While I applaud such measures, I cannot help but worry that the plan does not go far enough. I humbly offer the following amendments to Gray’s sustainability plan to achieve maximum greenness in the District of Columbia.

Champion river commuting
If the Potomac and Anacostia Rivers will indeed be swimmable, residents should be encouraged to transition toward an aquatic commute. Swimming to work cuts fuel emissions and saves money. It also encourages healthy lifestyles and decreases stress. Swim commuters must be conscious of boats, however – cutting off a boat when it has the right of way, or weaving between boats during rush hour will lead people to complain that “insane, privileged jerk swimmers ought to get out of the river.” For residents convinced that their boxy knitwear looks better dry, Fun Noodles and inner tubes can help keep them afloat.

Simplify food production and preparation
Community gardens, CSA baskets and farmers’ markets can increase resident access to organic produce. However, with the proper resources and training, DC residents can combine their desires to live sustainably and prepare sustenance creatively. By applying hundreds of kilojoules of heat to oxygen and hydrogen molecules, anyone can create the exothermic chemical reaction necessary to create their own water! Similarly, DC residents can produce their own salt by spooning water from the Atlantic Ocean into a dish and waiting until the water evaporates and leaves behind a salty film. Planning this activity is crucial, however, as walking or biking from the District to the Atlantic Ocean is time-consuming.

Develop innovative energy reduction models
Gray’s plan calls for a 50% energy reduction within 20 years. We can do even better. Instead of electricity, buildings can be powered by Environmental Studies interns running on rotating conveyer belts. Instead of microwaving leftovers for dinner, residents should make an effort to warm their food in the sun over the course of the day. Residents can also considerably decrease their carbon monoxide production by making a concerted effort to breathe less.

Rethink waste
The DC sustainability plan intends to dramatically decrease the amount of waste generated by residents, and to strengthen existing recycling programs. Residents can help the government do this by altering their own patterns of usage. When buying a product sold in bulk, one can easily save a bag simply by cupping the food in their hands. By getting proper nutrients and staying healthy, citizens can develop strong immune systems that will decrease the likelihood of food poisoning, thus incentivizing them to eat more spoiled food and reduce food waste. Allowing garbage to simply go into a landfill is an inappropriate use of valuable space that could be converted to green space. Landfills that already exist need not languish and stagnate – these areas can easily be re-branded as play areas for children and dogs.

Remember, these are just a few steps toward true environmental sustainability in Washington, DC. Any little step makes a big impact. Something as simple as aggressively shaming a motorist, dominating conversations by asserting your hatred of processed food, or mass-emailing your friends links to every piece the New York Times runs on wind power could make a difference.

-A “reducing her carbon footprint by wearing painfully small shoes” Natalie

It’s one of the rare dances (with the possible exception of the Electric Slide and hardcore grinding) that is equally awkward for all those involved.

So it goes without saying, that I am extremely grateful to now have my current job. But upon recent reflection, I realized that there were a couple of aspects of unemployment I should have appreciated more at the time:

1. Fried Food is Your Friend

I once saw an episode of the cautionary tale/TLC show I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant about an unemployed woman. The unlucky lady in question was so depressed about being laid off that she began to fill her inner void with food. Unbeknownst to her, though, she was also filling her inner void with a fetus. Nine months and a dramatic-television-reenactment later, she experienced quite the toilet surprise.

While I’m not advocating you model your diet after a secretly pregnant (and seriously in denial) woman, I do miss the comfort food.

My personal DC recommendation for “best unemployment food” can be found at H Street’s Star and Shamrock Tavern. Their fried macaroni and cheese sticks are one of the biggest gifts that unemployment brought into my life. I didn’t even know macaroni and cheese could be fried, but as a girl from the South I should have known to dream big when it comes to frying possibilities.

 2. Day Drinking

You know what’s even better than a Happy Hour? A Happy Day. Without a schedule to follow or appearances to keep up, your love of Franzia’s finest boxed-wine can reach new heights. Bonus points if you start to give David, the bartender, unsolicited advice on which DC soccer league his daughter should join.

3. Optional Pants, Optional Showers

In an effort to create stability in a world of chaos, you will subconsciously create an “Unemployment Uniform” to wear for days on end. My uniform consisted of Winnie-the-Pooh pajama shorts from the 6^th grade and a gray flannel top. I will not detail my shower schedule for the masses, but my hair has seen better times. Embrace your ratty uniform and dirtiness.

