June 26, 2010

What Makes Me A BAD Girl

The topic of this blog is...like nearly everything involving those of us who are both blessed and cursed by the enhancement of an extra shot (or forty two) of estrogen-a PINCH more complex than it first appears. So...Puh-leez don't expect me to show up on the next season of Girls Next Door clad in pink bunny ears and a fluffy white tail sewn into my satin black teddy and kitten heels. I will NOT be appearing as Hef's latest...(pretending he's not too ancient to taste and savor the) flavor...THAT would be wrong on so many levels it's laughable. Suffice to say...I'm not THAT kind of bad...not Lindsay Lohan:so out of control I can't tell my pills, from my boys-or my girls from my drinks-bad. Nor am I Madonna: been at naughty so long I am running out of innovative ways to be irreverently and creatively-bad (of course that IS precisely why we LOVE her). Thank my lucky stars that I also do not fit Cortney Love's definition of: rode hard and put away train wreck-bad. Not at all what I intend when I state that "I'm a bad girl"...When I say, "I'm a BAD girl..." What I MEAN, is that something in my hard wiring not only fails at...but vehemently rejects and refuses to adhere to some of the most basic and strictly enforced demands of the Girl Code. *Gripping my Girl Card so tightly to my chest that my knuckles turn white...Deep inhale...* Here goes...you can start knitting my scarlet letters "BG" onto my cashmere cardigan now...I have narrowed it down (which as you know is not my forte) to a mere five things that make me a BAD Girl.

1. I'm so pathetically non domestic that Martha would weep and June Cleaver would snatch my pearls away. It is not my mother's fault...or...maybe it is-just not directly. Primarily I trace this Girl FAIL not to a lack of ability, but a lack of interest. My mom is as 1950's housewife as a non-fifties housewife can be...and I think there is a 87% "No thank you-not me"...in my resistance to mastering a mean meat loaf. I adore a vintage style handmade, lace-trimmed apron as much as any June or Lucy...just long as I can wear it "Just Because."

2. There is only room for one drama queen in this show. It's not that bad MOST of the time. My girlfriends are surprisingly low maintenance...because of them, so am I...primarily. If they aren't? I make them vanish with a spray of my Bitch-B-Gone...I know this is a double standard...but life provides enough drama of it's own...and a flair for the dramatic just happens to be a (non-option) option I came equipped with at birth...I recently read a quote "I don't need your attitude- I have one of my own" Anonymous...Ain't that the truth? So...pedal your attitude someplace else sister, I'm all stocked up here.

3. If it doesn't include steamy hot water, loud karaoke style singing and a cookie scented sugar scrub? Showers make me cringe. Don't get me wrong, they are a necessary evil and I go...to LOTS of them. It is not as selfish as it sounds. While I appreciate the thought and effort my loved ones put forth on my behalf, I didn't especially enjoy my own showers. Sue me...toilet paper wedding dresses and guessing what kind of candy bar is mushed up in the tiny make shift diaper...is NOT my idea of a good time. Not to mention that I love giving gifts, but am an awkward gift receiver. Of course I love babies (especially when I am not providing the oven)...who doesn't? But there is something cruel and unusual about being forced to ooohh and aaaahh over diaper duckies and pee pee tee pees. *Whispering...tucking Girl Card into my pink and black polka dotted angel bra* Wedding receptions? Good-if done correctly. Weddings? should be reserved for immediate family and intimate friends...in my not-so-humble opinion. If I do not fit this criteria? I want a reprieve from the governor...pretty, pretty , PRETTY please? I will lead the electric slide to show my gratitude...watch me work...

4.Won't Watch A Lifetime Movie...In THIS Lifetime...This of course is not to say that I am above having my womanly mushiness fully exploited...but I choose the poison. Generally something fuchsia and fizzy...something possessing solid characterization, and a dash of humor tossed in to keep me from hanging myself with my chunky bead necklace, skilled writing is a prerequisite and actors with Edward-esque coifs a bonus (ahem..a must)...Something along the lines of a Grey's Anatomy...Spare me the washed up 90's actresses who end up behind bars for offing their abusive husbands, or their daughter's potential cheer coach for failing to pick lil Suzie-Que for the squad. These events were horrific enough in actual reality...why do we feel the need to relive it with sappy background music and melodramatic reenactments? Pass...

