I have never made a secret of the fact that I hate dating. I don’t take any joy in the dressing up, the flirting, the awkward first date conversation. The thought of having to dip my toe back into the dating pool is less appealing than getting a rectal exam from Edward Scissorhands.
Just as many women are, I am riddled with insecurities. My thighs are too wide, my nose is too big, and I am sure that my breasts and waistline are slowly trying to become one entity. I look at men’s magazines and see what men want. I’m just not the kind of girl who looks good frolicking in a string bikini at sunset.
One of the things I hate most about dating is the “maintenance” associated with it. We’ve got to keep our skin clear, our hair nicely coiffed, and mostly importantly, our body hair to a minimum. As someone whose mustache could grow to impede my ability to breathe through my nostrils, this is no easy feat.
The most torturous of our follicle upkeep is the bikini wax. I have a pretty high threshold, but even I cannot help but wince at the idea of hot wax being ripped from my chicken mcnugget.
At one point in my life I was much more of a masochist, and kept my Virginia Woolf in check with the use of a waxer. The girl I went to at the time was amazing, but as with all great beauticians, they eventually become overbooked. I consulted the internet, and found a woman who had a slick website, and great rates. Continue reading
The first piece of makeup I ever purchased was a cherry flavored Bonne Bell Lip Smacker that all the cool girls at school were using. I remember seeing them applying it during lunch, and envying their newly shiny lips. I couldn’t have great hair, great skin, a great physique or even great clothes, but I could have a cheap tube of carcinogenic lip goop.
Having that little red tube gave me a brief moment of normalcy. When another girl would see me carrying it, there was an unspoken acknowledgment that I momentarily belonged. I belonged. All thanks to flavored Vaseline that cost less than a dollar.
Preteen lip crack
Fast forward almost 20 years, and my love of makeup has only grown. I love the colors, the packaging, the texture, and how it makes me look. Some people collect stamps; I collect makeup.
Anyone who knows me knows that I won’t leave the house without makeup on. Sometimes it’s just a little concealer, powder and mascara, but I need to have some on if I’m venturing out. People have teased me about it over the years, but I’ve never thought there was anything wrong with wanting to be presentable. Continue reading
NaNoWriNO Day 14
Topic: Menstrual Cycles
“Are you on your period?” Never have five simple words gotten under a woman’s skin more, and caused a world of hurt for so many men. While some inquire with good intentions, others flippantly ask this whenever the woman in their life seems unhappy with something.
I believe that most guys aren’t callous and insensitive; rather, they’re ignorant to how unbelievably uncomfortable riding the crimson wave can be. They don’t understand the severity of the situation, and because of this, treat it as a joke. Well, I’m here to dispel any misconceptions they may have about what actually happens when Aunt Flo comes to town.
I really resent when a man says, “Come on, it can’t be that bad. You’re exaggerating.” Challenge accepted, good sir. At the end of each month I am going to come to your house, and use your Vas Deferens as a swing set. Nonstop. Until you wish you were born a woman. I would only stop once you begged for Midol, a heating pad, and the latest issue of Good Housekeeping.
NaNoWriNO Day 7
Topic: All women are a bit lesbian
I must admit, I was a bit surprised by how many of you requested that I write about this topic. I threw it out as a joke, and didn’t think anyone would actually want to read about it. Little did I know that my audience was largely made up of lesbians, and people who appreciate them.
Great. A claim I hadn’t given real consideration to is now a claim I have to prove.
I initially wrote a couple of paragraphs about bisexuality in Bonobo monkeys. Then I wrote a paragraph about the feminist movement, and how it has impacted female sexuality. Then I wrote about that scene in “Wild Things” when Neve Campbell and Denise Richards kissed in the pool. The post sounded like the weird ramblings of an undersexed teenage boy.
In these types of situations, you need to ask yourself what Jack McCoy would do. He would build a case around the evidence, and let it speak for itself. I present to you:
We are always checking each other out. “Your boobs look great in that shirt!” “I would kill to have a body like hers.” “She has such a great butt, it’s so unfair.” You will never hear a guy say, “Man, I wish I had testicles like that guy.”
Credit: Adapted from Major Arcana
Being around groups of women makes me nervous. I’m not talking about the “I’m feeling a little anxious about meeting new people” type of nervousness, but in the “it feels like it’s raining from my armpits, and my bowels are in such distress I’m afraid I may crap my pants” way. My social skills have never been up to par (shocking, I’m sure) but they are especially terrible when I’m around other women. I can’t relate to most of what they’re talking about, and I find myself having to refrain from constantly making “that’s what she said” jokes.
All of my closest friends have always been men. This has never been by design; in fact, I’ve tried really hard to fit in with the ladies. I’m always on my best behavior at first: no swearing, abstaining from making a disgusted face when someone mentions a movie adapted from a Nicholas Sparks book, and keeping the fact that I’m wearing an adult diaper because of an impending backdoor blowout under wraps. Inevitably, my real personality comes out, and invitations to partake in “girls only” outings begin to dwindle.