INSCURITY RAGAZINE ISSUE 05 by Tanata Productions LLC

WE KNOW WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU…

THE PARTS ISSUE

KINKY KORNER REKINDLING YOUR MAN

HOG HEAVEN! THE GREEN OFFICE PARTY! GREEN STRUDEL BAG LADY ALL OF THAT NONE OF THAT

THAT HAPPY GREEN PILL WALK OF SHAME

SURVIVAL TIPS FIGHT IN MY HEAD AND MUCH

MORE! JULY 2010

INSECURITY R AG A Z I N E

CONTENTS

>our insecurities

>insecurious

FROM THE EDITOR

KINKY KORNER NEW FERTILITY DEBATE ; MILKMAN OR POSTMAN

>hemlines

REKINDLING YOUR MAN 12 THE DOPEST THINGAMAJIG-JACK- THINGYS 13 ASTROLOGICAL STATUS UPDATE HOMEPAGE 14 ALL THAT OR NONE OF THAT 14 THONGS WEDGED IN HISTORY

>raggedy man

>rag times

16 18 20 22

FOOD FOR POT THE GREEN OFFICE PARTY! HOG HEAVEN! SPA SHINE WARS

>waxing poetic 24 26 28

IT'S ELEMENTARY, MOM! THAT HAPPY GREEN PILL WALK OF SHAME SURVIVAL TIPS

32 34

THE STANDARD MAN! THAT’S MISS FEMBOT TO YOU, SIR!

>hanging by a thread 36

THESE BOOTS WERE MADE FOR BREAKIN’

>insecurity blanket 38

GREEN STRUDEL

>ragamuffin 41 42

BAG LADY FIGHT IN MY HEAD

CONTENTS

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF DESIGN DIRECTOR EXECUTIVE EDITOR FASHION DIRECTOR EXECUTIVE MANAGING EDITOR DEPUTY EDITOR EDITORIAL BRAND DIRECTOR PHOTOGRAPHY DIRECTOR

MEET THE INSECURE TEAM BEAUTY ASSOCIATE BEAUTY EDITOR BEAUTY ASSISTANT

Penny Thurman Nice Reve

ART DIRECTOR GRAPHIC DESIGN ENTERTAINMENT DIRECTOR BEAUTY DIRECTOR DEPUTY ARTICLES EDITOR

FEATURES SENIOR EDITOR WRITING STAFF

ART DEPUTY ART DIRECTOR SENIOR DESIGNER DIGITAL IMAGE SPECIALIST ART MANAGER

Annette Riley Leland Burt Delora Rogowski Chandra Robbins

FASHION INTERPRETE HAUTE COUTURE FASHION AND ACCESSORIES MARKET DIRECTOR SENIOR FASHION MARKET EDITOR ACCESSORIES EDITOR FASHION ASSISTANT SENIOR FASHION EDITOR SENIOR BOOKING EDITOR FASHION EDITOR ASSOCIATE FASHION EDITOR

Neno Avendre Pat Parr Norma Chu Madison Hearst Tabitha Michelson Luther Evans Cara Polk Olive Wright Kellee June

Penelope Lawrence Eddie Fuentes Beatriz Romano Valasquez Anneler Stephen Barrett Tim Alford Tamara Ellison Clara T. Justin Michael Smith Justin Michael Smith Susan Wilson Sheryn Braun Selena Gleason

ASSOCIATE EDITOR EXECUTIVE ASST. TO EDITOR-IN-CHIEF EDITORIAL ASSISTANT MEDICAL ADVISORY BOARD

Harriet Bonaparte Rebecca Rhodus, Shawna Richardson, Jennifer Coosebury, Annabella Oreksya, Deirdre Trol-Stevens, Tabby Malloy, Margo Van Norte, Torie Baxley, Rosie Salazar, Kym Tyler-Donnelly, Annabelle Mason, Doreen Canasto, Debbie Kinkokan, Bretty Kyley, Lavontor Smith, Teri Foxx, Chatterly Pendleton, Anna Simone Sinclair, Roberta Anne Jackson Mike Granger Patrick Michaels Scottie Coffman Dr. Timothy Kirchhoefer

INSECURITYRAG.COM SENIOR WEB DEVELOPER WEB EDITOR BEAUTY EDITOR

Benjamin T. Haynes, Esquire Lucile Xiong Mauro Holcomb

PHOTO PRODUCER PHOTOGRAPHER HAIR AND MAKE-UP WARDROBE STYLING PROP STYLING SENIOR PHOTO EDITOR, RESEARCH PHOTO PRODUCTION ASSOCIATE ASSOCIATE EDITOR, RESEARCH COPY AND RESEARCH COPY AND RESEARCH DIRECTOR DEPUTY COPY CHIEF RESEARCH EDITOR COPY EDITOR

Clara T. Midori Sauer Bubba P. Meme Meeetropolis Dub P. Audrey Goldstein Kyle Dawson Corina Manchester Margarito Burroughs Tim Pulnik Jaques Barry Bettie Branch Frank Leischman

ADVERTISING & SALES ADVERTISING DIRECTOR DIRECTOR OF MARKETING STRATEGY EXECUTIVE BEAUTY DIRECTOR ADVERTISING SERVICES DIRECTOR

MARKETING & PROMOTION MARKETING DIRECTOR CREATIVE SERVICES DIRECTOR ART DIRECTOR PROMOTION DIRECTOR ASSOCIATE PROMOTION DIRECTOR SPECIAL PROJECTS MANAGER PROMOTION COORDINATOR

INSECURITY R AG A Z I N E

Leo Stiles Jimmy Arlene Maureen Cooper Alfred Miles

Michelle Vincent Amy Gengler Laurel Holland Vikki Schnurr David LaCascia Marlena Pineda Milos Pellerin

CONTENTS

>our insecurities FROM THE

EDITOR I DECIDED THE OTHER DAY TO TRY THIS new burger joint that I had never been to. They declared from sign to sign that only fresh, free-range, organic products were selected in the creation of their burgers and fries. It was around 11:15am, and I was really, really hungry, and needed some comfort food after a long night of socializing with fellow magazine editors (Hi Doreen!!!). In any case, I walked into the establishment, only to hear some voice in the back yell out, "Hey lady, we're not open yet, you gotta wait ten minutes." I was a little taken aback, I mean who opens their doors before they're ready to serve? (Where I come from, 11 o'clock means it's lunchtime.) Luckily I was busy thinking about this month's issue, and besides, it probably wasn't the waiter's fault that his boss chose to open the restaurant at 11:30, so I sat out in front of the establishment, looking at women, wondering how many of them had read and enjoyed Insecurity Ragazine. After 10 minutes, I went inside and was the first person in line, and stood next to a sad looking penguin holding a copy of the menu that was underneath a sign that read, "Order here chippy". As I anxiously waited to place my order, this guy with a pink golf shirt, blue shorts and a wretched haircut came in, walked up in front of me and placed his order. I couldn't believe it. I had been there a full ten minutes before, and this overpaid jerk was getting served before I did. It got me to thinking about women today and equality and the parts of our lives that are unfair or unjust. That's when I came up with the theme of this month's issue, "Parts". How many times have women been ignored or put aside, or 6

