Salaams everyone!
I just wanted to share the article I sent to the OC Register about Ramadan ... and it got chosen and published! Alhamdulilah :)
http://www.ocregister.com/news/ramadan-263916-time-day.html
Woohoo! :)
Friday, August 27, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Ramadan Wishes
Preface (to the blog):
I once spent Thanksgiving alone, eating a grilled cheese sandwich in the dark, while watching Love Actually. As I munched on the crunchy delicious sandwich I wondered, did I have the right to be a little unappreciative, since my family had entirely left me here and I didn't even have turkey to make a turkey sandwich? And I laughed. Sometimes we all have those moments. But then it occurred to me: Why do we dedicate one weekend to suddenly exposing our gracious desire to be thankful, when we have these things we are thankful for all year long?
----------
It was almost sunset time and my dad was sitting on the couch, holding his shiny black laptop searching for videos of classical old Arab singers (I mean the black and white Um Kalthoum/Abdel Halim Hafez stuff) on YouTube. I rolled my eyes as I continued to help set the table and prepare the delicious meal that was calling my diet to stop. I didn't really care for those singers that much. Actually, to be truly honest, I cannot stand them. I guess that Arab root is missing from my tree. Anyway, I could hear him clicking, and I could hear him humming to the tunes that blasted through his headphones as he moved his hands and head like a maestro. It continued in this soft harmony until I heard him click hard on his keyboard mouse in an angry way. "Argh! Why isn't this working?!?!" I looked up at him, gave the blasé attitude, shrugged my shoulders and continued working. I thought he probably clicked something wrong on YouTube or had no patience to wait for that annoying red bar at the bottom of the video to completely load before pushing play. Then he took off his headphones and called out to me.
"Why isn't the internet working? I mean it is completely agitating to have to endure this nightly!" Our internet service has its PMS moments. When it feels like working it does. When it does not, it doesn't. I'm not sure why, since we paid for the Verizon Fios blah blah blah stuff and yet we still have to suffer. My brother and I explained to him the numerous times we called. The numerous times we hit restart or unplugged it. But the problems continue.
Had this day NOT been a Tuesday, this incident would have easily slipped my mind. But because it was a Tuesday, the day where I work at the Financial Aid Department of a Family Resource Center, the story made a deeper impact. I had come home rushed and barely able to make the afternoon prayer (Asr). By the time I got cleaned up, it was almost time to break the fast (of Ramadan) and eat. But the day had been more than just physically overwhelming. It had been emotionally a roller coaster too.
That day, instead of the eight clients I had listed for my hours, eight more walk-ins joined the waiting room. My supervisor (a.k.a. mommy hehe) and I could barely manage between client after client. Running from one room to the other to take care of every situation that came our way. It was difficult, but the job is definitely well worth it. But it was hard on this day, honestly we both didn't know why, because we get cases like this ALL the time, but we both returned home feeling heavy hearted and a bit depressed.
Our clientele on that given day ranged from a homeless father with five kids, to a family of 14 with a home that just burned down, searching for a way to pay for the next night at the motel. We had clients come in with torn shirts, pants that looked like they were sizes too small or too big. Clients just begging for a bus pass to get from one location to another in order to beg (yes, beg) for a job. Clients who cry their tears in front of you and you cannot do anything about it. Clients whose children have terminal illnesses at only the ages of infancy. Clients who ask for simply a cup of water because that's all they can find. And the hardest part about it is that we work at a non-profit agency, meaning we solely rely on donations and grants to survive, both of which are completely unsteady. And so it becomes the worst when we have to tell them, "I'm sorry" but we can only offer you half, 1/4, 1/5 or even less of the rent or the bill you have this month. And this money is just to help them stand up on their own till they can find a way.
The first client I ever received was a middle aged man. He was so innocent and quiet and could barely explain his situation. But I managed to hear it. He had asked for an extension on his previous month's electricity bill (which was the reason he came in). It was a large amount that we could only pay for half of. Across the bill was written the warning that his electricity would be shut off in three days--the final day being just the following day. And when I helped him with it, he asked me what he could get for this month's bill that was twice as much and already past due. I shivered as I read the paper, imagining my father, or myself, being in that situation.
