The Studette Reviews Magic Mike, obviously…

Subterranean. Bottommost. Subjacent.

Studettes, I’m afraid I haven’t the language to describe just how low my bar was set for this particular film. I was all primed to catch me some Abe Lincoln when BAM! Into my lap fell advance screening tix. What’s a slut to do? I mean, really.

Photo: Subterranean. Bottommost. Subjacent. 
Studettes, I'm afraid I haven't the language to describe just how low my bar was set for this particular film. I was all primed to catch me some Abe Lincoln when BAM. Into my lap fell advance screening tix. What's a slut to do? I mean, really.
Needless to say, I grabbed my bar from the dirt pile in which it lay, tossed it down an open man-hole (heh heh), and pranced right in. I left charmed and delighted; NO SHIT, I was "charmed". Now please don't get me wrong, brothers and sisters - in all likelihood, it was complete rubbish, but I enjoyed myself and can comfortably employ heinous sex-role stereotyping and call this a Macho Man Romance (MMR). That is to say it's completely bereft of actual romance, but the predictable construct is too obvious to deny. In fact, you'll be able to predict the entire plot within the first 15 minutes, but the choreography and superb scenery actually succeed in making up for the pedestrian script and plot. Truly.

Magic Mike lacks the shame-free fun of Boogie Nights and in a perfect story-line, Mike is not punished for his "sinful" lifestyle, and not partnered with the surface prude still searching for her inner Studette. In this one, however, we must be satisfied with Matthew McConaughey playing the disgusting, Crisco-coated, too-fit, porn star in a 10 gallon he always plays and actually may be with zero shame, and with Joseph Manganiello FINALLY delivering the goods he slyly flashes glimpses of in True Blood, and it's surprisingly easy (two words for you tarts: Alcide Herveaux). Channing Tatum is a dancer and actually worked as a stripper before acting, and it's easy to be convinced there must have been CGI or a body double; the man can DEFINITELY shake his groove thang. Yes, Stephen Soderbergh has indeed made magic with a pile of dirt, and I'd say it's worth a view with good friends, male and/or female. 
But maybe a bad idea for a first date, hmmm?

Keep studly, my friends.
BeeStudette

Needless to say, I grabbed my bar from the dirt pile in which it lay, tossed it down an open man-hole (heh heh), and pranced right in. I left charmed and delighted; NO SHIT, I was “charmed”. Now please don’t get me wrong, brothers and sisters – in all likelihood, it was complete rubbish, but I enjoyed myself and can comfortably employ heinous sex-role stereotyping and call this a Macho Man Romance (MMR). That is to say it’s completely bereft of actual romance, but the predictable construct is too obvious to deny. In fact, you’ll be able to predict the entire plot within the first 15 minutes, but the choreography and superb scenery actually succeed in making up for the pedestrian script and plot. Truly.

Magic Mike lacks the shame-free fun of Boogie Nights and in a perfect story-line, Mike is not punished for his “sinful” lifestyle, and not partnered with the surface prude still searching for her inner Studette. In this one, however, we must be satisfied with Matthew McConaughey playing the disgusting, Crisco-coated, too-fit, porn star in a 10 gallon he always plays and actually may be with zero shame, and with Joseph Manganiello FINALLY delivering the goods he slyly flashes glimpses of in True Blood, and it’s surprisingly easy (two words for you tarts: Alcide Herveaux). Channing Tatum is a dancer and actually worked as a stripper before acting, and it’s easy to be convinced there must have been CGI or a body double; the man can DEFINITELY shake his groove thang. Yes, Stephen Soderbergh has indeed made magic with a pile of dirt, and I’d say it’s worth a view with good friends, male and/or female.

But maybe a bad idea for a first date, hmmm?

Keep studly, my friends.
BeeStudette

Studette Reviews Snow White and the Huntsman

First, was there EVER a more studly wikkid step-monster than Charlize Theron as Ravenna? As passionate, as strangely sympathetic, as bat-shit looney? Oh, I think not.
She is voracious in her appetites and exquisite to behold. Ravenna is ambitious, driven and motivated – all the things we Studettes catch flack for (Intimidating? Domineering? Aggressive? Save it Pansy, and grow a pair). Yes, Ravenna delivers the goods all night long; she’s the gift that keeps giving. Which is a good thing since Kirsten Stewart as Snow White cries out for a refund from minute one.

