Girlfriends are just the worst. Why in the world would a friend ask you to come to a party, but then put a stipulation on that party: that you have to not only buy a dress, but a really ugly dress. A dress that you will never wear again, in a color that you would never wear in public, in a style that went out of style last year. Plus, you have to do shit before, during and after this party? If she is a really big bitch, she may ask you to loose weight, wear your hair in a certain way or color, nails, makeup, shoes, jewelry and the list keeps going. Yet, if we are not part of this coveted group of girls, we are sad and offended, even if we aren’t that good of friends! We all want to be bridesmaids, and the cu-de-ta – the maid of honor. The movie 27 Dresses captures the concept of the outlandish dresses and behavior perfectly. I have lived through my share of taffeta colors (pink, green, teal) and my girls wore red silk or something. It’s a thankless job, and you really are just a slave to the bride, because once it begins, it really is all about her and nothing else matters and no one else exists. The “Thank you”s and acknowledgments for the extra mile will go by the wayside, never to be heard or seen. You really could save the woman’s life, literally, and it would not phase the bride to be, it would be an expectation, like ‘what took you so long’. Then comes the best part. If you’re in that marrying age and you have other girlfriends that are getting married it’s about to get awkward! So, one person is in a wedding, but six months later does not ask that friend to be in her wedding. Oops, guess you’re not friends anymore! Either that, or, now you have 15 bridesmaids and you have tell your fiancé he needs to find more friends (looser) or ask his second cousin Marvin to step in. The next time someone asks me to be a bridesmaid, I’ll just buy them a bottle of champagne and one for me. I’ll come out ahead, without a headache and a decent buzz! Prost!
Pantyhose, I have theorized, were an invention by a man to torture women. I would say the same of SPANX, but we all know those were the brain child of Sara Blakely and that thousands of women “swear by their SPANX”. Yet what is the first thing we do when we get home? We rip off every layer of clothing, an audible ‘aaahhh’ emits from our mouths the moment our bra is unhooked and then the task at hand: peel off that Lycra/nylon bondage that’s been holding in, up, apart, various body parts. What the hell? It’s hard as shit just to get into a pair of those damn things! She knew that when she designed them, that’s why there’s a pee hole in the crotch so you don’t have to pull them up and down all night. I’m sure there are women who say, “screw it, it took me 5 hours to get these on, they aren’t coming off until I HAVE to shower again!” There are everything from tucking in the tummy and controlling the butt to propping up the boobs to covering the toes. Any woman will tell you, the array of ’unmentionables’ that we have to select from makes shopping for them an expedition. There is no running in to grab a pair, it’s a labor of dread and in this world, there is no faking it. All of your fat and glory is in black and white in the sizing, because there is no getting away with cramming into a smaller size in the world of nylon/Lycra undergarments. After we have spent half a day shopping for these torture devices, we wear them all day or night sweating our proverbial balls off, then work enough calories off to not need them in the process of trying to take them off. Once they are off, we have every intention to care for them as the label reads: Hand wash only. We even bought that special soap. I, along with almost everyone I know, have a pile of hose, lycra and that teddy you wore once in the corner of the closet that the cat finds quite comfortable.
Giant gas guzzling SUV’s at Whole Foods . . . hmmm.
Is it really all the same wherever you go? Are just the people you meet what’s different? Have my excursions just been that limited? As I sit here looking out into the blue-green ocean waters watching the overloaded ferry pull away from the dock, I cannot help but think of the other places I’ve been and say it could be there. The Smirnoff vodka in my drink can be acquired in almost any country, the game of beach volleyball being played between a dozen strangers is happening on every beach today, the over burdened ferry that is painfully out of date is running people, cars and cargo between the mainland and the island on any coast. You can have pseudo Greek food in Mexico, hot dog and fries in the Phillipeans, Japanese sushi in Santa Barbara, tapas in Houston, Turkish in Hamburg. Back tracking to people, are they even really that different? In the end it doesn’t matter what category, race, ethnicity, religion or whatever the neatly fit into, it’s whether or not they mesh with you. You may sit at the bar, or in the pool with a wide variety of people, enjoying the microcosm of meeting these different people. Yet in the grand scheme of things, they will simply be a ripple in our lives, not a profound impact most likely.