We are so blessed that we don't even realize it. Sometimes it really takes a wake up call. Some situation to spark up this, "Oh my god! I really am blessed." I got home and was able to lock the door behind me. I GOT HOME with my car. I HAD A HOME and that in itself was a blessing. When I walked into my dark room after iftar (fast breaking dinner) without second guessing whether or not it would turn on, I flipped the switch for my bedside lamp and soaked in the yellow illumination it brought. I started to cry as I thought of him, and every other client I saw that day. I wanted to just empty out my wallet, donate my closet, and purchase everything else they need. But life doesn't really go that way. Although one person can make a difference, it needs many people to make a change.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to get the foreclosure notice on my doorstep. The one my mother's client had in her hand. I imagined not being able to take my long comfortable warm showers every night because the water was shut off. It felt so awful and I felt even more helpless. I mean what more could I do? I've seen so many administrators from the agency ask for help with donations and volunteers, but it takes people years to make a move and I don't get why.
Each week I walk into that office holding my breath for the next shocker that I am about to see. I let it out as the client sits before, and I ask, "So how can I help you today?" while nervously in fear of what heart breaking story I have to sit through WITHOUT crying.
My wish this Ramadan is split into thirds:
1) I wish people would just be more appreciative of everything around them, even in their pure simplicity. In my final semester of undergraduate we learned about Karl Marx's theory called Alienation of Labor. I was mesmerized by its pure honesty and the mere fact that I lived the opposite, always questioning why we never appreciated the work. I always drank water out of a bottle and thought of whoever worked in that factory creating it. And so when I learned about the theory things made sense. And although the theory goes into the deeper world of labor, it does educate on appreciation for the things that are created on how we often forget who created it and how much effort and time they put into it. So I think we need more of that. To realize that the this electricity moves into our homes is a miraculous and mind boggling invention that we are blessed to have and afford to continue having. And so is everything else we live with today.
2) I really do wish that people take into consideration agencies they neglected before, like the one I worked at called Access California Services (www.accesscal.org) and finding any means in their will power to support it--at least in this blessed month of Ramadan. Donations, how little or big, will OBVIOUSLY be put to good use. Now that back to school season is in, we have numerous parents that cannot afford to buy their children pencils, let alone everything on those scary long lists. So small donations add up. Info to donate can be found on their website. Or checks can be mailed to Financial Dept. at Access California Services - 2180 W. Crescent Ave. - Anaheim, CA - 92801.
3) The final and simplest of all wishes is that we increase our prayers. Those can be done at any moment in any day. And now that we are in Ramadan, a blessed time, prayers are even more special. It's not too hard to pray for your community, your neighbors, and yourself. I ask that we just pray for these people struggling to get the next meal. After all, that is what one of the big reasons is for Ramadan. A means to show us what we have and what we should be thankful for because many others just dream for it.
I once spent Thanksgiving alone, eating a grilled cheese sandwich in the dark, while watching Love Actually. As I munched on the crunchy delicious sandwich I wondered, did I have the right to be a little unappreciative, since my family had entirely left me here and I didn't even have turkey to make a turkey sandwich? And I laughed. Sometimes we all have those moments. But then it occurred to me: Why do we dedicate one weekend to suddenly exposing our gracious desire to be thankful, when we have these things we are thankful for all year long?
----------
It was almost sunset time and my dad was sitting on the couch, holding his shiny black laptop searching for videos of classical old Arab singers (I mean the black and white Um Kalthoum/Abdel Halim Hafez stuff) on YouTube. I rolled my eyes as I continued to help set the table and prepare the delicious meal that was calling my diet to stop. I didn't really care for those singers that much. Actually, to be truly honest, I cannot stand them. I guess that Arab root is missing from my tree. Anyway, I could hear him clicking, and I could hear him humming to the tunes that blasted through his headphones as he moved his hands and head like a maestro. It continued in this soft harmony until I heard him click hard on his keyboard mouse in an angry way. "Argh! Why isn't this working?!?!" I looked up at him, gave the blasé attitude, shrugged my shoulders and continued working. I thought he probably clicked something wrong on YouTube or had no patience to wait for that annoying red bar at the bottom of the video to completely load before pushing play. Then he took off his headphones and called out to me.
"Why isn't the internet working? I mean it is completely agitating to have to endure this nightly!" Our internet service has its PMS moments. When it feels like working it does. When it does not, it doesn't. I'm not sure why, since we paid for the Verizon Fios blah blah blah stuff and yet we still have to suffer. My brother and I explained to him the numerous times we called. The numerous times we hit restart or unplugged it. But the problems continue.
