Tag Archives: comedy

Doris Does All the Wine: Bordeaux of Some Description

Following my introductory post, my lovely boyfriend obliged to my request and bought me some wine. One of the wines he bought was the one I’m about to review and the other was a bottle of white wine without a label, which I’m rather nervous about opening, if I’m being honest. I have a feeling it’s one of those chemical filled wines that will kill me upon my first sip, but I guess the life of a really bad wine reviewing service includes the possibility of death. Admittedly, he bought it on purpose, because it was £2 and a direct contrast to the Chateaux Vieux Manoir, which is apparently a Bordeaux type wine.

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I have no idea what a Bordeaux is other than the fact, I imagine, it is French and comes from the place, where I assume they grow grapes. I have only heard about it being mentioned in relatively posh settings, maybe in films? But I have never drunk it before, so I guess for my first review, this was probably a very good decision. Boyfriend is a smarty pants, who knew?

The Bordeaux cost roughly £9 and was bought from the Co-Operative down the street from us. It was bought not an offer, which I’m a little angry about, because £9 for one bottle of wine is ridiculous when you can buy two bottles for £10 from Asda (an extra bottle for a quid sounds amazing, doesn’t it?). Either way, please don’t construe this as me being ungrateful, because I am very appreciative of receiving wine all of the time. Apparently, Bordeaux can go one of two ways, sweet or dry and I think this one was very dry because it tasted like salt Ribena. I don’t think this is a bad thing, it actually reminded me a little bit of that salted caramel stuff that is very popular in confectionary items these days and at first you regard it with extreme trepidation, as though you’ve just eaten something fresh from the bowels of hell, but then afterwards you’ve found that you’ve eaten an entire box of chocolates and consumed roughly seventeen thousand calories. It was like that and I did wish that I had more once the bottle was gone. I also firmly believe that if I drank more than one bottle I’d have been pretty drunk and maybe flashed a breast or two.

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Now, food pairings with dry wines seem a bit weird. I mean, should you eat sweet things with a dry wine to counter-act the dryness and it would create a sense of euphoria that couldn’t be comprehended unless you were there, eating the foods in place of me. But, I didn’t do that. I had what has to be the most salty cuisine known to man. Because we’d had some really great news that day, we had a mini ‘beginning of the week’ celebration and decided that we would eat Chinese food that included ribs, chicken, Szechuan beef with noodles and rice and also some chips because they were free. We didn’t eat it all, before anyone suggests that I have an eating problem that fits in nicely with my drinking problem, you bunch of bastards. But it was nice, I mean, I guess it washed everything down in a flavoursome, salty kind of way and my cheeks sucked in, in a really satisfying, yet the opposite of thirst quenching kind of way. Maybe I should have eaten cupcakes.

We watched our favourite programme at the moment, which is the first season of The Blacklist and as far as inappropriately, enhanced by wine, sexually charged feelings towards people who aren’t attractive go, James Spader was receiving it in spades, which is absolutely hilariously and knee slappingly hilarious if you ask me. Also, James Spader is becoming sexy when I’m sober too, which may be a sign of alcohol poisoning, I’m just not sure.

Alas, in spite of being 13.5% the seasoned wine drinker in me was not feeling the buzz after the bottle was emptied, which I sometimes find with wine. I guess a lot of it has to do with, maybe my state of mind or the speed at which I was drinking or the fact that I drink enough wine to put an elephant to sleep and still remain standing, but that might have more to do with my Irish roots and Geordie upbringing than anything else.

I took to Twitter to find out what some of my social media pals were enjoying and Sex Blog of Sorts seemed to be indulging in Tuesday night wine, too, which makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Here is what she thought of hers:

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As always, if you’d like to contribute, feel free to comment or if you’d like a post of your very own like my dear pal Exhibit A who is going to be writing for Doris Does All The Wine very soon! Or whenever he fancies, it’s totally up to him!

Bottoms up, internet x

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Wine Reviews for Normal People (Title TBD)

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I read somewhere that in order to become a wine connoisseur; you have to go to a school that specialises in teaching students about notes, bouquets and food pairings, along with other very important information. I imagine, that makes you qualified to be on Saturday Morning Kitchen telling people what to throw in their gullets with their posh meal. The people I’m writing reviews for are people more akin to the type of person I am; a multiple bottle kinda girl whilst sitting in front of my television, before breaking into song at whatever Disney film has to be stuck in my head.

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I am writing these reviews for the person who likes to come home after a long, hard day and forget the day by pouring multiple large glasses and eating hula hoops, before stumbling through their hallways to bed and zonking out, waking up the next day with a distinct fog wrapped around their heads like an invisible, fluffy hat. This is how most normal people drink wine and if you don’t drink wine like this, then you have no place here. Please leave.

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There are no real rules to this wine reviewing, but I do encourage you all to join in by commenting or emailing and I’ll throw them in one of my reviews! I am going to review whenever I can be bothered, really and I can’t imagine that any of them will really be the same, but as a normal human, I don’t really know how to review wine, so if that’s what you are looking for, again, you have no place here. Please leave.

A guide I will try to follow will be as follows:

  • Label – what does it look like? Photo and a small description of why I chose it. Did it jump out from the shelf or was I intrigued by the logo or something else?
  • Price – was it a bargain or full price?
  • Store – very important, in case I, by some miracle, inspire you to buy! (If so, let me know!)
  • Colour – red or white, we don’t do rose in this house as an Italian wine Coinoisuer once told me that it is a bastardisation of red and white wine and I don’t really like upsetting Italians, bastards, or wine being disturbed unnecessarily unless I really want to slum it and offend an an entire nation (for example, if someone buys me rose wine as a gift, I will still drink it)
  • Sweet or dry? That’s important because if I’m going to tell you to buy this wine and you hate dry wine, you’ll think I’m a right bastard for not informing you first.
  • How many glasses does it take before you feel a little popped? I drink out of very lage glasses, so I can’t really do this very well, but whatever, these are my reviews and I do what the hell I want.
  • At what point do you start finding people you don’t usually find attractive on television attractive? Suggestions for ‘sexy once drunk’ television humans are more than welcome. Sex Blog of Sorts suggested Kevin McCloud.
  • Food Pairings – weekend drunk snacks like oven pizzas or takeaways with loads of grease on them being my formative choices, alongside blocks of cheap cheese, salted peanuts and potentially chocolate.
  • At what point do you start feeling overly emotional and the need to swill your wine glass, spilling contents to convey your emotions?
  • At what point do you start off on a massive speech, then go off on a tangent because you forgot what you were talking about?
  • At what point do you interrupt anyone or anything happening around you to sing loudly along to Disney songs?
  • At what point do you start feeling ridiculously horny and start showing off your cleavage?
  • At what point do you feel so proud about your cleavage do you send a picture of said cleavage to both of your parents thanking them for creating you so well? (yes, I did do that. It had a figurine of Piccolo from Dragon Ball Z wedged in between)

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These may be relatively bizarre points, but I’m trying to remember my feelings/behaviour/opinions when drunk. Feel free to comment, email or tweet me your own suggestions, send me a picture of the wine and a small anecdote as to why you’re drinking: Sorrow, loneliness, you want to trick someone into sleeping with you… Only proper reasons, you understand.

