The World Without Women: A Photo Progression Analysis

Did you ever put laundry or other items on the stairs expecting your guy to carry them up, only to find that hours later, they are still there?  I put a towel on the stairs and it did not move for two days.  I started thinking “What would happen if I wasn’t around?”  So, I turned the problem over to the FBI and they used age progression photo techniques to determine what the scene might look like if men were left to their own devices and women were no longer in the picture.  

 

The Towel on the Stairs – Present Day (Year: 2009)

  

The Scene 200 Years After Women (Year: 2209)

  

The Scene 1,000 Years After Women (Year: 3009)
 

 

 The Scene 100,000 Years After Women (Year: 102, 009)

Copyright © 2009 Alison James

 

 

 

Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett…Watch Out Hasselhoff, You Might Be Next!

It’s hard to believe two major celebrities passed away on the same day.  Just about everyone is in shock.  I used to love Michael – his awesome music, his funky dance moves, and his idiosyncratic neurotic ways. My mother is currently searching for a photo of me wearing Michael Jackson “stuff” from when I was about ten years old so I can share it with everyone.  The news coverage brings back memories of a simpler time when my friends and I would do the moonwalk at slumber parties and fight over who had the most Michael Jackson pins.

But isn’t Farrah Fawcett getting the short end of the stick here?  Her death got the world’s smallest headlines today. The woman was one of Charlie’s Angels for God’s sake! She was a cultural icon too.  Men loved her. Women wanted to be like her (even if they did hate the fact that all the guys had her poster above their bed).  Countless brunettes had peroxide orange hair in the 1970s and 80s in a vain attempt to emulate her blonde, feathery locks.  She was a symbol of beauty and strength right to the very end.

I think Farrah deserves more front page coverage!  (And it’s not every day that you’ll hear me argue that the hot, blonde with a nice body should get more media attention)

Imagine working your whole life to build your career, and then you die and someone more famous than you dies a few hours later and steals your thunder. If I were her, I would standing in the famed “light” on the other side with my hands on my hips saying “Way to go MJ! You couldn’t have waited 24 hours?”

Below is my little photo tribute to Farrah and Michael.

Any way you look at it, yesterday was a sad day. Two people who touched men, women, and children everywhere passed away and we will miss them both.   Copyright © 2009 Alison James

  

I Want to Tie Down Skinny Women and Force Feed Them Donuts

I was reading the news coverage of Jon and Kate’s divorce and I feel really bad for those eight kids. The whole situation will definitely take a toll on them. But I am also a little embarrassed to admit that their story made me breathe a sigh of relief. When I read about someone’s marriage on the rocks, celebrities doing really stupid things, and all the problems other people have, sometimes I get this odd sense of personal comfort. It is not that I am happy that others are suffering. I don’t want to see other people in pain (unless I get to pick the person and do the deed). These stories make me feel relieved because they remind me that I’m not alone in this world, that my life isn’t the only imperfect life out there.

The Germans have a word for this phenomenon: Schadenfreude. Wikipedia says it means “pleasure derived from others misfortunes.” I hate to inform the Germans but we’ve had a term for this state of mind for decades; it’s called “being a bitch.” Their word sounds more official, but ours is much easier to understand.

Nonetheless, the German definition sounds a little sadistic. I wouldn’t say I derive pleasure from other people’s suffering, like the kind of pleasure I get when I eat a cupcake or win on a slot machine. It’s more like a “reduction in anxiety.” I feel a little more comfortable when I know I’m not the only one out there with problems.

For most of us, these feelings stem from insecurity. It’s tough to see other people succeed in life because it makes us question our own abilities. When they screw up, we feel affirmed, like we’re not doing so badly after all. We struggle to get to that point where we no longer compare ourselves and our lives to the world around us, where we derive our self-worth from within.  But getting to that place is a long, tough journey. 

I know I am not there yet. Even though I want to be happy for the gorgeous, skinny woman who marries a hunk with a million dollars, I still have the urge to tie her down and force feed her donuts until her thighs look more like my own. I just can’t help it; I’m human, I’m insecure, and I want to share my love of baked goods with others.  Copyright © 2009 Alison James

Just When You Thought Your Ex Was the Craziest Man Alive…

You might not expect to see a political or news post on a blog like this one, but when something so big happens like what is going on in Iran, I have to write a thing or two about world events.