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judged based on OUR PARTS. Luckily for me, I have a fit body and a cute face, but how many of you out there don't? What do you do to get by in the world? I'm not sure if any of you have thought of this, but in a world where our parts make up our whole, how can we as women decide which ones to show to the world and which ones to hide? I'm just glad that my inner parts, the things that hurt me the most, are kept far from where the world can see them. I hope that you, our readers, will send us stories of your parts, and where they've been, and what they've done. I think by sharing these tales with each other, we will come up with a better idea of what it is that separates our parts from each other, and which ones make us all the same. As for the guy who cut in line, I saved the best part of the story for last. When the waiter behind the counter asked me what I wanted, I said in a loud voice, "I want whatever the guy who cut in front of me in line is having, only I want it before him." Needless to say, nobody was expecting that, and I happily received my lunch before he did, although I don't recommend putting jalapenos anywhere near a burger, ouch!

OUR INSECURITIES

>hemlines

REKINDLING YOUR MAN I THINK I MIGHT BE DATING AN ARSONIST

IT'S ONE OF THE URBAN LEGENDS FROM our childhood. Everyone has an aunt or a cousin who came home to a burning house, or worse, read a description in the newspaper of a suspected arsonist that fit to a "T" the very man that they had completely given their heart to. With the advancement of combustibles and the introduction of remote frequency detonation, detecting that the man your heart burns for might be burning something else on the side, is becoming harder and harder to do. These are all telltale signs that you might be dating an arsonist.

1. THE DIET This one is so obvious that it would be the first chapter in the Arsonist's Handbook. When you first met, he was a burger belching, soda popping, extra-large fry eating member of society. Recently however, he's bought a Magic Bullet and put a hole through his carnivorous tendencies. A trip to the bookstore yielded a Jamie Oliver cookbook for people looking to reduce their intake of sodium. Now he insists on having at least five different colors represented on his dinner plate and yells at you when he thinks you overcooked his yellow pepper into an orange pepper hue. The fire in his eyes may not be coming from the kitchen as you discover you might be dating an arsonist.

2. A CURIOUS CLOTHING OBSESSION Does your man spend a lot of time on the internet looking up shapes, patterns and online sales? Does he have different belts for different occasions and insist on knowing what color you're thinking about for next Tuesday's wardrobe? If so, hide the flammables.

INSECURITY R AG A Z I N E

3. AN INORDINATE AMOUNT OF BUDS A weekend away with the boys is one thing, a three-week jaunt to visit old friends in New York in June is quite another. Sure it looks like he's having fun in the pictures, but why didn't he invite you? You’ve never met any of his friends. For all you know they could be imaginary. And who keeps calling and hanging up when you answer the phone? Sure it only happens during February, but enough is enough. If you can't name 6 of your man's 24 best friends, hide the matches.

4. NEWFOUND PASSION FOR PURITY RETREATS When you first met, the sex was incredible. Never had someone been so in tune to what

you wanted and what you needed. He would spend hours upon hours rubbing your back, playing with your hair, asking questions about your first boyfriend and demanding you to explain in great detail every lovemaking session you ever had. But lately, things have changed; he's become more preoccupied with work and less attentive to you. Now he's introduced what he's called "Purity Retreats", a chastity-based period where the two of you become more intimate with yourselves and refrain from interacting with each other in a physical manner. At first it was kind of cool touching yourself, but you've noticed that he's touching himself way more than he ever touched you. If this is the case, call the fire department! We’re all looking for to rekindle the fire in the bedroom, but remember, it’s a figure of speech.

ELAINE TRACHNER

Sociologist and environmental expert HEMLINES

THE DOPEST THINGAMAJIG– JACK–THINGYS READERS TELL US WHAT EXPENSIVE ITEM SHOULD SOLVE EVERYTHING WE ALL HAVE PROBLEMS. MODERN technology is evolving and upgrading every minute of every day. Surely hope must be within our grasp. A sampling of Insecurity Ragazine readers (just like you but with bigger problems) tells us what One Expensive Item Should Solve Everything:

“A larger screen HDTV, then I wouldn’t spend so much on going to the movies and can focus on paring my credit card debt down.”

“A WeFitt Exercise Video Console, then I won’t have to walk so far to the gym to get my exercise.”

“Carbon Monoxide Detector, then I could sleep at night. Two if you’re buying.”

KEVIN FINEGAN, 39, TREMONT, TX

“Larger headphones.” ROSEMARY KENDOKO, 18, HASTINGS HILLS, CA

KELLY RUTHMAN, 24, LAKE CHRISTMAS, GA

TABITHA KING, 39, BROOKLYN NY

“Recyling Hutch, then my husband and I could stop arguing when he gets confused.”

“A really, really old single malt Scotch. That’s when I known I’d achieved my aspiration, despite my lack of formal education.”

POLLY LAMOTT, 26, OF KING OF PRUSSIA, PA

FRED NASMITH, 58, CORBINSVILLE, MA

“Hitachi Magic Wand Large Screen TV Remote Control”

“A new truck with a flatbed and 4 wheels drive, then I could transport myself anytime I’d like.”

BILL FERGUSON, 52, EDINA, MN

ELIZABETH HAMMER, TRENTON, NJ

“A framed Magritte Poster with flying hats, then I could have a party and have people over, and make friends.”

“A Hummer. Either kind.”

SUSAN THOMAS, 28, FRESHMONT HILLS, IL

“Oxygen. Either cable or the element, I don’t rightly care which, but hurry it up.”

“Chemical Elbow Peel, these unsightly elbows of mine are keeping me from the man of my dreams, so I’m saving up pennies in a coffee can.”

BARBARA CHAMBERS, 41, BRADY, OK

WILMA RIMER, 31, ABBOTSVILLE, MD 10

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JONNY MCAFFEE, KENT STATE, OH

HEMLINES

ALL THAT OR NONE OF THAT THIS MONTH WE’RE TAKING THE

TEMPERATURE OF DIFFERENT PARTS OF LIFE TO GAUGE WHERE THE NATION IS THIS SUMMER. CATEGORY ALL THAT PEOPLE • PEOPLE WHO CARPOOL OBJECTS • HD SUNGLASSES QUOTES • “I’LL BE WORKING FROM HOME TODAY” ACTIVITIES • MAKING BABIES POLITICO • PRESIDENT FILMORE PIERCE FASHION • THONGS EVENTS • SELF-HELP RETREATS

INSECURITY R AG A Z I N E

NONE OF THAT • PEOPLE WHO BIKE RIDE • RECYCLED CANS • “IS IT CASUAL FRIDAY YET?” • MAKING MONEY • FILIBUSTERS • PANTSUITS • WEDDINGS

HEMLINES

>rag times

FOOD FOR POT BACK IN THE 70'S AND 80'S IT WAS ENOUGH TO HAVE GREAT POT, cocaine, or heroin for a party to be successful. Nowadays, however, because of the success of the FOOD NETWORK, people won't even consider coming to a party unless you have something "incredible" to serve everyone during the time between getting stoned and having sex. Fear not anti-chefs; I've discovered a surefire way to get around cooking for your guests and still have them raving about the vittles they find on your glass table (next to the drug paraphernalia they claim not to care about). Best of all, with a little ingenuity, it won't cost you a dime.