I’ll post my first review as soon as possible and Brain, I know you’re reading this, so if you’d like to fetch home some wine following my helpful wine guide, I would appreciate it and also be very grateful that you’re actively supporting my blogging pursuits. I will take no wine as a signal that you don’t love or support me. See you soon!

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Dear Diary: An Entry by a Meninist:

THIS IS A MAN’S WORLD and I know that the songs says that the world is nothing, NOTHING without a woman or a girl, but James Brown also wrote the lyrics ‘…making the men sandwiches’ to go on the end of that sentence, but due to copyright infringements within the sandwich industry, he couldn’t include it in is song, so he only ever sang it at special occasions like his wife’s birthday or Women’s Day, or something really gay like that. Also, women, have you seen how many women female leaders there are in the world? This is just PROOF that you guys can’t do anything and that you need men to do all of the important stuff like stop wars and hatred and racism and all the great things we’ve accomplished as men.

We aren’t going to stand for you taking over the world anymore, feminists! You hear me?! We’re not stupid and we know what your agenda, REALLY, is. I mean, we know that all feminists don’t want equality at all and you know why? Your name! I mean, if feminism really was about equality, then why does it start with FEM? EH? You think we’re so stupid don’t you, feminists, with your arm pit hair and your big, smelly vaginas! You can’t fool us any more, feminists, you aren’t smart enough out smart US! I mean, this is why movements like MENINIST exist, so that you feminists KNOW that it’s a man’s world and that WE’RE IN CHARGE. Equality can never be achieved unless you all realise that MEN ARE IN CHARGE. Idiots!

You know the reason why everyone hates Mondays? Because of Feminists. They have weekly meetings on Mondays where they stand around and say nasty things about men and I heard a rumour that once, a musical GENIUS named Bob Geldof openly admitted that he hated MONDAY because of feminists and they had him MURDERED. I mean, if that isn’t a sign that feminists hate all men, then I really don’t know what other examples I could give you. Except maybe that all feminists want to chop everyone’s penis off, so that all men are then women, and the world is then ran by feminists. Did you know this?! This is why feminists are all raging lesbians, so they can get together and plot how to do this with every man in their lives. This is why some of them are in relationships and married, so that they can find out man secrets and then use their secrets to chop their dicks off. Also, I heard that when a feminist touches another feminist’s clitoris with her tongue, that’s how they transfer their magical powers. Another sure fire sign that feminism is like, super dangerous!

FEMINISTS also killed my dog, because they hate dogs. Even though the vet said it was due to the cancerous lumps it had in its mouth, meaning that it couldn’t eat, I know that it was feminists because they all openly admit they hate dogs. Especially really tiny ones like pugs. They also hate cats, which is why Instagram is full of pictures of people’s cats and Youtube is full of videos about cats – they use this to test which ones are feminists and which ones aren’t, like men, by seeing if they ‘aww’ or ‘laugh’ and if they laugh at it, feminists kill them 😦

Do you have a mother? If so, you should probably hold her really, really tight and not let her leave the house and maybe lock the doors when you leave to go to work or school or to play manly sports like cricket and golf, because the feminists will COME FOR HER. I mean, I don’t know why feminists can’t just leave our mothers alone, you know? They RAISED us and they are like, literally the reason that we are alive, so the feminists come in and try to tell our mothers that they’re OPPRESSED and that they’re raising a DOUCHEBAG because I have a penis and a really cool t-shirt with a hashtag on it? There is literally no lines they won’t cross to try and push their dick hating agenda. I don’t even want to visit grandma, just in case she lures me in with pie and cake and then she’s been taken over by a feminist and BITES MY DICK OFF.

Plus, all FEMINISTS are so openly rude. Like, this one time, I thought I’d be really nice to a feminist and told her that she was really pretty and that her boobs were like, huge, and she didn’t even say anything back, like not even a thank you or a compliment!! I MEAN WHAT A BITCH! I mean, I made such an amazing effort with her and she didn’t even, like, respond. I really got so mad that I wanted to punch her in the face, but like, nowadays even the likes of PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA is being mindwashed by these feminists and telling men that they can’t hit women when they’re trying to chop their dick off or not responding to us on social media. I mean, for fucks sake!

This is exactly the reason why I’m a meninist. These women have to be STOPPED. They’re trying to take over the world and aren’t at all interested in EQUALITY like I am. If you’re with me, please stand up with me and chant nasty things at feminists and also buy this t-shirt, of which all proceeds will go to FEMINISTS ARE DICKHATING MURDERERS WHO HATE CATS AND DOGS AND DICK AND OUR MOTHERS AND ALSO REJECTED ME ONE TIME!

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Women: Get Your Own God Damned 80s Franchise!!!

There have been rumours about a re-boot of 1984 classic Ghostbusters circulating the old rumour mill for quite some time now, causing the internet to ripple with glee and speculate as to what the future may bring for their childhood heroes. Some people were hopeful that the original cast would return to kick start the franchise in a manner that only eighties stars know how to perfect and others were more optimistic about a reinvention and reimagining of the movie with a new, young and well-skilled cast to fit in with modern times. Therefore, when news hit that the brand new cast of Ghostbusters would be WOMEN, needless to say, the internet went into a free-fall and became agog with controversial statements, sheer disgust and general disbelief that the classic eighties movie would feature an all-women cast. As the internet will be more than happy to tell us, it’s just one more thing that cannot be sacred to men anymore; it’s bad enough that women took the vote from men, and the fact that they started DEMANDING that men wear those horribly uncomfortable condom things that NUMB the penis to barely tolerable levels, they now have to mess with classic eighties movies too? It just seems that feminism is TAKING OVER and the world as we once knew it will be RUINED AND DEAD.

