the daily jones

In the last couple of weeks a storm has been a-brewin’. Daniel Tosh made a rape-joke blah, blah blah. If you don’t know about this, look it up on any pop culture site or better yet any leading “news” site. It’s on the front page of the New York Times. That alone is a crime in and of itself.

Much to my horror, everyone and their fucking uncle keeps talking about this shit. I’ll weigh in for the last time and hope this story gets buried beneath TomKat & KimWanye (Good god, we are doomed as a people) 

This is my take on comedians, rape-jokes, feminism and sensitivity:

1. I am a woman who loves my vagina and thinks feminism is stupid. Guess what folks there’s a whole lot of inequality in the world. It’s not just between men & women. Sure, sexism still exists in the workplace, paychecks and politics, but a lack of humanity exists everywhere. For god sakes, the goverment is debating about controlling our sexual reproduction rights, but everyone has their panties in a bunch over a joke? How about everyone shut the fuck up and focus on working toward being a little nicer to each other. Not a whole lot nicer, just a little bit. We’re a bunch of assholes to one another (myself included) but I feel like tiny gestures toward a better humanity reverberates far more significantly than the endless commentary about the divisions.

2. I can tell a joke or two, but I am not a comedian. Anyone that knows me would probably attest that my flailing limbs in a conversation are much more comedic than whatever my mouth produces- none the less, I appreciate a good comedian. I appreciate even more, a person that doesn’t give a fuck about what he or she says. I think it’s beautiful. Some think Shakespeare is brilliant, I think Louie C.K. is a masterpiece. You don’t know whether to punch him or fuck him. That’s the tell tale sign of a genius. (my husband possesses these qualities also) Regardless, leave the god damn comedians alone. It’s their jobs to say the things people in middle America are too timid to say. That’s why people laugh. If you don’t like it, don’t listen. It’s freedom of speech, y’all. America!

3. This leads in perfectly to Rape-Jokes. Rape-jokes are funny, nobody condones rape you stupid fucks, nobody thinks rape is cool, nobody is saying it’s not a serious subject or that rape isn’t a brutal attack on another human being. NOBODY IS SAYING THIS. What people are saying is that rape is an awful thing, but when placed outside of the serious context and into something ridiculous and or mundane, it can become comical. I personally think most jokes about horrible things are funny, but I also call my birth control pills “baby killers”. Whatever. None the less, if we can’t laugh about all of the horrible things human beings are capable of, nobody would leave their homes. Laughter can fight the fear. Comedy can broach the subjects people can’t talk about to their peers, it can shed light on things that people want to keep in the dark. It’s a platform. Embrace it, appreciate it and dare I say laugh. Besides, nobody really thought the Soup Nazi was anti-Semitic, right? But if he was, that would be hilarious.

4. I am probably the most sensitive-insensitive person I know. Meaning, if I get my feelings hurt, I act like they aren’t, then if anyone else wants to talk about their feelings I roll my eyes. Thinking silently, that they are a pussy. It’s a super healthy, psychotic, cycle. Basically we all are sensitive. We all have emotions. Some people, too many (actors), while others (serial killers) none. But that doesn’t mean every little thing people say is a personal dig at us. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around our own individual stories. Be sensitive and be kind, but don’t force everyone to walk on egg shells. I personally need to work on my patience and compassion, others should focus on learning how to take a fucking joke.

The answer is- mostly.

In recent weeks there have been a surge of big break ups. Sure, Tom and Katie are splitting but who really gives a shit about the gay-robot and his gullible prey. I mostly feel bad for their kid; she’s the one who gets confused for an iphone app.

What’s even more upsetting is when you discover that the dudes whom you’ve come to think of as the “good guys” in Hollywood, end up being complete shit heads. Let’s take James Marsden for example. I have been told by numerous people what a nice guy he is, and how he always boasted about being a laid-back, family man. He was married for 11 years and had two kids with his wife. In 2011 they divorced and a couple months later, Marsden knocked up some 24-year-old, Brazilian model.

