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*