STEP ONE: THE FOOD DRIVE

STEP TWO: MIX THE VITTLES

WHAT YOU'LL NEED: 1-Cardboard box 1-Piece of white paper 1-2” piece of clear tape 1-Black marker, preferably permanent in nature

WHAT YOU’LL NEED: 1-Brightly colored plate 1-Can of “Something” 1-Old crackers, chips, or something found in a box. (Don’t worry about expiration dates.)

DIRECTIONS: Everyone has cans in their cupboard that they can't wait to get rid of. To acquire the ingredients you need for your party, simply write "CANNED FOOD DRIVE" on your piece of paper and attached it to your cardboard box with a 2 inch piece of tape and wait for the cans to arrive. To make your box more believable, put a deadline date on your piece of paper.

INSECURITY R AG A Z I N E

DIRECTIONS: The trick here is to match colors. What I normally do is pick a painting that I like, and try to find two food items that match the color of the painting. Simply take the crackers or chips and spread it on a plate, neatly covering the most surface area possible. Next open the can of “Something”, and gently spoon little dapples of food in a circular fashion around the plate. Taking a little artistic initiative here will help with the presentation, which is 95% of the challenge. Repeat this procedure as necessary, but I wouldn’t recommend making more than four dishes total. Remember, the fewer dishes, the more time and money your guest will think you put into creating them.

STEP 3: NAMING THE VITTLES

STEP 4: ORDER PIZZA, LOTS OF IT

WHAT YOU’LL NEED: 10- Brightly-colored index cards 1- Permanent marker (black or brown) 10-15 First names ending in “Y”

WHAT YOU’LL NEED: 1-Someone’s credit card number 1-Pizza delivery store that takes credit card number

DIRECTIONS: Using your brightly-colored index cards, it’s time to begin naming your dishes. Using one of the words from your canned good, place two of your names ending in “Y” in front of it, making sure to hyphenate all three words. For good measure, you might want to put the name of a land-mass, or a type of music after the name. Here are some examples of past dishes I’ve created: Bobby-Suzy’s-Carrot-Gabon Nancy-Tracy’s-Marshmallow-Bluegrass Tommy-Lonny’s-Cranberry-Eurasia

DIRECTIONS: Just as Jesus served the good wine after the bad, you’re going to eventually need to feed your guests. Chances are, if you have enough drugs available, somebody’s going to want to trade in their plastic for an ounce of cankytanky-Nigerian-pop. This is the opportunity you’ve been waiting for. When you call the pizza place, make sure to order “one of everything” and tell the guy taking the order to add a 35% delivery tip. The last thing you want is your party getting busted by some disgruntled seventeen-year-old who watched too many episodes of CSI New York. With these four simple steps, you’ll have no problem turning your old-timey drugged out degenerate bash into a new fangled respectable Food Network Throwdown.

The trick here is to be as nonspecific as possible. With any luck, you’ll hear one of your guests saying, “I just love Tommy-Lonny’s show on the Food Network.”

NIGEL WACKER, Undercover Freelance Reporter

Nigel has been living on the corner of Harrison and Thompson for the last ten years and has been writing a book entitled, "Nigel has been living on the corner of Harrison and Thompson for the last ten years and has been writing a book." R AG T I M E S

THE GREEN OFFICE PARTY! IF YOU YEARN FOR A CLEANER, GREENER planet, but work in a wasteful sea of Styrofoam coffee cups, and non-recycled paper, then donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t sit idly by and allow your place of business to become part of the problem. Before you know it, Earth Day will be just around the corner! Here are some great ideas to make your office part of the Green Party.

Insist on really good organic coffee instead of the generic pre-packaged bagged kind. The appreciation from your co-workers should make up for the cold shoulder you get from the finance geeks.

No more paper memos! Waste, waste waste! In fact, arenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t all memos kind of useless? Get rid of the electronic kind too.

Reduce electricity - use oil lamps. The fire marshal may not appreciate it, but Mother Earth will!

Petition for a four-day workweek, preferabl with Fridays off. Think of the savings of labor, utility costs, and birthday cakes for the staff! Salaries should remain the same however. Nobody should be punished for reducing his or her carbon footprint. 16

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Create a proposal to compensate employees for using public transportation and close down the parking lot. If you live in an area where this is not an option, start designing a metro rail link blueprint yourself. What a fantastic and ecofriendly way to fill up all those hours from 9-5.

Shut off all electronic work-related devices such as cell phones, pagers, and email after

hours and on weekends. The earth has limited energy resources, so do this for your children and grandchildren.

Meditate every day in the office for at least an hour. Offer to lead your colleagues in a group meditation as well.

Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t answer the phone if the secretary is out to lunch. Seriously, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not your job. Lastly, if any or all of the above are met with resistance, consider relocating to a company whose values protect the planet over productivity. Better yet, start your own!

ANNABELLE MASON R AG T I M E S

HOG HEAVEN! MOST OF US ARE INCAPABLE OF COMMITMENT; OF MAKING EVEN THE SIMPLEST decision or accepting the teeniest bit of responsibility. With summer slipping away before our eyes, it’s hard to know if we’ll have six more weeks of sun and fun or an early frigid fall freeze. Remember in February when you didn’t know if you should dump your boyfriend or buy that spring dress? Along came Groundhog Day and put everything to rest. At Insecurity Ragazine, we encourage our readers to take their future by the ears and see where the shadows fall. It’s time to wake that sleepy Groundhog from his summer slumber and force him to make some more decisions, so you don’t have to! The first thing to do is get you a groundhog. Choose a state with loose wildlife laws, or research how to trap one in the wild. Next, introduce your groundhog to his new home. Make a nice, cozy space for him with a bed and a place to eat. Finally, bond with your groundhog. Take him on the subway, to the zoo, to meet your parents…Don’t forget to give him a name.

SCENARIO A

SCENARIO B

Let’s say that you wake up in the morning depressed, hung-over, and desperate to call in sick, but your immediate supervisor is a total pill who thinks that anyone who uses company sick days for anything (including an emergency appendectomy) is a slacker. What to do?

Your long-time boyfriend has popped the question, and you’re feeling ambivalent about it. On the one hand, you always thought of him as your transition guy (even after four years). On the other hand, you’re in your thirties and he just got a hefty promotion with excellent benefits, including optical. Free glasses!

