Hey Sisqo! Your Thong Song is Stupid.

For the last decade, February has been a difficult month for me.

February ’09 - Valentines Day Weekend: The jerk I am semi dating takes some twit he met online to NYC for a Romantic Getaway – and I find out via pics posted on Facebook.

February ’05 – My Birthday: I decide to do something drastic and cut my curly hair into a short “do-saster”… which my then boyfriend says makes me look like the Campbell Soup kid.

February’ 00 – The Thong Song: R&B Singer Sisqo releases his hit single announcing to the world that my choice in underwear is both uncool and unsexy.

I am happy to report that this February, life has improved:
I have since ditched the idiot of Valentines Past
My hair is the longest and most luxurious it’s ever been…..

But you know what?

Sisqo, it’s been 10 years, and I still beg to differ!

Ever since you first urged me to “Let [you] see my thong!” ten years ago, I have been forced to live in a world where my cotton full backs are considered taboo and frumpy –and I resent this.

I also blame you Sisqo.
I blame you for brainwashing many of my otherwise intelligent and grounded girlfriends into believing that they actually find having a piece of fabric shoved up their booty cracks comfortable.

“Oh my god. I only wear thongs! I wouldn’t dream of anything else, they are so comfortable!” – a quote from a real woman that I know.
Disturbing.

Last week I decided to take my own thong out for a test drive. Ok, it wasn’t exactly on purpose, I was running low on laundry and I actually debated calling in sick to work when I realized that the only 2 pairs of underwear available were a) a thong I bought back in 2000 when I was desperate to fit in b) another thong.

I went with option B because that one actually fit properly, and was on my way to work.

Sure, there were no “underwear lines” to be seen with my dress pants – which is a look I usually can achieve with my bamboo seamless undies – but what there was, was something up my ass. Literally.

As if that was not disturbing enough, as I walked to the printer I realized that even though I was wearing pants, I was actually bare assed. I was very aware of my cheeks being exposed and vulnerable to the elements, and could almost feel my co-workers snicker as I walked by. I felt cheap.

Sitting down was no walk in the park either. As I worked away I became absentmindely aware of the fact that I had a huge wedgie. A huge wedgie that could never be picked and it was only 10am. Panic began to set in.

Sometime around 2pm later that day, I emailed Miss Munch-a-lot informing her that I was wearing a thong and that I was ready to murder someone.

And now here we are.

It is not like I wear French cut full backed briefs that sag at the bum and have a thick elastic waistband.
NO. I like lace; I like bells and whistles, and boy shorts with cute bows, and tarty-see through things that would make any guy blush…. But I like them to do their job and cover my tush with their fabric.
And you know what? I can still make my booty go “dun – dun –dun –dun” and it’s happy to do so. You know why? Because it knows that it’s loved, supported, and covered.



Here is my confession. I like my bum. I actually think it’s one of my better attributes.
I just don’t like the way it looks in a thong – vast, ghost white, hungry, and munching on a strip of lace.

I like to be able to bend over without a trashy T-Bar rising up above my jeans – which I guess means I’m not the lady for you Sisqo.
And I think I’m good with that.


Ps. For all you pervs http://daythong.com/

Tiger Woods and the "Dork Epidemic"

Oh Tiger, Tiger, Tiger, Tiger,

Look. I agree with my blog sister on this one. I could really care less about the scripted apology of yet another public figure that caught with his pants down.

Please.

I am not sure why Tiger Woods feels like he owes me (!) an apology and explanation for his transgressions. Unlike many people who had practical conniption fits when this news broke, I was quite unaffected, and not even a little surprised.

In fact, this whole media circus has only reaffirmed my belief in a disturbing new trend amongst powerful, rich, male figures who can’t keep their peckers in their pants.

I call it the “Dork Epidemic”

Let me explain.

No one can deny that Tiger Woods is something like a phenomenon when it comes to the game of golf. He is one of the greatest athletes of all time and has made more money than I would ever know what to do with. In fact, if I’m being honest, he could have saved the little apology speech and just lent me a million dollars. That way I would more apt to forgive and perhaps less willing to expose him for what he really is

Which is … an absolute…. DORK.

I’m not just saying this because his name is actually Eldrick and that he has a speaking voice reminiscent of Screech from Saved by the Bell. These things are not his fault.
It’s also not his fault that he was groomed practically from birth to be the greatest golf player in the history of the world, had his face plastered all over sports magazines and endorsements, and was given a lifetime supply of free Gatorade. (Ps. do golfers really need Gatorade? Just saying….)

I don’t even think that the fact that this guy is such an obvious NERD is his fault, but I do think it’s the reason that he has found himself in hot water.

I know what you are thinking – um, this guy is a multi millionaire and he landed a Swiss Swimsuit Model as a wife – how could he possibly be a nerd?

Wake up.

Has anyone else ever noticed that Tiger Woods has the same personality as one of his golf clubs? Has anyone ever seen this guy in an interview say something funny?

I thought so.

Tiger Woods is a classic text book case of the dweeb in high school who never touched a boob and got a boner at just hearing the word “panties”
Sure he was successful and has done amazing things in his professional life, but I would be willing to wager that the only “game” Tiger Woods has …is, well, GOLF.

Ok, he was able to obtain a harem of mistresses. I’m sure his bank account and notoriety may have had something to do with this – oh and the fact that these women were for the most part fame whores and porn stars. These chicks with their hair extensions and silicone represent SEX, which judging by his “dirty talk” skills (“Go into the bathroom and take a picture of your privates and send it to me” – um EW?!) – is probably not something Tiger excelled at getting before he was a gagillionaire.

So he parties in Vegas and makes “Friends” with the nightclub owner. OMG! He’s so bad ass! Sin City!! Um, does anyone recall any word of him partying with any wingmen? Guess what? If I owned a nightclub and you wanted to bring in your entourage of zero Tiger, I would be your friend too… because you are famous and you have lots of money.


What really blows me away is that he trusted these “ladies” to keep his secrets. Isn’t that sad? It’s like those cliché movies where the slutty head cheer leader uses her womanly wiles to make the school nerd putty in her hands and willing to do her homework. Pathetic.

The sad part is that these guys are everywhere.
For example, power geek and boy wonder – Adam Giambrone with the TTC. He cheats on his live in girlfriend with some young twit who “wants to be an actress”, Giambrone practically shits himself, pulls out of the mayoral race and all hell breaks loose in Toronto.
Why is this front page news? He isn’t even married!

Ugh. I am so sick of infidelity being front page news and having to hear about what (literally) goes down in these people’s bedrooms. It’s nauseating and if you think about it, really weird.

Elin, get a divorce and date someone like George Clooney who is rich and cool and who will at least cheat on you with another swimsuit model and tell you about it.

Tiger, get a life.

And for the record, “Tiger” is a dorky nickname.