Via HelloGiggles: This alarm clock wakes you up with an orgasm.
In the immortal words of Elle Woods, "Excuse me. I have some shopping to do."
And in the words of the friend who sent this to me, "I don't see how it would prevent me from falling back asleep."
Truth. Orgasms are how I GET to sleep half the time.
Still, we agree we should try it for research. For SCIENCE. FOR THE SISTERHOOD.
I am a terrible feminist and probably an awful human being.
Everyone on board?
OK.
I definitely have my moments where I'm like, "Man, I'd kill to be built like Kerry Washington" or whoever.
But last night I watched Chicago again (for burlesque research!), and I realized, "Goddamn, I would much rather be built like me than like Super Thin Renée Zellweger any day."
I sincerely hope the most prominent feature of my chest is never the bones in it. (I can't even see those bones, I forgot there WERE bones there.)
I could floss with that woman.
I know, I KNOW. I shouldn't judge another woman. There's room for all of us (ahem -- especially her, she's basically vapor), and we're all snowflakes, blah blah, bliddy blah, sisterhood, traveling pants, etc. FINE. I'm an asshole. We've established that.
Also, while she's tiny, I'm sure she does crazy yogalates-ninja-reformer class or something and could kill me with her pinky finger. Plus, she's a floppity-bajillionaire mega-star who can sing AND dance AND act (I'm told), and I live in a studio apartment and have 45 Facebook followers, so who the hell am I? She gives no fucks what I think, and rightly so.
Now, don't get it twisted -- if you offered a trade of INCOME, I'd be on that shit like white on rice. (Not that she knows what rice is, but you get the idea.) But body-wise? I'm glad I'm me, is the point. Flat ass and all. I'm not a hater -- this was a self-esteem epiphany. So there.
I hear a lot of jokes about "girl code," usually in regard to dating a friend's ex or something.
Let me give you an example of the REAL girl code:
My doctor, a woman about my age, prescribed an antibiotic for the sinus infection that's been beating my ass (seriously, please come tear my face off, and also bring pie). Without me asking, she said, "I'm also calling in a script for Diflucan. If you don't need it, don't fill it, but I don't want you to have to bother calling us back and asking for it."
I go pick up the antibiotic, along with a bottle of acidophilus. I tell the female pharmacist I'm not filling the Diflucan right now, that I'll just leave that on standby for a rainy day in my vagina. She nods, notices the acidophilus, and tells me unprompted that cranberry extract supplements also help her prevent The Evil that Shall Not Be Named.
That's your girl code. Good work, Girl Nation. My pH balanced lady garden thanks you.
