This post is NSFW (but in an ideal world, it wouldn't be)

On my way home from work the other day, I heard a radio commercial for the new show called the LA Complex. This seemingly outstanding CW programming has the dramatic context of young 20-somethings trying to make in LA as actresses, actors, singers, writers, etc. Apparently it’s supposed to be a lot grittier than other shows of that ilk (doesn’t every show promise that?), but before I changed my radio to CD input, two words grabbed my attention: sex tape. The chicks on the TV ad were discussing why they might be inclined to make a sex tape, if it would get them famous. This subject matter is supposed to be topical. Sex sells, but lately, it seems to be the driving force of the plot lines.

Last week’s episode on Glee also featured talk of a sex tape. The super hot Brittany was helping her equally hot girlfriend, Santana, achieve fame. Santana proclaimed that she always knew she’d be famous, even if she didn’t know how. Wanting to be the supportive girlfriend, Brittany put their sex tape online (with spliced in footage of her cat, Lord Tubbington). Naturally, Santana was upset but her demeanor softened when she realized that Brittany only wanted to help her achieve her inner stardom, whatever that may be.

Please be over 18...

These were only two in mainstream media that I caught this week, but it was enough for me to dwell on the topic. My question about this whole (relatively) recent phenomenon is, what’s the big deal?

Even as I stare at the sentences on my screen, I don’t know how to phrase them any better, so I’m going to let them stand. So here’s my piece. As a 23 (soon to be 24) year old woman, I don’t see what the buzz is about sex tapes, whether its negative or positive. They seem to be a dime a dozen. Kim Kardashian. Pamela Anderson. Paris Hilton. Tila Tequila. Just to name a few. There are countless more, and I’m sure we’ll get inundated in the future when the younger set realizes they can program their iPhones to flip the video recording the other way, and avoid awkward angles.

If the two adults are consenting, and of legal age, why are sex tapes such a big deal? I don’t see why there is this stigma attached about filming something so awesome, and then distributing it later. Nobody is forcing anyone to watch them online if they don’t want to (and believe me, you definitely don’t want to see some of the stuff I just watched to research this). Still, the more porn I view, I don’t get why everyone bitches about it. Nobody stopped Stephanie Meyer from putting her stupid filth on film, and now we’re stuck with five Twilight movies. Yet, when Jenna Lewis from Survivor creates a sex tape with her husband on her wedding night, suddenly morality is brought into question.

Now, when scumbags like John Edwards film sex tapes with their pregnant mistresses, that’s pretty shitty. Maybe I’m a purist, but I think you should only create monogamous sex tapes (unless it’s a threeway, then that’s awesome). As I stated before, sex tapes are pure fun when both parties are aware of the filming and they’re over 18. Nothing is worse than finding out someone is secretly filming you. However, I have zero sympathy for someone who knew they were being filmed and then got upset it was somehow ‘leaked’. That’s right Kendra Wilkinson. Oh, and you looked fine without the implants too. Stop bitching. 

I don’t know why people are so dumb. I treat every picture and video I’m in as if it had the potential to go online. There’s a reason why I don’t post pictures of myself visibly intoxicated online, or videos of me trying to parallel park. Anything embarrassing about me has relatively no record. I mean, sure there are some less than flattering images tagged on Facebook (look for me attempting to eat a chicken wing but failing, David Hasselhoff style), but there’s nothing I’m downright ashamed of. Nothing that would ruin my life.

So, when I hear people who I deem to be open-minded shunning those who make sex tapes, I wonder about perspective. I’m not forcing you to do one thing or the other, but if you want to make a sex tape, let your freak flag fly. Put that shit online. I’d like to live in a world where employers don’t care if they see you tea bagging because it just shows you flexible you are to take on multiple roles in the workplace. If you found a sex tape of someone you went on a first date with, you could see if it’s worth waiting for the third date. I mean, you wouldn’t buy a car without a test drive. Except now the test drive is a flight simulator that you can autopilot from your own bedroom.

