The vagina spike. He didn’t see that one coming, ouch!
Imagine a clean, smooth and discreet girly device that could easily be inserted into the vagina much like a tampon. With the string tucked-up inside it would be virtually undetectable, I know the description’s graphic but wait it gets more graphic…
Now imagine that this little harmless looking thing encases a two-inch long spike that’s ejected when activated, and by activated I mean a penis tapping it and by ejected I mean the spike shoots out of it into the head of the guy’s dick.
Awareness of your vulnerabilities kinda goes with the territory of being a young woman. There isn’t really a moment where I’m walking places at night (even with friends) that the thought of a violent attack doesn’t cross my mind. Same goes for attending parties and having the fear of accidentally passing out there and getting taken advantage of. Apart from not gallivanting shady neighborhoods after hours and being a responsible drinker with a preplanned way of getting home there isn’t much we can do to protect ourselves in certain circumstances. Maybe where we draw a complete blank on our self-defense class moves? Get drugged? Or maybe a “trusted friend” crosses the line when we have our guard down?
But is FemDefence one small step for woman kind in the personal security department, or not? What if it malfunctions?
Say you were wearing it girl’s night out, had a few beers then crawled into bed with your unsuspecting loving boyfriend. You start to make-out, it’s getting “hotter” and then in a fit of tipsy passion you “whoopsies!” forget to mention you hadn’t taken it out yet! That could be a slight con to the secret security tampon don’t you think? After that mood breaking experience you two can pretty much kiss your cutesy little relationship and future family life goodbye! Personally my worst nightmare would be realizing I had it in backwards after just mounting a man for cowgirl position-
AiiieeeeeeeeeeEEEeee!
Let’s stop talking about this, I’m crossing my legs now.
Kicking Babies Can Be Funny!
Sculpture by Gustav Vigeland
I stumbled upon the picture above and I don’t know why it makes me laugh every time I see it?
I guess there’s something about it that just tickles that special Midol Girl funny place? One could speculate, the nudity perhaps? Babies being kicked and tossed around? The statues’ wee wee? Ah! Why bother analyzing things like this? Funny is funny!
In all seriousness though, someone certainly spent a lot of time making this statue! I see them crouched in front of their masterpiece, spending countless hours getting into every nook and cranny, molding and perfecting every little part… haha this just gets funnier! I can only imagine the meeting where this corporate lawn-ornament was presented to a board in charge of funding the artist;
“So what your saying sir, by looking at this drawing here- is that you have a naked man kicking a baby, and there are others that seem to be flying above, or around him as he powerfully tosses them off? Almost like a baby attack that he is winning? SOLD! Go ahead and make your sacred vision a reality!”
Cheque signed.
Oh I’m going to be a terrible mother one day… I can tell already.
Chocolate Skittles?
Many of you know this about me, some of you may not? I’m known for having an opinion about everything, most often it’s movies and media related topics but the hyper kid in me is most tickled to blog about junk food.
Especially new stuff that will most likely be off the shelves before you can read this. Oh! Canada Dry Green Tea Ginger-Ale (my favorite) is still going strong btw!
Anyhoozle, I was browsing the aisles of Metro here in Toronto when I came across a shiny package hanging solo on a rack in the candy aisle. I saw the package and was like Eww?! What? Chocolate Skittles, Why? What? When? How? So I bought them and downed a handful in the parking lot before I got across the street to my “crib.” I say crib because I felt like a tiny-tot eating these things.
Imagine a stick of Lipsmackers smashed in a bowl of sugar coated Tootsie rolls, grab a spoon- that’s what the new Skittles Chocolate Explosion tastes like; waxy with a sweet artificial chocolate smattering.
Royally addictive though, each handful boasts subtle differences in flavours. There’s smore’s flavour, Brownie, caramel and umm some off-white coloured one, oh right! Vanilla, duh!
Who knows if they are going to remain a regular product? A lot of these things should and shouldn’t or don’t and should. I won’t be perturbed either way in all honestly- there’s nothing about them that I couldn’t get out of getting a regular skittles fix.
A few mouthfuls was enough though before my stomach begged me to stop.
Oh this all reminds me of my friend Norann who had a Skittles addiction in Junior High, coated three of her four bedroom walls in empty packages of the sweets she’d scarffed. If you’re reading this girlie holler back with your expert opinion on this most pressing matter! Hahaha
Starbucks steals language.
Are the corporate coffee bullies slowly training their customers like Pavlov’s dogs to bark their balderdash sizes at all Baristas? Down boy, down!
