"Blue Valentine" Overrated...by the MPAA

I saw Blue Valentine Saturday night, and I thought it was genius. That's not what this blog is about. I remember before it opened there was a big ordeal about the rating. Initially, it was given an NC-17. I'm happy to say they appealed the decision, and the film was given an R rating. Without changing anything. Which begs the question, what in this film would prompt an NC-17 rating?

It turns out, my idea is right on par with Ryan Gosling's, one of the film's stars. The most objectionable part of this film is...wait for it..SEX! Sex! You know, the thing that got us all here. But I'm not talking your typical plain vanilla romp is the sack. Nope, we're talking oral sex here! Horrifying!

Now, I know what you're thinking: oral sex is in TONS of movies with R ratings. I can't even count the number of blowjobs or blowjob references in various movies I've seen over the years. So what was wrong with this film's oral sex scene? It involved a man performing oral sex on a woman. THE HORROR!

Yes, apparently our moral compass thinks it's OK to showcase a man receiving oral sex in a movie, but not a woman. And actually, that's not entirely accurate - Black Swan got an R rating, but that's because it was a lesbian scene and, as well all know, it's OK because a lot of guys think it's hot.

This just infuriates me. A woman enjoying a sex act meant to focus solely on her pleasure is somehow more offensive than, say, a rape scene or a scene of extreme violence? When I think of something worthy of an NC-17 rating (which replaced the X rating in the '90s), I think of something like porn - you know, hardcore close-ups of real people bumping genitals. And I'd classify a video of Osama bin Laden getting shot in the face worthy of that rating as well.

But ACTORS in a sex scene of a married couple enjoying a sex act - come on, there are worse things to watch.

HAIKU, in the Style of Cee-Lo

I need an uplifting post for today, so this is just going to be fun. My wanderlust is coming back hard, and I just want to get on a plane to anywhere but here. Ideally, Europe - just start fresh on a new continent. The American dream doesn't work for me. Maybe the French or Italian one will.

So, while I mull all that over and contemplate my existence, here's a funny for you.

"Haiku" By Wendy Caldwell (with some help from Cee-lo Green)

I see you drivin'
'Round town with the book I love
And I'm like HAIKU!

Guess my Keats, Yeats, and Shakespeare wasn't enough
So I'm like HAIKU
Got to write some, too

See, if I was a poet
I just wouldn't know it
Ain't that some BYSSHE
(Ain't that some Bysshe)
I'm feelin' so stressed, and I'm tryin' my best
To write HAIKU

Five, seven, five, y'all
Well that's how to write it
But I really think that I suck this
Why not a sonnet?
Or an epic poem?
Or a catchy rhyming limerick?

I pity the fool who has to write HAIKU
(What's wrong with my iambs?
Or my green eggs and ham)
Ooh, I got some news for you
Yeah, go on and tell your professor

I see you drivin'
'Round town with the book I love
And I'm like HAIKU!

I guess my Keats, Yeats, and Shakespeare wasn't enough
So I'm like HAIKU
Got to write some, too

Yeah, if I was a poet
I just wouldn't know it
Ain't that some Bysshe
(Ain't that some Bysshe)
I'm feelin' so stressed and I'm tryin' my best
To write HAIKU

I know that I had to borrow
From my local library
Tryin' to read up, tryin' to speed up
On all this awful poetry

I pity the fool who has to write HAIKU
(What's wrong with my iambs?
Or my green eggs and ham)
Ooh, I got some news for you
Man, I really hate this class right now

Now, teacher, teacher, teacher
Why you wanna, wanna, put me through this?
(Through this, through this, through this)
I wrote a rhyming couplet
But you said it was your ass I should kiss
(Should kiss, should kiss, should kiss)
WHY? WHY? WHY?
I still can't, I can't HAIKU!

I see you drivin'
'Round town with the book I love
And I'm like HAIKU!

I guess my Keats, Yeats, and Shakespeare wasn't enough
So I'm like HAIKU
Got to write some, too

See, if I was a poet
I just wouldn't know it
Ain't that some Bysshe
(Ain't that some Bysshe)
And though I did try my best it is time to confess
I can't write HAIKU!

