thisisnotreallyablogforreal

I would like to discuss the term metrosexual. I was told my many friends, and a guy I went out on a date with who used the former adjective to describe himself, that Metrosexual is a term used to describe “straight men who have feminine characteristics.” This must be wrong, and if it is not, then I find the existence of the term very disturbing.First, let’s get to know the word. For those of my readers who are more skilled at math and science-like subjects, metrosexual is a pun on the word heterosexual. The word hetero means different, and the word metro means an underground railroad.So how does this knowledge apply to gender preferences and characteristics?Ok, so if heterosexuals are attracted to member of the opposite sex, are meterosexuals attracted to having sex in underground railroads? Perhaps I am being to literal and should try to view the term metrosexual in a more liberal and figurative light. Perhaps metro is implying metropolis, as in city, as in . . .I still do not see how this relates to men with female traits. Does metrosexual imply that people in the city are more feminine? Does metrosexual imply that women and men in the suburbs are nothing more than dirty, insensitive, badly dressed excuses for femininity?I am sitting here at my computer utterly baffled. I need some answers. I have gone out with numerous men who have described themselves as metrosexual and then expected me to rip off my clothes in joy. I need to do some research.
Ok, here's what I found.

The term metrosexual was coined by Mark Simpson in 1994.He has later written about the term as it has grown in the media.Here’s what he has to say:

“The typical metrosexual is a young man with money to spend, living in or within easy reach of a metropolis — because that's where all the best shops, clubs, gyms and hairdressers are. He might be officially gay, straight or bisexual, but this is utterly immaterial because he has clearly taken himself as his own love object and pleasure as his sexual preference. Particular professions, such as modeling, waiting tables, media, pop music and, nowadays, sport, seem to attract them but, truth be told, like male vanity products and herpes, they're pretty much everywhere.”—Mark Simpson, "Meet the metrosexual," Salon.com, July 22, 2002

Wonderful. Metrosexuals are narcissistic men who spend money on themselves. They can be gay, straight, or bisexual, but that does really not matter because in reality they are in love with themselves and the idea of personal pleasure.Whew. I just wanted to clear that up, because I am sick of men telling me they are metrosexual and then expecting me to fawn over the fact that they like to get pedicures, wear nice clothes, yet screw pretty women. And even if metrosexual did mean a man who has feminine traits, why do men think they needs to come up with a term to disguise and comfort their “femininity”?I am sick of all the labels, and the judgments, and the analyzing, and confusion, and our need to put ourselves in a tiny little group and shout, “This, and only this, is what I want! This, and only this, is what is right!” No need to label. We are all just selfish people, who love life’s little pleasures, and want sex. It’s really as simple as that.

Tha'ts right people, soon the back of my head, andperhaps my left kneecap, will grace television screens across Asia. My career is slowly (slowly: moving at a retarded tempo) taking off. Yes, that’s right. I was an extra in a Japanese shampoo commercial. The star of the commercial was the girl in that crouching dragon movie. The whole commercial is probably 50 seconds long. She is probably in 43 of them, yet she only appeared twice during the whole shoot and had a stand-in do all of her difficult blocking. When she finally came out of her trailer, she sported (love the verb sported. love it!) a little red dress. She had very shiny hair. I thought she did an excellent job of getting up from her chair and smiling. She made it look so natural. When she was standing for too long her entourage led her back to her char and covered up her thin frame with a combination of fleece and silk. Most of the models and the others extras thought that this was ridiculous, but I emphasize. Standing is hard, and when I’m cold, there is nothing I want more than to be blanketed with multiple textures. Actually, it was very cold on the set. There was no heat in the building, it was 20 degrees out, and every door was kept wide open. At one point I looked around me and saw a shivering extra, dressed trendily in black, attempting to shed a frozen tear. The concept of the commercial was a mock fashion shoot. Everyone is supposed to pay attention to the crouching girl’s shiny hair in the audience instead of the models in the fashion show. Brilliant. The shoot was about 8 hours long. I spent 4 hours clapping my hands and pretending to be at a fashion show, and the other 4 throwing donuts from the food table at the models. After being reprimanded for getting chocolate glaze on one of the model’s off the rack dresses, I was ordered by the director to stay6-10 feet from "the talent" at all times. On a positive note, I made millions of new friends . . . well two or three, but that’s more than I’ve had since the 7th grade when I flashed the 8th grade boys soccer team for a king size Kit-Kat bar.

I watched my first baseball game last night on TV, and now I feel so unbelievably sporty. It was very exciting. I learned so much. I am a really athletic bowler, but I did not know anything about baseball. I kept thinking the game was over, but then I was informed that each team gets to bat each inning. Way to make the game fair! I never thought I would want to play major league baseball because I am not a fast runner, but now I know I can just get a pinch person to run for me . . . so cool!I was also very impressed with how affectionate the players were after the game: hugging, kissing, grabbing each other’s body parts on television. I guess the Yankees are just so excited cause now they have a better chance at getting the Stanley Cup and maybe even going to the Orange Bowl next year.

I had a cheeseburger, french fries, a Heineken, and this deep friend pastry dessert for dinner tonight. It was a goodbye dinner for my housemate Anna, who is leaving New York to tap dance and sing in a Christmas show in Ohio. I just unbuttoned my jeans so I can type more comfortably. I have just aroused at least 3 out of the 6 people that read this.Yes, I have now tallied the numbers.1.My stalker2.A lady from Texas 3.My mom4.Sheila (my pet tampon and the current president of my fan club) 5.My second grade teacher and 6. Fellow comic Dave Rubin.I am truly amazing.

I went shopping in Soho yesterday. I walked into a store called Club Monaco. My credit card shredded itself in my wallet. Went to a gay bar on Saturday night. I think that the best thing for a single twenty something woman to do in NYC is hang out with comics all night and then go to gay bars with gay comics.I have now confirmed that three people read my on-line journal: my mother, that guy who printed out my homepage, and a lady from Texas who loves Justin Timberlake. My one goal in life, since I first saw the Mickey Mouse club, was to create a website and then mention Justin Timberlake in an on-line journal that less than 5 people read. I am truly amazing.

I just recieved an e-mail from a man in Minnesota who told me that he printed out my homepage and put it on his wall. That scares me. If you are reading this, please take it down, you scare me.

I just added this journal from blogger.com. I don't know why. Maybe because all of my other comic friends have daily journals, and I'm just as cool as they be with much gooder grammar. Yet, why do I have an on-line journal if my mother is the only one who reads it? Maybe that means that I'm not communicating with my family. Or, maybe I'm just a narcissist who desperately consumes her web-published words like a small nit feeding on the head of a human host.