Some Things on My Mind

I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m a New Yorker or that I’m educated or that my mother was Southern and thus had opinions on everything, but I have some thoughts you need to hear today. My thoughts will directly benefit all of us, if you will just listen. I’m not an expert on anything by any stretch of the imagination. I’m just a normal person with a little intellect and common sense. So let me help you… Please. You need it, desperately.

To the woman in front of me in line at the bodega this morning who was haggling over the price of the sushi and tampons you were picking up….kill yourself. Get the fuck out of New York. You obviously don’t belong here because you spent twenty minutes haggling with my very nice bodega guy over nothing. This is not a Mexican open-air market. This is not your house. The owner of this bodega is not your husband. Shut your mouth. Purchase your goods and get the fuck on with your day. I have no use or patience for you any day, much less this morning when I am running late to our meeting with Angelina about her new movie and needed a 5-hour energy drink and a banana before I went in. And my bodega guy doesn’t need you haggling with him any day.

To the guy in the ugly brown, wrinkled, 70’s looking suit on the subway…buy a new suit! That one looks like it was made in the sixties and worn every day since its conception. Your suit is old. Your faded briefcase makes it look older, and I believe I saw a hole in your lapel. That suit is no longer a good idea; not that it ever was. I laughed at you, as did everyone else on the subway. There is a simple solution. Throw that one away, and buy a new one. I’m not saying you have to buy an Armani suit, just any suit that doesn’t look like it’s thirty years old. Thank you in advance for eliminating yourself as an eyesore.

To my secretary…throw that damn skirt you wore today away! You have a large ass. It’s not your fault. You’re just one of those larger pear-shaped women. Embrace it! Pencil skirts are not necessarily your friend, especially the neon yellow one you wore to work today. It’s okay that your ass is bigger than most women’s, well most New York women’s, just try and hide it or downplay it or at the very least, don’t spotlight it. Like, you know, wear a black A line skirt or pants and a cute jacket, just not a blinding yellow pencil skirt that hugs every ounce of cellulite you have.

One more person to note before I call it a night as the prescription sleeping pill is kicking in pretty quickly along with that pomegranate martini.

To my little brother…keep your girlfriend around. After hanging out with her for the eighteenth time this weekend, I understand why she likes you so much. She’s just as weird as you. And that’s a great, great thing. It’s hard for us to understand ourselves. It’s even harder to find someone else, who understands us enough, to put up with all of our weirdness all of the time. She loves you, and you function much better when she’s around. Trust me on this one. She’s a keeper. Don’t fuck it up!!!

My Precarious Position

So here’s my precarious position.

Everyone around me is married. All my friends that are my age are married or engaged, or with child. I cringe at the thought of being with child. It sounds like a condition or a disease. I wonder if there’s a vaccine. Wait, I guess that’s birth control. I’m definitely not ready to be with child! And I don’t know if I ever will be, but that doesn’t matter when my friends call to tell me about the latest talent their child has discovered, like throwing food or kicking enough water out of the tub so none of it actually touches him/her. Even the people who are my younger brother’s age are getting married before me. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve had a bout of the envy lately.

Random Story

So, my name is V, and you don’t know me very well yet. You’ll get to know me, and you’ll get to like me. I’m sure. We’ll be great friends. Trust me.

A random story for you.

So, I’m in the shower today shaving my legs because it has been so long since I’ve done it, the hair on my legs is now soft. Soft. You know, soft. Like fur. Is it bad when you feel like you have fur growing on your legs?

Well, my boy- (Now here’s the part where my train of thought comes to a screeching halt. Can I say boyfriend here? If I had a boyfriend when I was thirteen, can I have a boyfriend when I’m thirty? I don’t know what else to call him though. Let’s see...significant other? Partner? Roommate? Ok, so that last one was a little ridiculous, but you see my point here. Other people have trouble with it too. He’s been referred to as my husband, boyfriend, fiancé all on the same occasion and with several stutters in between. It’s funny watching people handle the awkwardness of age and relationships. As I’ve told you before, I like to study people. And being thirty and merely dating, provides me all sorts of ways to study the awkwardness of people.)

So my boyfriend is completely honest. I will know when I’m looking “majorly fuckable” in my low cut little black dress. However, he doesn’t hold back the truth when it comes to other, less stellar qualities of my feminity. All of this is to say he commented on my fur, and that is the reason I’m shaving.

I’m shaving with my two dollar, two for one shave gel that I got at Target. The only reason I bought it was it was the low, low sale price. Well, it was on sale, and the can was red. And I’m obsessed with red. And I’m a coupon whore. So, I’m shaving my legs and notice the shave gel is pink and scented. What a lovely treat: pink, scented shave gel. Wait. I’ve heard that before. Where have I heard that before? Anyone? Anyone? Legally Blonde. Reese Witherspoon. She handed her professor her pink, scented resume. Great movie. Not one you own but one you watch on tv every time it comes on. Yes, I’m thirty and still watching Reese Witherspoon’s cheesy chick flick movies. Don’t judge me. You do it too.

So, obviously I have an aversion to shaving. But I have a reason. I’m moley. What I mean by that is I have several moles. My dad has moles and skin cancer as a result. I don’t have moles like that, yet. I have tiny ones you can barely see. However, to shave over them can cut them and repeated cuts can lead to skin cancer. Now you see why I have an aversion to shaving. It’s totally justified right? And I don’t go au naturale, per se, well…I guess given that I just told you I had fur, that’s not entirely truthful. Okay, well whatever, I have too many other amazing qualities for my man to be worried about whether or not my legs are shaved. Okay! Alright, so maybe that was a little heavy, but you get my point. I mean, really? Life is too good to be worried about shit like that. And at this stage in the game…I’m too old to care.