Had this day NOT been a Tuesday, this incident would have easily slipped my mind. But because it was a Tuesday, the day where I work at the Financial Aid Department of a Family Resource Center, the story made a deeper impact. I had come home rushed and barely able to make the afternoon prayer (Asr). By the time I got cleaned up, it was almost time to break the fast (of Ramadan) and eat. But the day had been more than just physically overwhelming. It had been emotionally a roller coaster too.
That day, instead of the eight clients I had listed for my hours, eight more walk-ins joined the waiting room. My supervisor (a.k.a. mommy hehe) and I could barely manage between client after client. Running from one room to the other to take care of every situation that came our way. It was difficult, but the job is definitely well worth it. But it was hard on this day, honestly we both didn't know why, because we get cases like this ALL the time, but we both returned home feeling heavy hearted and a bit depressed.
Our clientele on that given day ranged from a homeless father with five kids, to a family of 14 with a home that just burned down, searching for a way to pay for the next night at the motel. We had clients come in with torn shirts, pants that looked like they were sizes too small or too big. Clients just begging for a bus pass to get from one location to another in order to beg (yes, beg) for a job. Clients who cry their tears in front of you and you cannot do anything about it. Clients whose children have terminal illnesses at only the ages of infancy. Clients who ask for simply a cup of water because that's all they can find. And the hardest part about it is that we work at a non-profit agency, meaning we solely rely on donations and grants to survive, both of which are completely unsteady. And so it becomes the worst when we have to tell them, "I'm sorry" but we can only offer you half, 1/4, 1/5 or even less of the rent or the bill you have this month. And this money is just to help them stand up on their own till they can find a way.
The first client I ever received was a middle aged man. He was so innocent and quiet and could barely explain his situation. But I managed to hear it. He had asked for an extension on his previous month's electricity bill (which was the reason he came in). It was a large amount that we could only pay for half of. Across the bill was written the warning that his electricity would be shut off in three days--the final day being just the following day. And when I helped him with it, he asked me what he could get for this month's bill that was twice as much and already past due. I shivered as I read the paper, imagining my father, or myself, being in that situation.
We are so blessed that we don't even realize it. Sometimes it really takes a wake up call. Some situation to spark up this, "Oh my god! I really am blessed." I got home and was able to lock the door behind me. I GOT HOME with my car. I HAD A HOME and that in itself was a blessing. When I walked into my dark room after iftar (fast breaking dinner) without second guessing whether or not it would turn on, I flipped the switch for my bedside lamp and soaked in the yellow illumination it brought. I started to cry as I thought of him, and every other client I saw that day. I wanted to just empty out my wallet, donate my closet, and purchase everything else they need. But life doesn't really go that way. Although one person can make a difference, it needs many people to make a change.
I tried to imagine what it would be like to get the foreclosure notice on my doorstep. The one my mother's client had in her hand. I imagined not being able to take my long comfortable warm showers every night because the water was shut off. It felt so awful and I felt even more helpless. I mean what more could I do? I've seen so many administrators from the agency ask for help with donations and volunteers, but it takes people years to make a move and I don't get why.
Each week I walk into that office holding my breath for the next shocker that I am about to see. I let it out as the client sits before, and I ask, "So how can I help you today?" while nervously in fear of what heart breaking story I have to sit through WITHOUT crying.
My wish this Ramadan is split into thirds:
1) I wish people would just be more appreciative of everything around them, even in their pure simplicity. In my final semester of undergraduate we learned about Karl Marx's theory called Alienation of Labor. I was mesmerized by its pure honesty and the mere fact that I lived the opposite, always questioning why we never appreciated the work. I always drank water out of a bottle and thought of whoever worked in that factory creating it. And so when I learned about the theory things made sense. And although the theory goes into the deeper world of labor, it does educate on appreciation for the things that are created on how we often forget who created it and how much effort and time they put into it. So I think we need more of that. To realize that the this electricity moves into our homes is a miraculous and mind boggling invention that we are blessed to have and afford to continue having. And so is everything else we live with today.
