*blink*
*blink*
Well, this is awkward.
Is it possible, or reasonably plausible, that the things some classify as “fake” are really just “extensions” of who we really are?
Before we get off on the wrong foot here, I’m not about to advocate boob jobs for 14 year olds, or mani/pedis for the tween set. Christ, as far as I’m concerned, salons should have the same age requirement as a bar, and plastic surgery should wait until you or someone you’re sleeping with can pay for it.
What I’m really thinking about here are the non-invasive bits. Eyelashes, hair extensions, padded brassieres, “chicken cutlets,” Spanx, acrylic nails (*shudder*), colored contact lenses, that sort of thing.
I love and live in my false eyelashes – when I’m not at my geek-heavy day job that is (for all the obvious “I-read-fantasy-books-and-have-online-love-affairs-with-avatars” reasons). I think it’s a horrible shame that gone are the days when every woman could quickly and accurately apply both liquid eyeliner and a pair of those long, flirtatious lovelies. I feel so alone. *sniffle*
It’s a lost art, really, this business of “making” your face into a unique reflection of who you are. When did we decide that the likes of Anna Wintour got to determine whether or not I show off my baby green eyes to their best Salon Perfect #33 advantage? Perhaps Alessandra Ambrosio and Adriana Lima are listening, but Anna? I can’t hear you!
Seems lately many men have begun referring to these things we do when we play dress-up every day as “false advertising.” Oh sure, when a water bra hits the floor in the dark, it can be startling both in sound and revelation, but as men, are you really going to complain now that you’ve finally lured someone into your bed? Shuuuuuut up already and have an original thought. You’re about to get lucky.
I don’t think these non-invasive “upgrades” are false advertising at all. In fact, I think they’re actually “truth in advertising.” It takes creativity and a solid inner photo to take what we wake up with in the morning, and turn it into something that makes sense to us in the mirror. In my head, I’m a completely different person than the one who presents when I’m brushing my teeth, or racing naked to the laundry room. Admittedly, it’s a younger, less interesting version of me, but nonetheless… it’s who I AM, if we’re defining part of ourselves by how we look… which of course we are… because it’s what we do. Otherwise there would be no bestselling diet books, and no one would’ve called the infomercial operator for a special price on P90X. But I digress…
My point here is that we’re all more than the sum of our naked selves. That’s just the mannequin. We’re the personality in charge of dressing it for the window. There are no rules that say how you do that determines whether or not you’re presenting your most authentic self. There are rules about keeping your butt crack covered and other “social-awareness guidelines” the rest of us would wholly appreciate your adherence to, but after that, why shouldn’t you wear your inside on the outside?
In the spirit of full disclosure, I don’t own a brassiere that’s not underwired and engineered to push up; I rarely leave home without my “cutlets,” I have my natural hair color enhanced, wear ridiculously high heels every day in an effort to make my legs appear longer, and though I don’t own Spanx or colored contacts, I’ve given thought to both. Honestly, what’s the harm in all of it? If the fallout is that men want to do what men want to do at the end of all that production – so be it. Just be sure to keep your clothes in a neat, easily located pile near the door because unless you roam with a catch-all bag, you’re gonna wanna be outta there before he wakes.
*bats eyelashes*
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Another One for the Boys
From time to time, I dedicate a few words to the guys in the audience. My more dedicated readers might recall Foreplay: A Guide For Men, or my thoughts on online "relationships" in Weinergate. Well boys, here's another one composed espcially for you. Not all of you. Just the simple ones.
I don’t care how hot you are, I stop wanting to have sex with you the moment you say something stupid.
Or vapid.
Or – the worst yet – something you think I want to hear because I’m a woman.
When did conversation stop being interesting and start being slick? Conversation is foreplay, gentlemen! So, in my ongoing struggle for world betterment, fellas, write these down…
Don’t say things like, “Hey sexy!” It’s skeevy.
There is a time and place for, uh, “plain talk.” Try to remember that there are women who enjoy it, women who tolerate it, and women whose flesh crawls at the very thought of it. Know your audience.
Maybe it’s a generational thing, maybe it’s an social thing. Either way, poor grammar is a turn-off.
“Less is more” and “Keep them wanting” aren’t just old adages (that means sayings); they’re words to live by.
Contrary to popular belief, we don’t want to hear every thought that flies through your head – especially if we’re only tolerating you based on your physical appearance. (translation: puttin’ up wit u cause ur cute)
Do not – ever – think that sprinkling rose petals anywhere, but particularly on the bed, is romantic. It’s completely unoriginal, and adding insult to possible injury, the next morning it’s like waking up in a bowl of corn flakes.