A time for slacks and pantyhose will come soon enough. And when it does, you might just find yourself remembering fondly your days of 3pm wine and flannel.

- A ‘Really Hopes this Leads to a Fried Mac and Cheese Endorsement Deal’ Lindsay

I am sure some of you have already commemorated the centennial anniversary of the Titanic disaster by reliving the cinematic disaster that portrays it. It has been out for a week, but I still haven’t managed to catch Titanic 3D. Although I too plan on wiping tears of anguish from my face as Celine croons EXACTLY HOW I FEEL, I do have some concerns as I recollect vignettes from my one-time favorite film. These are a few of them.

This was probably a safety liability for the White Star Line, albeit one that paled in comparison to their much bigger mulligan.

Life experience will douse the flames of Jack Dawson’s sexy sexiness
Whilst filming Titanic, Leonardo DiCaprio and his character, Jack Dawson, were both 20 years old. Jigga what, now? 12-year-old Natalie didn’t know any 20-year-old boys, but presumed them to be sophisticated Adonii who bravely sweep women off their feet and carry them across the threshhold while reciting poetry (tween Natalie overestimated the role that uncrossable threshholds would play in her adult life.) I now know that Jack Dawson can’t be real, because he never once ignores Rose while playing Halo, or boasts about how functional he is while high. Real Jack would wear t-shirts with writing on them, and tape posters directly to his bedroom walls instead of framing them. He would have a patchy beard and nag you about reading something by Hunter S. Thompson. I DON’T CARE IF IT IS 1912. Rose, don’t. Even if he had survived, he still would have had no idea where your clitoris is until midway through World War I.

There perhaps should have been a more nuanced musical score
Even today, hearing the first few measures of Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” elicits a Pavlovian response in me. I get a bit more bodice-rippy and choked up than I would like to admit. In retrospect, however, I recall something that furrows my brow. Didn’t that song play, like, 14 times during the movie? And each time, wasn’t it a relatively desperate attempt to squeegee emotion out of the millions of teen girls fidgeting in their movie seats? WELL, IT WORKED. But it does sort of reduce me to the status of a Russian dog, emotionally salivating at the mere ring of Celine Dion’s bell. Today, I like to think that I’d be a bit more advanced. As in, “Um, no, James Cameron, I will not be weeping right now. And if I am, I’m doing it IRONICALLY.”

The film’s allegedly romantic metaphor is actually sorta really problematic
THE NECKLACE. Rose’s so-called “heart of the ocean” necklace was a pivotal inanimate object throughout the film. Remember? Bill Paxton, who was a boat scientist, or whatever, was all, “we have to find that necklace, so I can be flush with Benjamins and make it rain.” And then everyone around him was all, “OMG, look at this drawing. THE NAKED GIRL IS WEARING IT.” And then Old Rose was all, “Oh hey guys, that’s ME.” Now, what we know now, but didn’t at the time, is that SHE STILL HAD THE NECKLACE THE WHOLE 86 YEARS. So, a few issues. When Rose survived the disaster, and still had the heart of the ocean necklace, Evil Fiance Billy Zane totes thought she was dead. So, I get that she had to lie low for a minute or five. (Except even if he did know she was alive, the necklace was a gift – so in my book, that is still a clear case of “keepsies, no take-backs.”) Anyway, after that, the necklace was most definitely FAIR GAME. Wasn’t she an unmarried woman with no professional credentials? In 1912? SELL THAT FREAKING THING. And if it felt too gauche to profit off of a gift from your Evil Fiancé upon whom you had hot, cheaty car sex with Leonardo DiCaprio, AT LEAST use the money to do something good. Like, help orphans of the Titanic disaster, or something. Set up a scholarship fund for those ragtag kids in steerage class who seemed poor, but really happy in that one scene. But don’t just throw bajillions of cash dollaz into the ocean and then just DIE. Rude.
And even if she were absolutely set on a dramatic, life-closing metaphor, was the necklace even the right pick? In my opinion, it was more metaphorically applicable to her relationship with Douchey Billy Zane than with Jack. Right? What was the idea behind that? “Jack, you were so foxy for those five days. 86 years ago. It sucks you are dead. Here, this might make you feel better. My heart is with you, etc. PLEASE ACCEPT THIS RAD-ASS GIFT FROM MY EX AS A TOKEN OF MY EMOTIONAL LOYALTY TO YOUR HOT, HOT MEMORY. No offense to my lifelong husband and kids. Celine Dion music just didn’t play when those duds entered the room.” WTF, Rose?