Nothing boosts your confidence like filming yourself at your sexiest. It’s cheaper than drugs, and the high lasts a lot longer. Plus, it’s a great way to bond with your significant other. Just be smart and make an informed decision. Hopefully, society evolves into one where a sex tape isn’t a taboo plot device for the LA Complex, but just a standard checkmark of interpersonal capabilities. So hurry up, because whatever you’ve got going on isn’t going to look this good in ten years. It’s all about self preservation. But be careful about giving yourself Vinegar Strokes.

Maybe I'm just bitter I didn't win the MegaMillions...

Here’s a warning. I’ve been in a terrible mood for the past couple of days. Perhaps you can tie it into my monthly cycle. I chalk it up to my forceful ability to be ignorant of my surroundings until one little thing sets me off and I break down harder than the Red line during rush hour. 

The other day, I left my apartment early, stressed out as usual, and I had to mail my taxes. I was calm about the whole process, since H&R Block saved me over a thousand dollars. Yet, they don’t put me in the commercials like they do with the exuberant overweight woman or the peppy bald guy. Like most bleeding liberals, I have no problem paying taxes. I do have a problem with the post office. As I stood in line, punctually at 8:50 AM, I had probably five people in front of me. I have no idea who tailgates the Wheaton Post Office more than 10 minutes before it opens, but I imagine their lives are either significantly more or significantly less fulfilling than mine if they place that much emphasis of an early advent to the post office. 

When were finally granted admission, there was only one employee working at the counter. I felt my anger rising but I tried to push it down. “They’re probably just all sorting mail in the back, to make sure it goes to the right place,” I consoled myself, conveniently forgetting that my paycheck has been incorrectly delivered twice to my new apartment, despite filing two change of address forms. It wasn’t until the man in front of me reached the counter, and proceeded to get verbally accosted by the postal clerk. The customer didn’t speak English very well, but like everyone else, he was trying to mail his taxes. All he wanted to do was ensure that he could track his taxes and certify it’s delivery. And, like all of us in line, we don’t have all the tiny pastel-colored mail forms memorized with their purpose and cost. It didn’t help matters that this man was dealing with the postal worker Dana and I refer to as the Soup Nazi, or the “SWIPE HERE!” lady.

She yelled at him for what felt like an hour, but was really two minutes. When I got up to the counter, I couldn't decide if I wanted to punch her or cry. As a sign from above, I noticed a poster warning me that assaulting a postal worker was punishable by up to 20 years in prison and a fine not to exceed $20,000. (Ironically, it's less jail time than than the cost of mailing hazardous materials).  I may have saved on my taxes, but not enough to make a girl fist and throw it. So, I settled for meek acquiescence, and ordered my certified mail with perfunctory responses that made the postal Soup Nazi happy. But I wasn't.

I've been thinking about this "being an adult and having grown-up problems" topic for the past few weeks and have come up with two inter-related conclusions:

1. Adulthood is just glorified adolescence, but with more money

2. Throwing money at a problem is how adults solve problems.

Let's put this in terms of dating, since that's really what adults do best. When you're in grade school, you want to date the person who has the coolest things, whether it be that Nintendo 64 or the new bicycle. It was probably video games. I loved visiting my friend Francesca when I was younger because we used to play Super Smash Brothers. Francesca was my best friend for other reasons, but she had, in my mind, cooler things than I did. Okay, bad example, because I never wanted to date Francesca. But plenty more guys wanted to date her than me.

In high school, all the cool kids had cars. I'm sure you put out because your high school date had a car with a large backseat. Since I was a late bloomer in the car, (re: driving) department, my Darwin instincts told me my survival would increase if I latched onto the people with the used Kias.

Enter college. It's like grade school all over again, but with more booze. You mean he has a keg at his party? I don't know...I'd rather go to the one that has the three beer pong tables. Oh my god, where did you get that dress? You mean you don't shop at Rugged? You're taking how many honors classes? You banged THAT many TAs? College is social climbing masked upon ambition and fueled by money from our parents and minimum wage jobs, with the sole purpose of getting laid for bragging rights at the next party.