So that leaves us with two things: local scenery and souvenirs / shopping. Since everything is made in China anyway, so much for anything local. So now we are down to the scenery. Hotels and resorts are all pretty much the same. Destination beaches, you have some options as far as color of sand, color of water and temperature. I guess the rest of it is what it’s about. Things you can’t see in your own backyard. Of course, now with Google Earth, you don’t have to go anywhere, even the biggest, laziest schmuck can see the top of Mt. Everest! So the experience of seeing it in person is what it boils down to. Yet a beach is a beach is a beach, what am I seeing that is so different? Nothing really, but it’s still beautiful. I can have this as my screen saver all day at work, but that will never be the same as sitting right here, with an electric lemon aid in my hand, a beat up cowboy hat on my head, thinking there is no way in hell that ferry is gonna make it this time. I don’t care that this is a cookie cutter resort beach, I don’t have to do crap and I think I’m gonna have another drink! Cheers!
– vacation journal July 2013
Why are we so compelled to hang on to stuff? Every time I clean, purge, move I really try to get rid of stuff but somehow, I still end up with more crap that I don’t need. Especially as we become more digital and mobile, shouldn’t there be less? I remember in the early 90’s I worked for a consulting firm and one of the projects was a paperwork reduction project. It generated more paperwork than it was designed to save.
All my photos are digital, all my CD’s are in my iTunes library, I don’t buy DVD’s because everything is on my Roku, I download books mostly (I say mostly because I’m a bit addicted to books and won’t pass up an opportunity to peruse the local bookstore!). Yet my shelves are full, closets packed. I donate clothes, sell nick-knacks, give away toys, re-gift gifts, and just toss stuff. I think my stuff just multiplies while I’m sleeping!
There is a sense of satisfaction when you see negative space, and you have room and empty hangers. Yet then, when you get that gift card, or that third check in one month, or that thingy-ma-ging just jumps out at you in the store, it happens. It’s just one thing, I have room for it, it will be perfect in that spot! If I get this, I’ll get rid of that. Yeah, it never works that way. Even if you move into a smaller space, all that crap goes with you. I guess there’s just the difference between too much crap and ‘holy crap, this place needs to be condemned!’. So, look around your place . . . do you really need that?
From the time that that damn little egg develops until the moment we draw our last breath, women will do some crazy shit in their lifetime. Is it because they are women? Is it because men drive them to this behavior? Maybe it’s a cosmic thing and we just will never understand the reason why the female version of homo sapiens do what they do. It would be such an adventure to travel the universe to see what other life forms out there have dueling sexes, or for that matter, multiple sexes, and what bizarre rituals, habits and activities they partake in.
Me, as a little egg ran into that shitty little sperm on accident. Oops. See, I was already trying to avoid people back then, but NO, somehow in that long ass fallopian tube that little shit found me and hitched a ride and I started to get fat right off the bat. Damn it. So like any other emotional girl, I found a corner to hide in and cry, suck my thumb and eat for nine months. That is until some guy convinced me it was worth it to get out there and face the world. I need to find that guy and punch him in the face.
I have no idea if my parents knew if they were going to have a girl. They could have been having a Buick for all they knew. These days, you find out the sex, size, weight, e-mail address, get a 3D image, place a cell phone call to it, pre-book the pre-K, already have play dates set and have the room custom decorated in anything but pepto pink or blasé blue. Most of the time (unless you are one of the small group of slightly odd, the jury is still out on, but not quite sure what to think of you, gender neutral parenting parents), the world and your child will know you are having a girl or a boy.
See, from the beginning, women are fundamentally different. We are just doing our own thing, we’ve got places to go, things to do, trying to avoid the crowd. Then here come the guys, with just one thing on their mind, like usual. Well, boys can’t multi-task anyway.