I, like most Westerners, have been led to believe that a woman wants chocolate like a man wants sex. But I’m not nuts about chocolate; I am outside the sisterhood of the travelling truffle. After a long day at work, I don’t want Godiva and a glass of wine; I crave bread and cheese with tea, or ramen with friends.
So I wonder if this is what women who have intense chocolate cravings actually picture when they eat chocolate, or consider when deciding which chocolate to buy: Was this lovingly made by a handsome foreign chef who, if we ever ran into each other in a market on a sleepy Sunday morning in a small hamlet in France, would have something to talk about because I saw him on this box at Ralphs that one time? Yes. I will buy and eat this chocolate over all others because this one was made my the gorgeous, Caucasian, whisk-wielding father of our inevitably brilliant future offspring.
dashingly handsome chef says, “I love chocolate almost as much as I love you…” *wink*
This doesn’t strike me as a reasonable thought process (especially since I think we all know that there is no way in hell every single piece of this chocolate was pain-stakingly filled with more chocolate by some high-paid chocolatier with a fucking whisk), but it’s chocolate, not rocket science. Reason is not exactly part of the equation.
i’m flexing, therefore my pants are pink IRONICALLY
I saw this ad for colorful pants the other day, and a little barking laugh escaped my lips. Bonobo may be a brand of men’s blinding pants, but it was the name of a type of chimp first, a chimp known for its seemingly human sexual practices.
Bonobos are hilarious. They have matriarchal societies where French kissing, oral sex, and homosexual sexual practices (among the males, and females) are common. They seem to use sex to relax the group. After a fight: sexytime. When they get excited about a particularly plentiful patch of food: sexytime. A new female wants to join the group: lesbian sexytime. It’s pretty great. I wonder what the discussion was like when deciding on the name of these very colorful pants for men.
“Let’s name these absurd-looking pants after a matriarchal, hyper-sexual chimpanzee.”
“…Sure, fine, whatever, I’m missing Diablo III.”
Why do pin-up girls look so surprised all the time? What the hell is happening off-camera that’s so damn shocking? Most of the time they seem to be surprised that their dresses can catch on things and reveal more leg than they mean to. “Oh, heavens!” they seem to say. “However did the vacuum get caught on the hem of my pleated skirt, thereby showing off my garter straps!” It seems to have been a problem that plagued the women of the 40′s, those poor dears.
Some of them actually smiled, though, and were awfully pretty (if anatomically impossible).
once again, Halloween is the best
Luckily, capris, clam-diggers and pedal pushers came to the rescue.
...and were apparently important enough to make it onto the cover of LIFE magazine
It’s frustrating being a nerdy female in large part because the majority of the stuff that fascinates me is geared to be sold to the male portion of our species, resulting it scantily clad female healer classes in (almost) every fantasy war story ever (Eowyn kinda rules).
Then something like this comes along, and I smile. It’s Women Fighters in Reasonable Armor, and it’s a dream come true. Awesome women in brutal armor without an inch of cleavage or chain-mail bikini in the bunch. This is what I picture when I think of what I would be like as a Tolkien-esque fighter; probably a ranger of some kind, definitely hooded.
I was happy to see that Artesia made it onto that page. Sure, she’s a witch/concubine/warrior, which is kinda the opposite of the point of this page, but she always wore the coolest armor.