And now, like most of us, we're employed. Some of us longer than others, but we're full-fledged adults. Which means the game's changed. Now, the entire world is our playground, and we have paychecks. Again, let's put this in terms of dating and relationships. I'm not going to disclose your names, but I was talking to a good number of my male friends. Every single one of you spoke favorably to some degree of the option of a mail order bride. For most of you, it's a last resort, but it's a definite option. When I asked for clarification why men do this, one of my friends explained, "...it is when you hit 40, have tons of spare cash and crushing feeling of loneliness".

Now, maybe this is a guy thing, but I have yet to meet one chick who is serious about a mail order husband, (if this service really exists). I don't surround myself with ugly people. I can't imagine why my guy friends would actually feel the need to literally buy someone because they're lonely. It's pathetic. And that's when I realized my second conclusion of adulthood: money fixes everything. You're lonely? Poof! Buy someone!

He couldn't have bought 4 less trashy women? Those boobs probably cost more than my Federal return. 

One of my very good friends told me about the time he was with a prostitute. I know this is a delicate topic, but I had to include this anecdote. He's extremely good looking, he's funny, he's creative...I could go on, but it's irrelevant. I just couldn't believe that someone like him would have to pay for sex when he could just go to a bar, buy a girl a couple of drinks, and bang her for way less than he paid a prostitute.  But he didn't. When I berated him, he explained that you can do things with prostitutes that other women won't let you do. I still don't want to know what that means, but I couldn't help but ask, "Wouldn't it be more cost-effective to just find the right perverted woman instead of having sex with a prostitute?" I'm a hopeless romantic. But, I'm also financially misinformed because sex with a prostitute is apparently a great transaction.

If you're an adult, like we all are, money is the only thing that drives us to do or receive anything. We wouldn't work as hard at our jobs if we didn't receive an incentive. And that pushes us to want more and more. So, we blow our paychecks on things we don't need (unrelated, I just bought the iPhone 4S), and on dating. I can't even begin to calculate how much both sexes pay on dating. I'm sick and tired of the argument that guys always end up paying, because you guys don't realize how much money goes into our perfume, cute summer dresses, hair products, eyebrow waxes, and razors to shave our cooches. It probably evens out in the end. Unless you're getting paid to have sex. Then, you're probably making a profit.

Anyways, the convoluted point I'm trying to make here is that all we do is spend money to get others to like us, or to fix our problems (the two are related). As we get older, it only gets worse. We need to live in nice houses, drive better cars, and put our eventual children in good schools. The cycle will never end. My favorite band, "The Killers" have an amazing line from their song, All These Things that I've Done: "I am so much older than I can take". Without trying to gush over their lyrical genius, I am in awe over this one sentence. I am so much older than I can take. I cannot accept my age. I am not able to process my age. I physically am unable to be this old because I don't know what I'm doing. And I'm scared.

Every morning, Dani and I bemoan being grown ups with responsibilities. But, wasn't it pretty much the same when we were younger--just with different responsibilities? When does the stress end? It ends when we stop letting money and stuff ruin us. I know I previously blogged about my love of douchebags and 'treating yourself', but for fuck's sake, don't let it take you over. I see people consumed by greed for the newest phone that they'll never call their parents on. (I'm safe--I Siri texted my mom earlier but she hasn't responded. Ball's in your court, Mommabear). They buy the awesome high definition TV but don't have anyone to invite over for movie nights.Your iPad 3's retina display won't suck your dick.

You can end this. I know they say money doesn't buy happiness, but my grandmother used to say that it's been known to bring a smile or two. Don't give it all up, but don't let it define you. Do you really want to be known as the guy with the awesome car and the Ukranian mail order bride? Stop solving you problems with money and solve them with action. Or, enjoy your Eastern European herpes.