Photo: STUDETTE AT THE MOVIES: 
First, was there EVER a more studly wikkid step-monster than Charlize Theron as Ravenna? As passionate, as strangely sympathetic, as bat-shit looney? Oh, I think not. 
She is voracious in her appetites and exquisite to behold. Ravenna is ambitious, driven and motivated - all the things we Studettes catch flack for (Intimidating? Domineering? Aggressive? Save it Pansy, and grow a pair). Yes, Ravenna delivers the goods all night long; she's the gift that keeps giving. Which is a good thing since Kirsten Stewart as Snow White cries out for a refund from minute one.
To be fair, her English accent is spot on and deserves kudos, as do her stunning two front teeth, which we see in every single scene. Aside from that, Bella failed to entice. Entice? I was barely kept conscious much less titillated in any way, and sandwiched between Charlize Theron's non-stop solo lust fest and Chris Hemsworth's strangely compelling Scot growl, Stewart was ethereal at best. The kind of ethereal that 14 year olds find, like TOTES tragic and stuff, but the kind that made this particular Studette hope her hymen breaks soon so she can become a reasonable hand drawn facsimile of interesting. 

The movie is breathtakingly beautiful, the dwarves are outstanding, the Queen is remarkable. The trade-off is a script that couldn't have taken more than 45 minutes to write (you'll recognize a scene so clearly swiped from Lord of the Rings, I hope Peter Jackson got a cheque), and the absolute certainty that Kristen Stewart will never not be Bella. A fair trade if someone else is paying! See it big, it will be a complete waste on a small screen.

Keep studly my friends,
BeeStudette

To be fair, her English accent is spot on and deserves kudos, as do her stunning two front teeth, which we see in every single scene. Aside from that, Bella failed to entice. Entice? I was barely kept conscious much less titillated in any way, and sandwiched between Charlize Theron’s non-stop solo lust fest and Chris Hemsworth’s strangely compelling Scot growl, Stewart was ethereal at best. The kind of ethereal that 14 year olds find, like TOTES tragic and stuff, but the kind that made this particular Studette hope her hymen breaks soon so she can become a reasonable hand drawn facsimile of interesting.

The movie is breathtakingly beautiful, the dwarves are outstanding, the Queen is remarkable. The trade-off is a script that couldn’t have taken more than 45 minutes to write (you’ll recognize a scene so clearly swiped from Lord of the Rings, I hope Peter Jackson got a cheque), and the absolute certainty that Kristen Stewart will never not be Bella. A fair trade if someone else is paying! See it big, it will be a complete waste on a small screen.

Keep studly my friends,
BeeStudette

This Is Why We Do It

This needs to stop:

A 20 year old Indian woman got beheaded by her father because he didn’t like her lifestyle choices. He paraded her head through the village before turning himself in to authorities.  The AP story points out the clash of rural Indian morals with modern life.

Even though the Studette website description and home page plainly state what our Studette message and intent is, I still get people who think it’s all about sex or how awesome I am. While I agree with the latter, our real intent is to get conversations started to help change the double standard of acceptable behavior of men compared to how a woman is “supposed” to behave. Women shouldn’t be dead because of their lifestyle choices, ever.

It is very sad commentary that it took me two seconds to find a recent story of atrocity against a woman based on her lifestyle choices. My own encounters with the duplicity of men slut shaming women has been confined to name calling and feeling less of a person. I still have my head. It is our intent and purpose in life to make sure all women keep their heads and use them however they see fit without prejudice.

You can help us in this endeavor by talking to your friends, calling out the double standard when you see or hear it and just being real with yourself and others around you on the subject. We will know we’ve made a difference when a woman can fuck or love whoever she pleases (responsibly, of course. Serial heartbreakers are bad, mmkay?) and no one says one thing against her.

Tell us what you think. What will happen first, equal pay or equal sexual treatment? How long do you think it will be before this site is unnecessary? With all the crazy laws trying to regulate women’s reproductive rights in the United States, we think we’re in it for the long haul. Unfortunately.

 

Meet My Daughter, Vagina

By now most people have heard of the Michigan House Rep who plainly stated that the lawmakers attention to her vagina was flattering but unwelcome. She got banned for that statement apparently specifically because of the use of the word vagina. You know, the scientific term for “down there” and without which there would be no human life on the planet. That vagina.

Dick is a proper name, right? No one gets their feathers ruffled if you say, “Hello, Dick!!” or “Put that right here, Dick!”.  Every time I hear the name Dick, I think of a penis. While it might just me that thinks penis every single time I hear the name Dick, I think we can, nay, should make Vagina a proper name, too. It would take some of the unfamiliarity and apparent icky-ness away from it, not like every human wasn’t actually up in it at some point but you know, some people are sensitive about from whence they came.