In case any of us were uncertain before, it’s pretty clear now that Ahmadinejad is a total psycho. You think you’ve known some crazy men in your life? He makes all of them look normal. Even my craziest exes look charming next to that guy. When he came to New York City in 2007 to speak, the NYPD should have dropped him off on Tremont Avenue in the Bronx and let him find his way to Columbia University on his own. That would have fixed his ass. Living under the current regime in Iran must be hell on earth for so many people to want it to end.

When I was watching the protestors on television, I felt so much admiration for them. Publically protesting a regime that is repressive and dangerous is the ultimate act of courage.  But I also couldn’t help but wonder, “If I were in their shoes, would I have the personal strength and will to fight for what I believe in? Would I scurry away and hide or would I stand up against a regime like that one?  If I can’t find the courage to tell my friend that I think her boyfriend is the Devil, how in the world would I tell an insane dictator that I want to see him gone?”

I hope that I would have it in me to fight that fight, but I don’t know if I would. I guess none of us really know what we are made of until life puts us to the test. But whether the tests you face are big or small, I commend you if you stand up for what you believe in, especially if your beliefs are unpopular. We all need to defend freedom and remember how lucky we are to have the right to express dissatisfaction with the actions and attitudes of our government.   No matter how annoying someone is, or how much we think their opinion sucks, we should be happy they have the right to express it freely.  Copyright © 2009 Alison James

 

Cyber-Snooping: Our Favorite Lunchtime Pasttime

These days, personal privacy is a thing of the past. With a few clicks of a mouse and some creative lunchtime cyber-stalking skills, we can learn all about other people’s lives. We can find out if our ex got married, what his trampy new wife looks like, and whether or not her parents have money. We can read about old coworkers, get dirt on new ones, and see satellite images of people’s houses. 

And if we have specific questions like “Will I really have bad luck for ten years if I don’t forward the latest spam email from my Mom to at least ten people?” or “Do I really have an Uncle in Nigeria who left me a million dollars?” or ”Does Shamwow really work?”  we can find those answers online as well.

But I have a double standard when it comes to search engine snooping. I can’t stand the fact that my own information is so accessible to other people even though I love looking at theirs. One day I put my name into Google and up came an Amazon Wish List I created ten years ago, probably in an attempt to get some guy I was dating at the time to buy me a birthday present I really like. Fortunately, the list only had on it “Songs of the 70s compilation” and a few other random items. But imagine if it listed personal lubricant, handcuffs, and a wrench.  Is that really public information?  My Dad is one of those old people who doesn’t use the internet, but his friends who do know more about my life than he does. 

Nevertheless, we don’t get to choose whether or not our life story is public information anymore. The end of privacy is a natural byproduct of the digital age and there isn’t much we can do about it. We just have to be a little more cautious, keep the bad photos out of the wrong hands, and make peace with the fact that some day someone might discover that we are a long-time member of imsohairyicouldscream.com.  Copyright © 2009 Alison James

A Little Poetry: The 10 Women You’ll Be Before You’re 35

I wrote this poem a few years ago to promote my book, The 10 Women You’ll Be Before You’re 35.  I forgot all about it until I found it today tucked away in a file.  Upon reading it, it is pretty clear to me that the insanity of our 20s and 30s is timeless.  Not much has changed since I first wrote it.  I’m sure many new women out there are going through these same experiences.  So, I think it is worth posting.  I hope you find it entertaining.

The 10 Women You’ll Be Before You’re 35

At 22 you’re a New Graduate, faxing and filing
While dating a guy who can’t stop drunk-dialing.
You begin to wonder if college was simply a waste,
Long gone are the idealistic dreams that you chased.
(…for now, anyway!)

Next you’re a Dollarless Diva with no cash in sight,
Eating peanuts off the bar when you go out at night.
You’re dating a guy just for the free meals,
And searching the clearance rack for any good deals.
(…that you buy on credit!)

By 25, you dive into your career and become the Worker Bee,
Taking on bigger projects and working overtime for free.
Your sights are set higher than the cubicle you’re in,
And you run yourself ragged, determined to win.
(Will showing some leg help?)

