Category Archives: I'm a cranky brat

I can’t listen baby about the fourth time you were a lady

Sometimes, I like to talk about what I want to be when I grow up, and sometimes, I like to talk about boobies.

Sadly, Australia has taken one career option away from me, and it is in fact because of my breast size.

You know how our movies here are rated by the MPAA, and they sometimes make wacky decisions. Turns out the Australian version, the Australian Classification Board, has been known to do that too. They have a series of ratings just like us: G, PG, M for mature, R (restricted to 18 and over), X, and RC. RC means Refused Classification, and it is illegal to sell material rated RC. These ratings apply to published material as well as movies, unlike here.

The National Classification Code uses this criteria to determine if a publication should be rated RC.

Publications that:

(a)  describe, depict, express or otherwise deal with matters of sex, drug misuse or addiction, crime, cruelty, violence or revolting or abhorrent phenomena in such a way that they offend against the standards of morality, decency and propriety generally accepted by reasonable adults to the extent that they should not be classified; or

(b) describe or depict in a way that is likely to cause offence to a reasonable adult, a person who is, or appears to be, a child under 18 (whether the person is engaged in sexual activity or not); or

(c)  promote, incite or instruct in matters of crime or violence

A) Ok, fine. Don’t make the average person want to simultaneously cry and throw up.

C) Definitely. Violence = bad.

B) The part to note specifically here is ‘a person who is, or appears to be, a child under 18‘.

Lest you think I’m overreacting (something I’ve been accused of a lot lately thankyouvermuchmovieclubcough), this isn’t just theoretical. Several issues of Hustler have been rated RC and therefore removed from the shelves – strictly because of the breast size of the models. Apparently, if your breasts are too small, you appear to be under 18.

There are so many things wrong with that, I don’t even know where to start. First of all, Hustler is published in America and we are pretty freaking careful about making sure our porno models are over 18.  That makes it clear that they really are enforcing the ‘appears to be’ part of that statement. Second of all, WHAT? Really, Australia? If I came there to be a porn model I’d be screwed. Admittedly it had never occurred to me, but I HATE being told I can’t do things and now you’re pissing me off. I’m 29 years old, Australia. 29.

The goal here may have been because of the concern that images that appear to be of younger individuals could incite/excite pedophiles. I’m sure there are images that do do that, and it makes my heart hurt. This, however, seems to be the equivalent of banning people with French accents from American television because you’re worried it will incite Francophobes to violence.

Not cool, Australia.

Go have a Fosters and think this over.


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Filed under I'm a cranky brat, it's hard being this beautiful, really? REALLY?

I can't listen baby about the fourth time you were a lady

Sometimes, I like to talk about what I want to be when I grow up, and sometimes, I like to talk about boobies.

Sadly, Australia has taken one career option away from me, and it is in fact because of my breast size.

You know how our movies here are rated by the MPAA, and they sometimes make wacky decisions. Turns out the Australian version, the Australian Classification Board, has been known to do that too. They have a series of ratings just like us: G, PG, M for mature, R (restricted to 18 and over), X, and RC. RC means Refused Classification, and it is illegal to sell material rated RC. These ratings apply to published material as well as movies, unlike here.

The National Classification Code uses this criteria to determine if a publication should be rated RC.

Publications that:

(a)  describe, depict, express or otherwise deal with matters of sex, drug misuse or addiction, crime, cruelty, violence or revolting or abhorrent phenomena in such a way that they offend against the standards of morality, decency and propriety generally accepted by reasonable adults to the extent that they should not be classified; or

(b) describe or depict in a way that is likely to cause offence to a reasonable adult, a person who is, or appears to be, a child under 18 (whether the person is engaged in sexual activity or not); or

(c)  promote, incite or instruct in matters of crime or violence

A) Ok, fine. Don’t make the average person want to simultaneously cry and throw up.

C) Definitely. Violence = bad.

B) The part to note specifically here is ‘a person who is, or appears to be, a child under 18‘.

Lest you think I’m overreacting (something I’ve been accused of a lot lately thankyouvermuchmovieclubcough), this isn’t just theoretical. Several issues of Hustler have been rated RC and therefore removed from the shelves – strictly because of the breast size of the models. Apparently, if your breasts are too small, you appear to be under 18.

