Friday, February 25, 2011

Step Three: Pink

I HATE Pink.
When I think of pink three things come to mind.
  • 5 year old girls dressed up as Disney Princesses 
  • Breast Cancer
  • Victoria's Secret

Little girls dressed up as princesses are probably the most adorable thing in the world. Until they start crying. They seem to cry longer and louder than children dressed normally. Their faces turn unnatural shades of red and they produce the fountain tears usually reserved for cartoon characters. You know the children I'm talking about. You've seen them at Disneyland™, in grocery stores and at birthday parties. Perhaps when you see these children you smile and remember your 8th birthday with the special princess treasure hunt, but when I see them I immediately feel sympathy for their future psychiatrists.
Perhaps my jaded attitude is because I was never one of them. As a child my backpack was practical and a solid color. Ariel never graced my light-up shoes and my bedding was flowered not tiara-ed. At the time I was mildly resentful, but today I'm thanking my mother for teaching me about the staying power of great clothing that transcend fads.

The "Fight Against Breast Cancer". Let me preface this by saying that I do my token duty every October. I wear the ribbons, donate spare change, and feel guilty for not doing more. What bothers me about the whole thing is that cancer isn't something you can fight, and It isn't something you can prevent. My mother is insanely healthy. She is more active at 66 than most 20 year olds I know. She eats all the right organic health foods, cooks delectable, but somehow still only 5 calories meals, and she goes to her personal trainer before work, and goes dancing 3 times a week. Her power walks alone would kill me. I've heard her say that she doesn't see how she could possibly eat 1500 calories in a day {I on the other hand am pretty sure I can consume that in a meal}. But despite her oatmeal breakfasts and all the antioxidants in the world she still got breast cancer. And trust me; when that happened there was no fighting. There was crying and praying.

The Victoria's Secret brand PINK™  is really cute. No, like really really adorable. The problem is that they can't seem to decide if they are marketing the brand to tweens or to college students**. The clothes are all college themed Pink University etc, but they have girls who look 12 years old modeling them. Maybe they are promoting that teenagers go to college? Perhaps a party school? Is it an attempt to appeal to a younger demographic or to make older women feel young again? And what is with all the pants with words like Wild in Bed and 69 on them? If these are for the teens is that really the message we want their pj's to say? I suppose it could spice up a slumber party, but I don't know if that is a good thing.
 **please take all this in the fun way it was intended. I actually shop exclusively at Victoria's Secret for intimates.


Lastly, pink does not look good on me. Yes, I feel more feminine when I wear it, but I also feel like my pimples are emphasized. It does nothing good for my eyes, and is not slimming. For now I'll stick to letting my blog wear pink and keep the other colors for myself.

    Monday, February 14, 2011

    Step Two: Trophy

    I have never won an award.

    The popular beautiful girl who is head cheerleader, lead in all the school productions, student body president, and somehow manages to fit in being valedictorian and volunteering at the local soup kitchen? That is not me. I have no soccer medals and no cheer leading trophies; no beauty pageant crowns or sashes.
    In fact, I have never been a part of the competition. {Those who don't try, never look foolish. -Wicked} I don't have a competitive bone in my body. The only cheer I know is "D-O-R-K!  Don't Do That Again!  YAY!"** I was always the quiet girl in the back of a classroom getting just good enough grades to stay invisible to teachers. Things didn't change when I left my small town high school for a not quite so small town college.

    But somewhere in the past two years I started telling people that my degree was in trophy wife. I can't recall if this shift started after my fifth time changing my major, or if it came about because I got tired of explaining how a bachelors degree in Philosophy would help me in a future career or as a mother. {Surely you can't take classes for the sake of learning instead of the salary they will help you earn.} I do know that by the time I dropped out of Uni it was my standard answer. It was an easy way to diffuse the tension when someone asked about my schooling.
    ex:
    Person I need to impress for work: "Are you a student here or did you already graduate?" Me: "No. I dropped out." *awkward silence* "Person I need to impress for work: "That is nice." *another awkward silence*
    vs.
    Me: "I majored in Trophy Wife." Person I need to impress for work: "Ha Ha Ha HA." *Friends for life*

    I also can't point out the specific time when it became less of a joke and more of a life goal. Sometime between failing school and when I started this blog I realized that I want to be that perfect house-wife who's hair is only messed up when she's screwing the gardener. Or at least the nearly perfect wife who's children could be in TV commercials and who's house should be in the Parade of Homes.

    Despite my past failure and lack of trying, I am determined.
    Wish me luck.

    **Thanks to Lee Daily for teaching me that cheer.

    Monday, February 7, 2011

    Step One: Wife

    I can check off one of the most  important steps right now.
    I am a wife, the better half, ball and chain, missus, wifey, partner, etc.

    I didn't marry someone embarrassingly rich or significantly older than me. I married my high school sweetheart.

    I didn't increase his social status and he did nothing for my bank account. I suppose this could be considered a step in the wrong direction. I should have married someone who was already established in a career and who's credit card had no max. It would be easier to be a trophy with a stream of money and only cocktail parties to plan, but here I am; married to my not-quite-perfect Hubby and working full time. As of now, there are no cocktails and no weekly pedicures. But everyone has to start somewhere.

    *Photo by the amazing Dustin Bradbury
    http://www.dustinbradbury.com/