Friday, 28 September 2007

I have enough to worry about just keeping myself alive...

Last night I became a television shouter-atter, something I have been threatening to do for some time but have never officially engaged in. The event that prompted the shouting, and the actual flinging of a remote control was a Dove deoderant ad that told me that in order to have soft, silky armpits I should use their roll on. I am going to let that last sentence sink in, and for those of you whose heads are not imploding on the circuitous logic of having to combat shaving... rash? dryness? with a whole other product in order to be seen as sexy, I will explain.

First of all, I should admit that I love Dove soap. I especially love their 'green tea and cucumber' flavour (because, yes, it makes me edible). And I am all for having a one quarter moisturising cream in my soap. Rock on one quart moisturising cream! Woo! What I don't love is the fact that their ingenious brand managers have cottoned on to this whole 'beauty' thing. You know, that whole thing where they go around telling women to feel beautiful even though they are old, or fat, or wrinkley, or, I don't know... dry. Because that's what they are saying. Whenever they say that 'real women have real curves' and then try to sell me firming lotion, they are telling me that real women have real curves that need to be fought with their firmfucking lotion.

What gets me is that they think I am stupid enough to be fooled by their trickery. And the irony is that I find a Dove ad infinitely more offensive than, say, and Oil of Olay ad. Because at least the Oil of Olay ad is upfront about the problem: You're looking like shite! Buy this!

See? It's easier to spot. It's offensive, yes, but it's honest. And I don't end up chucking remotes at the television (although I have been known to rip a magazine in half and dance about the room naked, shaking my hands above my head, raindance style).

I was wondering the other day whether or not it would be possible to sue the makers of these beauty ads for defamation of character, or at the very least harassment? After all, what could be more defaming that presuming I am a moron, or, even worse, an ugly moron.

My only regret is that if I did manage to get them all the way to the courthouse, in order to maintain credibility I would then have to face them au naturale; no makeup, no hair balm, my real face.

The shame is enough to make me recant all my previous grumblings. And frankly, thats what I hate most of all.

Saturday, 8 September 2007

Thou Shalt Not

Engage in drunken sewing.

Thursday, 6 September 2007

Rainbows & Unicorns, Pt2

Yo
I know I haven't updated in, um, weeks. And in the beginning it was because I was so fucking low that I couldn't bear to bore you with my complaints.
Then it was because my medication, Lamictin, started making me unable to concentrate and no matter how good my ideas for a post were, the words just wouldn't come. And no one wants to read a half formed idea, do they?

But now? Now, I'm so happy I could burst. I had a meeting with my extremely hot hot hot psychiatrist and told him when asked that my mood was between a six and seven. Out of ten. Previously it had been, oh, a three. So I am officially doubley happy happy than I was only a month and a half ago. In a month and a half, my life has changed. So if I'm not writing, you can safely assume that it's because I am drunk. Drunk with happiness.

And also, gin.