At my coffee shop we have (brace yourself) 3 sizes.
Yes that’s right, only three.
They are SMALL, MEDIUM and LARGE.
This size naming practice has been an english speaking North American standard for a very long time; so long in fact I’m tempted to say it’s been the standard forever.
But somewhere around, hmm… let’s say 1971 when another coffee shop was established in let’s say, hmm… Seattle, had a name that rhymed with, hmm… let’s say Lardmucks decided to for some lame-ass reason use 4 sizes (by “lame-ass” I mean ridiculously pretentious).
People slowly but surely started to get trained like Pavlov’s dogs to bark orders at ALL coffee clerks in these four pseudo-Italian and (height inspired?) COMPLETELY balderdash size names. Short, Tall, Grande and Venti.
Myself being a coffee server have now fallen frazzled victim to hearing this Mc. Size ordering standard. After a customer says to me “can I get a tall coffee?” I’m left stewing at the counter grinding my beans in contemplation of whether or not I should try and retrain them back to their Sm. Med. Lrg. roots.
I mean, I know that a “tall” is the equivalent in ounces (12 to be exact) of a medium one of our beverages. I could correct a patrons ordering style to suit my personal corporate branding agenda, but really! Is it my place as the girl that pours your morning cup of Joe to also pour you a morning cup of brainwashing fluid? I don’t think so.
I’m a modern gal and will say that I’m not afraid to admit that size really doesn’t matter that much to me. It’s how you use your words that count.
You can waltz right into my café all cock-proud, come press yourself right up against my counter look me in the eyes and say “I want a grande from ya” and I won’t get squirrelly furrow my brow then condescendingly say “you mean you’d like to order a large coffee ?”
Because guess what? Without you using the exact word “large” I’m picking up what your putting down, I can connect the dots. I’m the thinking sort of person and even if I wasn’t I’d be feeling out your vibe. You want a big coffee pronto. I have no problem getting that for you and without the verbal head-pat too.
I wish those Lard Muckers could say the same for themselves.
Ever notice how when you use the size “small” one of their bazillion locations that the cashier will automatically repeat back to you in question form “You mean tall?” then even louder call out the order to the barista “One tall Americano please” who then also parrots back as they write on the cup “One tall Americano” who then repeats again as they place your drink on the bar “One tall Americano”. This alien Lardmuckian lingo spoken repetitiously from the green aprons of corporate coffee planet is their way of standardizing their Javawalkie size names.
As if they didn’t have the technology or money years ago to implement a silent screen read-out at the coffee bar that told them the orders to make like in any of the other fast food chains they copycat in coffee form.
There are a ton of other systems they could have implemented to make sure you ended up with the drink that makes you feel oh so special and unique. They say their unnecessarily complicated drink sizes and names loud and proud for one reason, to set themselves apart and to take ownership of a part of the language that has already belonged to us since forever. Coffee and sizes. But you know Kleenex did that with the disposable hanky, and Q-Tips did that with cotton swabs. I just hope the lord can save us from calling all coffee Starbucks and all smalls talls. Ugh.
Imagine what kind of pathetic word this would be if we had to call objects by the leading competitor’s brand name? You see the Mike Judge film Idiocracy? It kinda touches on this point and it would be a sad, sad world, but that’s a whole other blog.
Buy your Daughter a Pony or She’ll Become a Gambler.
Maybe it’s because I’ve always been one of those weird “horse girls” you know the kind- they draw pictures of ponies all day in their notebooks and ask for one every Christmas.
When I was a kidlette (before I needed Midol) I opted for My Little Ponies over Popples, I fantasized about owning my own stable and riding horses equestrian style. I made a promise to myself that as soon as I grew-up I would get myself a real live horse, name her Buttercup and ride her to work everyday. Everyone at the Very Fancy Marbles Factory or V.F.M.F (I was hugely into collecting marbles at the time) would envy that I didn’t have to take a bus. I never got one though, which is disappointing because I’m pretty sure if I just had what it took to open up a factory I could have easily had a parking stable instead of a stall on the company car lot.
No need to wallow in what could have been when I can enjoy what is, and what is right now is a new found wholesome hobby that can fill my empty horse void…. BETTING ON HORSES!
It was my very first time at the tracks not too long ago, and I fell in love. I put money down on little horse named Risky Russ, healed my broken dreams and have it all caught on tape (well not the healing broken dreams part, that was more of an internal thing).
