Monthly Archives: March 2017

Douches At Sea: A Lengthy Rant

Cabins for the 2017 New Kids on the Block Cruise are selling fast, admittedly, mostly to women reliving their glory days of boyband-loving and carefree bopping. Some of them bring their husbands, some of them leave everything about their real life behind, but all of them come to escape and to be a huge dork of a fan with three thousand other huge fan dorks. It’s a safe space. Except if there’s a selfie on the table, obviously. Then it’s every woman for herself. I’ll cut a bitch–I mean, a Blockhead Sister.

However, there are a few single (presumably straight) men who have caught wind of the idea of a boat full of hormonally charged women, hoping to get near one of five famous guys for 4 days straight, and they’ve taken advantage. It’s mostly innocuous, like my friends the Scots. Sure, I assumed they were sexual predators at first, but they were nothing but nice to me and never even tried to touch my boobs. They just talked to me like I was a human person. You know, because I am. But there was another gruesome twosome. The “Firemen”. Oh, the firemen. I’m sure you remember them stirring up lady-boners in the Cruise-groups on Facebook, by simply posting that they are in fact single men who will be on the cruise. The frenzy is understandable. In an isolated situation, even if you’re Patton Oswalt’s literal twin, you can catch some V. Because there’s no context. If you’re an attainable single man surrounded by women who have been squirming in their boyband-adjacent seats for three days, you’re gonna clean up.

Unless you’re a disgusting asshole, like our pal Tim (the short one). Because. We’re women first and foremost. Sure, we’re fangirls. We’re a little crazy. I’ll admit that. But we are humans who have every right not to like you. You are not guaranteed a vagina just because you paid money to be a cougar-hunter. It’s not a safari. It’s a niche-fandom chartered cruise, you fucking douche. Yeah. I’m switching it up and speaking right to you now. Because it seems like you have a lot of anger toward women. You know, like someone who feels entitled to women’s bodies has. It’s called rejection-rage. And it’s a particularly scary form of misogyny. Because, as you like to remind people constantly, you’re a former Marine, right? And a firefighter. So, you must have a ton of muscled power underneath your generic “bro” wardrobe, right? So, you could theoretically hurt us, if you really wanted to, right? Which it seems like you do.

Not an isolated post.

Not an isolated post.

You post a lot of angry things about women. Or so I’ve heard. I’m not friends with you on Facebook, thank god. But that’s because my profile picture failed to lift your dick while you were scrolling through, jotting down serial killer notes about who you were for sure going to nail on the ship, right? Right. It’s cool, man. I’m not for everyone. And certainly not for you. But I know a few women you DID jot down and contact prior to the cruise. And I also know that those women did not actually fuck you. I’m sure you must be so hurt and confused about that. Especially while your friend basically just had to walk through a group of girls and could end up with three unwanted pregnancies. You had to actually try. And you failed. Hard. A lifetime of that has to be pretty rough on a guy. But the thing is. That’s not our fault. It’s yours. You literal troll.

I’m not sure what your background is, or what trials and tribulations you’ve had to overcome as an affluent, straight white male in America (must be tough), but obviously you haven’t had access to proper education, so allow me to break a few things down for you. First, it’s 2017. I feel like you aren’t sure in which decade you’re living because of the “most girls bang on the first date” comment. I sometimes bang without a date. What a slut, right? But you know, I guess it’s because I like sex but don’t generally like the company of men. I wonder why that is? Maybe it’s because fuckboys like you refer to us as if we’re a species of domesticated animal. In heat? Really? And, please, for my own peace of mind, which sexual organs are you referring to? The ones that are at “max stimulation”, that is. I can assure you I’m not walking around with an engorged clitoris at the mere prospect of new NKOTB opportunities. And even if I were (Ed Sheeran has gotten me there this week, not going to lie) that has absolutely nothing to do with you or whoever it is you’re “schooling” via your Trump-esque Facebook posts, you thin-skinned delusional narcissist.

So, my little Trump-dicked friend, I’ll be using all my energy to send into the universe to hope upon hope that you are stupid enough to strut onto that boat again this year. Do it. Because I’ll be there. And I fucking dare you.

Why Do I Lust After Ed Sheeran? Really Asking.

I’m obsessed with Ed Sheeran. This is not news. In fact, I likely spam everyone’s newsfeed with my daily hashtagged swooning over the ginger crooner. And I’m not sorry. But I am confused. Because. He’s objectively not sexy. But yet, he very much is. He’s a walking conundrum and he’s really messing with my head, my sexuality and my damn place in this universe. So I need to hash it out. And since this is the internet, this seems like the perfect place to do it.