Women like a man who works with his hands; a man who can fix, and do things. But dude, wash those filthy mitts before you come visiting. No one cares if you just finished work. There’s always time for appearances.
Women appreciate (that means “put out for”) a man who makes an effort to find out more about her. That does not mean hiding in the hedges like a perv. Google her if you must; or try just listening instead of working on your rebuttal while she talks.
You should know that we know when you’re merely trying to get laid.
*sigh*
In this new world of “reality” television, over-exposure to people’s personal business via social networking, and an almost non-existent sense of mores guiding civil behavior, could you at least try to be creative? And while you’re at it, gentlemanly? You know, old school. Chicks dig it. Which totally explains why we love men who wear fedoras.
I don’t care how hot you are, I stop wanting to have sex with you the moment you say something stupid.
Or vapid.
Or – the worst yet – something you think I want to hear because I’m a woman.
When did conversation stop being interesting and start being slick? Conversation is foreplay, gentlemen! So, in my ongoing struggle for world betterment, fellas, write these down…
Don’t say things like, “Hey sexy!” It’s skeevy.
There is a time and place for, uh, “plain talk.” Try to remember that there are women who enjoy it, women who tolerate it, and women whose flesh crawls at the very thought of it. Know your audience.
Maybe it’s a generational thing, maybe it’s an social thing. Either way, poor grammar is a turn-off.
“Less is more” and “Keep them wanting” aren’t just old adages (that means sayings); they’re words to live by.
Contrary to popular belief, we don’t want to hear every thought that flies through your head – especially if we’re only tolerating you based on your physical appearance. (translation: puttin’ up wit u cause ur cute)
Do not – ever – think that sprinkling rose petals anywhere, but particularly on the bed, is romantic. It’s completely unoriginal, and adding insult to possible injury, the next morning it’s like waking up in a bowl of corn flakes.
Women like a man who works with his hands; a man who can fix, and do things. But dude, wash those filthy mitts before you come visiting. No one cares if you just finished work. There’s always time for appearances.
Women appreciate (that means “put out for”) a man who makes an effort to find out more about her. That does not mean hiding in the hedges like a perv. Google her if you must; or try just listening instead of working on your rebuttal while she talks.
You should know that we know when you’re merely trying to get laid.
*sigh*
In this new world of “reality” television, over-exposure to people’s personal business via social networking, and an almost non-existent sense of mores guiding civil behavior, could you at least try to be creative? And while you’re at it, gentlemanly? You know, old school. Chicks dig it. Which totally explains why we love men who wear fedoras.
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Young Hearts
So there’s this boy…
YIKES!
Stop with the screeching! I’m aware that I’m married! Get your head outta the place you would go and keep reading.
A sweet boy.
A beautiful boy.
A boy with a voice that could melt ice.
A young boy.
I’ll admit right up front that I probably encouraged him when he made his first, tentative overture. Before you go judging, who amongst you doesn’t have a work-husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend? We all know this is a perfectly harmless relationship whose only “benefit” is not having to retrieve your own coffee.
Sometimes though…
Sometimes these things unwittingly get out of hand. Maybe you didn’t notice when his attentions went from friendly-flirty, “I got you an extra shot of espresso in your latte this morning!” to comments from your colleagues about the guy lurking downstairs.
Maybe I noticed but was enjoying the attention.
Maybe it was just being the recipient of unabashed adoration.
Maybe knowing that in hearing the voice or seeing an email – something good was coming my way.
I don’t know, maybe it was all of that… But we all know when to say when. In my case, I had to draw the line at hair sniffing. If he’s close enough to tell you that you smell good, he’s too close.
So I told this beautiful little 25 year boy with the buttery voice that he needed to take his pail and his shovel and exit the sandbox. I didn’t want to play with him anymore; that I’m very busy shopping for track suits and henna for my hair in preparation for retirement to Monterey. He said, (I swear!):
“You’re moving?”
*blink**blink*
[long pause]
“Yeah, baby. That’s it. I’m moving.”
This story was made even funnier by retelling it to Marti. Her response? “I’ll decide how I feel about that as soon as I get done applying bunion cream.”
So, what did I learn from this brief flirtation?
I learned that “not-very-bright” may cross all age ranges and genders, but it’s firmly ensconced in the males-under-30 crowd.
YIKES!
Stop with the screeching! I’m aware that I’m married! Get your head outta the place you would go and keep reading.
A sweet boy.
A beautiful boy.
A boy with a voice that could melt ice.
