars to put into my tank so that I can indeed arrive home. I walk in the door sometime around 2, not sure when, send an slightly irritated text to aforementioned sleepy boyfriend and pile in the bed.

Ashley Robin