I want to start with the loop pedal, because honestly, I had never even heard of this device until I saw a YouTube video about five years ago where he did “You Need Me” in one take, and I’ve never been the same. Even the awkward-sounding sharp intake of breath in between phrases makes me clench my thighs. There’s something about the way he just handles his damn business by himself that really speaks to me. Ideally, it’d speak to me with a face that wasn’t covered in copper fuzzies, which is my first counterpoint. I get why he grows the face fuzz. He needs it to look like an adult man. That cabbage patch nose isn’t doing him any favors in the “grownup” department. But if he could just swipe on some castor oil every day, or something, I think it would help fill that fuzz out into a full-fledged beard. I saw a Facebook ad that said castor oil regrows hair. If you haven’t seen that, it’s likely because you don’t post about body hair frequently on Facebook. So. Good for you. Keep that up.

Are you SO CONFUSED yet?!

Are you SO CONFUSED yet?!

And the guitar. You put any guy behind a guitar (aside from like…the Kid Rocks of this world) and I’ll think about it for at least a second. But Ed can really play in the same way that made me briefly lust after John Mayer. It’s that powerful. It’s just. He seems so short. I’m not sure if it’s his accent combined with his general “college guy in 2006″ wardrobe and the aforementioned face fuzzies, but he gives off a hobbit vibe. I looked it up though, and at least according to his Wikipedia page, he’s 5’8”. But so am I. Without heels. Which I’d want to wear so he could gallantly carry them for me when they started to hurt my feet. We’ve all seen the picture. Modern “chivalry” and feminism in ONE PHOTO, people. ONE. Sometimes I hook up with dudes just because they’re tall. That’s it. That’s all it takes. So you can imagine my struggle with those under 5’9″. It’s not my fault. I just can’t facilitate a sexual situation while fighting the urge to hold someone on my hip like a toddler.

London, UK - Ed Sheeran gives up his sneakers for girlfriend Cherry Seaborn as he carries her broken heels and leaves the BRITs afterparty barefoot. *SHOT ON 02/22/17* AKM-GSI      February 23, 2017 To License These Photos, Please Contact : Maria Buda (917) 242-1505 or Mark Satter (317) 691-9592

But, are his feet that small, tho?

But he does have that accent. The one where “can’t” sounds a lot like that jarring nickname for a lady’s downstairs. And if you think I’ve done some things just because a guy is tall, you wouldn’t believe what’s happened just because of an accent. Specific accents. Not like…southern accents. Those have connotations. But the British accent can convince me of a lot of things. And he uses it to rap a little. If you’ve never known the lust that follows a British white man rapping, you’ve obviously never encountered 5ive, the late 90s Brit Boyband who apparently don’t understand how numbers and letters work. You’ve truly missed out. Please look up “Slam Dunk Da Funk” immediately. I’ll wait.

And he’s got all those tattoos. I’m a sucker for tattoos. Cover yourself in them and I’ll cover you just like Tom Collins and Angel mean when they sing it in RENT. Like, sexually. With my body. I thought he just had tattoos all over his arms, but then I saw the video for “Shape Of You” (Oh my gawd, that sawng) and I almost started crying. Not from emotions but from sheer lack of knowing what else to do with my body’s moisture. He got in shape, you guys. The shape of him is now full of edges and apparently his torso is also newly covered in tattoos and I am here for it. Hard. But at the same time, his name is Ed. Do you even know ONE guy named Ed who isn’t your actual grandfather? Even if you call him Edward, instead, it still calls up images of someone wearing too many layers for the weather, sipping tea in the corner of a dusty bookshop. Which is fine for different reasons, but definitely not the purely animalistic way I feel toward Ed Sheeran. In fact, I have to say his name with a British accent in my head to even maintain my ferection.

Are you SO CONFUSED yet?!


I don’t know, man. He’s got those sexy beats and says things like “grab on my waist and put that body on me” but he’s so, so white. Like. Dangerously pale. I was googling pictures of “shirtless Ed Sheeran” just now (for research purposes) and was so concerned that he maybe didn’t have enough sunblock on while he was on that yacht with Taylor Swift. Which is another thing. He loves cats and he’s a feminist and his voice is beautiful but he’s super close friends with Tay “The Snake” Swift and I just don’t know how I feel about that. He seems like he’d be cool to hang out with, like he’d riff and we could flirt/make fun of each other for hours. But then, he’s friends with Swift-face. So. What even is that?

Ed Sheeran is both the love of my life and the bane of my existence. He sings about having a house with some kids and I daydream for an hour about the literal suburbs and a bunch of the palest children this side of “The Others”. He’s ruining my life. I don’t understand my feelings. I need help. His new album drops this month, and there are rumors of a 2017 tour, so I suspect this will get much, much worse before it gets better. Please help me.