5. Football Over Frills: I AM indubitably a girly girl. Still...shopping can wait-take me to the game/fight already!!! While I do not participate in athletics...ever-the thrill of a live sporting event makes me giddy-with the exception of baseball...I am purely into America's favorite pastime for the sunshine and the hot dogs...even beer tastes better at the ball park...it's magically inexplicable. Where was I?... Oh yeah, "The thrill of victory..."...Who couldn't use a little more excitement in their daily grind? The kind you derive from the crash of helmets, the squeak of rubber soled trainers on a wooden court, a well fought, indisputable tap out paid for with blood and sweat, or the tangible, animalistic ferocity of a goalie defending his territory. Not even a sale at MAC (which is the stuff fairy tales are made of) can top that. So...*singing and swaying* "Take me out to the (insert non-golf sporting event here)game"...After all, the stores are open seven days a week for my convenience.

See? I AM a BAD Girl...told ya'...Oh...I should also mention that I rather enjoy going to the LADIES alone, and that I am a giant failure at requiring the approval of my girls before getting dressed, picking out a new lip gloss, or thinking for myself... and lip service? SO not a gift of mine...So-FINE *Taking charcoal cardigan with ruby and platinum hand stitched lettering and tiny jeweled vintage buttons off your American tipped, perfectly manicured hands. Layering said cardigan over a coordinating long, poppy red ribbed tank and matching peep toes*...Heehee...Well? I may not be such a BAD girl after all *wink-wink*...*tucking my Girl Card safely away in my Marc Jacobs slouch bag and making a gracefully fierce catwalk-like run for it*

June 19, 2010

The Fine Art of Controlling and Maintaining Your Chaos

A.A. Milne wrote that “One of the advantages of being disorderly, is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries.”

My focus here is organization…something that is a bit of a stranger to me…and not the kind of stranger bearing Sweet Tarts and licorice-the kind that smiles creepily from behind a bushy beardless mustache and large far too dark seventies style glasses. The kind that makes me run-not walk-to the nearest exit. “Stranger Danger” brand of stranger. This may seem like a bit of an overstatement. After all, organization IS a friend to most. For precious few of us however, chaos is a better friend, and thus, organization in its essence, poses a threat to our friend Chaos. The two are amicable adversaries-like…Batman and Poison Ivy. They are unable to peacefully coexist…they suffer from a vicious, incurable case of irreconcilable differences. Chaos is a reliable and thrilling friend who is forever challenging and engaging us. The type of friend that found YOU and proceeded to wind itself around your heart like a wildly exotic flowering weed. As a result, WE-keepers and friends of chaos, are forced against our nature to organize a plan to care for it, nurture it, embrace it- to keep it from the oppressive tyrannical rule of organization. So…for the creatively and colorfully, organizationally inept, here are three tips for keeping your chaos happy. First, Keep things fresh. All work and no play makes chaos dull company. Second, make sure chaos knows how much it means to you. Every strong relationship requires effort. And third, Learn to be discreet. Secret service brand of discreet. Your job is to protect chaos from being stifled, color coded and filed alphabetically. Nothing TOO complicated. You’ve got this covered.

Keep your relationship exciting. Let’s not get confused here, chaos isn’t interested in cutesy notes on the refrigerator, or coming home to you in ponytails and knee socks. Chaos longs to roll in the grass and howl at the moon. Chaos craves frivolous fodder-it hungers for it...requires it even. Picture the Venus Fly Trap from Little Shop of Horrors. You know the one…”Feed Me Seymour”. Only…instead of human beings, your Chaos Flytrap feeds on adrenaline, bustle-it thrives on your ability to pile your plate high with activities and responsibilities. How ELSE can it shine? There is no “grace under pressure” without pressure. Chaos however, one ups grace. When facing a seemingly monumental challenge-chaos finds its stride. And when it does, it dances the tango, the Charleston, and the running man…backwards and blindfolded. With a flourish and jazz hands. Chaos manages to shine in vintage Valentino and strappy Jimmy Choo’s with five inch heels. No one does it better. Keep it fresh and chaos will reciprocate. Teaching you to be graceful on your toes…after all, that is EXACTLY how chaos loves you best.

