Tuesday, May 29, 2012

In honor of Mother's Day

All throughout elementary and some middle school I was that girl who wore her hair in a ponytail her whole life. I listened to Tupac and looked up to anything my older brother did. High school brought out the girl in me. I wore make up on a regular basis and started caring about boys. That is girly enough, right? Now... Mid-college, where I think I've become somewhat an "adult", I have this silly 9 to 5 job with fancy women who make me question my ways more than I usually do. So I ask myself, what makes a lady, and how close am I to being one?

I love beer. I feel like I'm supposed to love wine because I own a sparkly vagina, but I don't. Keep the stained smile; I'll take the beer belly. Something about grabbing my sweaty bottle by the neck makes me feel dominant, and ignorant to rules like, "Place your napkin on your lap, cross your legs at all times, smile at strangers." I'm concerned; do I lose lady points with every sip of my beer? I don't match my nails with my toe nail polish, apparently that's somewhat of a crime, call the fashion police. I don't ever have a hair or nail appointment to tweet about. My outfits consist of whatever makes my ass look good (and hides my cellulite). Sit down for this one ladies, I wear gold and silver.. at the SAME time! Oh no!

In this really exciting job of mine, and I said that with my sarcastic voice, my ratio of friends are more men than women. Not because I'm a whore, no. But because we have things to talk about. Such as, movies, events, delicious fatty foods, being hung-over, how hot Scarlette Johansson is. Now with girls? I turn into
awkward penguin when you guys tell me about how your manicure went. What am I supposed to say to that?! Every topic I bring up, you girls turn into a cluster fuck. If I tell you about my lunch, you tell me how you're cutting down on bread and I should be doing the same. I ask you about the baby shower you went to that you've been excited about, you tell me that her outfit was ridiculous and the theme "didn't match for anything in the world, ugh". I was looking forward to stories about how the open bar had you taking shots like your name were Kobe Bryant. Or, how you danced so hard you would've sworn it was a scene from "You Got Served", but fine.

I feel kind of left out even. At times that I begin to lose myself in these very well-mannered women at work, I look at these specific pictures of my mom at a baby shower, drunk. Her hair is a more than a mess; she's wearing my little cousin’s baseball hat of a team she probably can't pronounce. In the middle of a serious dance move, in other words she looks flawless. She is my example, she is what reminds me that it's alright to be opposite of "one of the girls". While my mom is a free bird, the dull girls are in the background of the pictures. Sitting down with their legs crossed, probably talking about how the theme "doesn't match for anything in the world, ugh"

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