Wake up your groundhog.

Grab your groundhog.

Open the shades so that lots of light comes in. (If this isn’t an option, be sure to invest in some heavy, expensive stage lighting ahead of time.)

Check the light.

Give your groundhog a big nudge and close your eyes. Spin around three times. When you open your eyes, if your groundhog is in the light, call in sick. If he’s in a shadow, suck it up, put some Preparation H under your eyes, and go to work. 18

INSECURITY R AG A Z I N E

Give your groundhog a big nudge and close your eyes. Spin around three times. When you open your eyes, if your groundhog is in the light, say yes. If he’s in a shadow, break it off, open an account on match.com and call it a day.

SCENARIO C There’s always tension in your family, but a huge storm is brewing. Your sister and sisterin-law had a knock-down, drag-out fight at your parents’ Fourth of July barbeque and now they expect everyone to take sides. Technically, your blood relative should have your allegiance, but you two never really got along, and your sister-in-law gives you all her hand-me-down designer clothes.

solved. By using your new little furry friend, you’re guaranteed to spend the rest of the summer dreaming of sand and surf instead of dreading the months ahead. Make sure to thank the little guy, just don’t let him get too comfortable.

JAYME LEE WONG

Find your groundhog. Light, etc. Give your groundhog a shove and close your eyes. Spin around, etc. When you open your eyes, if your groundhog is in the light, pick your sister. If he’s in a shadow, pick your sister-in-law. If he won’t wake up, don’t talk to either of them until the next Fourth of July and consider the problem R AG T I M E S

SPA SHINE WARS OLD VS. NEW? TRADITIONAL VS. MODERN? Heterosexual vs. Metrosexual? The lines are being drawn on the urban streets of America and the urban warfare has begun. It pits the traditional shoe-shine man and his dull offering of shining leather footwear against the new breed of street vendor offering personal care services on the street with everything from facials to waxing. And if you think there’s room enough for both, you might want to listen to what the vendors are saying about each other. “New York City used to have character,” says Montelle Jackson, a sole proprietor with nothing but his shine box and gritty determination. “Now, you’ve got these street waxes and all it does is encourage these ‘metrosexuals’ running around town.” In these tough economic times, Jackson claims that there are too many services chasing too few personal care dollars on the street. “We’ve been here in this city forever providing a valuable service and some ‘light in the loafer’ entrepreneur is taking away my livelihood with all these fancy ‘Hey, look at me, I’m just like the ladies’ services.” Jackson may not be too far off the mark. One of these entrepreneurs is Pierre Aidan Thomas who operates a sewer steam sauna at the corner of 17th & Lexington. “Business is great,” says Thomas. “The street sauna is really catching on and it’s at a price point that most former Wall Streeters can afford. Compare me to a membership fee at an athletic club and you can see why I’m killing it.” Thomas says people are more than willing to sacrifice the interesting bouquet that develops after 15 minutes in his makeshift sauna in exchange for sweating out toxins and saving a few dollars. 20

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“Now how am I going to compete with that?” wonders Jackson. “City Hall ain’t down here with me shining, but they're more than willing to give away that steam for nothing.” “These aren’t some innocent victims of progress,” counters Thomas. “Just last week a friend of mine who does ‘Facials on 54th’ told me about some shoe-shine saboteurs. Apparently, a gentleman from out-of-town was on his way to Harlem for dinner at Sylvia’s when he was duped by a shoe shiner offering a “black stone buff facial” to cleanse his pores. Next thing you know, his face is covered in black shoe polish, he takes a cab to dinner, and gets the beating of his life.” If you haven’t encountered this new breed of street service, in addition to sewer steam saunas, a sampling of service offerings include sand-blast construction residue facial scrubs, sterno-heated facial wraps, pre-shave oils recycled from leaking vehicle lubricants, and hot concrete massage. With low overhead and the creative reuse of urban debris, spa packages are within anyone’s financial reach. Defending one’s livelihood is one thing, but progress must march on. There wasn’t any sympathy for those Weight Loss programs when bulimia was all the rage in ’86 or silk and spandex manufacturers when thongs became the hot thing. Let’s face it, men in NYC and cities all over the country need to step up and invest in their personal grooming, and if it’s at the expense of some nostalgic, dinosaur businessmen with their ‘Hey whatever happened to the 56k land line modem’ attitude, count me in as a futurist.

R AG T I M E S

>waxing poetic

IT’S ELEMENTARY, MOM! TEN COOKING TIPS FOR BUSY

MOTHERS FROM A SPOILED CHILD 78% OF CAREER WOMEN REPORTED FEELING ANXIOUS OR UNCERTAIN ABOUT keeping their children fed, and eating properly while balancing a full-time work career and what they hope was a stimulating, nurturing and nutritious home life. As a service to those women and you our readers, Guest Editor and Russell Elementary School Second Grader Kenny Maccabeus shares with us cooking tips and suggestions he’s shared with his own busy mother.

KENNY MACCABEUS

Kenny Maccabeus,is in the second grade at Russell Elementary School. His favorite subject is Gym and he likes his bike. And his best friend, and his favorite parent in the whole wide world, even the universe, is his mother.

1. HOW TO CUT THE CORNERS OFF You’ve got the bread, right? Everyone knows about bread. But it only tastes good if you cut the corners off before making the sandwich. Start with the top piece of bread, and cut the corners off with a really really sharp knife. My Mom uses a butter knife but a sharp sharp one is cooler. Then prepare the bottom piece of bread and use extra jelly, or extra bananas with the peanut butter. Ideally you will want to place the sandwich in a sandwich bag with animated characters on it, or at least a sticker.

INSECURITY R AG A Z I N E

2. MACARONI AND CHEESE My Mom makes macaroni a lot and says “Tonight we’re celebrating our Italian roots.” But you can’t forget the cheese. Whatever you do, don’t forget the cheese. It’s supposed to be Macaroni AND Cheese, Mom. And tomato is not a cheese.

3. MAKE IT TWO COOKIES I really appreciate your going upstairs and getting me a thin mint from the freezer, but make it TWO cookies. They get all melty, and I usually end up losing half of it in between the leather sofa. I know, annoying, right? They should make them easier to hold on to.

4. CELERY STICKS —UNNECESARY Mother, celery sticks in my packed lunch are unnecessary. I’m a growing child and I need as many calories as I can get. And celery has like zero hundred calories, and takes forever to chew. Chew chew chew. Chew chew. Chew chew chew chew chew. See? Wanna see food?

5. MAKE MR. FACE IN THE MASHED POTATOES —PLEEEEEEEEEAASE Awww, Mashed Potatos are boring. I don’t want to eat them. They taste like paste. The least you could do is put two peas for eyes, and a carrot cube for a nose, and then maybe a smiley face made out of more peas. Or carrots. Or licorice!

