Umm... What Was I Going To Say?

It's One of them Days... I'm in one of those moods... One that screams to the world... "I am woman, watch me weep!" And if I could uncurl myself from the fetal position, I might actually loathe myself for it. I'm not usually overtly “girlie”... Mind you, I'll admit to having some girlie inclinations and ideologies (I abhor and often flat out refuse to take out the garbage.... I have no reasonable explanation or excuse but I'm steadfast in my avoidance of that particular chore). I'm undoubtedly 100% Woman- and other than a few annoyances, I thoroughly enjoy being such. I like girl clothes- especially lingerie (or anything soft and silky)... I appreciate the feeling of my freshly shaven legs and moisturized skin more than most of the men throughout my life ever have... I like all the different ways a girl can smell good- perfumes and lotions and soaps and shampoos and conditioners... I love make up, and getting my hair done for a ridiculous price and taking care of my nails. I enjoy having the ability to watch Dr. Phil or Oprah if something appeals to me, and being able to admit that I adore Gilmore Girls and Friends (however -too much of either and I do find myself unable to watch anything but "24" and "The Sopranos" or an endless parade of any classic mob movie I can put my hands on). I can even confide those guilty pleasures to friends without being deemed weak, effeminate or pussy-whipped (substituting the woman’s equivalent insult of course). I also tend to believe that women who honestly, thoroughly and consistently enjoy and desire sex get far more pleasure from it than the majority of men.

It’s great to be woman.

And as a liberated, self-assured, physically desirable woman (never conceited, though) who’s still young but not so naïve to think these days will last forever… I can't help but enjoy (however silently, secretively and- I’ll admit- often selectively) the appreciative looks I get from men who don't know me. However, I do feel the need to clarify something on behalf of most sane, logical women… Please, gentlemen, restrain the testosterone that is surging through your veins threatening to impede on your normal (read: un-intoxicated) aversion to embarrassment and rejection... Don't allow inebriation to persuade you that I actually do want you to sit next to me, invade my personal space uninvited and force me to engage you in your dreadfully inane banter-your idea of getting to know me I suppose, though it feels like you’re forcing me to slowly implode due to your utter lack of experience in the art of conversation. All I wanted was to have a drink in a place where I can keep to myself, to momentarily escape from the irritants, stupidity and annoyances that plague my life- and now I have to placate your pathetic attempts at trying to decipher if I’m “available”- I’m sure it’s the desire of some kinds of men to be able to rejoice the day women just start stamping “Vacant” on her (forehead? shirt? The possibilities are endless)

… Don’t believe the voices of your (insanity? hope? equally single friends?) when they start to convince you I’m silently pleading for you to transparently hit on me with some inappropriate line. In all actuality I would much prefer you to refrain from acknowledging me at all... Feel free to gaze lustily at me- while trying to pretend you haven't even noticed me and aren't already wondering whether I'm geometrically or geographically inclined- Until, of course, I catch you admiring (what else? It could only be the blank wooden paneling directly behind) me- ...You should then look sheepish and walk away so I can savor the moment – to myself- and enjoy the boost of confidence that normally follows being noticed (as long as my momentary glance your way confirms at least a semblance of hygiene and lack of inbreeding in the more recent branches of your family tree. I would appreciate avoiding the inevitable outcome of your absurd and juvenile attempt at witticism via insultingly assuming pick up line. This will also allow us to leave to the imagination the crestfallen look in your eyes when I tell you tonight isn't good for me, I'm flying to Yemen for a year long experiment on the effects of forced abstinence on nymphomaniacal multi- orgasmic sexually depraved women that have a propensity to be physically indiscriminate- at which point I'll be generous enough to give you hope for gain by translating my multisyllabic prevarication, there-by lighting your eyes up in wonderment as you realize I'm a sex- addicted woman that is willing and able to actually get off- and more than once- (and for real!), I'll pretty much do anything you could want and don't really give a damn what you look like... but alas (your heartfelt dejection barely covers the animosity of such a cruel twist, that your heart soared so high only to crash so hard), I would be remiss to let you break my will power, as you missed my contractual no-sex deadline by... would you look at that.. Just 10 minutes...
I suppose you should have just saved your "Maxim Reveals... How To Get a Girl That Is Way Out of Your League" drivel (Step One: Don't let her notice you noticing her. Look anywhere else, even if you have you have to conjure your x-ray vision superpower to look straight through her head- don't worry, she'll be wondering why you haven't noticed in NO time... You're almost ready to introduce yourself to your first ex-wife!). Could have saved your line, and of course this over whelming frustration of having been so close to having your every physical whim finally fulfilled, by just coming straight for me rather than wasting your verbal gem on the three girls you seemed to make such a good impression on. So much so, they couldn't contain their disappointment- oh, the irony!- that you would be in the bathroom during the 45 seconds they felt the need to practically throw their money at the bartender and frantically scurry out as fast as their 6 inch platform heels would allow them... (One of them was muttering something that sounded like, "The nerve, who did he think he was?".... To think she would resent your inability to quiet the call of mother nature... because you surely had garnered their attention and admiration and I know you picked up on it too because you kept winking at the one who kept rolling her eyes behind your back, trying to pretend she wasn't absolutely smitten).... Thus, you were finally afforded the chance to nonchalantly, excruciatingly calmly (as you silently mouthed the words, Be Calm, Be Cool like a prayer chanted before the virgin is sacrificed- which it would seem was very likely the outcome you were hoping for) ...right to my corner of the otherwise empty, silent establishment. And so began the demise of your confidence- at least for tonight. I won’t apologize, though. You were no Rhett, my accosting stranger; neither did I show any resemblance to his Scarlett. But frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.

