June 11th, 2004
Archive for June, 2004
No doubt you’ve heard about the shit-ton of people standing in line for hours to pass by the embalmed corpse of our former president. I’m as big as fan of Ronald Reagan as they come, and although I find myself strangely saddened by his death, nothing could make me want to stand in line just to parade past his corpse. That’s just… strange.
The Reagan years constituted the bulk of my childhood, and were therefore a huge part of my cultivation. I’m the Alex P. Keaton in my family. Back in junior high, at Eliot: the Pink Prison (I can’t believe they painted it beige last year) …there was a guy who signed my yearbook, “It’s a pleasure to know another excellent Republican.” I wonder if Brendan Gamb became a politician.
Well, I don’t know how “excellent” a Republican I am, but I have certainly worked on a few campaigns. I think I worked my hardest on Dole 1996, not because I thought he had an ice cube’s chance in hell, but because I couldn’t live with myself through another four years of Clinton without taking my best shot at defeating the putz. I shudder to think of the effect on kids growing up during his terms.
You know it wasn’t just Ronnie who left a distinct impression on my generation. Let’s not forget his wife Nancy and her “Just Say No” program. I suppose I have her to “thank” for the fact that I steered clear of all drugs until a year ago. I say no, you say no, together we say no. I say no, no no no, no no no. That was some hard core propaganda - mental programming - and it worked like a charm.
The nineties largely sucked. The eighties were far more decadent. They were all about Dynasty and Miami Vice and the Cold War. It cracks me up seeing all the fashions from that era making a comeback. This is my first experience with the adage “if you lived through it the first time, you can’t revive the style.” Guess I held on to my jellies and shoulder pads for nothing. Shucks.
June 10th, 2004
While I revel in the fact that being a bombshell requires the assistance of various beauty products, sometimes I look in my bathroom cabinet and wonder how much of this stuff is really necessary. Most of it comes from the store I respectfully refer to as Mecca. Yearly, I repent of my pilgrimages by sifting through bottles, tubes, and compacts, so the girls (and metrosexuals) at my office can enjoy the cast-offs.
I don’t know what made me such an addict. It must have something to do with the fact that my mother was a tree-hugging hippie whose beauty routine, to this day, involves bathing, brushing her teeth, shaving, and combing her hair. And I mean combing, not styling, mind you. She expects a standing ovation on the rare occasion when she dabs on a little lipstick. As a result, I had to learn all the necessary girlie stuff through trial and error.
When I was twelve, my grandma (a very elegant lady) let me pick a magazine from the Publishers Clearinghouse. I enlisted the help of Young & Modern, commonly known as YM. Many a supermodel got her start on those pages. Over time I followed them to more grown-up publications. Today, women’s periodicals have become so ridiculous that I now rely on Cosmetic Connection and Net-A-Porter to help me stay au courant.
Back to my point: What’s really necessary? When I ask myself the “if you were stranded on a deserted island with Fabio” question, this is what I come up with: lip balm, blush, mascara, powder, liner, lotion, remover, cleanser, fragrance, and the best face cream money can buy. Anything other than those exact items inevitably end up in a used Nordstrom bag on its way to the office.
Let’s be honest, I’m still going to try my hand at the latest innovations in wrinkle abatement although I don’t have a single crease; I’ll still buy that sparkly turquoise creme eyeshadow even though it looks silly outside of a discotheque; and though you’ll only find one tube of lipstick in my handbag there will always be twenty others sitting in a drawer at home. Canceling my subscription to Allure helped, but there’s still no methadone for the product junkie.
June 9th, 2004
For as long as I’ve had the ability to choose, I’ve been an all-or-nothing girl. I always found the “middle of the road” distasteful, maybe disdainful, and dare I say, even dishonest. It’s possible that I took Revelation 3:16 too much to heart, but why risk being lukewarm when passion is far more attractive and beneficial.
Avoid being wishy-washy. All that’s required is a healthy dose of curiosity and some decision making skills. Natural curiosity is an everyday advantage. You can’t be effectively decisive unless you investigate and gather all the pertinent facts. I truly pity those who are not born curious. How ever do you make wise decisions without an innate hunger for knowledge and truth?