6. OKAY, BUT ONLY IF YOU PUT CHOCOLATINA IN IT Mom! I am going to drink my milk. I’m gonna. But if you don’t want to be here all day, yes all day, then I will drink it. Okay, but only if you put Chocolatina in it.

know it won’t fit, that’s why I NEED a bigger straw.

8. ANYONE COULD HAVE THROWN THAT

I can’t believe you thought I threw that. Anyone could have thrown that. Krissy just sits there acting all sweet and innocent, but do you accuse her? No. You would make an AWFUL Detective.

9. YOU CAN BAKE ANOTHER ONE TOMORROW I know you spent all day baking that blueberry pie for our trip to grandma’s, but it was soooo goood. And I could tell Rex liked it. You can tell when a dog is smiling. You can bake another one tomorrow. I will help you.

10. ANOTHER BEER PLEASE, THIS TIME COLD Okay, Okay. I know. One more show, just one more show before bedtime. THEN I’ll go to bed. Okay.“Another beer please, This time cold.” That’s what Dad says.

7. I KNOW IT WON’T FIT, THAT’S WHY I NEED A BIGGER STRAW How many times do I have to tell you? I am trying to eat my peas. You said you wanted me to eat my peas so I am eating them. Du-uh. But it’s difficult without the proper equipment. I WA X I N G P O E T I C

THAT HAPPY GREEN PILL I HAVE TOTALLY CHANGED IN THREE weeks. The old me wasn’t perfect, I admit. I didn’t have supermodel looks. I was very opinionated to a fault. I was very good at my job playing on-line solitaire. Trust was always an issue but that’s only because I had very high standards. I let the daily speed bumps in my life roll off my back by saying, “Of course this happened, it’s (whatever the day was),” or “Do you see, do you see, this is my life." I ate healthy. Instead of ordering chicken fingers, fried calamari, or pasta from the restaurants; I would make them at home. See? Healthy, right? And yet I accepted that losing weight from my thighs just wasn’t in the cards. People saw that I was unhappy, but I never apologized because, hey, at least I knew who I was, right? Apparently three weeks ago everyone got the email - everyone got the memo but moi. Everyone decided it was intervention week. My family suggested it to me. I told them I was 36 years old and to mind their own beeswax. My office ordered me to do it. I told them I would take it under advisement. My drunkard friends begged me to do it. I told them to go screw themselves. But after watching a paid program on cable at 2:30 in the morning, I listened to all the testimonials on the golf course from obvious vacationers. They swore up and down of its results without blinking. I mean, literally, not…blinking! And then by the end of the program, when the little aggressive Asian horologist lady with the hairlip told me to buy the miracle “Happy” green pill in bulk, I 24

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bought the whole package with my Discovery Card. Her “Gotcha Happy” battle cry still vibrates in my cervix. And everything you’ve heard about it on the Internet is true! It totally works! Popping the daily-required five pills a day has changed everything. My husband hardly recognizes me (yes, I’m married). I hardly recognize myself. I have so much more free time to do things. I’ve lost 25 pounds thanks to a violent reaction to caffeine, wheat, and sugar that I never had before. I smile all the time. Sometimes, I have no idea what I’m laughing at. People have told me my aura is very Zen. I can’t feel my bunions or my face. Every shower feels like a scented vanilla candle bubble bath. My husband is more attentive to me because I no longer need him to satisfy me, as I tend to have 48 mini-orgasms a day. “Got’cha Happy!” I’m more productive in my job. I don’t sweat over the small stuff anymore. And I haven’t blinked in four days. The pills have worked. I have no more cares or worries or issues. I have nothing but good things to say about the pills. I actually don’t have anything to say anymore - ever. I might need another intervention because I’m so damn happy. I have nothing to complain about- nothing! I don’t know who I am any more. Help me. Please. I’m drooling all over my keyboard…

ROBERTA MAHONEY

Roberta Mahoney is head of the Insecurity Ragazine Product Validity Department. She once was an intern at the FDA and worked ten years at a major 24 hour Pharmacy counter.

WA X I N G P O E T I C

WALK OF SHAME SURVIVAL TIPS YOU'VE DONE IT AGAIN, HAVEN'T YOU? A SINGLE RAY OF SUNSHINE LEAKING through his shuttered blinds is the one thing allowing you to find your panties, short leather skirt, pirate frock and three inch pumps. You went home with the only guy left at the bar who had teeth, the sex was horrible, and yet he'll brag to all of his friends that you were a moaning pee freak. Short on time, money, and wits, it may seem like the only choice you have is to strap on that strapless bra, put on your best Bette Davis eyes, and traverse the slippery slope known as the walk of shame. Well fear not dear cyprian tryster, we've got three foolproof tips to take the trollop out of your travels and put you on the road back to redemption.

TIP ONE: CAMOUFLAGE

TIP TWO: ORDER 46 PIZZAS

In every bachelor pad, there is one surefire item to help hide the shame screaming from those lofty arched brows you spent two hours penciling in the night before; an Extra-Large Dirty Laundry Bag. Depending on your upper body strength, we recommend you use the Extra-Large Dirty Laundry Bag as the barrier between you and the hypocritical public. Simply fill the bag with as much stuff as possible and affix it on to your front side as best as you can. No one will see you coming, and your one night Romeo will be relieved that he can put off that purchase of Tide Plus for another few weeks.

Often times, walking six or seven miles isn't an option. You're a busy gal and have things to do that day. Aside from being completely hung over, you're going to need a convenient way to get home that doesn't include public transportation or the snarky look of a local taxi service. By quietly sifting through your bachelor's pad, you should find coupons, menus or even receipts for the closest pizza delivery chain. A quick look through his condom-laden wallet should produce a credit card you can use to order 45 cheese pizzas, and one white pizza with basil and tomato for the ride home. They will definitely send a pizza "Van" with an experienced driver who has probably encountered several girls in your situation. Chances are, he belongs to a church group, (hence the van), and you should easily be able to convince him to redirect the pizzas to a charitable group somewhere near your home, where you will promise to clean up your Jezebel ways and pray for the souls of those lost on the dance floor the night before. (Editor's Note: Stay away from Papa John's Pizza)

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TIP THREE: FALL IN LOVE We know this one is unconventional, but the French do it all the time. When you wake up, go into the kitchen and cook something, anything, a hot dog with lemons, anything. When your new man comes from out of his Ikea hideaway, simply have a whimsical grin on your face. Don't say a word, just start sighing a lot and look at him longingly. If he asks you a question, just nod in agreement and try to keep the tears from welling past your eyes. After eight and a half minutes of this, he will quietly excuse himself to the bathroom where he will quickly change into a pair of jeans, a three day old shirt, and a baseball cap with an upper case letter on it. Suddenly, he'll remember a friend that he was supposed to help move furniture with and be out of there faster than you can C'est La Vie. Now

you have all the time in the world to take off that makeup, draw a bath, and even find an ex girlfriend's clothes that he hasn't had the courage to return yet. In any case, you'll be able to avoid any uncomfortable stares from the locals and guarantee that Mr. Wonderful won't try to "Friend" you any time soon.

