A certain someone who has read this journal on occasion may see that title and think I’m at it again: all that “I’m an independent woman” rambling and OK we get it already, you’re independent and strong and don’t need anyone and can change the oil in your own damn car if you wanted to (but while I did in fact used to change my own oil in college, I now try to pay people to do as many things as possible and no that’s not a ephemism, so shut it) and I am just FINE on my own.
(It’s not true, of course. The don’t need anyone stuff. That I changed my own oil in college is indeed true. Our garage had this scary, spider-filled pit that you could drive over and then work on your car while standing up. In the pit. My car broke down a lot. I didn’t have any money. Also, even then, I wanted to be independent, not relying on anyone, blah blah blah, so I knew my way around an engine. Except, did you know that buying your own oil and filter supplies is just about as expensive as just bringing your car somewhere to have the oil changed? Yep. Plus you need that special tool to get the filter off. And also, it’s messy. Plus, the spiders. So, I really recommend against this method of gaining independence.)
But that person (who I mentioned way back before that rambling parenthetical) would be wrong. Mostly the title is about the horrifying fact that I really like this new Miley Cyrus song. That it’s Miley Cyrus would be bad enough. But she’s 17. So it’s ridiculous that she’s singing about how she can’t be changed and every tomorrow is a day she never planned. OF COURSE she didn’t plan it. No one has any idea what their world is going to be like when they’re 17. And yet, there it is. It’s shameful, honestly. If I were 17, it would be fine if I liked this song. But not now. And yet I do.
What makes it worse is that on that album, she does a cover of “Every Rose Has Its Thorn”. Like, seriously? That’s just like when Britney Spears remade “I Love Rock and Roll”. What is wrong with people?
In the interest of full disclosure, I should admit I also kind of like that “Your Love Is My Drug” song by that girl with a dollar sign in her name, especially the beginning part where she says “maybe I need some rehab, or maybe just need some sleep”. And also that song about my milkshake bringing all the boys to the yard. Which I realize now is about a million years old but it still IS AWESOME.
So what did I do? What else could I do? I picked up the latest issue of Cosmo. Maybe I’ll find it’s gotten good too. Think of how much easier life would be if I could be more easily entertained. The cover of the July 2010 issues looks promising. 99 new sex facts! Who knew that many things were new about sex?! The #1 love instinct I should ignore! What men find hot! (Wait, I know this one already. Blow jobs, right?) 20 naughty things to do in the dark! (Cosmo readers need someone to tell them this?) Let’s dive in!
You will be shocked to hear this, but the 99 new sex facts were really disappointing. For instance, “women place a higher importance on looks than men do when looking for a casual sexual partner.” Millionaires feel having money gives them access to better sex. More interesting: the chemical ocytocin, released during sex, reduces pain by about half.
Here’s something weird. One “fact” is that the average time sex lasts for Americans is seven minutes and another is that that women want sex to last about four minutes less than it does. Um, women want sex to last for three minutes? Clearly these women are not having good sex. Good sex should last as long as possible. Longer really.
And what about this? 95% of women consider penile-vaginal intercourse sex. What? What exactly do these other 5% of women consider to be sex? Where do magazines find these people?
So Cosmo has given us a collection of random surveys with no attribution from a sample size of women who want three minute sex, in some crazy bizarro world of what sex is. Awesome.
You understand I couldn’t read the rest of the magazine right? Even for science? And anyway, I have go to listen to that song about taking a ride on your disco stick. Or maybe the one about how what I want want want is what you want want want so give it to me baby like boom boom boom.
But I draw the line at that creepy Bieber kid.