2) I really do wish that people take into consideration agencies they neglected before, like the one I worked at called Access California Services (www.accesscal.org) and finding any means in their will power to support it--at least in this blessed month of Ramadan. Donations, how little or big, will OBVIOUSLY be put to good use. Now that back to school season is in, we have numerous parents that cannot afford to buy their children pencils, let alone everything on those scary long lists. So small donations add up. Info to donate can be found on their website. Or checks can be mailed to Financial Dept. at Access California Services - 2180 W. Crescent Ave. - Anaheim, CA - 92801.
3) The final and simplest of all wishes is that we increase our prayers. Those can be done at any moment in any day. And now that we are in Ramadan, a blessed time, prayers are even more special. It's not too hard to pray for your community, your neighbors, and yourself. I ask that we just pray for these people struggling to get the next meal. After all, that is what one of the big reasons is for Ramadan. A means to show us what we have and what we should be thankful for because many others just dream for it.
Sunday, August 8, 2010
The Perfect Crime
What makes the perfect crime? The criminal? The actions? The strategy? I believe it is the ability to leave the crime scene so spotless that the crime itself enters the “Unsolved Mysteries” file. After being the victim of more than one perfect crime, I finally understand how and why the perpetrator gets away with it each time. At first I wondered as to how they experience no ounce of guilt or fear inside of them for what they have done. I mean I spent almost one year swimming in my guilt when I “dumped” the first serious guy I ever had (dumped is quoted because I can’t really say we were dating, just more along the lines of taking the Islamic steps towards marriage when I realized it wouldn’t work). But how come so many people just left me for dead without any worries? I figured out this mystery through the use of my own forensic science of the heart and mind. They did it because they knew that they can and will get away with it.
They do not experience any guilt as they transgress their boundaries with us. They dare themselves and overstep these limits just enough to leave a hairline fracture upon our hearts. But dare we open our mouths and let out a moan from the pain that we mysteriously came to endure and they will immediately back away with the pathetic disclaimer of “Well I didn’t do anything.” You hear it and the anger begins to boil inside of you. “You didn’t do anything? What about all those words and flirts and calls and e-mails and stares and actions and dates? Those were nothing?” It is what you want to say but you cannot.
Like a detective you begin the investigation. Searching, analyzing and rethinking every step he ever took and it hurts. You come to the conclusion that he made his moves, all the moves he could at this point. He left his marks and hurt you good. But all the evidence you have gathered is circumstantial. Nothing can be pinned against him. And if he were to be tried for this case, he could and would walk free. In the middle of the courtroom, beneath your heavy tears, you scream out the things he put you through and he smiles—wide. His lawyer shouts out, “Objection your honor. Her evidence is entirely circumstantial. Nothing can be linked back to my client.” By the end of the trial, the jury, although emotionally siding with you, will have no choice but to give yet another man the benefit of the doubt. He and his over priced suit will walk out unscratched. And you, well you will be left to deal with your damaged heart and loneliness all on your own. Inside you feel angry and helpless—you can do nothing. All you have are your tears for the jury. You cannot even demonstrate the fracture he inflicted upon your heart. His actions had no labels, no traces, no fingerprints to incriminate him. So he can get away with anything. And he does.
Just because I received no ring, I receive no attention. I got calls and chats and e-mails and text messages, and dates, but that is all useless evidence—things I cannot put in front of the jury. For each one he has an alibi, some excuse that he can use to get out of it. “I was just being a friend.” “I didn’t mean any of it.” “You shouldn’t have taken anything personally.” Really dear, is that all? I find it fascinating that men expect us to exercise complete self-control when it comes to the way we intake and define their actions, but they are free to exercise zero self-control as they make every sickening move in their games with us. I hear it all the time. “You can’t listen to your heart and take every flirtatious word meaningful.” Why? “Because men are always playing. That’s just the way they are,” they say. Well why doesn’t anyone ever tell the man, “Shut up and stop, because women can take it personally…and THAT’S JUST THE WAY THEY ARE?”
They do not experience any guilt as they transgress their boundaries with us. They dare themselves and overstep these limits just enough to leave a hairline fracture upon our hearts. But dare we open our mouths and let out a moan from the pain that we mysteriously came to endure and they will immediately back away with the pathetic disclaimer of “Well I didn’t do anything.” You hear it and the anger begins to boil inside of you. “You didn’t do anything? What about all those words and flirts and calls and e-mails and stares and actions and dates? Those were nothing?” It is what you want to say but you cannot.