I mean, please don’t misunderstand. I am most definitely going to see Titanic 3D. I just hope my life wisdomz don’t totally over-salt the broth of the savory film-soup. I also hope that my tears don’t spoil the visual effects of the 3D. I mean, my friend hopes that.

- A Natalie who won’t ever let go

But while recently jamming out to Brian Littrell’s massively underrated “The Perfect Fan” (much like Britney Spears’ oft-overlooked seminal classic “Dear Diary”), I had a startling thought. In an effort to be a preteen realist, I had always picked a lesser member of each boy band to be my favorite. You know, the not hot one. It had just seemed logical. If I went after a dude with less girls waving his name on homemade glittered signs, I had a greater chance of snagging said unpopular dude. Better to be on a yacht with a famous ug-mo than alone with an autographed poster.

And that’s when I realized. Your choice of boy band crush says more about you than you think it does.

Let’s take a look at some people we both may just know.

Kevin Richardson

If you were one of the very, very few girls that pined for Kevin “The Forgotten One” Richardson, then you were wise beyond your years. Kevin is now a stable, attractive, millionaire.

He’s not one to be featured on a VH1 show about celebs that went bankrupt. No, Kevin turned out to be a keeper.

If you loved Kevin, you probably preferred to be in the background. You majored in engineering, science or statistics. You saw possibilities where others saw only emptiness. Your heroes are Madame Curie and Galileo. You frequent Renaissance festivals, but never dress up.

You now have a job title with the word “assistant” or “assistant to” in it. You dream of someday taking an Alaskan cruise to see the Northern Lights.

AJ McLean

If you used to doodle your first name followed by McLean on your Trapper Keeper’s cover, you probably longed for a little extra excitement as a teen. You were a good student, participated in student government, theater or a myriad of other extra curricular school activities. With AJ’s tattoos and drinking, he was just risqué enough to earn the label of “The Bad Boy” for the Backstreet Boys. You spent hours fantasizing about him shaking up your suburban life. But in retrospect, I think we can all agree that anyone that has various Chinese character tattoos—basically, the 90’s guy equivalent of the tramp stamp–is no bad boy. Besides, drinking was the best addiction he could come up with as a musician? It just seems lazy.

You are now a teacher, lawyer, librarian, or work in non-profit and use phrases like, “sustainable growth” regularly. (Author’s Note: Due to the duality of AJ McLean’s image, you might have also turned out to be insane and work at places that require “hot-pants.” But there is no middle ground here; an AJ fan is either an extremely productive person in society… or favors extensions and Raccoon Eye Makeup. Take your pick.).

Nick Carter

You enjoy romance. Nick Carter said, “I’ll never break your heart” and you listened. Oh, yes, you listened–with a metaphorical umbrella to welcome Nick out of the music video’s (strangely indoor) rain shower.

You have approximately 63 pictures of your cat or puppy on your cell phone. You refuse to get a Kindle because you like the smell of library books. You excel in long relationships, and enjoy pretty men. You like the gym, but prefer hiking.

You work as a rock climbing instructor, waitress, or high-powered executive. The love of Nick Carter knows no bounds.

Lance Bass

Your adult life has admittedly had some disappointments. You thought you were different—falling for the charming, funny guy. Sometime between NSync’s first album and No Strings Attached Lance got highlights, discovered some new dance moves and you were foolishly into it. (Author’s Note: Never date a guy with highlights. It will only end in tears, ladies.). You supported him through his starring role in a film that was basically Serendipity-adjacent. You secretly still have his Puppet Action Figure and the belief that your attraction to him was justified at the time.

You went to college and got a liberal arts degree and then didn’t know what to do with it. You have friends that claim to be more spiritual than religious. You enjoy a good vodka tonic and any movie that Netflix describes as “Emotional with a strong female lead.”

You are now a poet, painter, or perhaps even a part-time DC blogger.