A Day at The Tracks
Disclaimer: Midol Girl does not condone or support any unhealthy dependencies on gambling, she went to Assiniboia Downs one day and had a really fun time. She said the hobby filled her empty “horse void” but she did not say it filled her wallet or the hole in her heart… that can only be filled by Buttercup.
Erecting Buildings Involves a Lot of Caulk…
Several months ago I did a documentary on Caulkers.
In other words- I followed by big brother Dustin around on the construction site that he was working at. I brought my little video camera, curiosity for his trade and my annoying little sister questions.
I had no idea there were so many phallic references in this field…
Video originally posted on VancouverIAM
You Should’nt be Able to See Your Own VaJay-Jay Upside-Down and Backwards
Websites like StumbleUpon never cease to bring me surprises, for instance… the upside-down vajay-jay thing.
A random user posted a video wholesomely called “Solid Potato Salad” online. I then had the privilege of stumbling upon this little clip using a website named (appropriately enough) StumbleUpon
I snuggled into the groove between the cushions of my big red sofa, slid my MacBook from it’s resting place on my pelvis up to my chest, leaned back, assumed index on touch-pad position and said “Internet, engage!” (yes to myself). I often kill my boredom this way, my fine-tuned browser locked on my Stumble tool-bar and my razor sharp cursor ready to smack the big “Stumble” button.
To my surprise, I realized only moments later that the “wholesome” video I thought I was watching wasn’t really about potato salad at all.
A screen capture of three 1940′s cute as button farm sisters, clad in tiny plaid shorts and pig-tails were contorted into a pin-wheel configuration which looked to be made possible by holding each others heads between each others thighs. A few moments into the visual assault (I’m not saying that like it’s a bad thing) and several spine like licorice, pelvis somehow above shoulders, crotch on-top-of-head positions later I realized these walking talking every man’s dream contortionists where in fact singing about potato salad.
Only in the 1940′s I tell ‘ya, it could only happen then where women could put themselves in those kinds of erotic displays, sing about something so fun and pure and have their pure entertainment intentions be echoed with decency and respect from viewers. It’s too bad that with the internet nowadays entertainment of any kind is at anyone’s disposal to watch however they’d like and that the result is that too often things get made perverted.
It’s “any old joe can post” user driven video websites such as metacafe (picture YouTube but just a tad sleazier..oh and they have mega annoying pop-up ads embedded in the actual videos) there are also porn related sites that I won’t even bother to link here that make viewing women in any contortion possible. But it’s web browser add-ons like StumbleUpon that let you search through only videos and websites that appeal to your sensibilities, even your “I better take a friggen Midol before I open my mouth on this topic” ones.
Even though I didn’t get to watch a video about potato salad I wasn’t disappointed with the result, I do like the surprise factor of Stumble, it’s like channel surfing on the web and the Ross Sisters are pretty amazing…my back does hurt a little from watching them and there are some parts of my body that I will never be able to put over my head or in front of my face, but really, I’m quite okay with that for now.
Click Here to watch the Ross Sister’s Video
One of the Ross Sisters, a 1944's Singing Contortionist Trio
Is that position the result of a lot of determination or discomfort? That smile looks to be concealing the pain associated with putting your “down there” parts, “up there”
Stuff White People Like is Embarrassingly Funny
The controversial tongue-in-cheek blog turned book called Stuff White People Like: A Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions was more comedy then controversy in my eyes.
Was I able to turn a cheek, chuckle and say “That didn’t really apply to me” because I’m a Caucasian looking girl who’s actually an ethnic mixture? I hardly think so! The book made me laugh because parts of it very much applied to me and a lot of it, my friends and fellow white neighbors.
I like bits of writing or opinion pieces that shine a mirror at us who make up the “norm” this day in age, especially a norm that wants so bad to be seen as different from everyone else.
Author Christian Lander’s book smacks us in our own faces. I couldn’t help but blurt out a honky sounding laugh right into the face of my shiny new MacBook when I read list item “Number 40: Apple Products”. I then preceded to knock over my cup of java when I saw “Number 1: Coffee” and then “Number 3: Film Festivals”. Further readings of the list nailed me on my affinity for the works of Michel Gondry, Oscar Parties and best of all- Being Offended. Us white people apparently get a real kick out of that last one, I would defend that but my name is “Midol” Girl and getting offended is often the gas that fills my tank.
The book is essentially a list Lander made of observations from our modern North American “white” culture. I would argue that the list really only applies to a certain age bracket (twenties to mid-thirties) and class (middle to upper-working class) and that it doesn’t apply to a vast majority of white people. Wouldn’t that be nice? If it did reflect our present state the world would be a better place then it is right now! I’m only being cheeky of course, after-all… a book filled with politically incorrect humor deserves a review with a politically incorrect joke or two doesn’t it?