That brings me to Johnny Depp. Now don’t get me wrong, I think Johnny has fucked bitches. A LOT of bitches. But I always assumed Johnny D and Vanessa Paradis would stick it out. After all, they made it 14 years and produced two ridiculously, beautiful children.  Plus she’s a French model, I figured she’d be open to him having a mistress every now and then. Isn’t that what beautiful, french women do? They act ridiculously cooler than us American, jealous-crazed, chicks? PLUS! She has a gap in her teeth and really pretty hair. How could you J ? To add insult to injury, Johnny is rumored to be dating Amber Heard, 26. A blonde, vanilla, LA chick, named AMBER. Gross.            Johnny Depp is 49, and still wears man jewelry.

Don’t these dudes think to themselves, “I’m such a cliche…” I’m a fifty year old man who dresses like a pirate and wants to screw another blonde, LA actress. OR  “now that I’m divorced, I should date a bikini model who doesn’t speak much English- my ex talked way too much.”  

This is all so shocking, right? It’s crazy to think that a bunch of over-paid, substance abuse ridden, too much time & glory, ego crazed, manic-depressive, assholes could ever turn out to be bad people. We see their faces everywhere. We know who and what they’re fucking, it’s absolutely ridiculous and this article shamefully promotes more of these intelligence-sucking conversations, but in today’s society it’s hard to escape and begs the question; why are a vast majority of people in this town such beloved pieces of shit?

Oh right! I know… it’s because the people that inhabit the space between New York and Los Angeles forget that these men AND WOMEN are crazy people. They are humans. They are the chosen few that got lucky, play make believe for a living and abuse the power that comes with celebrity. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not just dudes. It’s a whole lotta women too.

I am married to an actor/writer. I myself am an actor/writer. And we are self admitting crazy people. I think you have to be, on order to put yourself through this sort of masochistic art form. But I swear to fucking christ, if Matt Damon, Hugh Jackman or Ben Affleck start cheating on their wives I’m going to cut my husbands fucking balls off.

P.S. Adam Levine recently started dating Keira Knightley, I have now lost all respect for Keira Knightley.

Here’s my beef with girls. I do not dislike the show Girls, in fact I think it’s really well written, my beef is with the girls that relate to the show Girls.

These females live in a world where they assume what they do is somewhat original and interesting. Here is a list of things that are no longer original and or interesting:

1. Dressing like a homeless person, a sleepy teenager, or fifty year old woman who works in a diner. Also, ripped nylons with jean shorts are so fucking ugly. The whole “post-rape” look is not cute and it makes you look like you fell off Bon Jovi’s equipment truck.

2. Growing your own vegetables. I don’t give a fuck about your backyard farm & neither do you- just be honest with yourself, you don’t like being a Vegan, you’re trying to be skinny.

3. Nicknames: no adult should ever say with a straight face, “Please call me, Indigo.” Or Mop Face, or Spider, or whatever name you would find on a flyer for a DJ in the 90’s.

4. Dating Musicians: if you don’t know this you’re an idiot. He cheats on you in other cities. Because he has to, because he’s boring, because he is a musician. There in by, if you date a musician you are boring. Do you need proof- Tommy Lee & Pamela Anderson, Justin Timberlake & Jessica Biel, Zooey Dechanel & everyone. SO BORINGGG.

5. Living in an apartment your parents pay for. To be honest, this is great. I wish I had that. I don’t. So, fuck you. I would love to have rich parents. I’d love to sit around all day sipping lattes, eating red vines and perusing fashion blogs & Perez Hilton. But I don’t. My issue with the “free ride” is when you waste your opportunities by decorating your apartment like a god damn tee-pee. You are not a Native American; and stop letting your drummer boyfriend stay there for free. He cheats on you.

6. Mixology. The most pompously, annoying, adjective that will always make me hate a bar immediately. I have been a bartender on and off for the past seven years. The most annoying thing is when someone tries to order a drink they read in a fucking H.G. Wells novel. One where I need to froth egg whites or light an orange on fire or muddle ginger, do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to peel ginger!? You want to impress dudes at a bar? Stick your tits out and drink straight whiskey.

7. Going Braless. Only 1% of the population can go bra-less because they have nice boobs. The other 99% cannot. Everyone can see how weird your tits are, it’s a boner killer.