Your hard work pays off. You’ve proven your name,
And for a while your life becomes a fabulous game.
You’re the Party Girl, feather boa and all,
You can walk in heels after three martinis and not even fall.
(Okay, most of the time)

Around 28, you realize the alcohol is making you chubby,
You start feeling disgusting and tired and grubby.
You become the Body Conscious Babe and hit the gym hard,
Determined to lose every last inch of lard.
(Come on, it’s not that bad!)

Once you’re in shape, and you’re feeling great,
Around 30 you meet a guy you actually want to date.
He likes hiking, so you take it up too,
You’re a Chameleon, becoming like him to make him love you.
(…but not for long!)

A year or so later, you realize you feel a bit strange.
This guy just isn’t The One, but it’s so tough to change.
Your job gets you down and you’re not satisfied with your life
You’re in Crisis Chick mode and nothing at all seems quite right
(Bring on the chocolate and naps!)

Around 32, you pull through, and after a final good cry,
You switch jobs, change your wardrobe and ditch the lame guy.
You figure out a path in order to make it on your own
And become Miss Independence, forging ahead alone.
(Going it solo in style!)

But one day you’re putting on your makeup under bright lights in the loo,
And you notice a wrinkle staring right back at you.
It must be the lighting– it just can’t be real,
Or maybe, you realize, you’re not as young as you feel.

You’re a little confused—you’re no longer a girl,
But you’re not yet a women, and that makes you a “Wirl”
You’re caught between the two with your age starting to show,
But you’re not old just yet! You’ve got many years left to go!
(At least sixty or so!)

You think back over your life, and all you’ve been through,
It seems like there’s been three or four or ten different yous.
You wonder how you survived each and every phase,
Enduring crazy-fun nights and exhausting work days.

But you’ve learned patience, and hard work, and walking in heels,
And turning 25 or 35 is not as bad as it feels,
You see that your life is a constantly changing commotion,
Full of challenges, fun times, and lots of emotion!

So the next time life sucks and your boyfriend’s an ass,
Remember that surely this stage too shall pass.
You’ll make it through the tough times and gracefully survive,
“The 10 Women You’ll Be Before You’re 35.”
(the new book by Alison James!).

The best days lie ahead, you’re now the True You!
Get busy living, there’s so much to do.
Make every new day what you want it to be.
The future is yours. Only you hold the key!

Make a wish for your future! Send this to ten women in your life who need a laugh today!

Copyright © 2009 Alison James 

Why Does Music Suck So Much Lately?

What happened to music? Wasn’t it good at one point? Now, it honestly sucks, doesn’t it? The new songs coming out and the new artists just don’t do it for me.

I know I sound like my parents or grandparents saying “Kids these days listen to nothing but racket.” But my comments aren’t just part of the typical generational disconnect that keeps older people from appreciating novel, creative music teenagers listen to. I really believe that music is objectively worse than it used to be.

The turn of the Millennium brought with it what I call the “flash and trash” entertainment mentality in our culture. Whereas being a superstar used to be about raw talent, today it is all about using good looks and bright colors to disguise the fact that you can’t play an instrument or sing worth a damn. While there are a couple of solid musicians tossed into the mix, we can count on one hand artists that have had any staying power at all.

Meanwhile, in the decades before this one we were inundated with brilliant, diverse and fun talent from every part of the globe – Prince, Madonna, Michael Jackson, Duran Duran, George Michael, the Go-Go’s, Blondie, Billy Joel, and Eric Clapton; Devo, REM, U2 and Nirvana; Queen, Van Halen, Journey and Poison, Def Leppard, Aerosmith, Metallica, Ozzy Osbourne, Run DMC and Public Enemy. Need I go on?

Whether you liked their music or not, you have to admit that these musicians were all talented and distinctive. They had highly developed musical and lyrical skills and their own sense of style and humor. Remember the Michael Jackson glove and Madonna’s punky headbands? Do you remember learning “We Are the World” in sign language at school and getting yelled at by your teacher for imitating the Cyndi Lauper line?