A young boy.
I’ll admit right up front that I probably encouraged him when he made his first, tentative overture. Before you go judging, who amongst you doesn’t have a work-husband/wife/boyfriend/girlfriend? We all know this is a perfectly harmless relationship whose only “benefit” is not having to retrieve your own coffee.
Sometimes though…
Sometimes these things unwittingly get out of hand. Maybe you didn’t notice when his attentions went from friendly-flirty, “I got you an extra shot of espresso in your latte this morning!” to comments from your colleagues about the guy lurking downstairs.
Maybe I noticed but was enjoying the attention.
Maybe it was just being the recipient of unabashed adoration.
Maybe knowing that in hearing the voice or seeing an email – something good was coming my way.
I don’t know, maybe it was all of that… But we all know when to say when. In my case, I had to draw the line at hair sniffing. If he’s close enough to tell you that you smell good, he’s too close.
So I told this beautiful little 25 year boy with the buttery voice that he needed to take his pail and his shovel and exit the sandbox. I didn’t want to play with him anymore; that I’m very busy shopping for track suits and henna for my hair in preparation for retirement to Monterey. He said, (I swear!):
“You’re moving?”
*blink**blink*
[long pause]
“Yeah, baby. That’s it. I’m moving.”
This story was made even funnier by retelling it to Marti. Her response? “I’ll decide how I feel about that as soon as I get done applying bunion cream.”
So, what did I learn from this brief flirtation?
I learned that “not-very-bright” may cross all age ranges and genders, but it’s firmly ensconced in the males-under-30 crowd.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Ah Spring!
I discovered today that during a blogspot conversion last year, a grave number of my entries got all jacked up. The up side is that there's a lot of stuff I don't even remember writing - so that was fun. One of them whose title and contents I vagely recollected reminded me that Spring has sprung. Check it: Fore-Play: A Guide for Men
New entries coming soon! I think... assuming material presents....
New entries coming soon! I think... assuming material presents....
Saturday, April 7, 2012
Bad Habit #44
Yeah… I have a few. I’ve given up some; embraced others as vices for life. Here’s my deep, dark, confession…
So after issuing a few much needed warnings, next stop...
That list would serve no purpose but to hurt feelings. It’s not that I would want to give back so many of the amazing experiences, great loves, astonishing people…totally wouldn't. But come on. Everyone sometimes secretly wishes for a totally different ending to particular chapter.
Since I can't ever do anything just a little bit, I usually wind up at "My Totally New Imaginary Life" and even I'm bored by then, so sleep can't be far away...
*clicks back to CNN*
Hello. My name is Peace, and I’m a “what-iffer.”
Ooooh, the tragedy! *flings arm dramatically over face*
It's true, this sad tale. I voluntarily torment myself playing the "what if?" game. It’s not because I’m living a life of regret. I mean, I have regrets. Anyone who says they don’t is a big stinkin’ liar.
No, it's because there’s a lot going on in my head all the freakin' time. Sometimes I do this just to get all the voices focusing on one thing. Mostly though, it’s because I’m a lousy sleeper. Because there's only so much CNN one girl can watch, I’ll lay in the bed playing out different scenarios for when the Genie leaves the bottle and I’m asked, “to what age would you like to return in order to relive your life?”
Holy cow!!!
The veritable Mount Vesuvius of options! 16? 24? 29? 34? Each year had a major milestone during which I either made just the most impossibly wrong choice, or completely fucked up the right one… Sometimes I just wanna go back so I can say something altogether different than what I said, and that would change something else that I wish never happened. Occasionally I only bump back a week or a year. Just far enough to correct something, which generally means say something I didn’t say when I had the opportunity to say it.
If I’m wildly pissed at the world, I go to 16 when I had two choices: this, or that.
I chose this and I gotta say, every single day of my life I wish I would’ve chosen that because absolutely nothing would have been what it was.
Whatever.
Bygones.
The veritable Mount Vesuvius of options! 16? 24? 29? 34? Each year had a major milestone during which I either made just the most impossibly wrong choice, or completely fucked up the right one… Sometimes I just wanna go back so I can say something altogether different than what I said, and that would change something else that I wish never happened. Occasionally I only bump back a week or a year. Just far enough to correct something, which generally means say something I didn’t say when I had the opportunity to say it.
If I’m wildly pissed at the world, I go to 16 when I had two choices: this, or that.
I chose this and I gotta say, every single day of my life I wish I would’ve chosen that because absolutely nothing would have been what it was.
Whatever.
Bygones.