8. Dressing up to workout. It is awful. I want to punch you in the face. It’s like putting on a tuxedo to take a shower, it doesn’t make any sense. If you want people to think you’re pretty when you sweat, be a stripper.

9. Collaging. You are not 12. You are also not artistic. No matter how much you try. Take down the collage of you and your besties from freshman year of college; you might as well have a dolphin photo up. Also, slow down with the knick knacks and candle sticks, your kitchen is starting to look like Buca di Beppo.
 
10. Originality. All these fucking girls think they’re so original. The 9 things I listed above are not that bad. But when you add them all up, together they represent the absence of originality. The whole hipster culture disguises itself as a haven for originality and thought, but in reality all it does is promote the co-opting of the originality of others. Putting a feather in your hair is cool and fine, but if you’re doing it just because you saw Kimbra and five hundred other people do it, then your feather represents the absence of originality. If an Armenian man sells it on a cart in a mall, then you should probably ask yourself if it’s good idea. There’s a misconception that originality will lead to happiness, when in reality its the other way around. I proudly write a blog even though 10 million other people are doing the same thing. Happiness is discovered, not found. It takes a lifetime and is never truly achieved. Just be you. If you still like Dave Matthews Band (which is hilarious), then fuck everyone else and go to as many shows as you want. Life reaches a point when it’s no longer about being cool and getting laid, it’s about accepting the fact that you LOVE Bethenny from Real Housewives of New York and going to wine tastings with a bunch of old people. I’m proudly unoriginal and fucking happy because of it.

I worked at a shitty office job when I first moved to LA. I was new in town, broke and miserable.

I didn’t have many friends, so in an attempt to be social, I accepted a lunch invitation from a co-worker. She was in her mid thirties, we had a similar sense of humor and she liked to drink. Why not?

Before I could squeeze the lemon into my iced tea, she was on the topic of sex. I noticed a wedding ring on her finger and politely asked about her spouse. She explained that they’ve been together for 10 years and are happily married. I asked what their secret was. Her response- WE’RE SWINGERS.

“OHHHH….” I say – I was blushing, fidgeting and looking for exit signs.

She proceeded to ask me if I’d ever be interested in coming to a “poly-amorous party”.
(my thoughts: It’s hard to be mono-amorous. This POLY shit sounds like a lot of work.)

She then followed up with- I think you’d be my husband’s type and I’d like to watch.

(HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK, I JUST WANTED LUNCH! YOU WANT TO WATCH YOUR HUSBAND FUCK ME?)

In a mere attempt to finish my $15 club sandwich, I gloss over the, “let’s fuck” part and launch into a barrage of questions. From, what are the rules? To, how do you remember people’s names? To, why me?!?!?

She said, she and her spouse choose their “amorous” partners for each other. Couples & their “guests” all choose fake names. LIke Unicorn Pony, Weeble Wab, and Magnifico (I’M NOT KIDDING). She informed me that a lot of people do it and it’s referred to as “the lifestyle”. She seemed proud her and her husband know each other’s types and “scout” for new recruits that seem to be “open and non-judgmental” people.

(I”M NOT THAT OPEN & I AM VERY JUDGMENTAL.)

At the end of lunch, I politely declined her offer. I went back to work, never to eat lunch with my secret swinger friend again. I got to thinking… who else does this? Is this just an LA thing? Or do people I know in Chicago do this too? I pick up my desk phone, call my mom and promptly ask- You and dad aren’t swingers, right?

This was in reference to my latest post: Awful Date #2.

@realstupid says:

“this is you speaking for the entire world, and its pretty cool if anybody gave a fuck.”

Welcome to the internet, you fucking loser. Wait, are you one of the dipshits I never called back? If so, I’m really really sorry. Thank you for reblogging this.

P.S. SUCK MY DICK

A few years back, I meet a semi-cute dude at a dive bar in Chicago. He had on a White Sox hat and let me cut him in line for the bathroom.

(Ah, it’s the little things in life that can turn a girl on. This place only had 1 bathroom, because I only go to the classiest joints.)