These artists were talented and memorable. They appealed to an enormous audience that included people of all different ages and backgrounds. Now, you can line up the Top-40 singers and they are like interchangeable bobble heads. The average person on the street can’t name more than two or three songs that have come out recently.

Where is the Cyndi Lauper of our generation? If she doesn’t appear soon, I’m going to dye my hair pink and start singing. As painful as that would be for everyone, it can’t be that much more painful than the crap we have to listen to all the time. “Kids these days, their music is nothing but racket.”  Copyright © 2009 Alison James

I’m Pretty Sure Male Shoe Designers Hate Us

Sometimes I feel like (a.) shoes must be designed exclusively by men and (b.) those men hate us.  I just can’t figure out why every pair of shoes I buy hurts like hell.  Even the shoes that cost a decent amount of money hurt my feet.  How hard can it be for designers, shoe companies, SOMEONE…ANYONE to create a shoe out of material that doesn’t cause excruciating pain?  It can’t be that hard, right?  So, I wrote this letter on behalf of all the women out there like me who spend their life limping around town.  If I don’t get a response, I think we should all start sending these guys photos of our messed up feet. 

Dear Mr. Shoe Designer (this means you Mr. Blahnik, Mr. Cole, Mr. Choo, Mr. Dior, Mr. Kors, Mr. Weitzman as well as both of you Mr. Dolce & Mr. Gabbana…and of course you, Mr. Payless),

You have probably already figured out that women love shoes of all sizes, shapes, colors, and persuasions.  But quite frankly, we don’t love you very much right now.   Because your shoes are ripping our feet to shreds!  By the end of each day, we are in so much foot pain that we feel like we need to take a trip to the emergency room.  We are keeping Johnson & Johnson in business, buying boxes of Band-Aids and cases of Neosporin. 

Your shoes keep us in an awkward limp for most of our adult lives.  And maybe that’s exactly where you want us.  Maybe you are a little sadistic, or you want to see us barefoot and pregnant again.  I don’t know what your motive is.  But if you are trying to create sexy shoes that sell, let me remind you that there is nothing sexy about toe paralysis, Mr. Shoe Designer.  Really, there’s not.

We aren’t asking you to ditch style for comfort and start making moon boots with heels or orthopedic shoes in a variety of shades of gray. We just want to wear something on our feet that doesn’t put us at risk for gangrene. Is that too much to ask?

We don’t see men hobbling up and down the street in their shoes, so we know you have it in you to make a product we can wear.  I have a novel idea: Why don’t you hire women to WALK in the shoes before you sell them?  If your testers don’t return and you find them lying in a heap on the sidewalk with their feet wrapped in gauze, that’s a little indication that you need to consider a redesign. 

That’s all I have to say for now, Mr. Shoe Designer.  But you will be hearing from me again, next time after I’ve been dancing for six hours at a wedding.  Because you deserve inspired letters that are written straight from the heart.      

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,
United Sisterhood of Unbearable Crippling Killer shoes (U SUCK) 

Copyright © 2009 Alison James
 

How Too Many Choices (and Cheeses) Can Drive Us Insane

It was the day of my first ever wine and cheese party and preparations were going great. I snuck out of work early, cleaned up my apartment, brought out a few candles that I had been saving for the perfect occasion for about a decade, and had the plates and stemware ready. My friends were bringing the wine and they were entrusting me to supply the cheese, snacks, and 80s music mix (a different type of “cheese”). My plan was to make a run to the grocery store about two hours before the party so everything would be fresh. I assumed that would be plenty of time to buy cheese for twelve guests. How hard can it be to buy cheese, right? I was about to find out.

When I arrived at the cheese section of the grocery store, I saw before me not just a few basic brands, but shelves upon shelves of cheese. Every type of waxy yellow ball you can think of piled up like a giant shrine to the Dairy God – Swiss, Pepper jack, Provolone, Brie and not just Cheddar but Vermont Cheddar, Wisconsin Cheddar, Grafton Cheddar, Canadian Cheddar, and Irish Cheddar. It looked like a cheese bomb exploded dropping cheese from every part of the globe into the Food Emporium. How the heck could I pick 6 or 7 different types of cheeses out of thousands? I stood there in awe, completely overcome with indecision. Even if I ruled out fifty percent of my options because of the price (I’m pretty cheap), I was still left with so many to choose from that I had no idea where to start.