Okay, so back to this stupid mind-fuck of a game I play. After deciding on an age, next I factor in whether or not Genie Funkypants is letting me return to the past knowing everything I know now.
It's been said that you’ll fuck up the time/space continuum if you change the past during time travel. Still, no one can say that they wouldn’t change something… so I argue the benefit of letting me go forth with full knowledge of all events. Since this is my impossibly ridiculous game, and there are no consequences, I like to start off by doing something selfless: “Dude! I know you think she’s gorgeous, but keep your zipper in the upright and locked position!”
[Sidebar: I have to assume that there’s actually someone out there practicing actual time travel since we’ve been programmed to believe that business about upsetting the continuum. But who *knows* this for certain? How do we know it all won’t work out just fine anyway?]
[Sidebar: I have to assume that there’s actually someone out there practicing actual time travel since we’ve been programmed to believe that business about upsetting the continuum. But who *knows* this for certain? How do we know it all won’t work out just fine anyway?]
So after issuing a few much needed warnings, next stop...
Top 10 Things I Would TOTALLY Do If I Knew Then What I Know Now
1. Buy Apple stock
2. Buy Apple stock
3. Buy Apple stock
4. Buy Apple stock
5. Buy Apple stock
6. Buy Apple stock
7. Buy Apple stock
8. Buy Apple stock
9. Buy Apple stock
10. Buy Apple stock and not cop out on this list
Top 10 Things I Would NEVER Do If I Knew Then What I Know Now
2. Buy Apple stock
3. Buy Apple stock
4. Buy Apple stock
5. Buy Apple stock
6. Buy Apple stock
7. Buy Apple stock
8. Buy Apple stock
9. Buy Apple stock
10. Buy Apple stock and not cop out on this list
Top 10 Things I Would NEVER Do If I Knew Then What I Know Now
1. Lose my virginity to the guy I did
2. Yeah...
3. Ummm...
4. Other things...
5. *wanders off whistling*
6.
7.
8.
9.
10.
That list would serve no purpose but to hurt feelings. It’s not that I would want to give back so many of the amazing experiences, great loves, astonishing people…totally wouldn't. But come on. Everyone sometimes secretly wishes for a totally different ending to particular chapter.
Since I can't ever do anything just a little bit, I usually wind up at "My Totally New Imaginary Life" and even I'm bored by then, so sleep can't be far away...
*clicks back to CNN*
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
4 Easy Steps
It’s occurred to me that I can actually fix just about everything that’s “wrong” in your life. Here is my four step solution:
Put down that all-consuming electronic thing you have in your hand
Look up! There are real people and actual places out here! The world didn’t shrink when you got your social networking accounts. You’re more than a “tweep.”
Acknowledge that you’re not nearly as important as you think you are
Unless you're a neurosurgeon or an emergency veterinarian, your bubble isn’t so important that you need to interrupt a conversation or abruptly stop walking in the middle of a crowd. The Universe is not waiting for your response to whatever text just vibrated, status rattled your chain, or YouTube video that just went viral.
Shut the hell up about yourself and listen
Last night I tried to explain my stance on a particular financial situation. I should know better, but I thought I had the undivided attention of the “listener.” I didn’t get through more than two complete sentences before the “conversation” was hijacked and redirected back to this guy. Over and over again, he would say something on the topic, I would begin to reply with my thoughts – then BAM! Hijacked again. Needless to say I gave up any attempt to continue a discussion, quickly and without much effort. He may have heard the words but he certainly wasn’t listening.
Get engaged with your life
True story: About a week ago, a friend of mine – let’s call him Maurice – was running late en route to a meeting. I’m trying to figure out where he is, and he’s sitting in traffic swearing and creeping along. In due time he discovers that the hold-up was a head-on collision. People were just driving by, no one stopping to render aid or call for emergency services. We know this because though he was nowhere near the crash when it happened, he was the first to stop and place that call. It sickens me. What the hell was so important in the lives of the passers-by that they couldn’t assist women and children in distress?
I’m guessing a Facebook status or rebuttal. *sarcasm*
I’m worn smooth out from listening to the whatnots of over-inflated egos. I think it’s incredibly sad how many people have become so self-centric that if it’s not all about them, they can’t tell you anything about it. These are the same people who then get shitty when you don’t remember one specific story out of literally thousands they’ve told you about themselves. Hey, buddy! You’re exhausting.
If you actually want to “fix” what’s “wrong” in your life, how about participating in it! What ever happened to the spirit of cooperation? Of pitching in or lending a hand to someone who is actually struggling? No one owes you anything, but you certainly have no business expecting anything when nothing is what you give.