Still, much of life is attaining balance. It’s just as bad to be stubborn as indecisive. There is no virtue in picking a position and then sticking to it like glue. Dolly Parton (who incidentally has some very fun quotes) may have nailed it when she said, “Find out who you are, and then do it on purpose.” Because we’re constantly evolving, our choices should be regularly realigned with who we have become.
I’m the girl who takes everything to the Nth degree. Most comfortable with extremes, I’d rather be on one of the tail ends of the bell curve, even if it means the shit end. Screw the masses. I refuse to do things half-assed. The Greeks had a word, Areté: Striving to reach maximum potential. The US Army puts it simply: Be all that you can be. You won’t come up with nothing when you’re aiming for all.
June 8th, 2004
Yeah, that’s my governor… Kick ass!
During his campaign I remember telling folks, “He governs me already.” But I was still fairly surprised when he was elected. Who knew the two dozen republicans left in the state could pull it off. Then again, I just thumbed through an article in Maxim about the growing number of gays in the GOP. I’m sure Schwarzenegger was popular among the “G.O.D.S.”
Muscle rules. Strength is awesome. In that regard Ahhnold was sheer perfection. Next time you take a sick day, rent Pumping Iron. Almost a year ago I began circuit training. The other day I was nearly blinded by my deltoid gleaming in the sun. Then a moment later I blushed profusely as someone caught me flexing to admire my hard work.
The human body is an amazing creation. We’re walking chemistry sets. I was never much for sports, but I’m beginning to understand how people get addicted. Gaining mastery over your body, seeing it change over time, orchestrating its progression… it’s a powerful feeling, and very rewarding. It’s fun watching my body morph!
Mind you, I don’t want to end up looking like this. I’d prefer something more like this maybe. Yeah, that works. It would be great to have a nice gym set up at home, then I could make some serious progress. Although I doubt I’ll ever make Ms. Olympia, it’s nice being able to crank out a few more push-ups.
Hasta la vista, baby… I’ll be back.
June 7th, 2004
Just took a break from the office doldrums. Walked a few blocks in four inch heels to get a boba - it’s worth it. This one is a coconut milk tea, and it’s delicious. My friend Andrea says the tapioca balls remind her of snot. Obviously she doesn’t share my fervor for the frosty beverage with play value. Yay, balls!
June 2nd, 2004
The ultimate chick flick. Emma Thompson did a superb job on the screenplay, which was heightened by her performance as Elinor Dashwood. Hard to go wrong with Ang Lee, of “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” fame, directing. It’s been my hands-down favorite since it came out in theatres. Beautiful on every level.
However, I don’t think I’d have liked it as much if I knew my life would end up resembling the story. Pathetic to admit, I am a Marianne. Passionate, free-spirited, impulsive… A tragedy waiting to happen. That’s exactly what Jane Austen was trying to teach us in her novel: good sense is far wiser than sensibility.
It’s a shame I always learn these things the hard way.
June 2nd, 2004
I’ve always been last in line for everything. Then again, I was never in a hurry to grow up. By age ten, most girls I knew were dying to get their first bra, had planned their wedding down to the last detail, and selected names for their future children.
That’s so not me.
Most kids get a visit from the tooth fairy in first grade. By the time I lost my first tooth, in fourth grade, I didn’t believe in her any more. Didn’t wear a bra until years after friends did, and even then did it just to avoid ridicule. As for “becoming a woman” I was late for my first cycle, too.
Only recently, in the last couple years, did the baby fat disappear from my cheeks and a more sophisticated bone structure emerge. That must be how long it took for my hormones to level, because it’s also when I finally stopped breaking out. What a bizarre and prolonged adolescence.
Lest I accuse my mom of lying about my age, I am reminded that my younger brother is a late bloomer as well. Strangely, it was only our physical and emotional development that was stunted. Intellectual development was ahead of schedule. How many kids are reading at the tender age of three? I rest my case.
Still, it’s painful being different and lagging behind. At times I’ve felt like the crippled kid from Grimm’s pied piper tale. It’s hard to look at your peers and find their goals vastly disparate from your own. You wonder, is there something wrong with me, or is it an advantage to be set apart from the herd?
Admittedly, there’s an up side. Nobody in my family looks or acts old. It’s nice to have assurance of aging gracefully and staying young at heart. Although I’m still deciphering who I am, one thing I’m sure about… I may be late, but I’m definitely blooming.
June 1st, 2004