How do you make a decision when you have a thousand options? Do you graph them out on a piece of paper? Do you close your eyes and just grab at them and hope you pick the right ones? Do you pick cheeses out of a hat? Or do you call your parents and ask them what they would buy (and end up with Kraft American Cheese slices)? Do you go for the ones with the most sophisticated sounding names or the ones that are packaged in the coolest looking colors? Or, has it really come to the point where you need to research cheeses on the Internet for ten hours before a party? The sheer number of options was paralyzing me. I wish I had done my cheese homework.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I understand that choice is good when it comes to cheeses, meats, and men. We are very fortunate because we are not limited by a lack of choices today. We have access to information, we know what products are out there, and we can make more informed decisions as a result. We can try different career paths, date lots of people, and select from hundreds, if not thousands of items at the store when we go shopping.

But what we often forget is that having too many choices can be just as limiting as having too few. And no, this is not some twisted way of rationalizing scarcity. Think about it – if we are plagued by indecision when we are doing something simple like picking out cheese, how the heck are we supposed to pick a spouse or a house or decide what our values and beliefs really are? Have you glanced on Ebay lately? There are about a billion things you can buy on there without even venturing into the store. You can search a database of men on some of these dating sites like you are looking for curtains.

Barry Schwartz has a really interesting book out right now about this very issue called The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less. He points out that we are far more satisfied with our pick when we’ve selected one out of a few options than we are when we have to pick one from a pool of hundreds or even thousands. And it makes sense because when we have too many cheeses to choose from we fall into the trap of questioning every choice we make. We ask “What if there is something better out there? What if I’m missing out on another option that would have been more appropriate for me?”

When we can’t find a way to compare and contrast every alternative so we feel chronically worried that we made a bad choice. Or worse yet, we don’t make any choice at all. But “If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.” (Yes, I just quoted lyrics from a Rush song) You have decided to remain stagnant.

We need to remember that though it is nice to have options, we can’t let them paralyze us. At some point we have to make decisions despite our anxiety. We have to close doors, leave options behind, and take our chances on the one we’ve picked. And of course we won’t always make the absolute best choice. In fact, sometimes we will make terrible choices. (Doesn’t that make you feel a lot better?) But any choice is better than none at all because at least you are moving in some direction. The real mistake is not in picking the wrong cheese; it’s in standing there staring at your options and ending up with no cheese in your life.  Copyright © 2009 Alison James

 

 

Why Men Like Booty

Do you remember dressing up as a princess as a little girl, donning the pink frilly dress and the jeweled tiara for Halloween or a birthday party? We all went through a “princess phase,” although it wasn’t really a phase because we never completely outgrew it. Even as adults, we dream about meeting a handsome prince, being rescued from the hellish dating scene, and living happily ever after in a modern castle with an in ground pool instead of a moat.

But, as you know, real life doesn’t always work out that way. Men don’t always exhibit the most prince-like behavior. Sometimes we have to fend off the dragon and clean the castle by ourselves, and find our own way out of the tower.  Men are kind of clueless when it comes to creating the perfect fairy tale romance and we often wonder why.

Well, I think I’ve discovered the origin of the problem. I went to the store over the weekend and this is what I found:

The suggested theme for a little girl’s party:

 

The suggested theme for a little boy’s party – not a “Prince” party as we might think – but instead we have this:

 

We get a pretty lacy outfit, a magic wand, and a tiara.  The boys get rope, an eye patch, and an inflatable sword.  It sort of explains why we spend our lives in search of the perfect fairy tale romance and men spend theirs in an endless search for booty. Copyright © 2009 Alison James

I Would Like to Personally Apologize for Global Climate Change

Scientists believe CFC-containing aerosol sprays damage the ozone layer and consequently, contribute to global climate change.   CFC production was phased out completely by 1996, but they were about 10 years too late.  1986 to 1996 were “The Aqua Net Years,” a time of big hair and “the wall of bangs.”  And when I review old photos of myself from those years, I realize that I might be solely responsible for the giant hole in the Ozone Layer that is causing this whacky weather all around the world.  Think I’m kidding?  You decide….

 

Copyright © 2009 Alison James