- A ‘I swear, Spanish Eyes is an underrated song’ Lindsay

Amazingly, not everyone is alienated by my bicycle fervor – some are even convinced. However, not everyone is ready to dive right into the proverbial bike pool (as few bikes these days are made of liquid, this is probably wise.) Many ask about Capital Bikeshare, or about how it stacks up compared to owning your own bicycle. In this post, I’ll attempt to provide an objective analysis of renting vs. owning a bike. Please note that I am not technically qualified to perform analysis of any kind, and I have also not ever perched my bad self upon a Bikeshare bike. Consider the data accordingly.

Capital Bikeshare

Pros: A bike you rent cannot be stolen. You simply lock the thang into its home port, and never worry about some dick with a toolbox snatching your wheel. You never sink cash into bicycle parts or accessories, because the bikes come equipped with them. It isn’t your job to repair it, either. There is a smartphone app that maps the nearest Bikeshare port, and it even tells you whether or not bikes are available. The membership and usage fees, although debatable, are almost certainly less than the cost of your own bike in the shorter term. After a $75 annual fee, the first 30 minutes on a Bikeshare bike are free, which is a relatively feasible cap for most trips within the District. Still, ride longer and the price will climb.

Cons: Two of the most magical things about travel by bike is the fact that you can get anywhere – door to door – on your own schedule. Relying on ports somewhat undermines this perk, because you have to worry about the location of the nearest hub. This makes it especially tough if you need to stop somewhere for a spontaneous errand. And if you don’t have a smartphone, you may as well just get on the damn bus. It is also somewhat tough to rely on Bikeshare completely, because a full or empty hub could make a real difference in your trip. A few block walk to another one could be a big deal if you are on a time-sensitive schedule. You also have to awkwardly carry your helmet along with you if you plan on wearing one, whereas you can simply lock a helmet to your own bike when indoors. I have also heard that the bikes are a bit awkward to ride, but I can neither confirm nor deny this.

Your own bike

Pros: As previously mentioned, your own bike gives you door-to-door freedom on your own timeline. You also have choice – do you want a racing bike, a mountain bike, or an inconvenient vintage beach cruiser? (Author excitedly waves hand in air.) If you are going to be riding seriously and frequently, this is probably the most cost-effective option. You also have more cargo options if you attach a rack or basket.  You have the potential for greater speed with many bikes, although this is certainly not true for vintage bikes. You also have greater freedom to travel further. You can do a trail ride to Silver Spring, like I did – TWO SEPARATE TIMES.

Cons: Your own bike will cost you. A new commuter bike might be upwards of $400. There are many great used options on Craigslist, but without any knowledge of bicycles it could be tricky to spot a good deal. You also have the problem of storage, which could be hellish if you don’t have a shed or live in a walk-up.  I also contend that used bikes, like much else in DC, are overpriced. You also have to get it fixed every so often (who knew that a measly spoke could make such a difference in the way a bike rides?) You may also incur inconvenience when you would have preferred a one-way option (i.e., you cycle to work in the morning but then take the Metro to Maryland after work. This is inconvenient not only because you left your bike behind, but because you are in Maryland. OH FUCK.)

In the end, the choice you make is a matter of your tastes and needs. I can only guarantee one thing. Once you become a cyclist, it will take you all of five minutes to become one of those raving, pretentious twats who bitch about cars and ignore traffic laws. I should know! I am one of them.

- An elitist-on-a-sunny-yellow-bike-Natalie

Our dinner and a movie plan had seemed like a solid Friday night date choice. It’s the gold standard, like ordering ketchup with your fries or putting The Beatles on your playlist. What had been billed as an evening of Mexican food and cinematic entertainment, however, quickly turned into eating a Chipotle burrito on the steps of the Smithsonian American Art Museum.

Now, don’t get me wrong, like any decent person with a soul I love Chipotle. With DC’s abysmal Tex-Mex options (something to rant more fully about in the future) it might just be one of the most enjoyable burritos in town, chain or not. I also do not think every date has to be expensive to be fun. In the right atmosphere, eating a Chipotle burrito outside before seeing 21 Jump Street would be just as awesome as it sounds.

But the steps of the American Art Museum were anything but conducive to romance.

A photo wisely obscuring the SAAM's steps.

There was trash everywhere. Captain Planet would have wept in his tighty-green-whities. Wrappers from the nearby Chinatown McDonald’s lined the steps. A gusty wind sent rice from my burrito flying into unseemly places on my body (don’t ask). Music blared from the cell phones of alternate groups of teenagers. A child being force-fed McNuggets a few steps down repeatedly screamed.