First date:  We meet for drinks. (Only meet people for drinks on the first date. What if you hate him/her and you’re only on the appetizer? Then you’re fucking stuck.)              Drinks go well. He’s cute/ish. He’s not an idiot. I’m interested. That’s a big step in and of itself.

Second date:  We eat Italian food together at a small mom and pop place in little Italy.   Nice ambiance, good conversation… We make out after dinner. And it doesn’t suck. I’m thinking, I might want to do it again. Ok, still interested.

Third date:  Dude asks me to meet him at a local pub. It was a Wednesday night, so I figured low-key beer and chat session, which I’m into. I’m excited to see how the night will go.

I find the guy sitting at a table with a cute little brunette. Being optimistic, I introduce myself. He explains that this is his ex-girlfriend. She’s in town and they wanted to “spend some time together and catch up”.

(OKAYYYY… I actually have a moment where I think- this is so fucking weird I have to stay and see what happens. I’m now only there for the story, because this dipshit who brought his ex on our third date will never see me again.)

The conversation is incredibly awkward. She shares stories of how they met and the mutual friends they have. Their love for Ohio and how moving away was the hardest decision they had to make, together. (They are clearly not over one another)

(Am I in the twilight zone? Do I actually feel bad for them and their break-up? I AM ON A DATE WITH HIM AND HIS EX-GIRLFRIEND!!!)

It gets old quickly so I excuse myself, run to the bathroom, and send a text to my best friend:

Me: “Holy shit, I’m sitting at a bar on a date with a dude and his ex!”

Her response: “I’ll pick you up in 5. I gotta hear this. If you want, we can kick her ass.”

I return to the table, take the last sip of my beer and say,
“Well, this was really fucking weird. Best of luck to the both of you- I think (dude’s name) should move back to Ohio and you two boring assholes should get married.”

Dude’s response, “Oh so this isn’t cool? I just wanted her to be comfortable with the new women in my life.”

My response, “I’ve only known you for a week! I’m not in your life, I’m in your week!”

I leave, my friend takes me back to her apartment, we get really high, and watch Princess Bride.

LESSON: It’s cool to be friends with your ex just don’t bring them out to meet perspective love interests. (at least not on date 3!) It’s fucking weird. I get it- everyone is “cool” and “laid back” and we all “respect” each other. FUCK THAT. Honestly, I don’t want to meet the girl you were in love with. Maybe a year down the road, when I know I have you by the balls and you’re obsessed (in a good way) with me. But not right away.  And DO NOT expect us to all be friends. What?… You like sitting in a room full of woman you’ve fucked? You’re a creepy asshole. Everyone can be friendly and love each other from there own respective territories. Because more than likely I’ll hate the bitch. 

AND, Please for the sake of humanity and the sport of dating, take the time to get over your ex. If you aren’t over them OR are in the transitional, angry period… don’t date! Just casually get drunk, take people home and sleep around (wear protection) until you feel like you can have a conversation about said ex without crying at the table. Because one thing’s for sure, there is nothing less attractive than a person who is still in love with the past.

I was meeting a guy for a first date. We decided to meet at stop on the subway and go from there. It was equal distance from both of our apartments and I thought- neutral place, we’re being smart commuters, don’t want him knowing where I live, etc.
(you can never be too careful, more on that another time…)

Upon arriving, we greet with a friendly hug. I take out my train pass and glide through the turn-style. From the other side I see him standing behind some folks and yelling,
“I don’t have cash.”

(mental note: You don’t have cash? You asked me to meet you at a place of public transit and you don’t have a subway card or cash? EVERYONE HAS A TRANSIT CARD IN CHICAGO! WHY ARE YOU ALREADY AN IDIOT? Ok, ok, calm down. I can’t look like a bitch in the first 10 minutes.)
 
I take out five bucks crumple it into a ball and throw it over the barrier. He waves and thanks me enthusiastically.

We ride. There are spurts of awkward first date conversation, sprinkled with the loud announcements for each stop, and the stench of body odor from other passengers. “Where are we headed?” I ask. “Oh, I have a fun little party to hit up,” he says.

(mental note: he uses the term, “hit up”. Red flag.)

