The Bitchiest of Them All

I realize that one of my greatest qualities is also my biggest flaw.  I asked the mirror, “Who is the fairest of them all?” and the mirror told me I asked the wrong question.

My thoughts are brutally honest, which is nice if you want to hear it like I see it, but I’m a total pain in the ass if you like pretty lies.  My laugh is a cackle, sometimes its more malevolence and less mirth.  I’m shocked by my own commentary on matters of taste and of the heart.  I am, after all, the foremost authority on how to live life!  I stop myself mid-sentence to ponder how far over the line I’ve crossed.  From where I stand it seems so far away, but I’m too foolish or unkind to recant my last glib line or pointed remark.

Sometimes I think I’m funny, and the laughs really are the worst kind of encouragement!  I’d like to feign innocence and say that I’ve only just realized my bad habits, but I knew my penchant for mocking and wisecracking from an early age.

On my senior trip to Disneyland I bought a pair of pajamas inscribed with one simple word—Wicked—and at the hem of the shorts was a patch with the Queen from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.  They are my favorite pajamas.  They are near and dear to my bitchy heart.

Currently playing:  Madonna, Bedtime Story

(A serious shout-out to The Pink Fairy who just discovered that my darling Björk is responsible for my favorite Madonna ditty…)

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Natalie Portman Was Wrong: V is for Vindication

I may be an Admin Superheroine, but the title means little outside of my very small world (you’ve all been so kind as to play along!).  Rare are the days when I taste sweet vindication, but alas, today I did.

I was at another infinitely boring training seminar when a bitch from another life sat next to me.  I examined her untamed curls fashioned in a bun.  I noticed her less than clear skin.  She looked vaguely familiar.  Perhaps it was her needless, haughty ‘tude or her name that struck me as familiar.  Upon closer examination I recognized her as one of my tormentors at a previous temping gig (see Giddy Up, Girl Friday!).  She scolded me for asking if I could wear jeans to a cowboy themed event, and then proceeded to sport a unique combination of pleather and polyester.

Kathy A. sat next to me feeling all sorts of smug; I assume you’d have to be a vacuous a-hole to attempt that skirt with those shoes and that bag. She may have been my “boss” in a different job, and we may have taken different paths, but we both landed in the same place—in an effing boring seminar.

Suck on that, biotch!

Currently playing:  The Smiths, Half A Person

TheSmithsII.jpg

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The Twenties Are Not for the Faint of Heart

I’ve been discussing the possibility and inevitability of my quarter-life crisis with some friends.  My crisis seems to be taking the shape of a nightmarish fantasyland that could only be captured in the pages of Vogue or an MTV music video.

I feel like I’m lost in a dense forest and I’m running as fast as I can.  Thorny brush tears at me, vines and fallen trees impede me from running without faltering.  There are wolves chasing me, and fog snakes around me and clouds the path ahead of me.  I can’t look back for too long, I can only continue to go forward, but I can’t see very far ahead of me. 

My twenties are like an enchanted forest.  There are beautiful things along the way like roses and faeries, but the roses are wild and cut me when I hold them and the faeries are at war with trolls.  I’ve been told that a castle awaits me, so I persevere. 

Bedtime stories of my childhood don’t compare to the magic and the terror of my twenty-something tales… 

Currently playing:  Lisa Loeb, Sandalwood

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