Posted in October 2008

Don’t try to front; I know just (just) what you are.

Well, hello there.  Looky looky what we have here.  It’s my birthday, and I’ve got a wee morsel of snark-ready cuisine served up fresh on my plate.  A new Britney Spears video?  Could it get any better?  Oh, Birthday Gods, thank you ever so much.  This couldn’t be any day but my birthday.

So, Britney’s new video is called “Womanizer.”  It features a very attractive bloke going about his ordinary day, his scantily clad housewife cooking him eggs (strangely square in shape) while in his boxers, then cuts to him slaving away at the daily grind in the office, progressing into having a cigar-and-scotch lunch (um?) with his co-worker boys, transitioning into being chauffeured around in his Town Car, and then returning home at the end of a long day…of “womanizing.”  Or is he?

First of all, let’s begin with the basics.  It’s a good thing Britney can release a video that opens with her writhing around alone, oiled and naked, in a strategically lit sauna.  Because then we sorta forget that she can’t actually sing at all.  Those of us that don’t rely on our ears for hearing, that is.  Having her songs stand on their own, sans racy or controversial videos?  Oh, c’mon, silly.  We know that ain’t gonna happen.

Is anyone else confused as to what naked Britney in a sauna has to do with anything?  Anyone?  Okay, wanna hear my guess?  To distract people from actually listening to the song!  Once again, my theory harks back to the fact that…okay, okay, you already know her croonin’ chords are a joke.  Clever decoy there, producers.

But I’m still confused.  We’re talking about a “womanizer,” right?  A “player”?  A “manwhore”?  “Casanova”?  “Don Juan”?  “Skirt chaser”?  “Ladies Man“?  Right?  So, what part of “womanizing” do you see taking place in any of these screenshots?

Pardon the excessive hair flippage.  She’s merely avoiding the imminent “womanizing” by tossing her tresses ’round and ’round.  And ’round.

Oh, hey there, sauna.  What was your function again?  Gratuitous nude shots of Britney to distract the viewer from the fact that there’s absolutely no talent nor substance behind this “comeback effort” (or her entire career, for that matter)?  Oh, okay.  Carry on.

So, she suggestively struts her naughty bits to practically vex him into ending up between her legs throughout the video, and then he gets the beating of his life at the end.  Reality, were you going to make an appearance here, perhaps?

We have to talk.

According to Dictionary.com, a “womanizer” is defined as “a man who likes many women and has short sexual relationships with them.”  And further, “to womanize” means “to pursue women lecherously.”  Oh, ha, that’s funny, ’cause the only “lecherous pursuit” I see here is Britney rubbing all parts of her female genitalia on a man that probably would have left her alone, had she not suctioned her breasts to his palms at every free flick of the wrist.

Men, if every single woman, from your sassy secretary to the wild waitress to the lascivious limo driver, for example, were all actively attempting to grab your appendage and have porn star sex with you, um, under these conditions, wouldn’t you be labeled a “womanizer,” too?  While I’m sure many philandering gentleman have attempted to use that line of reasoning as a pithy excuse that their significant other did not buy, we all know that rarely happens to the average Joe Six-Pack.  Even if he looks like the fine young specimen in the video.  It don’t happen that way, Bubba.  You’ll notice, too, that Baby Faced Cutie (who actually has a name – Brandon Stoughton – imagine that!) hasn’t exactly done anything to entice, provoke, or chase her.  Unless looking has somehow been declared a crime in Britney’s futuristic harlot haven.  And isn’t the heart of “womanizing” the pursuit of women?

Perhaps I’m just dense.  I mean, scan the YouTube comments, and you’ll see nothing but the highest praise for the Return of America’s Top Pop Tart.  The bells are ringing with fervent glee, and chants of “BriTnEy iZ BACK!!!!!” echo from the rafters (in varying levels and amounts of capital letters and with differing degrees of punctuational emphasis, of course).  I even saw a comment (that I can’t seem to locate now) that touts this video as “empowering women in bad relationships.”  Whoa, seriously? So this video is going to, like, spawn a movement?  Because I think this video sorta hikes down the skirt of the women’s movement.  I suppose I’m simply not American enough to pull the leather corset over my eyes and enjoy this.

Errr, the pretty lil’ “womanizer” in the video is quite delectable, at the very least.  See?  There’s a little redblood in this American for you after all.