There are so many things wrong with that, I don’t even know where to start. First of all, Hustler is published in America and we are pretty freaking careful about making sure our porno models are over 18.  That makes it clear that they really are enforcing the ‘appears to be’ part of that statement. Second of all, WHAT? Really, Australia? If I came there to be a porn model I’d be screwed. Admittedly it had never occurred to me, but I HATE being told I can’t do things and now you’re pissing me off. I’m 29 years old, Australia. 29.

The goal here may have been because of the concern that images that appear to be of younger individuals could incite/excite pedophiles. I’m sure there are images that do do that, and it makes my heart hurt. This, however, seems to be the equivalent of banning people with French accents from American television because you’re worried it will incite Francophobes to violence.

Not cool, Australia.

Go have a Fosters and think this over.


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Filed under I'm a cranky brat, it's hard being this beautiful, really? REALLY?

last one – promise

I swear. After this you will never see the words Black Devil Doll on this blog ever again.

Remember yesterday when I basically said ‘to each his own’?
That was before someone logged on as the black devil doll and said that he’d “give it to me hard”. And said that people who take a doll raping a woman seriously is stupid.

People who don’t take a doll raping a woman seriously don’t understand what rape is. People who think that exploitation is like pizza don’t understand exploitation. I’m actually a little disgusted with myself for giving them so much space, but I can’t let these comments go by. Never again, though – there’s not a lot lower they can go from here.

This was fun yesterday. Now it’s just awful. Remember how classy the writer of Gingerdead Man was when Sam panned his movie? Hat tip to that fellow.

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Filed under I'm a cranky brat, movie club, turns out I'm a feminist

we are SO unpopular right now

Among people who sometimes maybe get a little carried away.

I mean, we didn’t like the hate in the movie. I guess some people are into that kind of thing.

the two people in the Black Devil Doll fan club hate us and are mocking us on facebook, part 1 A) Just because the tiniest sprinter is 5′ 4″ doesn’t mean he’s a girl. Not that I would mind – I always wanted a sister. But seriously.

B) Yes, these comments show amazing respect for women. Way to prove me wrong.

C) RECKING a grade schooler’s life DOES sound cool! You are so SMART right now!

D) My brother is an amazing fucking writer. You’re the one who commented on his blog ‘you’re retarded’. (Again, way to show that respect that I claimed you didn’t have.)

Moving on.

people who like black devil doll hate us, part 2E) So Shawn Lewis’s plan, in making this movie, was to wreck (spelled correctly this time – someone must have alerted him) people’s lives and get people to hate movies? Noble goal, my friend. Noble goal.

F) Wait – is anyone else seeing that there are only two people participating in this bash? Excepting the fellow that somehow thinks Sam is the one who was calling people retards, of course.

So apparently the man who made Black Devil Doll and his number one fan think that we in the movie club are wrong, and we think they’re wrong.

And you know what? That’s fine. People can like whatever movies they want. My taste is not everyone’s taste. (I feel like such the bigger person right now!)

I shouldn’t have said what I did on twitter. My exact words, introducing my review post, were ‘Our movie club has some serious apologizing to do. So do the people responsible for Black Devil Doll’.  The creator of the movie’s response was ‘Why should we apologize for your rampant stupidity?’. He’s right (about the apology, not about me being stupid). I have no right saying he should apologize. If he’s proud of it, then he is.

Good for him.

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Filed under I'm a cranky brat, movie club

the tiniest sprinter is a party pooper

tiniest sprinter: so how’s the butt?

emma: achy. i think it’s broken.

tiniest sprinter: whaaa? what does that mean? can you still do stuff? we’re talking tailbone here, right?

emma: yeah. tailbone. i think i broke it because the symptoms of bruising are different. it hurts when i sit on it. but not actually more than when i’m not sitting on it. its hard to explain. but i think it’s broken.

tiniest sprinter: i’ve heard they don’t DO anything for it if it’s broken anyway, though, right?

emma: right. maybe tell me to stop skating. and fuck that shit.

tiniest sprinter: you should have the tailbone removed!

emma: i was talking about that last night. and either get it replaced with titanium so i can mess some girls up. or some floppy polymer so i’m all bendy.

tiniest sprinter: or just removed. i doubt it does anything.

emma: ok but imagine if it was titanium. and i could put thread on there and then get a titanium tail and screw it on and off whenever i wanted.

tiniest sprinter: gross. the tail would come out from between your butt cheeks.

emma: wow you are just a serious party pooper today

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Filed under I'm a cranky brat, other people are sometimes funny too, the people I love, they let me on skates?

rise up with fists

I think I’m getting weirder in my old age – or if not weirder, crankier. I think I’ve mentioned before that I’m looking forward to being an old lady, as it will allow me to audition for old lady movie rolls and wear and say whatever I want.