Like a detective you begin the investigation. Searching, analyzing and rethinking every step he ever took and it hurts. You come to the conclusion that he made his moves, all the moves he could at this point. He left his marks and hurt you good. But all the evidence you have gathered is circumstantial. Nothing can be pinned against him. And if he were to be tried for this case, he could and would walk free. In the middle of the courtroom, beneath your heavy tears, you scream out the things he put you through and he smiles—wide. His lawyer shouts out, “Objection your honor. Her evidence is entirely circumstantial. Nothing can be linked back to my client.” By the end of the trial, the jury, although emotionally siding with you, will have no choice but to give yet another man the benefit of the doubt. He and his over priced suit will walk out unscratched. And you, well you will be left to deal with your damaged heart and loneliness all on your own. Inside you feel angry and helpless—you can do nothing. All you have are your tears for the jury. You cannot even demonstrate the fracture he inflicted upon your heart. His actions had no labels, no traces, no fingerprints to incriminate him. So he can get away with anything. And he does.
Just because I received no ring, I receive no attention. I got calls and chats and e-mails and text messages, and dates, but that is all useless evidence—things I cannot put in front of the jury. For each one he has an alibi, some excuse that he can use to get out of it. “I was just being a friend.” “I didn’t mean any of it.” “You shouldn’t have taken anything personally.” Really dear, is that all? I find it fascinating that men expect us to exercise complete self-control when it comes to the way we intake and define their actions, but they are free to exercise zero self-control as they make every sickening move in their games with us. I hear it all the time. “You can’t listen to your heart and take every flirtatious word meaningful.” Why? “Because men are always playing. That’s just the way they are,” they say. Well why doesn’t anyone ever tell the man, “Shut up and stop, because women can take it personally…and THAT’S JUST THE WAY THEY ARE?”
Sunday, August 1, 2010
I don't like it like THAT!
This was my response (tough but so needed) to Elle Magazine in regards to this article they posted in this month's issue:
http://www.elle.com/Life-Love/Sex-Relationships/They-Like-It-Like-That-Why-Every-Woman-is-Desirable
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When I subscribed for Elle, I anticipated articles and issues revolving around subjects catered to raising my self-esteem and pride in being a mature, bright, young and well, beautiful (in my terms) female. I never expected to feel the opposite; to start generating this disgust at the fate I was born into. To find that with each issue, my sex was losing more and more of its dignity and worth.
I'm not necessarily talking about the trends and fashion ads in specific, because, let's face it, many of us women do enjoy seeing what's new and what will work with our very own styles; especially those of us who enjoy and prefer a modest fashion. We look for any opportunity of finding a potentially successful outfit. Even my mother, the woman least interested in the "IT" world of Prada and Gucci, desires a sneak peak into fine fashion. But after strumming through a few pages of this months issue (August 2010), we were both ready to dump it right into the recycle bin rather than save it. So what was it this time that really pushed us over the top?
Other than the six plus pictures of visible or nearly visible breasts (which exceeded normalcy and vulgarity; just curious how can increased nakedness still be called fashion when sooner than later they'll be wearing NOTHING at all? What will those designers do with all their materials?), it was this month's Elle Reader Men article. As I hesitantly turned each page of the magazine, fearful of what naked and exposed body part would pop out at me on the next glossy page, I stumbled upon the article I was somewhat anxious to read thanks to the misleading commercialization of it on the front cover. The exact words read: Why All Men Really Want You Now. Seven words to truly intrigue any single girl into reading. Sort of like a sugar coated Uncle Sam Poster seducing men to WANT to join the army; women were seduced into opening up this issue and diving into what turned out to be a complete scam.
I stared at the picture attached to the article. An attractive blonde woman in the middle, with her head back laughing, wearing a short teal low cut dress revealing major cleavage; surrounded by three men (who looked much younger than her); one was staring somewhere close to her chest; one was staring at the table before him; and the third had his eyes far far away from her with a malicious smile across his face, clearly displaying the acts of a man who was already undressing girl number six with his eyes. The caption right above the picture pretty much summed up the scam for me right then and there: You know that look you catch your boyfriend giving other women?... That's when I realized that this wasn't an article aimed at helping women understand what valuable qualities in her attract a man, but rather it was just another disgusting article written (by a man) desperately trying to justify the pig-like status of his kind. Making us believe that it is their innate nature to be bastards and we, women, just have to accept it with our heads hung back and shirts and skirts completely open and ready.