I would recommend giving the list a skim yourself and seeing just what stereotype applies to you or someone you know. I think you’ll be surprised at how relevant of a read it is, and how clever it is too.
My Favorite Excerpt
3. FILM FESTIVALS
White people can’t get enough of film festivals, especially Sundance, Toronto, and Cannes. This love can be due to a number of factors.
- Fact 1: 90 percent of white people have taken a film class at some point in their life.
- Fact 2: White people like feeling smart without doing work—two hours in a theater is easier than ten hours with a book.
- Fact 3: If white people aren’t going backpacking, they generally like to travel with a specific purpose.
- Fact 4: 75 percent of white people believe they either have the potential to or will become filmmakers/screenwriters/directors at some point.
- Fact 5: White people hate stuff that is “mainstream”—so they go to film festivals, where they see movies that every other person in their demographic wants to see. It’s a pretty sweet way to rebel.
- Fact 6: It is required by white- person law that you publicly declare foreign cinema to be better than Hollywood movies, and on par with indie film.
- Fact 7: White people earn credibility by being into films from strange countries: “Oh, you liked Sideways? Yeah, I didn’t see it, I’m really into Serbian film now. They had a great retrospective at the Vancouver Festival.”
The Kite Runner
I went to The Kite Runner a few months after finding a new friend. As our friendship evolved I realized that I had become very wrapped up in our friendship. As I opened my heart wide, I let down my guard. It felt dangerous to find myself in that state. How can something like friendship be dangerous? That’s where I found meaning in the old phrase “love can be blind.”
When you blindly walk into any situation, you are as vulnerable as a nocturnal animal without vision or claws in the jungle after nightfall. I really had no idea really who he was nor where his loyalties lay.
The Kite Runner (adapted from the book) is a classic story about true friendship and redemption. Many of us have been hurt by a friend or a lover whose biggest sin was to protect themselves and their assets above all else. A friend whose colours didn’t show until they were put to the test; to choose their skin, their dignity or yours. Their pride and reputation placed on a pedestal so high that they would rather watch a friend be wrongfully accused of a crime they never committed and be locked away, then risk losing it all.
In The Kite Runner, Amir (Khalid Abdalla) is a young boy whose personal struggle is to stand up for himself. He lost his mother at an early age, and is being raised by a father. His father has instilled a very strong sense of pride, justice and morality in his son. Being a sensitive and artistic boy with a passion for writing, he doesn’t feel he measures up his father’s expectations or his culture’s standards. He carries a silent shame about his absent warrior mentality. His natural instinct being flight and not fight in conflict was the thorn in his side.
There is a game that the children played, pre Taliban rule in the city streets of Afganistan. A boy will fly his kite and, a friend, the “kite runner” runs it out to launch it high into the sky. With all the kite flying pairs soaring their kites above the land, the game is to see which team can cut-down the most kites. Once a kite is cut down from the sky, by the string of another team’s kite, The kite runner will run after the fallen kite and return it to his flyer. Amir is the kite flyer and Hassan is the kite runner. Their relationship, as flyer and runner, reflects their cultural divide as Hassan happens to be the son of Amir’s father’s servant. Therefore Hassan’s loyalty to Amir soars far beyond their friendship.
With the centuries old master and slave structure in place, a looming threat of war ahead and Amir’s coming of age, Amir takes out a lot of his inner turmoil on his good friend Hassan.
A powerful scene depicts Amir throwing pomegranates at his best friend, beneath the tree under which Amir regularly reads to Hassan. Between each painful lob at Hassan’s chest, Amir shouts “Stand up for yourself! Why don’t you hit me back?” Hassan doesn’t do a thing. He picks up one of the pomegranates he was hit with and smashes it onto his own face leaving Amir to stand in the shadow of his battered friend’s undying loyalty. Somehow Hassan elicits the worst in Amir. Instead of recognizing the love behind Hassan’s stubborn willingness to remain friends, he resented him for caring for him and being so loyal. He perceived the abuse Hassan was taking from him as weakness.
Soon after their early friendship crumbled, in part due sabotage by Amir and in part due to politics. We follow Amir to his current life in America and leave Hassan behind. 20 years Later Amir has grown into a strong, educated man, married to a beautiful woman, having published his first book and has made a seemingly ideal life for himself. It is at this point we witness unfinished business from the past come home to roost. Amir must return to Afganistan. Afagistan is now war torn and under rule of the Taliban. He has to return to the city that he successfully avoided for so many years. It is here where we see Amir change, and repair his wrong doings of the past after a strange twist of events occur.