Make chaos feel appreciated. While you can’t show chaos the love with lip gloss and foot rubs-you most certainly can give credit where credit is due. Instead of making false claims like “I work best under pressure” tell the truth…you ONLY work under pressure. Also, chaos puts more life in your living. While the others, like ants in a line are marching methodically to the beat of the same dull drum-stealing crumbs from other peoples’ picnics, you are having a delectable picnic all your own. An ant free picnic complete with gourmet cheeses and pinot noir. When you lift your glass to toast, toast to chaos-“The electric guitar in your rock opera, the flavor in your filet mignon, and the ruby in your slippers“. Toast to chaos for placing your labor in fiery multicolored stacks that you will heroically and dramatically stamp out together. And in between fires, chaos gives you the gift of fluttering and dancing carelessly through the air like a monarch on a summer night’s breeze. While the Live to Workers are crawling wearily into their hill, tripping over one another and reporting to their queen…you have the benefit…seven times out of ten…of ruling your own kingdom-sporting your very own, very shiny, bling studded crown while stretched out on your luxuriously roomy throne, being fed bon-bons by….emo vampiress, or crooners, or…whomever you choose. Chaos is primarily responsible for that. So in the historic words of Billy Joel, “Tell her about it.” Be good to your chaos and in turn, your chaos will be good to you.

Protect your chaos. Defend her against the haters. Wear a black suit and shades if it helps you to feel the part. Or…pretend that chaos is your very own child prodigy- blessed with a gift so profound that the world is not capable of appreciating it just yet and so for now…you keep it under your protective wing…willing to go ninja in its defense if need be. There IS some accuracy to that scenario after all. There is something inspiring in chaos that evokes and stimulates creativity. The organized world of order will NOT understand your methods. They will view your chaos as a problem to be solved. So it is probably best…to “Fake it-SO you can make it.” Model some pseudo organizational skills. Fake the need to squeeze everything into multicolored boxes, even ones that typically the wrong shape and size, where the item inside is bent and squeezed inside- growling and wiggling, pushing against the constraints of its box top. Think of it as preventing Batman from hosing your Poison Ivy down with weed killer. Protect your muse…you’re the only one that NEEDS to understand…and likely the only one that will. While the masses appreciate the masterpieces that chaos creates, her ways cause them confusion, disillusionment and discomfort. So unless you want your castle of chaos stormed by torch bearing villagers? Keep her under wraps.

In conclusion, while the world has a fierce Martha Stewart style need to put everything neatly into place, you need to strew those precise same items all over the room. You need to see and touch and smell and taste and feel EXACTLY what it is that you are working with at all times. How are you to make lemonade of life's lemons without knowing where the sugar, sparkling water, crazy straws, and purple umbrellas are kept? You also MUST allow a deadline to get down to the last possible second, there is something hypnotically musical about the racing of your heart. You need to swing from a vine rope in pink leopard skin bathing suit sou, while expressing your intentions in impassioned cries resembling that of a pack of voracious coyotes. In order to sufficiently carpe your diem-you require full view of your open box of sixty four Crayolas because you just never know when a situation will scream for chartreuse. As a result, chaos has become a John to your Paul, and an Athena to your Odysseus. You make a brilliant pair. Chaos is a friend that quintessentially believes that variety IS not only the spice of life, but the air and heartbeat too. She requires adventure, appreciation and a watchful eye. Because if you desire for chaos to ensue on your behalf, there IS an organized way to go about keeping her (happy).

So leave the organized masked masses to their pre plotted, goofy side-kicked, Bat-caved existence. You, Chaos, (aka Ivy), the Wind and I have countless thrilling horizons to explore and volumes of thrilling discoveries yet to make.

*Raising a crystal glass swirled with a brilliant kaleidoscope of Oz vivid Colors*

"To chaos"