WA X I N G P O E T I C

>insecurious

KINKY KORNER: YOU SEND THEM; I REVIEW THEM NOT FOR NOTHING BUT, THE FCC, or whoever, really should have a weight requirement for the public sharing of these homemade sex movies. I’m not against people of “tonnage” having sex or even video taping, but for crying out loud, we have to sit through these things, and pound for pound this particular entry is, how do I put it delicately, not entertaining. FAT CAMP (1999) BY JOSEPH AND KRISTY There is a severe creative challenge when the camera zooms out and you still can’t identify where, what, or who you’re watching. Could be a boob, could be a pillow, could be rolls of roast beef on a Kaiser roll. We just don’t know. From the beginning, it is clear that it’s likely Kristy will not be coming around the mountain when she comes. The amount of time it took these massive performers (I’m sorry they are each 500lbs), the time it took to disrobe took longer than an episode of Top Chef. (I love that show, have you seen that show?). They never quite got naked, we think. Still, it was a surprise that once they climbed into a position where they could actually find each other, they had to take a 10-minute break to catch their breath after such an achievement was maneuvered. Their foreplay was a mixture of scarfing box after box of cheese crackers while their partner located the body part under their “flaps of skin” that they would actually need to perform this missionary-esque position. As 28

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a side note, the cameraman’s narration was unnecessary and repetitive as we were yelling the same “Oh, my God…Oh, my God!” with the same sickly disbelief from the pit of our souls while we were watching. Also, I had read about it, but until you see underwear briefs as big as Joseph’s, you truly begin to understand that they could be cut up and distributed by Unicef to clothe billions of the broke-ass poor in the world. Speaking of which, some one should contact BP and tell them that Kristy’s cupsize is the same size as the Gulf. I’m sure one scoop of her bra, and that junk will come right up. Come to think of it, Joseph’s briefs could be used to plug up the hole. Of course, that will lead to the debate of which cause is more important: the environment or the broke-ass children of the world. I’ll leave that up to the politicians. There isn’t a lot to say about this video. By the time we came back from our staff meeting, they were still stuck between the wall and the bed passed out from exhaustion, but not the good kind. Joseph’s arm was reaching out to a box of cheese crackers on the pillow and the cameraman was pinned between the Joseph and Kristy, also not in a good way. The only think that was really cool about this is the 90-minute tape and the camera battery ran out at the exact same time. When does that ever happen?

NEW FERTILITY DEBATE : MILKMAN OR POSTMAN YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE, THEY SAY, ONE life for yourself, and one for your kids. Fortunately, the twenty-first century is upon us. Women are having children later and later in life, even if you get married after 19. Or even 29. But what if you can’t, or what if you aren’t? Don’t give up! New Fertility options are here, even for dowdy spinsters. Recent research in France, Switzerland, Germany and even parts of the United Kingdom suggest new hope for couples that were previously unable to conceive. Two methods are showing great promise, particularly in cases involving low motility, low libido, or male infertility. “What the women of the Basque country have known for generations pointed us in a promising new direction,” says Zoe Schreisheif of Old Heidelberg and Vienna General Hospitals. When introduced into conception attempts, these methods showed a staggeringly favorable outcome for almost all involved. Both methods are best introduced early in the course of the day at optimum points in a couple's cycles. They may seem drastic, but Schreishelf advises women to stay home from work occasionally in order to take full advantage of these fertility resources, which fall into two categories: 1. MILKMAN—More suitable for early-risers and men who work the third shift, milkmen

are best employed for conception while on their morning rounds and conveniently in the area. Doctors and sperm banks don’t make house-calls but milkmen can ring your doorbell as a matter of course with a minimum of inconvenience or cost. Often of hardy midwestern farm stock, they are prized for their endurance, stamina, and discretion. 2. POSTMEN—Best employed by women who are not morning people, postmen are usually available after you have a light lunch or have been to the gym, ideal as testosterone and other assertive sex-hormones are at their peak. Statistically mailmen are more apt to be brunettes and thus, there is less likelihood for the inconvenient hassle of paternity tests, or awkward delivery room conversations. Mailmen are prized for their determination, conversation, and sorting ability. Not always as discrete an option due to the later hours of visit, but another good alternative for women who like their males delivered. The choice is up to you and your doctor (or rarely for you and your husband to decide). Choose wisely or mix-n-match.

DEIRDRE TROL-STEVENS

Deirdre Trol-Stevens, one time guidance-counselor, is the author of "What Your Cats Will Tell You That Your Best Friends Won’t". She lives year-round in Arizona and enjoys eating and cooking. Her last name is alternately spelled Trol-Stephens. INSECURIOUS

>raggedy man THE

STANDARD MAN! MEN! ALL THEY CARE ABOUT IS YOUR CHEST AND YOUR BUTT- MAYBE YOUR LEGS— but definitely your boobs and booty! Right? So, you figure, one-stop shopping at Clothes Fo’ Hos and you’ll have your pick of the litter, beating them down with a handbag. Not so fast! Apparently, men have standards too. Who knew? I-I-I-I know! So my girlfriends and I held a little expose at the local HuggerNots Pub to discover what those standards are.

TIPPY MALLOY

ONE! MY CALLING PLAN:

THREE! MY GIRL POSSE:

Whhhhat! When I give him my number, he usually forgets to call, but apparently he feels unimportant if my sister calls or texts while he's chatting me up. Look, I’m sorry - but it’s my sister! She’s like my best friend, and we talk twice a day, so if he can’t deal with that then clearly he’s the one with commitment issues because, down the road, if he’s lucky, and I say yes to marriage - guess what, he marries me and my family. And my auntie is crazy!

Oh no, sir! How dare he look at my girl posse as a representation of whom I am? My posse is as diverse as a HuggerNuts Salad and Dessert Bar. I don’t judge a book by its cover. I’ve got a posse who are fashion forward, plain-janes, and fumpy dumpys! I have drama queens, fag-hags, tom-boys and gold-diggers. I have girlfriends who have had their GED for years and thise who are still working on getting theirs. All he needs to do is look into my eyes, and leave my girl posse alone because they are the tried-n-true that are there for me when he decides he can’t handle me.

