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Shameful Pleasures

I’m ready to talk about it finally. One of my biggest and most shameful addictions? It’s not Hilary Duff. It’s not Gossip Girl–not even the Gossip Girl novels I devour while riding the Metro. It’s this: dating & relationship advice for women.

I have to admit I’m both horrified and fascinated by it. Take Dating Tip #1 in this article:

“If you know how to date, and you’re meeting losers, get off the market and go into dating detox. Clean your energy up so those people don’t ask you out anymore.”

This is ridiculous. I might be an Arizonan at heart, but even “clean up your energy” is too New Agey for me! If you’re dating losers, why not start asking some men out? The ones who aren’t losers? She goes on to say:

“The problem is we women are very impatient. We want it now. Instant gratification! Sometimes the best single men are worth waiting for.”

Actually, I think the problem is women like her, who put rigid rules into place. I have a very hard time believing that the heterosexual world is really built on distinctions like this. But even within this article, she claims women both “want it now” and “women are Crockpots. Women heat up very slowly. They take in information; they decipher it and download it into their computer.” And then on the converse: “Men are microwaves…Men know in one second, yes or no.”

Girl, please. I can’t even tell you how wrong that is. I have known and dated so many indecisive men it’s not even funny. And although I do tend to make snap decisions or “want instant gratification” and/or “want it now,” I’m pretty sure it doesn’t create a vagina. Beau, for example, cannot order off a menu because he can’t make up his mind. When he finally decides, he wishes he’d ordered that other thing.

It scares me that women out there might be reading this and acting on the advice. It’s worse when the male columnist writes about dating. All these articles are like, “What are people of the opposite sex really thinking?”

And my question is, “Why not just ask them?”

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They’re Heeeee-re

America’s Next Top Model is back and already an outrage! Tonight’s elimination was so WRONG and obviously motivated by keeping a bitchy, conflict-inspiring contestant in the house while sending home the sweet-natured, attractive, better performing model.

So, aside from that, who am I loving?


Allison, freaky-eyed alien girl, who is awkward and strange, but also totally herself, and essentially very sweet.


Aminat, who is taller than me in heels and, without being cruel, tells it how it is.


London: “She loves Jesus, and modeling too.” She’s like a Tom Petty song! But she is also just cool and confident and fun-loving and wild–you know, in a Christian way.


Fo, whose freckles and fresh personality give her inner and outer beauty.


Jessica, of the flawless skin and flawless features.


Kortnie, who dated Dale Earnhardt junior and lived to tell about it! And who is barely plus-sized and plus-fabulous.

Sad to see the first elimination. I hope the next time–SHE’S on the chopping block. I usually don’t root against my hometown girls. Unless they’re, you know, evil

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Arizona Derby Dames

Last night I went to the roller derby competition with a bunch of friends. It was my first time. I wasn’t familiar with roller derby except for what I recently read about it in The Advocate but I was interested in witnessing what was sure to be a rock-n-roll spectacle like no other.

If you’re not familiar with how the game is played, here’s a little primer:

The group skate around the track, lap after lap. The “Jammers” (one player on each team with a starred helmet) tries to skate through/around the “pack” of “blockers” (skaters who get in their way) in order to pass them. Every time the Jammer passes the pack, they get a point.

Last night we were there rooting for the Brutal Beauties, a black and hot pink-clad group of skaters. Of them, Phyllis Killer was kind enough to hold us some rink-side seats so we were pretty much part of the action. And that’s another important part of roller derby: names. Along with other team names like the Runaway Brides, the Grave Draggers, and the Bombshells, the team members all have “derby names.” Among my favorites were “Ann Thrash” and “Dr. Mary Lu Botomy,” along with the aforementioned Phyllis Killer.

I had no less than three ladies tumble and slide directly into my chair during the competition, which was awesome. I fared pretty well; another group of people had a skater land on top them, slicing through a series of sodas in styrofoam cups first. Phyllis Killer, in one particularly spectacular fall, got her skate wrapped around my friend Helena Handbasket’s handbag. When she finally noticed, she immediately reached down, untangled the purse strap—and then took out my friend’s wallet as if to skate away with it.

Roller derby is tough, like hockey, but with a decidedly tough-girl edge to it. Many of the team uniforms emphasize the player’s bust and butts, often revealing one or the other as they skate by, bent over:

Beau and I were brainstorming derby names for ourselves. Although we arrived calling ourselves “Judy Gnarl-land” and “Lauren ‘Ex-Con’-rad,” we later decided to create full teams of players. My team is based on famous gymnasts of the past: Mary Lou Rotten, for example. Beau’s team is all named after feminine hygiene products—and the only example I could post in this entry is “Summers Eve.”

Roller derby is gaining popularity around the country. Google your hometown to find out if there’s a match happening near you. At $8, you can’t get more enjoyment out of each measly buck these days.