I pity the child named Vagina, though. Can you imagine? My daughter would have to tell people why her name is Vagina. “My mother named me Vagina so that it would be as acceptable in society as Dick”. That would suck. Don’t make me name my daughter Vagina. Please.

Video of the vagina incident:

Princess Fancy Pants

A few months ago one of my dearest friends came to me quite excited because she had this guy that I just had to meet. “I can just see you two together, I think you’ll really like him!” said my friend, who, for the purpose of this story, let’s just call Claire, also, because that is her name. Claire told me that he did remodeling and had lost his business due to the downed economy but was still doing work for private individuals around the community. Although the “downed economy” bottomed in 2008, some 4 years ago, I have known men that work in that field and it can be quite sustainable. So I agreed. Over the next few months as luck would have it, we kept just missing each other. “Oh,” Claire would say, “You just missed him. Or “He came in right after you left the other day.” Finally one day at a public luncheon, Claire brings this somewhat rugged looking man over and introduces us. He takes a seat next to me and proceeds to say… absolutely nothing. Being the outgoing girl that I am, I strike up conversation in which he reply’s in answers containing only a single word. “Hmmm” I think, “Maybe he’s just a little nervous.” So as I’m preparing to leave I mention that perhaps we should catch a movie or something sometime, to which he elegantly answers “Sure”.
Claire had also arranged a group beach day for us the following day but we were unfortunately rained out. So the following weekend I send an email (by now we are, of course, Facebook friends, being modern people living in modern times) inviting him to join me for a movie later on that day. Show time comes and goes with no response. I enjoy the movie. Afterwards, I call Claire to let her know that I had made a valiant attempt based on her recommendation but to no avail. “Yeah,” said Claire “He came into the store and said he didn’t get the message until later but it’s probably because he doesn’t have a car.”
Now reader, I swear to you, I literally heard brakes squealing. Alarms were going off; horns were blowing lights were flashing red, yellow, orange as if I were flying through a railroad crossing undergoing heavy construction. All this was happening… inside of my head.
“He doesn’t have a car?” I asked in a slow, astonished and deliberate manner, quite similar to the way one might say- “They cut his what off?” “Yeah, he doesn’t have a car, I’m sure I told you that.” “No, no Claire you didn’t tell me that. I would have remembered if you had told me that.” I should mention that I live in a somewhat small town. There are only 2 options for affordable public transportation, and they are Payless and The Footlocker at the mall. “Well,” Claire explained, “He has a car, it’s just broke down.” After taking a deep cleansing breath I asked in the same slow deliberate way, “How long has his car been broken down?” “Oh, I don’t know, a couple months.” Claire says nonchalantly. I took another deep, slow breath “A couple as in 2 or a couple as in 4? You tried to set me up with a guy that doesn’t have a Job OR A CAR?” My voice was now hitting octaves slightly above normal speech. “I told you, he has a car, it’s just not running.” My friend’s response was now laced with a hint of resentment. “Claire, a broken down beater rusting in the back yard DOES NOT constitute transportation!” Claire said “Well, I didn’t realize you were so fancy”
“FANCY?” I cleared another few octaves. “I don’t think expecting a man to have a job and a car makes me fancy. Claire I only have 3 requirements in a man, they must have a job, a car and teeth. I don’t think that makes me fancy, uppity or high falootin.” Claire was now clearly offended. “Fine then, just forget it Princess Fancy Pants.”

Now, the problem with this is that my beautiful friend Claire, is not the first of my friends to do such a thing, making me question, is it me? Do I present myself as someone who has searched the world over passing up doctors, lawyers, and garbage collectors looking for that perfect unemployed, unstructured, uninspired, demotivated couch Adonis? Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to my friends introducing me to men, as a matter of fact a few have turned out quite nicely. But let’s just use our heads about this, if it’s not someone you would go out with, why in hell would you fix them up with your friend? Don’t you think that I can attract an abundant amount of men just like this one on my own without my friends going out, rounding them up and driving them back to me like some weekend cow poke wrangling at a dude ranch? Is it really such a sad thing to choose to have no man in my life rather than the wrong man in my life? I say; it’s not fancy, it’s having standards, and not very high ones at that. It’s not as if we live in some bygone era where a woman’s survival depends completely on a man. I live in the modern day and I traded my butter churn and weaver’s loom in years ago for a money market account and a 401k. Even if this had occurred at some other point of antiquity, shouldn’t they at least have a chicken or goat to offer my poor father the Miller? Well, I’ll leave it up to you reader, if you feel that expecting a man to have at least one stinking goat is expecting too much, well than I guess I truly am; Princess Fancy Pants

