Rebecca Hains, best be known these days as the woman who got busted by the TSA for trying to take a red velvet cupcake through airport security, is, in her real life a media studies professor at Salem State University and author of Growing Up With Girl Power; Girlhood on Screen and in Every Day Life. She is also mother to a little boy who loves “My Little Pony,” a show, Rebecca says on her blog, that, like the beloved Powerpuff Girls, appeals equally to both sexes, defying the notion that boys/men won’t watch stories about girls/women.
I have to admit I’m not a “My Little Pony” aficianado — my daughter was never into them and I recalled the old show as being inane, and largely about selling toys (the fact that the ponies were revived for the Hub, a TV station owned by Hasbro, and are skinnier and “prettier” in their new incarnation only reinforced those impressions). Creator Lauren Faust writes on the Ms. Magazine blog that she was not initially a fan, either:
[Shows based on girls’ toys] did not reflect the way I played … I assigned my ponies and my Strawberry Shortcake dolls distinctive personalities and sent them on epic adventures to save the world. On TV, though, I couldn’t tell one girl character from another and they just had endless tea parties, giggled over nothing and defeated villains by either sharing with them or crying – which miraculously inspired the villain to turn nice. Keep reading »
To the best of my knowledge, there is no technical name for my phobia. Although if we were to backtrack, I suppose it’s more of a fear than an actual phobia. Phobias directly impact your everyday way of life; this fear does not. I don’t wander the streets phobic that strangers are going to throw themselves on me for an instant cuddle puddle, because frankly, if that was acceptable societal behavior, I would have moved to the Yukon years ago.
We could start at the very beginning with my first breaths in Beverly, Massachusetts, but considering both my parents loved and cuddled me at, what I’m assuming, was a proper amount, it seems silly to delve into those first few weeks or months and try to find a reason. Keep reading »
“She doesn’t drink,” my Mom said when someone offered me a glass of champagne at my sister’s wedding last summer.
“Mom!” I hissed. “Can you say ‘She doesn’t like to drink’? People are going to think I’m a recovering alcoholic!”
But after nodding no time and again to waiters coming around to refill wine and passing my empty glasses back to them, I noticed that to the casual bystander, I appear to be a recovering alcoholic. I don’t know anyone else who just doesn’t drink because they don’t like to, and won’t even have a sip of champagne for a toast. Unless they are sober. Which is when I realized that I have a lot in common with recovering alcoholics. Keep reading »
If I had it my way, digital evidence of exes past would simply dissolve into the ethers of the Internet like an Alka Seltzer tablet. No deletion. No cutting of ties. Just a hope that somehow enough new things would pile on the past and bury it in places so hidden that you had to really to search should you want to find it. Keep reading »
I hate getting dumped. But I hate doing the dumping even more. I’ll take a breakup text any day of the week over having to send one. Not that I would EVER dump someone via text, even though I’ve been dumped that way. LAME. But I digress. I know how to deal with getting dumped. I have a lot of … experience, shall we say, as dumpee. Getting dumped is a piece of cake! You get angry. You get sad. You mutter expletives to yourself on the subway, listen to The Smiths non-stop for a week and think about how you really didn’t like the way he kissed anyway. Then you move on. Being the dumper is way, way trickier though. Why? Because it challenges your view of yourself as a good person. For a moment, you are forced be the asshole breaking someone’s heart. No way around it. it sucks. The guilt, the avoidance of that “asshole” feeling, has led me to perform some heinous dumpings. But I’ve learned from my mistakes. After the jump, some tips about how to end a relationship while remaining a decent human being. Keep reading »
Marianne Gingrich, ex-wife of Republican presidential wannabe Newt Gingrich, will appear on “Nightline” tonight and dish the dirt on their marriage, which ended after Marianne was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis and he filed for divorce. Marianne Gingrich will reveal all sorts of unsavory things about what Newt wanted to do with his penis, including asking Marianne for an “open marriage” so he could sleep with Callista, who is now his wife. Marianne Gingrich said no: “And I just stared at him and he said, ‘Callista doesn’t care what I do.’ He wanted an open marriage and I refused.” So then Marianne said, Newt began sleeping with Callista — all the while trashing President Clinton for the infamous Lewinsky BJ.
He’s icky. Yes. Newt is icky. And that is the problem — not that Newt asked for an open marriage, or that there is something wrong with open relationship at all. Keep reading »