I realized I couldn't rebut it or respond or even comment about it without reading it completely to the end, and so I did. I dove into the most disgusting ocean I ever found and endured the torturous crap this man kept throwing out there, as if he did some really fascinating research on how horny and perverted he and his kind were. And where did he just put the cherry on top and make me laugh and tip my hat to the idiocity? When he proudly stated a question to supposedly sum up the reason why men are so sexually obsessed, a question he thought made such a strong vibrant point, that he was clearly oblivious to the fact that it actually made him and his kind, look just like that--a kind--a species so distant from humanity. As he described his experiment of tallying the number "of appropriate age [women]--roughly 18 to 60--who walked" right past him in four minutes, and tallying the ones he found to be inappropriate, his female friend asked him why sex with strange or unknown women was such a turn on for men, and all he could conjure up was, "Do you go to the zoo and ask the tigers why they like meat?" I literally dropped the magazine at that point and blurted out, "What an idiot!" before gathering up the strength to go back and finish this sham of an article.
Yes, I'm sure it's fascinating entertainment for readers, even for a sociologist like myself, but to have to endure the fact that this man was trying to convince me that THIS IS THE WAY men are, and that we have to ACCEPT it as women was just unbelievable. And the fact that all four of the men he was describing were married and could've been considered "good" on paper, was even more deceitful. I wonder, if this man was a real man, why couldn't he or any of his buddies straight up reveal their identities to their wives and allow those poor women to understand what kind of mental Ivy League/Jock(straps)/sexual addicts they are living with--because the excuse of "we don't want our wives to know that we spend our days doing little else besides fantasizing about cheating on them" just does not cut it! I mean just reading how often these supposed men think of sex is quite disturbing. What happened to real men who could actually conduct themselves in society as proper humane people without having their brain jammed somewhere in their genitals? I guess that died with chivalry and romance long ago.
I think it's just sad that society has transformed into something so beyond liberal and virtue-less, allowing a man to openly state that the vision of a random lady in a tank top gives him something near an orgasm when he is happily married with kids. It just makes me want to keep up with the modesty of long sleeves and pants, even in the summer heat. I have dignity and I believe that women (and men) need to start strapping that on. And just because (as he stated) women don't walk around eying and mentally sexing every man that crosses their path doesn't mean they don't have a sexual appetite, but there's a sense of composure and modesty that comes along, and men need to learn that it's a part of being a man as well.
By the time I reached the end of these two and a half pages, I wondered how many women ACTUALLY benefited from it. After all, was that not the lie plastered on the front cover? An allure to why men want US NOW? We never expected to discover it was actually just because we ranged between the ages of 18 and 60 and had a vagina and boobs. Yes, that's all we apparently need because even saggy breasts are considered "Fun, like flesh Slinkys!" to them. So was the purpose then to just mold women's minds into accepting the role of kicking back and relaxing as we sit across the men's silver platters and take on the status of premium choice USDA beef whether we are aged or not?
http://www.elle.com/Life-Love/Sex-Relationships/They-Like-It-Like-That-Why-Every-Woman-is-Desirable
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When I subscribed for Elle, I anticipated articles and issues revolving around subjects catered to raising my self-esteem and pride in being a mature, bright, young and well, beautiful (in my terms) female. I never expected to feel the opposite; to start generating this disgust at the fate I was born into. To find that with each issue, my sex was losing more and more of its dignity and worth.
I'm not necessarily talking about the trends and fashion ads in specific, because, let's face it, many of us women do enjoy seeing what's new and what will work with our very own styles; especially those of us who enjoy and prefer a modest fashion. We look for any opportunity of finding a potentially successful outfit. Even my mother, the woman least interested in the "IT" world of Prada and Gucci, desires a sneak peak into fine fashion. But after strumming through a few pages of this months issue (August 2010), we were both ready to dump it right into the recycle bin rather than save it. So what was it this time that really pushed us over the top?