TWO! MY LAUGH-TRACK: Snort! Listen, orgasms are not the only thing I can fake, okay? I’m not the annoying one. I’ll give him every chance. I’m not going to be impolite and simply stop laughing just because I can’t tell when he’s telling a joke or not. It’s up to him to have good material if he wants to show me how clever and funny he is. I should remind him, he came up to me, okay? 30

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R AG G E DY M A N

THAT’S MS. FEMBOT TO YOU, SIR! THE NEW FEMINISM—IS IT HERE

YET? A TOP PROFESSOR TELLS YOU WHAT HE THINKS. MARCHES. BRA BURNINGS. GLORIA STEINEM'S ERA. YOUR PARENTS MAY HAVE TOLD you about the 1970's, a time of social upheaval and idealism. Civil Rights, civil mights and might nots. The Suffragette movement in the early 20th Century strove for a woman's right to vote, and this was guaranteed in the Constitution under the 19th and 2nd amendments. In the 1970's we women still hadn't obtained an equal rights amendment guaranteeing equal pay for an equal day's work. Now thirty years later, we still haven't. What's the hold up, ladies? For the answers I looked, as always, to my college mentor, Professor Bill Grippington, a former teacher of mine and Department Head of Advanced Women's Studies at Smith University. My interview with him by phone at his ranch in Cummington, MA follows. INSECURITY RAGAZINE (IR): Hello Professor. And may I say "Go Hens!" PROF. GRIPPINGTON (PG): (chuckles) Go Hens indeed! Indubitably! IR: Where is the old feminism? What became of it, and where is this new feminism? And why is no one talking about it? PG: That's an interesting trio of questions, none with easy answers for today’s women. One of the casualties near the end of the 1970's (the rise of the Reagan years and the "Me" Decade), was the clear primal drive for proto-social progress. The good of the many no longer seemed to outweigh the needs of individuals. To have a family, a home, 32

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and a good job became more important than women everywhere making collective progress. This is not to say that the old feminism is dead, or that it has been replaced by a new feminism. There are as many feminisms as there are females, and until they stop squabbling like archetypal washerwomen, they won't have much collective bargaining power.

to a destructive war. Women of America, I urge you to take action now. Take charge and take action, because if we don't, no one will, and the next generation of women will face the same blind pig-ignorant bias that we have, and our mothers before us. Let's do it. Let's stop sleeping with Professor Grippington until we can get a new ERA Amendment passed.

IR: Oh, I see. That kind of makes sense I guess.

Jennifer Coosebury holds an MFA in English Literature from Smith University, and lives in Massachusetts. She's 45 and

PG: Good girl! You should never have given up academia; you'd have had tenure in no time!

JENNIFER COOSEBURY

may be married. Jennfier notes: Brandon Turtlehader still gets 2 cents a word more than I do, and I've been working at Insecurity twice as long.

IR: Thanks! But journalism called... So what do we, as women, Professor Grippington, have to do to get this feminist thing back on the agenda? PG: Well, hypothetically, if I were in your situation I'd unionize, and try to raise as much consciousness amongst my peergroup as possible. Point out to them the outrageousness of the situation and that we shouldn't put up with it anymore. It's not enough just to be able to wear pants and be able to have boy's names, and run in the halls with scissors. An hour of work is an hour of work, it shouldn't matter the gender identification of the worker. But fortunately it's not my problem and I only have sons. It's quite a pickle you girls are in. Good luck with that. IR: Those are all good points, professor. Thank you for your time, and as always, your insight. Professor Grippington has once again shown me the way. It's up to us girls. What is it going to take? If need be, a sex-strike akin to the one women used in Aristophanes' LYSISTRATA to bring a halt R AG G E DY M A N

>insecurity blanket

GREEN STRUDEL DEAR STRUDEL, Strudel! Help! I am so screwed! So, I'm totally seeing a married man and I keep getting makeup on his collar! If his wife finds out about us, that bitch takes half of his assets, and let's be honest, the more assets he has, the more attractive he is! Please help! -Attractive Sidecar DEAR SIDECAR, First off, I can totally respect your POV in comparison to the hotness of your man with the amount of green in his jeans. I say stick with him, without getting your makeup stuck on him. To remove your makeup from his collar: first, dap some water on that jezebel stain then pour salt into the wound - the stain. To really get deep into the stain you take a pine cone and scrub it like you're scrubbing your man's wife's face! Repeat if desired. However, if this is too involved (too much a commitment for either of you) then just buy him some new shirts! Shoot, if he's rich it won’t cost nothing. Better yet! Ask him to buy you some better ho' makeup! Namaste ho! Ladiboi extraordinaire, -STRUDEL METROPOLITAN

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DEAR STRUDEL, My sex life sux! I'm so bored, I'd rather watch Sixty Minutes with a midget dancing on my face rather than having to endure the penatration of my man’s Johnson! What should I do?! -Bored to Tears DAMN BORED! Listen, I've had midgets dance on my face, and I love that, but you seem lost, hopeless, about to throw your hands up in the air and wave 'em all around like you just don't give a damn! This is poppycock girl! You want great sex, grab life by the horns, shove up in there! One word, girl! Pine cones! That’s right, I said it! Since pine cones are abundant (well, until we kill the trees) and super free, its great for the environment, your pocket and your sex life! Take that pine cone like you mean it and take control of your orgasms. You could always try other things, but I find pine cones to be where it’s at! Lemme know how it goes Bored! Love always, Ladiboi extraordinaire, -STRUDEL METROPOLITAN

INSECURITY BLANKET

>ragamuffin

BAG LADY WHY I HATE ECO-FRIENDLY GROCERY BAGS

In the old days, everything that you bought at the supermarket was placed in the brown paper bags. (I haven’t seen those at all lately. How are kids making covers for their textbooks these days?) Then at some point the plastic bags made an appearance, and “paper or plastic” was the option. (Many of my immediate relatives would insist on both to get their money’s worth.) Then, oddly, the paper bags disappeared, and it was “plastic only” in a sweeping gesture that amounted to giving the environment a giant middle finger. This arrangement was fine for most of us, but a loud and pushy minority of tree-hugging hippies got their way, and now supermarkets are pushing the “green” shopping tote bags. You know what I’m talking about. Every store sells them at around $1.00 apiece, with the supermarket logo boldly emblazoned. They generally are, in fact, green in color, just to make sure the point gets across. There is usually some incentive involved, such as getting a nickel back for each bag you bring, or warm, fuzzy feelings from the PETA card carrying cashier. I hate them. Not the cashiers, just the bags, the green ones. First of all, unlike my hemp-wearing, non-shaving brethren, I have garbage cans in my home, many of them. There are little ones for the bedroom and bathroom, and a slightly 36

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larger one in the kitchen. These cans needs bags, and no way am I paying for bags that I can get for free. Second of all, I have a dog. She poops. Outdoors. Enough said? Third of all, I am an American, born and bred. It is my right as a citizen of this great country to put groceries that I have paid for into whatever receptacle I wish. If I choose to bring giant plastic pumpkins and insist on shouting “Trick or Treat!” every time the cashier drops an item in, that’s my right. I pay my taxes. Anyway, I’m sure that no matter whether you’re pro or anti green shopping bags, you won’t argue with my right not to use them. That’s why I’m shocked at people who do. Take Grumpy Old Man for example. Grumpy Old Man works as a bagger at my local supermarket, and he openly sneers at the use of any plastic. “Forgot your tote bags, did ya?” he growls. “No, I just don’t use them.” I retort. Our eyes lock for a brief moment and then he backs down. “Well, you’re not getting a plastic bag for the milk. I don’t do that.” he mutters darkly as he throws a heavy jar of mayonnaise on top of a carton of eggs. Score one for democracy. Then there’s Snotty Rich Kid whose parents are trying to teach him important life lessons by making him work as a bag boy at the supermarket. Snotty Rich Kid has a nose ring,

green hair and a Greenpeace t-shirt visible under his uniform. He will loudly and snottily yell “Tote bags please” and when you admit you have none, he will sigh dramatically and say “Well ohh kayyyy” in a sarcastic voice. You then tell him that you want each individual item in its own bag. Including the grapes. So I am not challenging your right to use your eco-friendly gear at the local grocery store, and I will thank you to pay me the same courtesy. Should the mood strike you to lecture someone in the future on their lack of environmental awareness, just remember that for every well-intentioned green comment made to me, I throw a Coke can out the car window. Think about that people. That Indian may still be crying because of YOU.