I can’t say I disagree with them, I mean, is there really a need for an all-female cast? It just seems too implausible so me that a group of women would be able to act alongside each other without either getting distracted and going shopping, or starting a huge fight, as we all know groups of women are prone to do. I mean, it doesn’t even make sense, because like, an all-male cast makes so much more sense than an all-female cast and let’s be clear here, you guys, an entirely female cast would be TOTALLY sexist against men. I mean, in their defense, women didn’t exist in the eighties, there were only mothers and grandmothers, maybe some sisters, but actresses, no they didn’t exist, so there was no other choice but to have an all-male cast. But in 2015 there are women EVERYWHERE as well as there being a small selection of men still left, so surely the most EQUAL thing to do would be to have a mixture of both male and female actors? It makes absolutely no sense to ignore men entirely and have them play supporting roles… men don’t do that, they can’t, it’s an affront to both their masculinity and our general enjoyment of cinema. Also, a small fact I bet you didn’t know about: women didn’t even like Ghostbusters in the eighties! Like I said, most women back then were either mothers, grandmothers or sisters and they were mostly involved in learning how to be better at looking after their sons and husbands, current or future, so the only people who saw the movie were men, so really the remake should be made to remember the sacrifices men made to go to the cinema and see the movie in 1984. I mean some of them missed the dinner that their mothers made and others didn’t get to say goodbye to their grandmas before they died. Hollywood owe it to men to recreate the film exactly like the original; for both their lost dinners and their dead grandmas.

Traditionally, as we should all know, ghostbusting is a legitimate man profession that women simply couldn’t do: They couldn’t hold the equipment in their tiny, girlish hands and would most probably break a nail trying to switch the thing on. Women hate wires because they get tangled in their hair and anything to do with machinery causes women to scream and hold onto their petticoats, demanding a man come and relieve them from such a GOD AWFUL situation. Men have an innate understanding of wires and machinery as taught inside the womb at man-school, so they would be much better equipped to do the job of manning, holding and using the elaborate ghost-sucking hair dryer machines. Another small fact that women couldn’t POSSIBLY COMPREHEND is the science involved in ghostbusting; it’s so intricate and delicate which is obviously why there are ONLY man scientists – women have absolutely no understanding of science whatsoever. Like, it doesn’t even compute to them, which is why you never see female science teachers or any females in a scientific classroom. There have also been absolutely no scientific discoveries or anything note-worthy contributed to science by women at all, which makes the entire film TOTALLY unrealistic and RUINS the integrity of the movie altogether, if you ask me.

Another thing that makes the movie entirely implausible is the fact that ghosts are attracted to a woman’s period, much like bears, which means the set of the new Ghostbusters movie will be INFESTED with bears AND ghosts and as we all know, women can’t multi-task so who gets the job of sorting out all the unwanted ghosts and bears? Probably some MALE cast member who won’t even get recognition in the credits, that’s who. Can I also point out as well, that even though ghosts are attracted to periods, that doesn’t make women more accepting of them. Oh no, women are TERRIFIED of ghosts. Which makes the entire soundtrack pointless, I mean, Ray Parker Junior would be spitting in his grave if he were dead at whoever remakes his classic song. It will probably be NICKI MINAJ who will be like ‘I AM SCARED, I AM SCARED OF ALL GHOSTS’ and then shake and twerk her buttocks around, which is not what Ghostbusters is all about at all. It’s just a common fact that men are better equipped to deal with things like the un-dead so much more better than a woman, in the same sense that they are better at dealing with both spiders and a woman’s period: There are just things that women simply don’t understand when it comes to dealing with scary things, which means that when faced with a ghost in the movie, most of the characters would run back to their trailers and hide there until one of the male cast members got rid of it.

Perhaps the most terrifying and saddening part of the remake is that the comedy rampant throughout the original movie, simply won’t be present in the remake, because, as we all know WOMEN AREN’T FUNNY. I mean, the fact that I even have to write that is ridiculous, I mean, did the people behind green lighting the remake do absolutely no research whatsoever? Take the writer, Katie Dippold for example, I mean she wrote for Parks and Recreation which we all know is a serious documentary about the parks and rec department of an American council… I mean, what funny things happen there? “Oh no! I put a slide in upside down. NIGHTMARE!” I don’t think so, Dippold. And let’s not forget all the women who were on Saturday Night Live – no funny women have ever come from Saturday Night Live even the really famous ones like Tina Fey or Amy Poehler. No, there are only funny men on that show, like Kenan Thompson, who is like, super famous from the nineties.

I am absolutely right by you, male humans, when you say that the new Ghostbusters movie will SUCK. I wish feminists would just realise that this is a man’s world and that movies are a man thing, that only men enjoy. I mean, would women like it if there was an all-male cast of Sex and the City? NO! Women would hate it. I mean, men don’t invade a woman’s world or try to control what women do ever so why do women feel the need to invade a man’s world and take all of the good things away from them? It’s just not fair, you guys.

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Chapter Six: What Goodfellas Has Taught Me

As far back as I can remember, I’ve always wanted to be a gangster…

Goodfellas is my favourite movie of all time; it’s not even an argument, just a matter of fact. I’m even quite confident in stating that Goodfellas I the best movie ever created. I know, right? Big statement, but it’s okay because I’m right. Like, don’t bring me any of this Citizen Kane shit. Have you watched that movie? It’s God Awful. Goodfellas is a slice of movie gold and I refuse to even debate it with you – I would sooner eat your brains right out of your skull with a spoon than debate any other film that can even compare to the greatness that is Goodfellas. When I first watched it, I was so excited and so inspired by the movie that I legitimately wanted to give up my normal life and find some gangsters to be my friends. My mother will openly admit that she was genuinely worried about me becoming a murderer or some kind of psychopath because whenever I saw the bit with Ray Liotta smashing that Jewish man’s face up, I would turn to her and say, “God, Ray Liotta is so sexy!” and I stand by it. So, here I bring you, a list of valuable lessons I’ve learned from the movie that may potentially help you in your own quest in becoming a gangster.

Never rat on your friends, and always keep your mouth shut:

Do so and Robert De Niro will hand you money and pull you into his amazing chest and snuggle you for being a good kid. I’ve always lived by this mantra, even before I knew about the movie. One time, my sister and I were playing at a friend’s house and we decided to play ‘murder’ because we’re normal and well adjusted children. Anyway, we decided to close all of the curtains to make it dark and when our friend’s mother came in and realised we’d ruined her curtains, she asked who did it and both my sister and I kept our mouth shut. But, we did rat on our friend by pointing at her until her mother made us go home, so I guess I only did half of that. Never mind, she wasn’t my friend any way, she was my sister’s. So really my sister is a filthy rat and not me.