It can be damn good fun being a woman in spite of- and often in light of- the pestering annoyances; the non-existing glass ceilings, the consistently un-fairly out of reach cabinetry and purposely heavy and awkward (for our smaller, weaker frames only though) appliances… not to mention the slighter inconveniences; menstruation, PMS (which, prior to popular belief, makes us just as uncomfortable and definitely more miserable than those around us)… of course there’s the old staples of pregnancy and child birth.. But who’s keeping track?

What I'm not though- what I strive to never be- is a whiny, emotional, teary-eyed thin- skinned little girl. This isn't to say that I won't get a little misty at the right moment in certain movies... but I don't cry over commercials - though I might develop a lump in my throat during those Humane Society commercials if I don't look away... but really.. anybody who has ever had the love and loyalty of a four legged companion knows that those commercials are just heart- wrenching, mostly because they're true and who the hell could ever hurt or neglect or abandon an innocent pet? Look at their eyes!!They feel hurt too!!
Alright, I'm straying from my original point, which is that I am never on the verge of tears over some corny song on the radio filled with redundant clichés and no originality. You’ll never find me giggling giddily over some cheesy ridiculous “rom-com” or “chick-flick” in which the plot undoubtedly goes something like this: girl loses boy, girl grabs the world by it's pretty pink purse strings, girl wins guy back, girl realizes guy is selfish, spoiled materialistic pretentious misogynist and humiliates said douche bag in front of family/friends/boss, girl finds amazing man who has perfect balance of selfless doting chivalry and rugged strong manly attraction, girl trades in hard-won independence at the first proclamation of love from the next person that shows her the slightest affection and attention and shows any quality that may be construed as genuine caring, girl and rebound-douche-bag get married after their third date and somehow the girl ends the movie being portrayed as the winner, the idol for every little girl, the heroine for having over come adversity (because nobody could ever fall in love with somebody only to discover that they aren't exactly who seemed to be after the "trying to get in your pants but know that I need to pretend to be a gentleman at least until I can roll over in awe of my incredible ability to satisfy you in a mere minute-thirty" veil is lifted and it turns out that he's just a selfish Neanderthal who you thought you were in love with for one of the following reasons.. A) He was your first B) He bought you something pretty C) He said he loved you (either while drunk, via text message or while he still felt guilty about the bimbo he brought home last night, D) You met him directly proceeding a tragically humiliating, life altering incident (probably some lunchroom/gym/cheerleading mishap... but teenage parties have been known to be the culprit by giving the perfect girl the perfect opportunity to vomit all over somebody even more perfect than herself) and he has no idea that you are “That Girl That , I Heard About Her Three Towns Over!” so she is free to reinvent herself and even commended for failing to adhere to one of the most important lessons anybody- but especially young girls- can ever be taught- To always be true to yourself…. And somehow we justify letting our children idolize these fictional characters. So she became a lawyer- to “prove herself worthy” to a man-child who believed her dreams were not as important or as real as his own. Good for her for following through, good for her for stepping outside of her comfort zone and taking a chance on something that could- and in the real, almost certainly would- end in disaster in virtually aspect of her life and resulting in consequences that would impede her for the rest of her life. I hate that the only reason these characters take a chance is to prove themselves worthy for somebody who has done the emotional equivalent of rubbing their face in the dirt... and then the sand, and then some snow, and how about a cactus for kicks?

Do it for yourself. When the dream is founded on somebody else’s image of you, or to become what somebody else wants you to be it isn’t actually being true to yourself. It isn’t your dream.

And I’m not saying this is true of every movie out there where a woman tries to become something that most believe she could never succeed in becoming … what I’m saying is look at the difference between movies like “Erin Brockovich” and “Legally Blonde”… same basic idea, same ideal outcome (though for different reasons) but two completely different morals- in my humble opinion.

In any case, I began this rambling post because I was feeling a little weepy and came across a few videos that broke my dam and I found myself sobbing like… well, like a little girl… so I figured that made them worthy of sharing. However, now as I near the end of my wildly unintentional rant… well, I don’t feel so weepy. Now I’m just a little angry at the idiotic reasoning and communication abilities of the male species, and surprisingly bitter towards Hollywood for their never-ending portrayal of woman having to always prove themselves to their male counterparts.

And surprisingly, I had pretty much finished this post when I came face to face with case the consequence of both the lack of desire to communicate in a reasonable, realistic or timely manner (and this is slightly more consequential to real life and actual futures then a simple imperceptive idiot on a barstool) as well as my own personal failure to not be That Girl… a few hours ago I didn’t know I was just the pot calling the kettle black but now in light of life’s recent development I know I am, on some level, just as bad as the same woman (characters) that I was railing against.

Wow. Go Fucking Figure.