We arrive at a small bar and are greeted at the front door with a sign-in table and name tags to fill out. My date excitedly explains to me that this is an event his buddy was invited to but couldn’t make AND they are serving free beer and food! Then slaps a name tag on my left boob.

(mental note: WHAAA? What is happening?? )

I grab a free beer and an egg roll and walk around with a look of confusion. My lovely date stands chatting with a group of people and waves me over. I say hello and try to understand what kind of event this is and why I agreed to go out with this motherfucker. I find out that it’s some sort of Marketing department party for, A COMPANY HE DIDN’T EVEN WORK FOR!

After an hour he told me to grab one more beer and stick one in my purse for the road. I thought, oh maybe we are leaving? Maybe this was just a pitstop and now we’re on the way to our real date? As he shoves one last lettuce wrap down his throat he says, “Shall we..?”

“Ok great, where to?” I say, mustering up any form of easy-goingness I have left in me.
“Home.” He says, “You wanna come hang out at my place for a bit?”

(mental note: That’s it! I have had it! YOU TOOK ME ON A FIRST DATE TO A PARTY YOU CRASHED THAT HAS FREE FOOD AND BEER!! AND I BOUGHT YOUR TRAIN TICKET!!!
I feel my face getting red, I have that, I’m going to cry but not in front of you feeling. I want to scream and yell.)

Instead, in a low growl I say, “You’re out of your goddamn mind.” I turn around, hail a cab and pay $23 for a quiet ride home.

Later that night I drank a bottle of wine, swallowed a xanex and watched Dexter. I should’ve just stayed in.

LESSON:

Guys, I’m not suggesting you spend a hundred bucks on dinner, just don’t take chicks you potentially want to bone to office parties on a first date, then ask them back to your apartment. It’s uncomfortable. Also it’s really fucking ballsy, but not in the hot way.

Gals, don’t be materialistic bitches but have a respect for yourself. If things are outrageous and you feel creeped out, he’s probably a fucking crazy person. Second, if he’s ok with this being his first impression, than Date 2 could be terrifying.

New Years Eve, a time for glitter nail polish, massive amounts of booze consumption and reflection. I’ve had a good year. I am grateful for numerous things: Jones, family, friends, pets, health, getting engaged and shit, etc.

Other 2011 highlights include:

1. 2011 marked the exit of the Oprah Winfrey show. I despise Oprah with every ounce of my being and I thought finally… finally, she can go die in a box of Oreo’s. WRONG. Now she has her OWN network. Maybe in 2012 her ego will grow so large that it detaches from her body, becomes another fat stupid woman, and kills her.

2. Weird weather grabbed headlines this year; from massive earthquakes to killer tornadoes, tsunamis, monsoons and other scary shit. If you don’t believe in global warming, you’re a fucking idiot. AND, I’m still afraid of the movie 2012, no matter how stupid it was.

3. There was a wedding between two royally boring people in England.  Seriously, that bitch wears so much beige it’s crazy.  And he’s a male blonde!  Never trust adult male blondes, because… creepy male blondes include Zack Morris, Jude Law, Eminem, Ryan Seacrest, I can go on for days. BUT, I’d still fuck Ryan Gosling.

4. Speaking of England, Amy Winehouse died. Yikes. Honestly, also kind of funny.

5. Osama Bin Laden was killed. Go America, Woo hoo… Also, the pointless war that America started has now come to a close. Glad we got all that taken care of. Fucking dipshits. 

6. In 2011 an intelligent group of folks got sick of getting fucked in the ass by the 1%. Thank you Occupy Wallstreet for your voices.

7. RIP Steve Jobs. I really appreciate your brain. I look at my iphone more than the mirror.

8. Christopher Hitchens, one of the worlds most prolific minds, lost his battle with cancer this year. ‘Twas a sad day.

9. 2011 Sports was a cluster fuck of money, whining, really proud Packers fans, and one jesus loving closet case. Gay face.

10. Mariah Carey is still fat. I don’t buy it Jenny Craig commercials, she’s not sexy. How can you be sexy when you’re married to the guy from Wild’n Out.

So here’s to 2012. The Mayan’s can go fuck themselves.