Be distrustful of the telephone:

When has anything good happened from using a telephone? Nothing good, that’s what. Basically, phones now are like an extension of ourselves and we’re constantly going offline to slave away to our telephones. It’s a habit none of us can kick and I genuinely believe that it’s the first sign of robots becoming self-aware; I’m a slave to it too, which basically means my worst fear is coming true. Fuck, our phones can even talk to us now. Anyway, I also feel that telephones, in particular land lines, are the secret killers of all single, white females, so if you are any of those things, you should probably throw your phone away. Look at murder movies, they’re constantly talking to their murderers on the telephone and all they end up doing is running blindly, falling over and then being stabbed to death. Dangerous, I tell you. Also, a telephone basically RUINED Goodfellas: every single time there was bad news… how did you find out? Telephone. See, nothing good has come from using the phone.

Never tell Joe Pesci to go and get his fucking shine box

He hates that thing, and he will kill you for bringing it up in front of his new, fancy friends. Dick.

See? You see what you did, Billy?!

Don’t Point a gun in your husband’s face unless you intend to pull the trigger. Nothing good will come of it.

I think in general, you should refrain from pointing a gun in the face of anyone because they shouldn’t be used to dish out life lessons and should only be used for violence and to be a successful part of American culture. Also, you’ll probably regret trying to teach your gangster husband a lesson. Because if he has to worry about getting whacked on the street as well as at home, then he will leave home and you’ll be left on the floor, crying and apologising profusely. But, you should take comfort in the fact that your legs look pretty bangin’

If you suspect your husband is cheating on you, hunt the bitch down and harass her in her home

I think generally, if you suspect your husband is cheating on you, you should have pulled that fucking trigger. You’d be in jail, but at least the other bitch wouldn’t get to sleep with him either. Win, win kind of. Also, if you’re the woman sleeping with the married man, you probably should expect that his wife will at some point find out and be pissed off at you. You should also graciously accept that you are, in fact, a whore.

If someone ignores your drink order, shoot them in the foot

As a bar man, it’s your job to take everyone’s drink order, even if you don’t particularly like them. In this case, especially if you don’t like them, because odds are they are crazy and will seek to cause you physical harm for not getting the drink he actually ordered. Learn to LISTEN or you might end up being labelled as a mumbling, stuttering little prick and get shot during an elaborate game of ‘The Sundance Kid’ as you try to fetch them.

Don’t’ Bust Balls

Especially if you’re a much older member of the friendship group and only one person likes you. Especially if you’re going to do this around gangsters. You aren’t a gangster, so you obviously don’t know their ways, but as with any loan, you really should have looked into what you were getting yourself in for before you requested it. Because you will, like so many before you, die with a corkscrew in the back of your stupid, shmuck on wheels head.

When in doubt, shoot.

Possibly the greatest lesson you’ll learn in life. Someone annoying you? Shoot them. Someone disrespected you? Shoot them. It’s the same principle for if you owe someone money or you simply really wanted your drink quicker than they were willing to bring it.

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Chapter Five: THINGS THAT TERRIFY ME ABOUT PROCREATION

In light of my most recent blog, in which I outlined the horrors of Becoming A Woman, I began thinking about my future and what I should expect of my body if and when the time comes, I choose to house a proverbial bun in my toasty warm and equally proverbial oven. Truth be told, I find the whole concept of being pregnant and the act of childbirth horrendous and I genuinely don’t believe people when they say that it wasn’t painful. I mean, you’re shoving a human out of your happy place, what part of ‘excruciating hell pain’ doesn’t compute? Also, I’ve known women shit themselves and tear their happy place in two, purely to give birth to a tiny human who spends a long time crying, shitting, eating and repeating that process to the detriment of your sleep pattern. I find it terrifying.

Women are also divided in their opinions of pregnancy and childbirth and I’ve noticed that in my own social circles, I have been regarded as a bit of a lunatic for not lying back and thrusting a bairn or two out of my vagina. In the past, people have actually openly tutted at me and looked me up and down upon discovering that I, in my early twenties, actively elect to remain without a child. Apparently, admitting that I’d much rather focus on a career in my twenties and also stating that if I do choose to have a baby in the future that I’d quite like to be married first as, as well as being in a financially stable situation to be able to provide everything and then some for the tiny version of myself, should  I decide I want to have a baby. Apparently, I didn’t make this clear and people have heard me say, ‘I HATE BABIES AND WANT TO THROW MY FECES AT YOUR BABY AND YOUR LIFE CHOICES. I WANT TO SIP CHAMPAGNE FROM A GOBLET MADE ENTIRELY OF BABY BONE AND THEN THROW THAT GOBLET IN YOUR STUPID FACE, MOTHER-HUMAN!’ You can see where the confusion arose, I’m sure…

Don’t get me wrong, I support women who choose to have a baby regardless of their financial or professional situation; it’s a choice, after all and all women are more than welcome to choosing their own life path without input from anyone, especially me. I can’t even tell my right from my left, most times. It’s just the entire concept of it is so terrifying to me: Housing a baby in your uterus. A baby. A human baby. A baby that will one day walk and talk and eventually house a baby of its own; it feels a little Human Centipede like to me… but you know, in the most beautiful way imaginable. Of course.

Parts of pregnancy I enjoy, both in terms of seeing it happen to other people and I imagine enjoying myself if the time comes is that society in general are appreciative and celebrate your every growing stomach. They will also ask to touch it occasionally, so that they can admire it’s sheer size up close and personal. I’m not sure about you, but I would love it if people did that with my tummy now, but they don’t, they look at it and frown and ask how much strain my jeans are under, which I find offensive on so many levels. I also like that everyone treats you like a queen and constantly asks you if you need anything and also tell you that you look beautiful all the time, even though you haven’t seen your feet in weeks and literally cannot control your flatulence but even that is oddly charming because the baby is lying funny inside you, or is gassy itself. Charming.