Why Open Bars Open my Heart

Monday morning was rough; I woke up hungover.  Since Dani and I have been committed to a daily 6 AM gym session, I couldn’t bail out on our fitness regimen. So, I donned a hoodie, a soft rock playlist, comfy pants, and sat on a recumbent bike, trying to pedal my hangover away at 60 RPM. Didn’t work. Without judging my values and life choices, let me explain why I had a case of the hangover Mondays. My very good friend Aaron got married to his lovely (now) wife, Ilana on Sunday. Besides all the joy and good wishes I extend to the newlyweds, I also was fortunate to see some friends from college I haven’t seen in years, and my best friend Asher. Naturally, libations were in order.

Hold up. Never for a minute do I want any of you to think I got pretty shwasty at a wedding because of my own fears and ruminations about weddings. I’ve seen so many of those terrible chick flicks where it’s the ‘always a bridesmaid, never a bride’ mindset. The women cry and say OH MY GOD, I’M GOING TO BE LONELY FOREVER, NOBODY LOVES ME, I’M JUST GOING TO DIE A SPINSTER WITH MY CATS. When I have women like Bridget Jones and Katherine Heigl from “27 Dresses” to emulate, there’s no wonder there is an abundance of tears and vodka at weddings these days. I’m the exact opposite. If anything, weddings make me optimistic. Aaron and Ilana are beautiful and wonderful together, but I’ve certainly attended weddings where I’ve anxiously sat and wondered about the outcome of the marriage. I’m not cynical but I’m realistic. I hear the statistics about relationships but I think its selfish to put your own feelings and doubts ahead of your enjoyment for a special wedding. That’s what pisses me off about people complaining about weddings. If you’re so focused on being a dick because you can’t get over your fear of commitment, then maybe you shouldn’t have been invited to a wedding in the first place.

I’m sick and tired of people who turn a wedding to all about themselves. If you want a day all to yourself, try celebrating your birthday. Listen, we’re all lonely and insecure. Even crazy optimistic whale-hating, bike-riding, tiny chicks. But check those feelings at the door and drink to be happy. I mean, have you even seen Wedding Crashers? It’s so easy to get laid at a wedding. If that's not the best reason to shave your (insert appropriate gender parts here), then I don't know what is.

So yes, I believe in love. I don’t necessarily believe in soul mates, but I believe that it is possible to find one person and spend the rest of your life with them, happily. The fact that you haven’t found that person is no cause for alarm. After the wedding, I was talking online to a friend of mine about dating. He was waiting for some chick he went on one date with to text him back. Apparently, they had plans to hang out that night, but she hadn’t sent him a message. So, naturally I gave him my standard advice “The only reason why she hasn’t texted back yet is that she’s dead. Google her name + “obituary” in a day or two, and then you’ll see she was too busy being a corpse to get back to you”.

Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, we all live in those blissful waters. I’ve convinced myself that so many guys I've gone on first dates ended up dying on their way back to the metro or government contracting job from a random stabbing, car fire, or Hanta virus, that I was able to get over their rejection. Now, I’m not saying my friend got rejected (She’ll text you back buddy, she just needs to wake up from that coma), but I’m also saying that you have to put yourself out there, again and again. I’ve been rejected more than a kidney with the wrong blood type, but that doesn’t mean I feel like I’m hopeless. When I mentioned my rate of rejection to my friend, he said that it was different because I go on so many more dates, thus meaning I have more options. The only thing I can think of to reply is a quote from the great Thomas Edison, “I haven't failed, I've found 10,000 ways that don't work”. 

I may not have screwed 10,000 [light bulb] failures, but I’m willing to put in 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration to get there. So chin up everyone, your bright light bulb is on its way. Get drunk at weddings, but don't get sullen. The world’s smallest violin isn’t playing at the wedding for you, it’s playing for the happy couple who just want to fucking hear “Endless Love”. Raise your glass, L’Chaim, Mazel Tov! Just kidding—the Black Eyed Peas are terrible too.