Other than the six plus pictures of visible or nearly visible breasts (which exceeded normalcy and vulgarity; just curious how can increased nakedness still be called fashion when sooner than later they'll be wearing NOTHING at all? What will those designers do with all their materials?), it was this month's Elle Reader Men article. As I hesitantly turned each page of the magazine, fearful of what naked and exposed body part would pop out at me on the next glossy page, I stumbled upon the article I was somewhat anxious to read thanks to the misleading commercialization of it on the front cover. The exact words read: Why All Men Really Want You Now. Seven words to truly intrigue any single girl into reading. Sort of like a sugar coated Uncle Sam Poster seducing men to WANT to join the army; women were seduced into opening up this issue and diving into what turned out to be a complete scam.
I stared at the picture attached to the article. An attractive blonde woman in the middle, with her head back laughing, wearing a short teal low cut dress revealing major cleavage; surrounded by three men (who looked much younger than her); one was staring somewhere close to her chest; one was staring at the table before him; and the third had his eyes far far away from her with a malicious smile across his face, clearly displaying the acts of a man who was already undressing girl number six with his eyes. The caption right above the picture pretty much summed up the scam for me right then and there: You know that look you catch your boyfriend giving other women?... That's when I realized that this wasn't an article aimed at helping women understand what valuable qualities in her attract a man, but rather it was just another disgusting article written (by a man) desperately trying to justify the pig-like status of his kind. Making us believe that it is their innate nature to be bastards and we, women, just have to accept it with our heads hung back and shirts and skirts completely open and ready.
I realized I couldn't rebut it or respond or even comment about it without reading it completely to the end, and so I did. I dove into the most disgusting ocean I ever found and endured the torturous crap this man kept throwing out there, as if he did some really fascinating research on how horny and perverted he and his kind were. And where did he just put the cherry on top and make me laugh and tip my hat to the idiocity? When he proudly stated a question to supposedly sum up the reason why men are so sexually obsessed, a question he thought made such a strong vibrant point, that he was clearly oblivious to the fact that it actually made him and his kind, look just like that--a kind--a species so distant from humanity. As he described his experiment of tallying the number "of appropriate age [women]--roughly 18 to 60--who walked" right past him in four minutes, and tallying the ones he found to be inappropriate, his female friend asked him why sex with strange or unknown women was such a turn on for men, and all he could conjure up was, "Do you go to the zoo and ask the tigers why they like meat?" I literally dropped the magazine at that point and blurted out, "What an idiot!" before gathering up the strength to go back and finish this sham of an article.
Yes, I'm sure it's fascinating entertainment for readers, even for a sociologist like myself, but to have to endure the fact that this man was trying to convince me that THIS IS THE WAY men are, and that we have to ACCEPT it as women was just unbelievable. And the fact that all four of the men he was describing were married and could've been considered "good" on paper, was even more deceitful. I wonder, if this man was a real man, why couldn't he or any of his buddies straight up reveal their identities to their wives and allow those poor women to understand what kind of mental Ivy League/Jock(straps)/sexual addicts they are living with--because the excuse of "we don't want our wives to know that we spend our days doing little else besides fantasizing about cheating on them" just does not cut it! I mean just reading how often these supposed men think of sex is quite disturbing. What happened to real men who could actually conduct themselves in society as proper humane people without having their brain jammed somewhere in their genitals? I guess that died with chivalry and romance long ago.
I think it's just sad that society has transformed into something so beyond liberal and virtue-less, allowing a man to openly state that the vision of a random lady in a tank top gives him something near an orgasm when he is happily married with kids. It just makes me want to keep up with the modesty of long sleeves and pants, even in the summer heat. I have dignity and I believe that women (and men) need to start strapping that on. And just because (as he stated) women don't walk around eying and mentally sexing every man that crosses their path doesn't mean they don't have a sexual appetite, but there's a sense of composure and modesty that comes along, and men need to learn that it's a part of being a man as well.
By the time I reached the end of these two and a half pages, I wondered how many women ACTUALLY benefited from it. After all, was that not the lie plastered on the front cover? An allure to why men want US NOW? We never expected to discover it was actually just because we ranged between the ages of 18 and 60 and had a vagina and boobs. Yes, that's all we apparently need because even saggy breasts are considered "Fun, like flesh Slinkys!" to them. So was the purpose then to just mold women's minds into accepting the role of kicking back and relaxing as we sit across the men's silver platters and take on the status of premium choice USDA beef whether we are aged or not?
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