And in each one of the kid’s fast food-induced wails, I felt my own internal cry echoed aloud. As Deana Carter once fittingly asked, “Did I shave my legs for this?”

It was basically like being back in college, enjoying a dinner “date” on the busy quad. The only thing missing was using a meal swipe to buy chasers for later. And come to think of it, alcohol could have only helped the situation.

Upon polling several DC friends, I found that my experience was not out of the ordinary. Planning outdoor dates can get tricky and have unforeseen complications. With warmer weather finally making its way to the Capital, outdoor and patio dinner dates are sure to be on the rise. Take control of the situation now by checking out outdoor suggestions here and here. In the meantime, consider making a reservation for your next dinner date. Otherwise, you might just wake up to some crazy girl blogging about you. Just ask my boyfriend—it can happen.

- A “Now really wants Chipotle after typing ‘Chipotle’ so many times” Lindsay

You were wondering, weren’t you, what your favorite DC bar says about you? WONDER NO MORE, WEARY READER. Check that weariness at the door and flush the claim tag down the toilet, because you won’t need it anymore! Here are a few bets you can make about someone who favors the following DC bars. If slow-loading flash is your passion, either click on any of the websites below, or go load some porn on a PC in 1997.
This photo supposedly accompanied an article about alcohol’s effects on the brain, but could just as easily illustrate a cautionary tale about getting shit-faced and dying your hair a ridonkulous pink and teal mashup. DON’T.

Martini Lounge

Overheard quote: “My bracket got shattered this weekend.”
Your group house in Arlington allows you to commute easily to the consulting gig you began after your satisfactory completion of an unpaid internship at the same company. You make sure to ask the group ‘which rules we’re playing by’ when embarking on a game of beer pong, having been exposed to regional game differences since your freshman year at GW.

Wonderland Ballroom

Overheard quote: “It was a bit weird getting used to a fixed-gear at first, but now I love it.”
You use the word ‘sustainability’ a lot, and would never live in Foggy Bottom or Dupont Circle. You have a few metaphorically applicable anecdotes about David Foster Wallace, and spend summer evenings drinking hoppy beer on your porch. You talk about wanting to rock climb.

Madam’s Organ

Overheard quote: “I really wanted to go to Cancun for Spring Break, but it was a lot cheaper to fly to Fort Lauderdale.”
You major (or recently finished a degree in) political science, international relations or anthropology. You describe your current internship or entry-level position using the phrase “get my foot in the door.” You do not actually know how to use Microsoft Excel, even though your cover letter explicitly states that you do. You own a tube top from Charlotte Russe.

Sticky Rice

Overheard quote: “My block is really nice, but about half a block down, it gets pretty sketchy.”
You made a point to study abroad in an obscure country, and describe your current language level in the local tongue as ‘conversational,’ which you qualify by assuring the listener that you can ‘get the gist of pretty much anything.’ Although it is one thing to dance on tables at Sticky Rice, you would never do so in Adam’s Morgan. You adopted a rescue mutt, and do not consider yourself very DC.

- A ‘has legitimately enjoyed herself at all of these bars’ Natalie

In this small way, my Batcave life is much like Batman’s, without the cool butler, millions of dollars and nifty gadgets. (Note, that I didn’t list “fighting crime.” I’ll leave that for you to ponder).  But, like all classic superhero shows, a crossover episode was bound to happen.

I must preface by stating that the gates around my apartment’s doors are intense. They seemed so impenetrable that I had previously believed my apartment-fortress to be a stronghold in the Bloomingdale community. I would be home alone and hear creepy yelling coming from outside and never even worry.

But then Spiderman came to town. Or at the very least, a human acrobat.

Because seriously, whoever climbed that gate should either be joining the cast of Cirque du Soleil or quitting their day job at The Daily Bugle.

Rough approximation of the gate.

I walked in to discover my television, Kindle, and pretty much anything with an electrical current had been stolen. I’m sure our dog did his best to stop the intruders, but he’s 12 lbs—Cujo he is not.

Home burglary is one of those things that I can’t say was on my Bucket List, but I’m glad I can go ahead and hopefully check it off for life. There is exactly one window in my apartment that doesn’t have bars on it. The property management company told me it didn’t need bars because it was behind the “impenetrable” gate.