In Claire’s defense, the man did have teeth

Raising the Teen Studette

It was brought to my attention recently that I am a Studette. I always knew there was something about me that was a little different from all the “other girls,” but I couldn’t quite put a name to it. I love words like “succulent,” “juicy,” “erotic,” and “powerful.” I like to behave in a manner that tends to intrigue men. I love eye contact. And I happen to enjoy sex. Very much. I’ve been able to take the most innocuous comments and turn them into something suggestive or sexual very easily from the time I was a young teen growing up on the west coast. I just never knew others like me, and I certainly didn’t know what to call myself. The word is “Studette.”

I have also recently noticed some striking similarities between my early teen self and my teenage daughter. She too has some rather advanced knowledge for her age. It finally occurred to me that she is a budding Studette herself. This brought about a certain near-panic in me, but being the Studette I am, I have calmed down and am putting my mind to the question of how to raise a Studette in Training.

First and foremost, there are safety issues. We adult women have generally addressed these issues and can take care of ourselves. But when you are raising a daughter who is much like yourself, it’s important to be sure she understands safety. Having worked for several years as a nurse in the women’s health care setting, many of these issues have been discussed with both of my daughters from a young age. The obvious ones are protection from disease and pregnancy. Having a thirteen year old patient with a new baby makes one quick to review these sorts of facts with your own daughters. Protection like this is a no-brainer, so I won’t really elaborate here. The trick is to speak honestly and openly with your daughter. Other dangers, however, come to mind as well. I’ve discussed with my girls not accepting a drink from someone you don’t know very well, especially if you didn’t see that person pour/make the drink. Various drugs are out there and are still in use. Another danger is that of getting involved with someone who has violent tendencies. For both the adult woman and the teen girl, I believe it’s important to know a little about your partner, or potential partner. I personally enjoy the intimacy involved with sex at least as much as the act itself, so getting to know that potential partner is paramount with me.

One thing I think is of utmost consideration is to raise your daughter in a way that empowers her. A Studette is not just about being sexy, but about being confident, free-thinking, and empowered. A girl should not grow up with the “slut” stereotype, but should learn to be expressive and self-assured. Praise her successes, and help her through the downfalls. Be there for her. Listen to her with an open mind. Teach her how to make good choices. Most of all, love her with all your heart.

My First Memory of Being a Studette

I wasn’t quite sure if I qualified for the title/honor/genre of “Studette”. So, I took a look at my past and answered these questions to myself…Lots of boyfriends? yes. All of the boyfriends were disappointed when I broke up with them and moved on? Yes. Had my phase(s) of spontaneous hot wild sex and never felt guilty about it? YES!

It’s settled, I am definitely a Studette. I never knew there was a name for how I decided to run my personal life…in fact, at the time I was running around, picking and choosing the cutest guy at the parties, I figured I was the only one with this type of motive in her heart….(and groin). I kept it a secret for the most part, because there may have been lesser, smaller-thinking beings that didn’t understand my actions the way that I understood my actions.

Sometimes, the problem was with the guy to whom I was saying good-bye in the morning as I sneaked out of his bedroom window (because he still lived with his parents at 23) the problem being that he thought by my having sex with him, we could exchange numbers and do this again sometime…”What a fool!” I thought as I secretly rolled my eyes…Then suddenly, another thought entered my mind as if it were my studette voice taking over…”Wait, it’s always good to have a back up plan, and he was pretty easy and not too hard on the eyes” . Quickly before my second foot hit the ground, I responded out loud, “Yeah, here’s my number”. I actually gave him my real one. Turns out he called a few days later, but ended up being kind of boring to talk to…I lost interest. Moved on…

The Other Side of Menopause

When I went to sleep,
I was long and sleek,
Wild and sheik,
Neither shy nor meek.

But when I awoke,
I was rounded and bloat,
My thoughts were remote,
My ass was a joke.

And all used to speak,
Of my well rounded cheeks,
My glorious peeks,
And my passionate shrieks.

But no one now spoke,
Of my low hanging moat,
My driverless boat,
Nor my passionate croak.

Welcome ladies….To the other side of menopause.

*Although I choose not to clutter my creative poetry
with things like structure and style, my poetry has been
described as “Clearly Vogonistic” A coining that gives me
great pride and inspiration in continuing this nearly lost art.