A Little More Talk and a Lot Less Action

IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING: I don't care at all about anyone sending pictures of their body to anyone, unless one of those people is a minor and the other is not. Can anyone guess why? IT'S NOT NEWS! We've had the Internet for how long now? Have people still not caught on that the only reason we keep coming up with better technology is to get laid? Think of cell phones. You could call your significant other when they weren't at home! Then we got texting. And camera phones! Now video! You can actually make a porn on your phone, then send it to someone you met on Twitter and see what happens (hint: it won't end well).

So a few famous people figured this out and it's all over the news. Democrat, Republican, Communist, whatever: No one wants to see your junk. The only people who should see it are doctors and spouses. If you need to show off a little, don't be stupid enough to do it on your OWN TWITTER ACCOUNT! Start a fake account - geez, teenagers have figured this out.

Newsflash, United States: SEX IS NOT BAD. It's fun! It reduces the stress hormone, releases endorphins, and sometimes leads to more people. It isn't bad. It's not bad for you; it shouldn't be taboo. I think we should at least be able to look at this situation and say, "Screw abstinence only educating." The abstinence only people aren't that way because they were taught it in school. Usually that's a religious/moral thing.

So how did I come to this conclusion from a Twitpenis? Well, first off, he denied it. "I got hacked." No, sir. You thought you were good looking, and you wanted to see if you could still get the ladies, so you took a shot (and a photo) with a 21-year-old. Too bad you didn't snap a pic of your balls - they must be huge!

Why would one deny this? I know, he's a public figure and married and all that. But he said he felt ashamed. Ashamed? Of your penis? That's not normal. I'd be embarrassed I got caught and all my friends would be harassing me, but I wouldn't be ashamed. I don't find my body to be shameful. I don't think taking pictures that make you feel sexy is something to be ashamed of. If you pass them out to children, then, yes, be as ashamed as you want. But one adult sharing an intimate photo with another adult does not a scandal make.

Second, telling a teenager not to do something has never worked. Ever. Instead, when your teen is at the right age (not when YOU needed the talk - times change), ask him or her what questions they may have about sex, sexual health, their changing bodies, etc. Really. Start this before puberty. Our teen pregnancy rate is actually going down, so it works. I promise.

Why don't we try being HONEST with children about sex? Let's give them real sexual education, not just about what parts go where, but how you can respect your partner by always having a recent STD test, or how it's OK to wear clothes that flatter your figure. The more you know about sex, the better prepared you are for it.

Here, I present a few sexual mantras I live by (unless you're my grandmother - STOP READING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!) It's cool, guys. She doesn't read this blog.

Wendy's Rule Number One
Get tested. I get tested before and after each new partner, and every six months to catch any false negatives. Many infections transmitted sexually can be asymptomatic, so don't think that because you don't feel different you don't have anything. Better to be safe than sorry.

Wendy's Rule Number Two
Always wait until after your period (or placebo week) before changing sex partners. This is just something I find helpful - at least I won't end up on Maury Povich testing the 12th guy who is still "NOT THE FATHER." Come on, ladies. We can do better.

Wendy's Rule Number Three
TALK to each other, not at each other. If you can't talk to your partner about sex, don't have sex. It's quite simple. It means you aren't ready personally, or you aren't ready as a couple. If you can't tell your partner what you like, it isn't going to work.

Wendy's Rule Number Four
You're never THAT single. I said that to Leslie once, that I wasn't "that single" in reference to a guy. Keep your standards high. It's important to respect your own body just as much as your partner's. Stay safe, keep talking, don't ho it up. That's it!

This isn't just for teens, though. This applies to adults of all ages, and I'm especially thinking of the newly divorced who suddenly find themselves trying to date for the first time in a decade or more. You don't start dating where you left off - if you're dating now, you need to know the game. Set your own ground rules (not before x dates, not until x months, etc.) before you start dating. Talk to your doctor if you have health concerns.

OK. Diatribe over. Now, go send your Congressman a naked pic! (Kidding, but that would actually be HILARIOUS)

I'm Not That Girl

I woke up one day, and I was 28. I wasn't a college graduate as I had intended. I wasn't married. There weren't any kids running in to wake me up. As it turned out, I was in my dad and Laura's house. That can't be right. I'm 28. Why am I living 3 hours away from my friends, most of my family, my life? Where did I go? Or, more accurately, where did I go wrong?