According to the DC Metropolitan Police Department, burglary was actually down 7.8% last year. I don’t know how 2012 will ultimately fare in comparison, but my incident will no doubt be included in its total.

In summation, do I think citizens of DC should be overly concerned? No. Do I think people in basement apartments should demand bars on all their windows? Yes.

So even if you are living in a “safe” DC basement apartment with a gate, get your landlord to put the bars on the windows. Or you might just end up writing a blog post full of comic book metaphors in shame.

-          An ‘obviously has an older brother that was into superhero stuff’ Lindsay

Oddly, I think this is actually a realistic drawing as opposed to an actual photo of a standing desk. The reality would be too much for you.

I feel like a bit of a meerkat surveying the territory.
You’ve seen those things at the zoo, right? You know how one of them is always alone at the top of what he believes is a mountain (but is actually a man-made fake rock exhibit,) and he’s acting as a lookout for danger (but is actually only observing toddlers with popcorn, or whatever?) THAT IS ME. I can see everything around me. I like to think that I am keeping the office safe from intruders, but I am also getting a hot eyeful of everyone’s computer monitors. For one thing, did you know that Yahoo still has e-mail? And that there are people, in America, who use it? In some cases, they are the same people still playing Sudoku, which I am assuming is trickier on the internet since you can’t write tiny possible numbers in the box corners.

I am, like, emoting all over the place.
I now enjoy an infinitely wider range of ways to silently react to my computer screen. You know how whilst sitting at your desk, you might shift your weight in your seat, uncross your legs, or lean your chin in your hands intermittently? Do you ever furrow your brow at an article or lean far back to reach out and click your mouse, depending on your mood? Well, I can convey my mindset SO MUCH MORE SPECIFICALLY THAN THAT. I can shift onto one foot, I can slouch, I can lean on my elbows, I can put my hands on my hips. I can do all of the basic ballet moves IN FUCKING SUCCESSION if I want to. I can wiggle around and widen or narrow my stance at will. That is how I know I am alive. SO. MANY. OPTIONS. It’s like you’re living in black and white and Toto is biting all of your neighbors, etc., and I’m all, SEE YOU IN OZ, MOTHERFUCKERS.

This arrangement poses a few problems for really vain people.
Specifically, since I am in a more visible position all day, my abs are a tiny bit embarrassingly sore from clenching them in all the time. Also, since I can’t possibly stand upright in my shoes for a whole day, should I zip my boots back on when I go to the bathroom so that everyone can see how bitchin’ they look with my outfit? And if you’re thinking, “um, why don’t you wear shoes you can stand in all day?” then go throw yourself a party wearing your orthodontic headgear, nerd.

Sometimes there is nothing to talk about.
Since I started using this standing desk earlier this week, I have had so many conversations about whether or not I like the standing desk. These conversations are near perfect metaphors for the crippling loneliness of modern life.

…and with that, I am off to resume pushing the stone up the mountain so that it can fall down the other side.

- A sad, antsy, 3pm on a Friday (but standing) Natalie

Today, DCFishbowl‘s Betsy Rothstein posted an article about female journalists called “Females on Campaign Trail go for Sexpot Look.” Rothstein helpfully brings our attention to the fact that “Washington has its own crop of would-be sexy females on the loose. And an unusual trend is developing among campaign and White House reporters of the XX persuasion. They’re using provocative, sometimes sexy photographs of themselves for their Twitter accounts.” (If you don’t know what to think about this, Rothstein throws you yet another proverbial bone by asking two unrelated males in the media what they think. ) As an aspiring journalist and DC resident, my interest was perked.

Rothstein thinks it is super unfair and weird that anyone was even upset by her post. The thing is, she wasn’t actually presenting her opinion at all! Here, she even cleared it up in her Twitter feed for you: “For the record…we presented the issue. There wasn’t a judgment. You critics are the judges here. Deal with it.” And here I was thinking that her post was inflammatory! Because I am not a reader of Seventeen in 1942, I wasn’t totally sure about the specific connotations of the word “sexpot.” (Also, in my own apartment, I keep my sex and my pots decidedly separate.) Urban Dictionary helped with that. A sexpot is “an attractive young woman who is available for a sexual relationship. A sexpot is usually horny, promiscuous, and men probably think they will have a chance with her.” But, Betsy Rothstein, like, TOTALLY didn’t mean that in a bad way.