Parts of pregnancy I don’t enjoy, both in terms of seeing it happen to other people and how I imagine I will feel if and when the time comes is that from the moment this tiny little invader makes its way into YOUR body, after you openly invited it inside, it takes over and for the rest of your life, your body is not your own. Especially during pregnancy: You eat some food the baby doesn’t like? Oops, vomit. You enjoyed wine once upon a time? Oops, no can do, I’m allergic. You want to go to that sushi bar with your friends? Sorry, raw fish isn’t good for me, I’M A BABY. It’s very annoying. Also I don’t enjoy that it just makes itself at home and begins MOVING things around – like your HIPS, did you know that your hips will change and move to accommodate the baby in the birth canal? No, neither did I. I like my hips. I’m very angry about this, baby. Also, babies are HUGE. One of my best friends gave birth to a really tiny baby recently, which kind of seems okay, but then my cousin gave birth to a baby that was NINE POUNDS. I’ve said in the past ‘oh, nine pounds, imagine shoving that out of your vagina!’ with no real perception of how much nine pounds really is, other than the fact that it is considered large for a baby, but really I have no idea. So, for your information and also for mine, I have just looked up house hold items that weigh roughly nine pounds so we can put this shit into perspective:

  • A turkey

  • Forty sticks of butter
  • An entire sack of potatoes
  • A bowling ball

  • An average sized three month old baby
  • Roughly four and a half bottles of 2 litre Coca Cola

Man not included.

I mean, that’s huge! Vaginas aren’t that big, but they are able to stretch to push out a tiny human whom they have literally baked inside of themselves for nine months… a baby that weighs the same as a bowling ball. I went bowling recently and I dropped the bowling ball. Babies are heavy. Going back to my last post about clever sperm, all I can say is that sperm is thick as shit; all you have to do is just keep swimming and kill your brothers until you reach the sweet spot. Women have to literally morph themselves into all sorts of shapes and sizes and then shove out A TURKEY from their vagina! If you are slightly confused by my outrage, please, take a minute out of your day to either look at your own vagina, or ask someone very nicely if you can look at theirs so you can comprehend the idea of a full size turkey making its way out of it. Terrifying, right? Right.

Obviously, alongside the other perks you then have a tiny human who will love you more than life itself, unless you’re a bad mother and then it will hate you. You will also have massive tits if you choose to breastfeed, but I already have those so really all I’m going for is being fat and beautiful and maybe the human who loves me. In all honesty, though, I am more than happy to wait until they have invented some kind of transporter from Star Trek and then the baby can literally be transported out by sending me beam me up, mama brain waves. And then I’ll do it.

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Chapter Four: Becoming a Woman

If you didn’t read that in a calming, soothing voice akin to Counsellor Diana Troy’s voice from Star Trek: Next Generation, then you have failed me. Go back, read it again, and come back to me with a fresh perspective and better attitude towards the piece I’m about to write. Back? Okay, thanks for that. If you’re male and/or slightly squeamish and are reading this with increasing trepidation that I’m about to go into a Vagina Monologue style rant about my first period or the first time I touched myself, then don’t worry, because I probably won’t. But then again, I might do, because I’m cruel and also because I’m trying to practice literary improvisation.

A lot of the things I read online tell me that gender roles are established very early on in life, depending on what toys you play with, thus, modern parenting techniques advise that parents don’t force their kids to play with toys depending on what part of the toy store they’re in; let kids be kids and choose their own way in life is the mantra. Anyway, I never had that. I played with Barbies and dolls (well, I smacked their faces against walls) I played with prams (ran over bees with the wheels) and played with toy make up and jewellery, as well as girly arts and crafts – I never grew up feeling that my place as in the home or in the kitchen (unless the fridge was fully stocked) and I don’t hold any kind of resentment towards my parents now for me playing with gender specific toys. Granted, I had both of my parents telling me on the daily that I would be a smart, career driven, independent woman who would be able to drive, tell the time without getting confused when the afternoon rolled in and never forgetting which way is right and which way is left, meaning I would just point in directions and say ‘over there’ by the time I was twenty six. Parenting successful, you guys, you can retire now… Anyway, I never felt that my toys were a suggestion of my future to come, nor did I think they were sending me subliminal messages, telling me that I’d make a great home maker/mother/wife, because my parents screamed even louder in my face that I would be AMAZING and BRILLIANT and high fived me when I didn’t wet the bed… In a way, I’m pretty pissed off that my toys didn’t have more of an influence over the adult I’d become, because my favourite toy, Barbie, had an amazing life and other than the subsequent body/self esteem issues I’d undoubtedly acquire by being too influenced by the blonde babe I played with daily, I’d still have been pretty happy with the outcome.

My Barbie dolls were awesome and their lives were pretty sweet. They lived in a giant mansion, all together with their best friends and enemies alike and they’d go on all sorts of adventures and divorce and marry people within a week. Imagine that life? It’d be like Dyansty! More to the point, I’d have been married to a Ken doll and we would have been amazingly well dressed and matching at all times. He would have enormous pectoral muscles, which I don’t agree with, and a questionable crotch region, which I agree with even less, but with the wealth of Barbie and Ken and the abundance of available plastic in the world, we’d be able to sort that kind of thing out, no problem at all. Life would be sweet. I’d also have an entire wardrobe style house full of clothes and every single day would be my first day at a new job. It would be like that first scene in Clueless where Cher is sorting out her outfit du jour via her amazingly technologically advanced computer; the only difference being, that my outfit match would be what I’d be doing as a job that day. My work week may have even looked like this:

Monday: Palaeontologist
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Tuesday: Canadian Mountie
Wednesday: Yoga Teacher
Thursday: Surgeon
Friday: Ambassador for World Peace
Saturday: NASCAR Driver
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Sunday: Princess

I mean, that’s way better than any of your careers, right?

Unfortunately, my toys had very little influence over my life. Unless you count my Speak and Spell which taught me how to spell swear words correctly and maybe my doll pram for killing all of those bees.

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Do you remember watching ‘coming of age’ movies and TV episodes in the likes of Sister Sister, where they’d discuss womanhood like it was some kind of amazing journey we were about to go on, filled with love and romance and in the end, a tub of ice cream and laughs with our best friends for life humans? Then, as it got closer, all it really entailed was a lot of general hysteria at not only your perpetually changing body, but at the entire world around you for being so selfish by not realising your CONSTANT DAILY STRUGGLE WITH EXISTENCE!!! I was expecting magic carpet rides and new found responsibilities that had absolutely nothing to do with shaving my arms or legs, or being metaphorically thrust into the world with new squishy bags on my chest, thus suddenly agonisingly aware of my SELF and the perpetual gaze of the male ascending on me every time I chose to leave the house. It was awful.