Please check your ego at my door. And tip the hostess.
Friday, March 2, 2012
Revisionists
Recently someone made casual mention of an event from a long time ago that left me literally speechless. Yeah. Literally speechless. And frankly, my brow still hasn’t un-furrowed so baffled am I by what she said. I don’t claim to have a perfect memory, but her “recollection” was a perfect example of revisionism.
Yeah, I know y’all generally associate revisionists with historical whatnots, but my life has history – and plenty of it I might add, so I will. I’ve puzzled over this phenomenon as it relates to people’s own lives for days now. I’d always thought of our recollections as what we thought we heard or saw – like the adage, “her side, his side, and the truth.” It never really occurred to me that for some people it’s really so much more. Pretty sure it goes like this:
Enter random situation here.
Post-situation, mulling occurs.
The first time, you recollect the situation as it actually happened.
Uh oh. You don’t come off very attractive/smart/pleasant? Well, there’s only one thing to do...
Think about the situation again.
Ah, that’s better. You didn’t *actually* or *intentionally* use that tone/utter those words/tell that lie, so that bit doesn’t count.
Whew!
Okay, let’s step through this again.
The other person involved is *obviously* at fault, not you, because of x, y, z.
Better. Just one more re-enactment in your head.
This is the best part from my outsider’s perspective because it often includes completely new dialogue and sometimes even new actors.
[Sidebar: I was screwed by one of these about a year ago. As the story goes, I was at a local “establishment” when something cruel was said about someone who was then completely crushed... and really pissed. Yeah, inasmuch as that sounds like me, not only was I not there that night – or that week – I wasn’t even in the time zone. I’d become a replacement actor for the person who repeated the story – the actual Mean Girl. MG panicked on replay. The hilarity here is that she was so busy trying to shine a new light on her involvement when she created the “new real” story in her head, she forgot to consider who might alibi out when the shit hit the fan.]
I get that sometimes we need to put a lighter, brighter spin on real life for the sake of our audience. I’ve “revised” bits of my life because there are a few stories no one needs to hear in their entirety. But I’ve never done it to avoid owning my behavior, to make myself seem like a better person than I am, to appear the “hero,” or to screw someone else. And blatantly changing history and retelling it to people who know the truth? She’s some kind of crazy.
Revisionists stick by their story no matter what. I gotta admit, the fact that they believe their own crap and have the balls to present it as truth, freaks me out. Not like clowns at children’s parties, but still… *shudder*
Yeah, I know y’all generally associate revisionists with historical whatnots, but my life has history – and plenty of it I might add, so I will. I’ve puzzled over this phenomenon as it relates to people’s own lives for days now. I’d always thought of our recollections as what we thought we heard or saw – like the adage, “her side, his side, and the truth.” It never really occurred to me that for some people it’s really so much more. Pretty sure it goes like this:
Enter random situation here.
Post-situation, mulling occurs.
The first time, you recollect the situation as it actually happened.
Uh oh. You don’t come off very attractive/smart/pleasant? Well, there’s only one thing to do...
Think about the situation again.
Ah, that’s better. You didn’t *actually* or *intentionally* use that tone/utter those words/tell that lie, so that bit doesn’t count.
Whew!
Okay, let’s step through this again.
The other person involved is *obviously* at fault, not you, because of x, y, z.
Better. Just one more re-enactment in your head.
This is the best part from my outsider’s perspective because it often includes completely new dialogue and sometimes even new actors.
[Sidebar: I was screwed by one of these about a year ago. As the story goes, I was at a local “establishment” when something cruel was said about someone who was then completely crushed... and really pissed. Yeah, inasmuch as that sounds like me, not only was I not there that night – or that week – I wasn’t even in the time zone. I’d become a replacement actor for the person who repeated the story – the actual Mean Girl. MG panicked on replay. The hilarity here is that she was so busy trying to shine a new light on her involvement when she created the “new real” story in her head, she forgot to consider who might alibi out when the shit hit the fan.]
I get that sometimes we need to put a lighter, brighter spin on real life for the sake of our audience. I’ve “revised” bits of my life because there are a few stories no one needs to hear in their entirety. But I’ve never done it to avoid owning my behavior, to make myself seem like a better person than I am, to appear the “hero,” or to screw someone else. And blatantly changing history and retelling it to people who know the truth? She’s some kind of crazy.
Revisionists stick by their story no matter what. I gotta admit, the fact that they believe their own crap and have the balls to present it as truth, freaks me out. Not like clowns at children’s parties, but still… *shudder*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)