What I am more concerned about is the fact that “Washington has its own crop of would-be sexy females on the loose.” I am trying to unpack this. These would-be sexy females…what exactly is keeping them from being just regular sexy? It is too late to figure that out, because as Rothstein points out, they are already ON THE LOOSE. Be vigilant about guarding yourselves and your loved ones, folks. There is apparently a bevy of insatiable ladies running around town with their vaginae hanging out. When they finally come to get you, don’t say Betsy Rothstein didn’t warn you first. Naturally, the consequence of these ladies’ sexy sexiness is undermined journalistic credibility.

If that sounds ridiculous, it is because it is. I am so annoyed that we are still having this cultural conversation. And I am so annoyed that Rothstein seems legitimately surprised that readers are offended by her implication that female journalists are horny, promiscuous and sexually available based on their Twitter avatars. I hesitate to even bring their photos into this discussion, because it seems beside the point, but since Rothstein did, I will post them here as well.

(L to R: New York Times’ Ashley Parker, LA Times’s Maeve Reston, and The Hill’s Amie Parnes.)

I am not familiar with the work of any of these journalists, but that is completely irrelevant for the sake of the article. What matters to Rothstein is the fact that they exemplify the “provocative, sometimes sexy” photos of campaign and White House reporters. Um, they look like…human women? Not one looks like she is going to start wailing at the moon or something if she doesn’t get laid THIS VERY EFFING INSTANT.

Here’s the thing, Betsy Rothstein, and everyone else who might wonder if too attractive women might undermine the credibility of serious work – YOU are doing more to undermine the work that these women do than they ever could. YOU are the one who is sexualizing these journalists. (I assume that these women aren’t, say, casually offering to fellate sources in their Twitter feeds, are they?) By suggesting that their appearance might suggest something about their sexual availability is laughable. This places the blame upon women for sexualizing themselves, instead of upon the aggressor who is doing the sexualizing. It’s HER fault that you haven’t been able to focus on a word she’s said about the Iraq War! SHE JUST SEEMS SO PROMISCUOUS. You could probably have a real chance with her. Can she please just stop sexily undermining real journalism?

I am guessing that Betsy R. would counter that I am exaggerating, and would buoy her point with some limp “there is a fine line between attractive/ professional and inappropriate/sexy, and it can be a challenge to know where that line is.” Except that it isn’t. And if such a thing could even exist, that line would not be found by pointing at other professional women and claiming that their sexiness is undermining their work.

Oh, and here’s another stupid defense! Maybe Rothstein thinks that avatar sexiness is a “slippery slope!” If we decide that journalists in tank tops are okay, will they conduct interviews in their bras and panties tomorrow? The labiae might be next, and WHEN WILL THE SEXINESS GET TOO SEXY TO HANDLE???

The truth is, this kind of shit could fall down a slippery slope. If a professional female gets admonished one day for being too sexy, then she might be bullied into being a bit less visible. And, the future of professional journalism was about to bump along forever with its credibility all in tact, but…WAIT. See, someone else’s standard is a bit different. Herb over there STILL thinks Anna is being totally sexy. And that really says more about Anna than Herb, right? (Herb can always be trusted to be a super good gauge of the credibility of journalism.) Anna is really professional, and wouldn’t want her audience to be unwillingly sexed up when they should be thinking about Congress.

No matter how much Anna might be pressured into conforming to an inoffensive appearance, however, Herb gets to dictate the terms of her behavior as it relates to her work (and gets some 120% of her salary, too!) This is the slippery slope we need to worry about. Nothing Anna did was ever the problem, and nothing she can do will ever be enough. If there is a Herb out there to call foul on Anna’s sexy, sexy ways, then the logical endpoint will ultimately be to remove Anna from the public sphere entirely.

I hope that by the time I become a journalist, we will finally be over this crap. Because if people who think like Betsy Rothstein keep getting a platform to make these asinine observations, the integrity of journalism really might be undermined.

Don’t worry about the integrity of this blog, though. Ms. Rothstein would be happy to hear that I am wrapping up this post alone in the dark, patiently waiting for my eggs to be fertilized.

- a sexy Natalie, blogging sexily