Suffice it to say that I didn’t enjoy growing into a woman very much at all; I mean, I love it now, because I’m a woman and I firmly believe that is a great thing to be. I can’t think of anything that wields as much power as a woman’s vagina, except maybe her cleavage in a bar. Or more important things like what a woman has to go through to bring life into the world. There are some people who champion the sheer genius behind sperm and go into advance scientficit discussions about how far the sperm has to travel and out of the millions and millions THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE that assists in the creation of new life.

I’m not sure about you, but when I hear that, I’m sitting there metaphorically patting the head of which ever idiot has come out with that one, before retorting with what actual reproductive heroics actually entails. Firstly, women only have a certain amount of eggs and they start depleting from the moment we start our periods – did you guys know this?! – so when people start talking about biological clocks ticking, they don’t mean that one day you’ll wake up and have an overwhelming urge to reproduce and maybe, potentially steal a baby off the street, like I thought happened… Oh no: It means that you only have a certain amount and that the more periods you get, the more you lose them, because they just disappear. So if you only have like thirty eggs in your uterus and you’ve been a woman since you were like, eleven, then maybe you won’t have eggs in you at all and you’ll be BARRON. Which is really unfair when you think about it, like men can just wank incessantly on the daily for their entire lives and even when they’re like, ninety, they can still use that sperm to impregnate someone. I’m foaming I can’t do that with my vagina eggs.

I genuinely expected that becoming a woman would bring with it some kind of epiphany and that my entire life’s purpose would suddenly become abundantly clear, but other than the fact that I woke up in a pool of my own blood wishing I was born with a penis and that I could now house babies in my womb (ones that were grown there, not just put there as some kind of horrifically upsetting babysitting service) and that the concept of ‘babies raising babies’ suddenly became very clear to me, nothing else really changed. I still liked cartoons and I still believed in Santa Claus and cried when I didn’t get my own way. When I think about it now, I think of it in terms of history and how women throughout life were treated once they began menstruating, relief washing over me when I realised that upon having my period, my dad didn’t trade me in for a few goats to a middle aged man, I was lucky that my dowry remained very much non-existent. I was also lucky that my period coincided with the new millennium; otherwise I may have potentially been procreating for a well over a decade now and making food for a much older man, whose sweaty body had no concern for mine at all (what? The nineties were weird, man!). In a way, becoming a woman for me, meant staying a child, and I found that pretty awesome.

Me, on my 12th birthday, seducing babes, being a woman.

Me, on my 12th birthday, seducing babes, being a woman.

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Yes Please by Amy Poehler

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Being a life-long fan of making people laugh, I grew up believing that female comedians weren’t a thing; I believed I had developed a man-gland that made it possible for me to not only make people laugh, but make men laugh. I thought myself to be quite individual and relatively unique in this department. My comedy heroes growing up were all men and I didn’t resonate with female comedians at all – the only ones I really knew embodied a repertoire that mostly discussed their sexual activities with their husbands and an underlying element of feminist humour that, unless you are particularly feminist, doesn’t win you any giggles on a grand scale and at the time, being a youngster, I didn’t really feel that this brand of comedy, or indeed feminism represented me or my comedic style (I use the term ‘comedic style’ incredibly loosely). When I first discovered Tina Fey and then her work-wife, Amy Poehler, everything changed. These were women who lived and breathed improv comedy and made it their life’s work. They became heroes of mine and I have followed their careers with an almost obsessive compulsion ever since. So, when I heard that Amy Poehler was releasing a book, I had it pre-ordered for months before it turned up on my doorstep. Having read Bossypants by Tina Fey years beforehand, I had incredibly high hopes.

First, let me make it clear that Yes Please did not disappoint me… at all; I devoured it like a hungry wolf and find myself regularly flicking back and forth through the book to find bits I liked and read them again – but I will admit that I did begin reading it expecting to find an almost page for page likeness to Bossypants and I believe that I was almost certainly wrong in that department. Let’s not be naïve here, whilst Poehler and Fey embody a relatively similar sense of comedy, they are entirely different in their delivery and ownership thereof. Whilst I feel that Fey doesn’t own her comedy and seems like she is constantly conscious of her audience, thus making almost every line in her book a punch line, Poehler is the opposite. Whilst Fey’s novel reads like a comedic series of essays with elements of life, work, love and motherhood interspersed, Poehler’s does not. That’s not to say that Yes Please isn’t a laugh a minute, because it really is, I just feel that it is executed in a more effortless manner than Fey’s. Poehler seems to own her sense of comedy as much as she owns her sense of self and reading through Yes Please really feels like reading through the memoirs of someone who is completely and unabashedly at ease with herself in every sense.

To me, Yes Please didn’t feel like reading through a biography at all and when I got past the fact I expected Poehler to use comedy to embellish her life story, it felt really like an inspirational memoir aimed at women who want to feel more comfortable in their own skin. Poehler’s narration feels like an old friend who is subtly encouraging you to be a better version of yourself by coaxing an element of happiness and comfortableness out of your sub-conscious and making it an active sense of your conscious self and is set out into three categories which all read like inspirational slogans for a well-being poster:DSC_0186

SAY whatever you want

DO whatever you like

BE whoever you are

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Each chapter is thus filled with anecdotes, essays and life lessons Poehler herself has learned throughout her life and career in comedy; it reads with relative ease and flows together so effortlessly that you find yourself becoming endlessly inspired by her candidness and gracefully uncomplicated comedic rhetoric that seems entirely unique to Poehler. Whilst reading about parts of her life that she has been hurt or affected by, she manages to make it seem less upsetting or tragic by piling on the inspiration, or using a quip or slice of comedy to lighten the blow – it seems entirely effortless and not at all a conscious attempt to make her seem less vulnerable; instead it just seems like this is the real Poehler – deflecting sad feelings with humour, thus owning it and making it okay. I do exactly the same thing and I have to admit, it helps.

Whilst I have been a fan of Poehler’s for over a decade now, I still found myself learning a lot about her – she is endlessly supportive to her co-workers and peers and has created an almost tour de force of comedy pals that in turn, not only support her but love her endlessly. The piece Seth Myers wrote about her and how they met is one of the sweetest things I’ve ever read, not only affirming that Myers is an absolute angel, but that Poehler is not only a joy to work with, but a joy to know too. I also enjoyed the part she wrote about Tina Fey, in response to Fey’s own excerpt in BossyPants about Poehler – their work-wifery is inspirational and in a sense such a feminist attitude to have towards one’s co-worker/hero/best friend – they are the epitome of women in the workplace, which is such a stark contrast to the media’s representation of women in work, life and play – we don’t actually all hate each other and are, actually, pretty much our best friends’ cheerleaders every chance we get. I enjoyed the graphics that accompanied the piece and her own admission that she would have Fey re-write it for her to make it better; the supportive nature of their friendship is potentially one of the most important pieces for any woman to take away from the novel.