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A woman on the verge.

I’ve been attempting to create this post for over an hour. I logged in, I clicked “New Post,” and then…I did everything but write this post. I relocated a few stray containers from ill-fitting locations in my apartment to the tiny closet in my bedroom. I meticulously washed each and every soiled dish, glass, and utensil. I straightened the pillows on the couch. Then I re-straightened them a few more times for good measure.

After all that, I decided to make myself a piping hot pot of soup. At 12:30 a.m. I ate it watching Malcolm in the Middle. You should know, first and foremost, that I detest watching television. Secondly, you should be advised that even opening a can of Campbell’s and dumping it into a saucepan over a protected flame constitutes way too much cooking for me. Especially after midnight. Yet I’d rather do any and all of that instead of writing this post. Go figure.

I don’t even want to write it now. And I’m writing it.

It’s not as if there’s anything to fear here. In fact, Sunday marks the anniversary of the most incredible, most momentous occasion a human can experience while inhabiting the flesh: my birthday. No disrespect to those suffering bloody nightmares climaxing in slitted throats about the aging process, but after age 25, I cannot quite dread earning a few more notches on the life experience belt any longer.

So, my aversion to Sunday derives from an aspect a bit more acute. You see, moving onward in years puts a heavy hand squarely upon our backs and forces us to contemplate the past – whether we desire it or not – before hurtling full throttle toward the future. After all, there are lessons to be learned from the mistakes we’ve made, the decisions we’ve settled upon, and how we managed the hand we’ve been dealt.

In truth, I’m not such a hotshot when it comes to retrospect. It makes my insides cramp and causes me to become swaddled uncomfortably in the past. Why? Because let’s face it – Year 28 of Fayza’s Time on Earth was, oh, um, a composition of about 42.9% frustration and disappointment, 37.2% self-doubt, and 9.65% dizzying nausea (the other 10.25% contains miscellaneous sentiments best thorougly researched within the confines of a thesaurus).

But folks, I’m not copping the role of your garden variety pessimist here! Oh, no, no, no! I’ve got the facts to prove it! However, you don’t need those; generalizations will suffice. So trust me when I say that my 28th year was so full of gnarled tribulations, potholed roadways, and serrated edges that I even found it difficult to put the pen to paper (or the keys to the keyboard) more often than not throughout the course of the last 365 days. And that, my friends, is highly uncharacteristic of yours truly.

But I’m a reasonable girl, and in my waning days of 28, my truths are all unceremoniously splayed about my feet. And the importance of such a lingering backward glance never fails to successfully nudge me toward skipping in pursuit of my greener pasture. No matter how begrudgingly I go.

In celebration of this impending milestone, I present to myself (and you, while we’re at it) this compilation:

Monthly Lessons Fayza Learned
While at the Ripe Old Age of 28
by Fayza

October 2007
Hearts get broken. But if they’re never permitted to be utilized in such a manner that allows them to be broken, they might as well be non-existent. So using the heart? Never regrettable, no matter the outcome.

November 2007
When there’s a risk to take, by golly, it’s irresistible. You might as well take it. You’re going to take it. Or forever hold your timid self silent.

December 2007
Attempts to quash the travel bug only serve to make matters exponentially worse. Andale, andale!

January 2008
Doing that which we believe we cannot do only proves that we are so, so much stronger than we ever, ever realized. Forward motion only.

February 2008

Those whom you trust with your future, your truths, and your happiness in life can and will tell you lies, and betray you heartlessly, ruthlessly, and deceptively. They will derive joy in gleefully taking it all away.

March 2008
When you gut tells you to run, you are allowed a free pass to run. It’s okay.

April 2008
Not all questions have answers.

May 2008
Some decisions, although retrospectively imprudent, are ones you’ll never regret.

June 2008
It is unwise to turn down a second chance at happiness.

July 2008
Mind over matter, body, space, reality, and time. Mind above all else.

August 2008
Once you turn the feeling off, it’s simply not going back on again. No matter how hard you try. It’s futile.

September 2008
Certain friendships demand more than you can provide. It’s okay to want to be able to provide it, and it’s okay to try, but it’s not okay to permit said friendships to cloud your better judgment. You can’t and don’t have to overextend yourself in attempting to make provisions.

October 2008
I am worthy.

Here’s to Year 29.

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