SmartAssy

Archive for February, 2013|Monthly archive page

A Libertine’s Case Against Porn

In Just for Fun on February 21, 2013 at 1:04 am

To me, watching porn is like listening to Pink Floyd: I want to like it, but it doesn’t really do anything for me. The whole free world is pretty much against me on this one. Sampling porn is practically a rite of passage for my male counterparts and a beloved hobby for many of the ladies. I suppose it’s some sort of inverse sacrilege to say so, but I’m unconvinced.

For a long time, I couldn’t put my finger on why I didn’t get hot for America’s second favorite pastime. Did my porn niche exist, and if so, what was it? I used to think this smut skepticism arose out of some vague feminist sentiments that told me the industry is too degrading to be a turn on. That was before I’d really explored the raunchy side of cyberspace, though.

By the time my toes were wet (but nothing else), I realized this notion was all wrong. I looked in horror at the complicated maneuvers and decided my aversion was more of a well-that-can’t-be-pleasant sort of deal. So-called “romantic porn” was no better. Watching two actors caressing each other in a faux-loving way was worse than the gang bangs. I don’t believe your orgasm, and I don’t believe you’re in love.

After many more X-rated journeys, I’m certain now it’s not the type of porn, it’s the whole concept itself. The way I see it, sex is too personal a thing for me to be a Peeping Leah. By that, I don’t mean banging it out has to be meaningful, loving or even sober, but when it comes to sex, I need to be more than just a voyeur. If I’m going solo, the only humming noise will be coming from a vibrator, not my sleeping MacBook. Anything that doesn’t involve me as a participant simply adds nothing to my sexual satisfaction.

So sue me. I’m a Simon & Garfunkel girl.

Begrudgingly yours,

Leah Morris

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The Honest Cover Letter

In (un)Professionalism on February 19, 2013 at 5:17 pm

February 19, 2013

Dear Hiring Manager:

I am writing to apply to the entry-level position posted on your website.  Attached is my resume for you to meticulously inspect for grammar errors, inappropriate margin sizes and poor column alignment; because my incorrect use of a semicolon definitely indicates an unemployable character flaw. (And no, Microsoft grammar Nazi, I will not consider revising the semicolon usage in the last sentence; I fucking like it)

I know I am supposed to profess my undying love for your company and tell you how much I admire your noble work. I should tell you that I have dreamt of working at XYZ, Inc. since I took my first business class at Harvard. The truth is, I was a sociology major at a mediocre university and this is not my dream job.

What other bullshit am I supposed to make up? I would be a great fit for your company culture, because your company values are… checking the website… integrity, creativity and efficiency?  What a coincidence, those are my personal values too!

I have NO IDEA what “I want to do” with my life.  I know that this week, I would like to eat some food, pay my phone bill and avoid developing an ulcer thinking about my student loan bill.  So, this job will do.

Sincerely,

Jane Black

Bad Ass

Millennial

Will work for money … Get your mind out of the gutterHIRE ME!

How to Build a Good Relationship Out of Shame and Embarrassment

In Love & Relationships on February 5, 2013 at 12:11 pm

“Why is there puke all over the floor?” I asked groggily.

The players: my future boyfriend, Jared, and me.                                                                     The scene: Jared’s dorm room on a bleak Saturday morning.                                             The puke: my own.

What followed was both the most mortifying experience of my life and the unofficial start of the world’s healthiest relationship.

A combination of factors had led me to this moment, that is, standing naked in my own vomit the morning after a particularly questionable frat party. I was a college freshman and sexually inexperienced. As a responsible drinker, I always made sure to keep tally of the night’s red cups on my fingers. My system usually fell through by my second thumb, when I was too drunk to be concerned with things like alcohol consumption or consciousness. This mix of naivety and unscrupulous drinking created the perfect storm for a sloppy hook-up that fateful weekend.

The night before the incident, there were all the usual suspects – shots of half-proof vodka in the dorm, kegs at the party, rude frat boys galore. I remember slyly pulling Jared onto “the dance floor” with seductive (read: squinty) eyes. We ended up making out in the shameless way characteristic of two very drunk people. The next thing I knew, the “OH, FUCK” alarm in my head was going off so loud it was even drowning out my monster hangover. Jared awoke to find me running to the floor bathroom with only his jacket wrapped around me, trying to mop up the mess with a few flimsy paper towels. He was all class, cleaning it up, while I crouched in the fetal position, hands over my eyes. When I retreated from his room in the ultimate walk of shame, I thought our friendship had ended before it had even really begun.

I couldn’t have been more wrong. Jared became one of my closest friends in college, and somehow, I never cared much that he had seen me crying naked over his ruined backpack. By the time we openly admitted to our mutual feelings a year later, we had been there for one another in scores of other unflattering situations. He carried me home, passed out over his shoulder; I was his human crutch when he could barely put one foot in front of the other. But we shared more than just a penchant for out-of-control partying – rather, we shared our rawest of moments, we’d seen each other at our worst and laughed about it the next day over waffles. Some girls worry about farting in front of their boyfriend. Mine has held my hair back for me as I emptied the contents of my stomach over his front porch.

I don’t put much stock in mystification. I’m a straight shooter, and it’s not in me to tiptoe around the unattractive parts of getting close to someone. With Jared, I never had a choice, and, honestly, I wouldn’t want it any other way.  Puking in his dorm room was the best thing I could have ever done for our relationship. If you can’t share the gross stuff with your significant other, then what’s the point? I think an SO should be your partner in crime, a person you laugh raucously with, who, by the by, you also want to bone exclusively. There’s more magic in that than any trumped up fairy tale. Maybe you would disagree, but with college drinking behind us, I’m still having too much fun with Jared to care. And that just proves my point.

<3

Leah Morris

5 Relationship Lessons Inspired by Songs

In Love & Relationships on February 1, 2013 at 6:52 pm
  1. “Forever In Blue Jeans” – Neil Diamond. Money is what it is; you need it to live. Be with the person who makes you happy not the one who buys you stuff.  At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is finding someone you love spending time with.  *I would like to propose a minor adjustment to this song “Forever in Jeggings”. Done, I will marry the person who lets me live “Forever in Jeggings”.
  2. “Smoke Without Fire” – Duffy. Guard your heart.  Be discerning about the relationships that you enter into. Pay attention to red flags at the beginning of a relationship.
  3. “I Got You Babe” – Sonny & Cher. Being in a relationship means that you have someone in your corner. Support and encourage the person you are with.  Never get in the habit of saying disparaging things about your significant other.
  4.  “I Walk the Line” – Johnny Cash. Be fair in relationships. Be fair to your significant other and to yourself.
  5. “You Make Lovin’ Fun” – Fleetwood Mac. Life is too short to not have fun with the person you love.

Love always,

Jane Black