Poehler also has an incredible manner of taking a mirror up to women in society and showing them their true colours; her piece about motherhood in particular was hilarious because it was, in fact, true. Every woman I know who has reproduced and decided to stay home and raise the child and not go back to work, is met with a sense of trepidation, superiority and smugness by women who either have chosen not to have children or who have gone back to work. I myself was in a situation like this a few years ago when I, shock horror, explained I didn’t want to have children until I’d established myself in a career that I felt comfortable and supported in so that I could take ample time off, but then go back. I was met with looks that wouldn’t be entirely out of place from someone who happened to have grown three heads over night. Poehler writes candidly about that in her novel and the life lesson that anyone can take from that is that we’re all different – there is no set rule for women or for mothers, you do whatever it is that you want to do for yourself and no one else.

In short, I found Poehler’s memoirs hilarious, intellectual, inspirational and brilliant; it read like an old friend greeting you over a cold glass of Pinot Grigio and you find yourself becoming sad as it reaches its conclusion. Poehler inspired me and I found myself wishing that I had the same courage and candour to strive towards my life goals with the same unabashed passion and can do attitude that Poehler seems to embody without even realising it herself. As far as my quest goes into reading novels written by hilariously inspirational, confident, independent, feminist women, I have to say that Poehler trumps even the (in my opinion) queen of awesome, Tina Fey. I loved Yes Please and would urge anyone looking for a literary comfort blanket to pick it up and embrace it like the inspirational piece that I’m not sure it was intended to be. I can guarantee you won’t regret it.

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My Career Aspirations Growing Up.

Maybe I could be a telephone operator! No… I wouldn’t like to wear those things over my ears. I wish I had a guardian angel, you know like Debbie Reynolds had in Tammy? What do you think?

As someone who, at the age of twenty six, seems to be having a career orientated life crisis on an almost daily basis and is generally anxious about her future because she has no idea what she wants to do other than earn money and buy shoes, I thought it pertinent to add a post depicting my journey through desired career choices that I’ve had since being a small child. As you will probably be able to tell whilst reading, I had very little grasp on reality growing up and was constantly changing my mind about career choices, which is probably why I’m so cast adrift now. Thanks, child me!

Teacher – I think every girl wanted to be a teacher growing up. I wanted to be a teacher, because my teacher at the time had really nice shoes with bows on and I liked the sound they made when she walked through the classroom. Also I was persistently top of the class when I was a kid and liked being the favourite of pretty much all of my teachers and also I was always picked to read first and was colour-groups ahead of my classmates who I helped teach how to read. So really becoming a teacher was a natural calling in my life, at this point, as let’s face it, aside from the great shoes and the wages, I was a teacher. One of the career choices people constantly tell me to look into is teaching, but as I grew older, I realised that kids are little bastards and that the older they get, the more arsey they become. I genuinely don’t think I’d be able to keep a level head with some puberty ridden shit bag being a nuisance in my class. I’d end up on the front of all national newspapers as the woman who beheaded a little bastard for bad-mouthing Shakespeare. And I’d stand by it too, the little rat.

Vet – If I’m being perfectly honest, I don’t think I knew what being a vet entailed growing up. All I really knew is that I liked watching Animal Hospital and loved watching the vets talk about the animals in great detail, soothing, calming tones lulling both me and the animal into a false sense of security. I would still like to be a vet today, but I wouldn’t want to operate on anything or euthanise anything either. Really, I guess all I wanted to be and what I would still like to be, is a professional dog and cat stroker, which according to my career’s officer at school, doesn’t exist and I should probably focus on a more realistic career goal instead.

Woman who walks around museum pointing at stuff and then talking about it – I don’t think that’s the real name of this particular career choice, but all I had in my head was a “curator” which is something different; I think that’s the name of someone who gathers stuff in the museum, rather than shows groups of school kids around. Anyway, I went on a school trip when I was little and this is what sparked my initial interest. An amazingly articulate woman showed us around and I decided that I wanted to be her, so when I got home, I presented my sister and mother with all of the things we owned in our living room and spoke proficiently and seriously about how all of our living room objects were from ancient China. Maybe guess what the exhibit we were shown around was? Ancient Chinese artefacts. I needn’t have gone, given my living room was bursting with the stuff!

Librarian – This career choice was generally a no brainer for me, given my passion for books and reading growing up, but really, at the time of deciding this, all I really wanted to do was own my own library and be Belle from Beauty and the Beast, however, given my abundant intelligence from a young age, I guess deep down I knew that girls didn’t fall for hairy-wolf-men that were made that way by magical white witches, so I thought that entirely ruled out the Disney Princess option, thus librarian became my only real option. I changed my mind during my first year of comprehensive school when I realised that our librarian was a mean, cruel woman who wanted to keep us away from all of the books by not letting us in the library at all, which not only negates the idea of a library, but makes all librarians absolute wankers, if you ask me.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer – what? I did want to be Buffy. I liked the way she kicked and punched and I loved her snappy retorts to vampires and people in general. She was cool and confident, she was fierce and unstoppable and a vampire, one that filled my pre-teen heart with gooey feelings, fell in love with her! Then later on, a really bad vampire fell in love with her and become all soft and gooey too! It was very inspirational to, not only a hopeless romantic, but to someone who also grew up wanting to be the pink Power Ranger – at the time, even I knew a Power Ranger was inaccessible to a girl like me, but a vampire slayer? Totally realistic.

Singer/Songwriter or Britney Spears Impersonator – Stop judging me!! I am not at all ashamed that I went through a period of wanting to be Britney Spears. Did you see the video for Hit me Baby One More Time her loneliness was KILLING her and all she wanted was to play basketball. I may have misconstrued the point of the video, but regardless, she was a pretty amazing role model at the time. She kind of lost her shine a little bit during The Meltdown of 2007, but by this time I had already moved on to wanting to be both Beyonce and Marianne Faithful, so I really didn’t care. Anyway, at the time, I used to practice dancing and singing constantly, as well as doing my hair and make up to look like a little songstress. My parents were genuinely worried about me during this period and had a discussion with me that pretty much led them to crushing my dreams by telling me that I realistically couldn’t be a pop star/dancer. I’m not sure if it’s because they assumed it would be impossible for me to break into this world without compromising my virginity or because they didn’t think I was good enough. I should probably ask them.