All of this thinking has been in the back of my mind lately, and it's come to the forefront for the strangest of reasons: I've been getting hit on a lot lately. Annoyingly so. I can't go a night without getting several messages from men (usually people who have never met me, mind you). And I'm starting to get pissed off about it. Then I started wondering why it was pissing me off. I should be flattered, right? I mean, to the average person, this hardly sounds like a "real" problem.

Of course, I'll do this obligatory "this is aimed at no one in particular" and "this isn't all encompassing" and of course "I don't think everyone who sends me a message on Facebook or Twitter is a pervy asshole." But, let's face it, some of you are.

You see, I'm not that girl. "The pretty girl." The one who wants male attention 24/7. I look the way I look because of genetics, but it isn't who I am. It doesn't show my character. My looks aren't anything I accomplished. I didn't work hard for it. I just wake up, and this is what I look like.

When I get messages from strangers, men who want to "get to know me," I'm skeptical. Obviously. Why do you want to get to know me, specifically? There are nearly 7 billion people on this planet - that's more than enough. And seeing as how it's called Facebook, I figure it usually has something to do with one's face.

That's all I get. I have a name no one uses. I'm not Wendy to these people. I'm a slew of monikers that are usually used as terms of endearment or words of physical attractiveness. These are words I've used before, but those are reserved for people I know and love.

I like social networking. I like the idea of getting to exchange ideas with people from different places. I like being able to easily stay in touch with friends who live far away. But I don't like being treated like an object, in some twisted Internet version of cat and mouse.

I never really thought about that growing up, what it must be like for the popular girls, always having the attention of guys, always being the OBJECT of desire, not the woman. We all got the genetics we got by chance - by our parents.

Do any of these people care that I'm a good person? Does it matter that I have panic attacks, that I can't sleep at night, and sometimes the hardest part of my day is getting out of bed? Or do they think my life must be easy, must be carefree, and I have nothing better to do than to be courted online because some idiot thinks he's getting sex out of it someday. And I'm the one who needed psychiatric care. Right.

So how did I get here? Do people only value my looks now? Does my brain not matter to anyone? Does it make a difference that I left college because I could no longer afford it? My test scores put me in the top 1% of people on the planet - shouldn't that matter?

I have dreams of someday going to Africa and helping people - handing out latex gloves, mosquito nets; educating children and adults on HIV; building huts and living in a land that has yet to be touched by time. Does that have some value?

I'm a great writer. I am passionate about it, and I have a knack for it. I'm empathetic to a fault. And yet, the impression people get from me is "She's hot. I'd like to hit that." And that makes me deeply shamed. Have I stopped valuing these qualities as well?

I appreciate a compliment if I've put on a dress or done my hair or makeup. And I appreciate a compliment when I make a perfect wrap at work. Both of those require effort. But just looking a certain way isn't cause for celebration.

I have some self-respect. I'm working on more confidence. But I don't need a bombardment of attention when I need to be focused inward. And I suppose that's my diatribe of the day. I don't know where I went wrong, but I know what is making me unhappy in my life.

Oddly, I'm reminded of an episode of CSI in which Catherine tells Sarah about her days as an exotic dancer. Catherine: "Did your dad ever tell you you were pretty?" Sarah: "No." Catherine: "I bet he told you you were smart."

Growing up, that's what I heard. I didn't hear that I looked great. I heard that I was smart, that I had potential. I made good grades, I never got in trouble at school. I was a great kid.

Now what do I hear? From various sources it's a lot of doubt. Am I ever going back to college? Why can't I support myself (I could go on my usual digression of the 11-months of bedrest from crippling chronic pain, but I won't)? Why can't I just get a better job and make more money? Why can't I be thankful for what I have instead of being depressed?

I wish I knew the answers. The short one is that my brain is chemically different from most people's. Add to that my problem-solving nature, and I'm constantly obsessing on my own shortcomings. I can't turn my brain off. Today I was so anxious I couldn't keep my legs still, and I have no idea why. I wake up alone, drenched in sweat, in a 62-degree-room, and no one can tell me why.

But, to the naysayers, it's important to know that I am a fighter. Right now I guess I have to fight for myself, because no one else will do it for me. Three years ago today, I was living a decent life. Eight days later, my life changed forever. But I fought back from that. I got out of the wheelchair. So I suppose I can handle this, too.

And to those of you who think sending me a few Facebook messages means you can see me naked...Go fuck yourself.