Turns out I’m not necessarily waiting for oldness.

After the slumber party on Saturday night, I informed the boy that he’d be taking me to dinner and a movie, with both the restaurant and movie being my choice – unless of course I didn’t feel like making the choice, in which case he had to choose but he had better choose something I would have chosen myself if I’d been able to choose.

The whole movie thing didn’t work out, because Avatar is three freaking hours long. Does the Hollywood industrial complex not appreciate the subtleties of my bladder size? Particularly when, while in birthday princess mode, I insist on having a drink or two beforehand? We skipped it in favor of going round most of our favorite Boulder restaurants and eating whatever I felt like eating at each place.

Which was apparently queso fundido, fried pickles (how have I not eaten fried pickles before? That shit is GENIUS), and coconut carrot soup.

And at every place, I confidently and àpropos of nothing informed our server that it was my birthday. Like an awesome old lady would. It totally earned me a free dessert. When I’m an old lady, my life is going to be nothing but free desserts.

Also, today I’m dressed like a gypsy. Because I felt like it.

Gypsy dressing.

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Filed under I think I'm funny, I'm a cranky brat, it's all about me

someday when I'm awfully low

I recently read (and by read I mean listened to because audiobooks are my mister (which is the word I’m using to refer to a male mistress, because as much as I would like to use the word consort* I just can’t imagine anyone would think it was as cool as I think it is)) a book called Dark Places.

The book itself is seriously fucked up, no kidding. It’s about a woman named Libby Day who is one of two survivors of a farmhouse massacre – the other survivor being her brother and the murderer… or so we think. Dun dun dunnnnnnnn…

I mostly enjoyed the book. At one point, Libby says that she is terrible at the minutiae of life – she can get herself up and out of bed every day but she never has ice because filling the ice cube trays is too much work.

Dear fictional severely psychologically traumatized Libby,

Me too!

Love, Emma

It’s completely and totally true.  While I am in fact holding down a full time job, blogging, taking care of two dogs, playing derby, and any number of other tasks that sound daunting when you lay them out step by step, there are a plethora of truly necessary things that I just don’t do. Because they’re too overwhelming. Really – not because I’m lazy, or because I don’t like to do them – because I quite literally become overwhelmed at the outset and either can’t start or can’t finish them.

A few examples.

  • I do not vacuum. I have a vacuum, I don’t loathe vacuuming if and when I ever get around to it, but for whatever reason the idea of vacuuming at any given time defeats me.
  • I do not go to the dentist. I do eventually get around to going to the doctor, because I’m secretly afraid that I’ll be one of those dead-at-30-if-only-she’d-caught-it-earlier stories if I don’t, but I do not go to the dentist. Period. The last time I went was 2 years ago to fix a broken tooth – which had been broken for two years at that point. I don’t know why, I’m not scared of the dentist. Making an appointment is just too hard.
  • I shower, but only because I have to. The idea of showering sort of crushes me. If I wasn’t surrounded by other people who sort of expect it, I would go back to the weekly baths of yore.
  • I don’t call in people to fix things. My chimney needs to be swept. My ducts likely need to be cleaned. My damn furnace filter stayed unchanged for two years until my dad came and did it for me last month. I could pay people to do these things for me, but the idea of calling them and scheduling it is smothering.

These aren’t the only examples (frighteningly), but I am not nearly as incapable as this makes me sound. I mean, when the urge to cut my hair strikes me I’m quite adept calling around and finding the place that can fit me in soonest then rearranging meetings to make it happen, so it’s not like I’m a can’t-do person.

I’m just a can-do person who is a little bit broken.

*Cavalier servente is perfect, but only if the relationship is between an unmarried young nobleman and a married noblewoman, and you’re in eighteenth-century Italy, thus limiting its use.

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Filed under I'm a cranky brat, it's all about me, tellin secrets