DOREEN CANASTO

R AG A M U F F I N

FIGHT IN MY HEAD SUMMER IS A TIME TO STEP BACK FROM the day-to-day fray of life and evaluate your friendships, loved ones and significant others. Hours upon hours spent at the beach, reading crusty paperbacks about geo-political adulterous affairs might be better spent thinking about your time on this earth, and which people in your life have disappointed you. I find that this time alone is a perfect opportunity to have large-scale, complicated fights in your head with the people who make your everyday life unbearable. By engaging with them in this controlled fashion, you'll help save yourself countless hours of therapy and sleepless nights, allowing the argument to take a purer form than an actual confrontation would. But how do I begin you may ask? I can only speak from personal experience on the matter. I always start small, the grocer who refuses to double bag my gelato, even though he knows that my forearm is temperature sensitive. I quickly move on to my coworkers, Julienne in fabrics who thought it would be funny to throw me an office surprise party a full 16 hours before my actual birthday, or Lance the polo guy who started referring to me as "burpy" but has since stopped after HR sent him an email. In the natural progression of things, my sister plays a significant role in my coming to terms with my life, her incessant online photo library where she features less fortunate children and exotic animals too dumb to relocate for survival. I'm tired of always being referred to as "Nancy's sister", 38

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when in fact we stopped being sisters long ago. I guess I do blame my mother for this. It was she, after all, who took sides when it came to the name I wanted for my first child. "Henry" is a family name, an heirloom if you will. I named every doll, animal and Shrinky Dink I ever owned Henry. It was my birthright, my possession, and my small comfort in the night. Then I found out that Nancy was pregnant with her second child, and decided to name him Richard. I cried for three days when I heard that. It wasn't fair. Now I wouldn't be able to name my son or daughter Henry. I don't expect any of you to understand. In the past, all of this angst, self-loathing and disappointment would have cost me countless hours and dollars sitting on the other end of a therapy wand, waiting for its magic touch to cure the stupidity of others, and allow them to listen to me for the first time. Instead, what often happened was that my therapist would begin questioning "my motives", and "my lifestyle", rather than help me figure out how to eliminate their obtuseness from my life. With this new method, however, all I have to do is close my eyes, picture the opposition sitting in my office wearing something ridiculous, and begin to tell them in detail everything that they have done to hurt me. "First of all, Jimmy, or John or whatever you call yourself, the only reason I eat gelato is because I'm lactose intolerant, and there's nothing else in the world cold enough to relax my migraines." "No Julienne, I'm not crying because i'm

upset that it's my birthday and that I'm older, I'm crying because today is my sister Nancy's birthday and every year I had to watch her open presents meant for me because my father was too drunk to know the difference between Rodeo Barbie and Rodeo Drive Barbie. I bet you got, "I'm Too Stupid to Look at a Calendar Barbie", when you were a kid, didn't you?” "Burpy, really? Well for your information it's called gastroesophageal reflux disease and it's probably going to kill me one day. Why don't you try Googling that right after you look up Trou du." "Okay Nancy and Mom, it's my turn to talk, so shut the hell up. Henry is my name, not yours. I'm the one who always loved it, not you. Do you think I don't read? That I don't know that Richard the Second was Henry's uncle and also a bastard? Do you think I want my future son or daughter to be known as the cousin of a bastard? Shut up mom, it is your fault. No, I don't love her anymore, because if you hadn't told me that she would probably get married before I did, I might still consider her my sister instead of “Nancy the Great”, who in fact doesn't even exist. No, I won't stop yelling. Why are you both crying? You're not supposed to be crying. Please stop crying. Of course I love both of you, I just don't think you know how much it hurts to be the middle child and not be married, and have a boyfriend who would rather be dating my best friend. I'm sorry Mom. No, I know how much you gave up to raise us. I know you sidelined your career as a saleswoman to stay at home after I was born.

Sure you could have swung it if there was just Nancy. I'm sorry. It's my fault, I know." As you can see, these fights in your head don't always work out the way they should which brings me to next month's article, "How to Call and Apologize to the People You Had a Fight in your Head With."

CARLA COLLINWORTH

Carla is a staff member in our legal department and aspiring essayist and crossword/Sudoku enthusiast.

R AG A M U F F I N

>pages bleues LATELY WEâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;VE BEEN RECEIVING QUITE A FEW QUESTIONS REGARDING PAGES BLEUES.

SPOTLIGHT:

WE NEED YOUR HELP At Insecurity Ragazine, we have a lot of fun pointing out some of the absurdities that women are expected to acknowledge as the norm. At the end of every Ragazine, however, we hope to feature a different view of what women can be. During the commencement speech at my college graduation, we listened to the story of an African-American woman who encouraged us to find the essence of life through the quality of our relationships with others. Finding the balance between ambition and humility was easier when you trusted and assisted the people around you. To live a life for others was not a choice, it was a path towards happiness not found in magazines, television or movies. At the end of the speech she gave two pieces of advice. The first was to become a "woman for others" and add to the conversation of life rather than save it for a commencement speech. The second was that when you have a bad day, go and 40

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buy yourself a pair of red shoes. She didn't know why, only that red shoes somehow made you feel better. When we left the auditorium that afternoon, all of us felt a little more excited about what lay ahead and a little less scared about how we would get there. Her phrase "a woman for others" is the breath that fills these pages. Pages Bleues are stories of women that inspire us, women that have a simplicity about their lives and influence us in ways that society doesn't always recognize. In short, these women give us confidence in ourselves, hope, compassion, and a better understanding of the challenges that everyone faces.

OUR CHALLENGE TO YOU IS TO HELP US FIND THESE WOMEN AND TELL THEIR STORIES. Our challenge to you is to help us find these women and tell their stories. If you know of a woman that has changed your life, or the lives of those around them, we would like to hear from you. Please compose a brief description of why this person should be in Pages Bleues and email it to pagesbleues@insecurityrag.com. Please include your contact information in the correspondence. With your help, we hope to create a place where "a woman for others" becomes the ambition, not the exception. EDITORIAL STAFF- INSECURITY RAGAZINE

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