Tennis Player – this was a constant one growing up, every time Wimbledon was plastered all over the television. When we lived in Holland we had this huge drive way and I would go into the garden and slam the ball against the wall, whilst making the best and not at all inappropriate for my age tennis noises. Admittedly, I did get quite good at slamming the ball off the wall and it did keep me fit throughout the summer, but I didn’t keep it up. Like all british teenagers once they get into comprehensive school and realise that doing anything leaves you open for incessant, cruel critique, so I gave up pretending to be a tennis player and put my racket down for good.

Lawyer – Admittedly, I might have only wanted to be a lawyer because I had seen too many episodes of Ally McBeal or potentially too many movies. But to me, I loved the idea of storming into a room and being like ‘OI, I have the evidence here that proves you’re all crooks! YOU HEAR ME, CROOKS!!’ or given the fact that I am really good at arguing and love giving self-righteous speeches whilst mounted steadfastly onto my high horse, that might have also been the reason that prompted me to want to be the voice of the law. Plus, again, I also really liked the clothes and shoe choices and the tap clap tap of court shoes as they bustled through full of law-like knowledge.

Fashion Designer – No, seriously. This was a genuine career desire of mine throughout school. I loved art and design and I wanted to take those as my options, go to college and take art, before applying to university to do fashion. I had it all planned out and I did have an abundance of talent in the old art department, so it made sense. An English teacher of mind found out and hauled my mother into school to beg her to force me to take more academic subjects, because my future lay with English and all the career choices that would leave me open to (all, Mrs Walker, ALL? I literally have done zero things with my degree other than starting this blog. I am foaming about it, in all honesty!) so they coerced me into taking French, Geography and History, which I aced, because I am brilliant, but didn’t really enjoy because all I wanted to do was draw and become the next Coco Chanel. But whatever, dreams are for rookies and kids, right?

Writer – In spite of all the fashion designer business, one thing did remain resolute: I was excellent at English literature and language and writing was another passion. I got a typewriter one year for Christmas when I was really small as well as a tiny desk and I would sit in the living room tapping away on the typewriter, even before I could write or form words. Then, as I learned, I would write stories and pass them onto my mam and dad, who would read them and tell me I was brilliant. So writing has always been something that I wanted to do and probably will remain with me until I’m an old lady, embittered with literary failure, making me become the type of old person who stabs knives through the footballs of local children who dare kick it near my property. I will also be the type of old lady who spits at the youths too, but that’s a story for a different time. Anyway, I’ve always written stories and still jot down ideas for short stories, novels, children’s literature, but have absolutely no motivation to do it, due to the fact that I am overwhelmingly terrified of being an even bigger failure than I am now, or being told that something I really want to do is something I’m not very good at. Just like fashion.

I think in this day and age a little despondency in one’s twenties regarding a career and professional future is pretty much resolute. I never wanted to be some phone monkey answering phones as a career… a stop gap, a way to pay the bills, maybe, but I wanted more and I think I always will be that type of person. So until then, I guess I remain a little bit like Frenchie, except with really shit hair.

 

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Funny Feminist(s) – Tina Fey & Amy Poehler:

Anyone who knows me probably already knew I was going to write about these women as part of my Funny Feminist series. They probably already guessed that it would be potentially sycophantic and obsessive regarding my love for these two women, but I promise right now that I’ll try to keep it to a minimum. Initially, I wanted to write about these women separately, but following their success at last night’s Golden Globe Awards, I thought it pertinent to combine the two and move the post forward so that we could all revel and bask in the glory of the powerhouse duo that is Fey and Poehler.

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My general appreciation of these women knows no bounds and could be considered borderline inappropriate, if I had the means of following them round on a daily basis just to breath the same air as these comedy goddesses. Their respective television shows 30 Rock and Parks and Rec hold two very dear places in my heart; so mch so, that my friends have been known to refer to me as Lemon, presumably due to both mine and Lemon’s (Fey) appreciation of pizza, night cheese and, of course, Spanx. Furthermore, their brand of comedy is in fitting with my own personal attempts at comedy and their ability to use their wit, intelligence and natural charm in order to create incredibly popular content that caters to the masses is endlessly inspirational to someone like me, who likes to try to make people laugh on a much, much smaller scale. They are also the epitome of funny female actresses and it just goes to show that you don’t have to be a man to become successful within the comedy circuit and that, as someone who sits at home writing blogs in the hopes of eliciting a few giggles with her attempt at biographical humour, again, it’s inspiring.

Both Fey and Poehler are over forty and have been coming into their own as comediennes over a multitude of platforms their whole careers; deciding they wanted to be funny women, performers and creators of comedy from a young age, they threw themselves into their chosen careers and have been killing it ever since. Now, their names are household names more than ever and their comedy status has only been heightened and solidified in recent times, particularly since hosting something as well respected, much loved and generally institutionalised as The Golden Globes multiple times. These two are the definition of funny women and I am sure, quite happily, a giant middle finger and smug smile to the men out there who claim that strong, independent, feminist women aren’t ever successful, or indeed that women aren’t funny.

Poehler and Fey have both released their own biographies, Yes Please and Bossypants which both stand proudly on my bookshelf (and will be reviewed at some point due to said awesomeness!). I adore reading words written by funny women and I love that both of these women have talents that really do know no bounds. Both wrote their books on top of having award winning careers, comedy commitments to SNL, both of their respective television shows which they write and star in, as well as being mothers and partners and having a life outside of their work commitments and it is yet another giant middle finger in the air to people who try and suggest that women can’t have it all; these two are the epitome of women who can do it all and are more than capable of doing these things, seemingly effortlessly, in order to further their career and potentially, the notion of being a strong, independent, feminist women on a massively public scale.

Fey and Poehler are amazingly inspirational women to me and even though I have no real confidence in my writing, my comedy or myself, they help me realise that as long as I am enjoying what I’m doing, I shouldn’t  really concentrate too much on people who are negative or try to tell me that I should be wanting motherhood and wifedom in my future; that those things should be my main focus. They allow me to think that I can have it all and that if I want to develop myself as a comedic writer, then I really should try… and keep on trying until I’m the toast of The Golden Globes… Right?

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