I felt The film’s tranformative power in a personal way, given the friendship I have passed through. I felt the burn of his cowardice, though I don’t believe it came from a place of malice, but rather naiveté. Like Amir, my friend was the type to flee instead of fight and like Amir, I felt his silent sabotage. Like Hassan, I have to leave my story and reputation in the hands of my friend and hope that one day he will see beyond my actions that hurt him and ultimately caused him to turn his back on our friendship.
Like Hassan I want to have the grace to forgive and move on. I believe that in friendship there is no good and evil, just misunderstanding.
Like the film’s tag line says; “There is a way to be good again”.
I am truly appreciative of this remarkable film.
The Bucket List? Uh, More like… “The F*ck It List”
Morgan Freeman & Jack Nicholson in The Bucket List
Do you remember any assignments from elementary school English class? I remember a particular one from the fifth grade. The teacher wrote the first few sentences of a story idea on the blackboard. She then had us open our notebooks, copy it down and finish it within the allotted time-frame. We would have to hand it in, warts and all. If I had more time I just knew I could have turned that assignment into a masterpiece; worthy of more then one draft.
Unlike the meager idea the teacher wrote on the board, the plot line I would develop would have to have soul. Without the time, I would have to rush it out though, play it safe and hope she could ignore all the painfully “on the nose” character talking . I did learn that if I put a bunch of fluff-stuff in it that could make her go “aww”or chuckle that the really thin story-line would somehow get docked less marks.
I also knew that if I created one of the characters as being intelligent by throwing in a bunch of facts I learned from the Sunday morning crossword puzzles that she would think my story was really insightful. It’s also cool to have one of your characters have so much money that you can have him do whatever he wants, that way there’s really no obstacles to work out. Both the lead characters should be opposite too, “Yeah! That’s the ticket!” I would think to myself. The smart guy could be working class and black, and the not so smart guy could be super-duper rich and white. They could both learn a powerful lesson from each other before dying! A+ coming my way. The bell would ring and I would leave feeling like I just wrote the most topical “story by numbers” tale of all time.
But whatever. I wrote something clever enough to get me a passing grade, and hey how harshly can you mark something that doesn’t come across your desk very often? I’m sure she’s tired of the same old papers coming in day after day. Papers about a man and woman falling in love, young people doing adventurous stuff while old people farted around in nursing homes or acted like grandparents. This one was at least semi-original right? That old bag of a teacher who’s sick of seeing the same dribble will eat this up.
I wonder if that’s how Justin Zackham felt when he handed his screenplay to Warner Bros. using this log line?
“Two terminally ill men escape from a cancer ward and head off on aroad trip with a wish list of to-dos before they die.”
Whatever the case, that screenplay was turned into a movie. It’s called The Bucket List and it stars Jack Nicholson as a corporate billionaire Howard Cole and Morgan Freeman (what again? You guessed it!) a working class mechanic named Carter Chambers.
“Together the two embark on a road trip of a lifetime, becoming close friends along the way and learning to live life to the fullest.”
If you have never barffed and yawned, both at the same time, reading the last sentence above should have done it. Much like this movie did for me.
I like cheese, don’t get me wrong. I also like sentimental stories. However, I am sick to death of the same-old, same-old storylines. This movie was simply not a noteworthy film.
It’s as if Rob Reiner put as much effort into directing this thing as I did into doing my homework assignments in grade school. It’s almost as if he thought to himself, “I know, I’ll just set the camera up on a tripod and,you know, take some master shots and some close-ups. My actors are gifted geniuses, both award winning, so I’ll just let them do their thing and call it a day.”
The directing, production design and editing all looked like nothing but the bare minimum. The frame and camera movements were not dynamic or particularly interesting. The performers did the best they could with their predictable lines. Let’s be honest though. Can Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman really screw anything up? These guys are the best of the best. But even the most amazing performances need help in the editing room. The cutter can find moments or take away moments leaving behind something exquisite. In this case the editing seemed so basic borderline first-cut. There were also continuity errors all over the place, but those can be attributed to so many things. Perhaps there wasn’t enough coverage.
In any case, The Bucket List to me makes the “The F*ck-It List.” As in, if someone suggests going to it on the weekend, your reply ought to be, “F*ck-it.”
