Inspired by No One Reads the Copy's post about kids and teenage sex, I got to thinking about this truly bizarre and revolting ritual that is really, really common in the south, and maybe other places. I don't know.
Anyway, there are these "balls" that are dedicated to teenage abstinence. And I actually think abstinence in teenagers is a GOOD thing (not in that way that says we shouldn't hand out condoms to kids, or teach them about sex, just in a, you know, perfect world kind of way). Hell, I was abstinent until college (okay, some of that was because I didn't have a lot of boyfriends, and part of it was because of the day in Health class that they showed us the pictures of genital warts. I would be making out with my boyfriend, and BAM - thinking about genital warts. If you have never seen an image, you should Google it when you don't feel like having sex ever again). So anyway, I have no real problem with celibacy in teenagers. BUT. These "balls" are for the purpose of a GIRL to pledge her virginity to her FATHER, and she gets a ring that indicates she won't have sex until she's married, blah blah (by the way, I just thought of the episode of Family Guy where Meg takes that pledge and has ear sex, and...its not that far from the truth from what I could tell of my other "virgin" friends in highschool).
Anyway again. I find these "balls" disturbing for several reasons. They are as follows:
1. All of the responsibility is put on the girl. There is no corresponding pledge for boys to make to their mothers. Probably because no self-respecting boy is EVER going to make that kind of pact with his MOTHER. This actually leads me to point 2.
2. My father might possibly win a prize in some category of Bad Parents, and is an excellent example of what not to do. And yet. When it came to my virginity and/or lack thereof, we had a pretty simple unspoken understanding. I would assume that his stance on his daughter having sex would be: Don't have sex. He would choose to assume I was a virgin, and I would never, ever do anything that might threaten this assumption. I think this is a pretty good model. I think that had my dad expressed as much interest in my sexual activities as these fathers do, I would have called CPS to see if that wasn't maybe just a little weird.
3. I feel like this is somewhat dishonest on both parts. Teenagers are riddled with hormones (you can tell by the acne and the wild mood swings). Sometimes, things are going to happen, and no vow to your father is going to stop it from happening. What stops it from happening is a realistic understanding of sex. I feel like by doing this vow, the parents are sidestepping the mind-numbingly awful responsibility of discussing sex with their children (not entirely sarcastic, by the way. There is nothing more embarrassing to a 13 year old girl than a frank discussion of sex with her mother, and vice versa). I understand the impulse to want to avoid this conversation. On the other hand, there were a few boys I said "no" to, not because of the genital warts, but because I remembered that frank, humiliating discussion. It went something like this: Sex feels good. You should have sex at some point. But sex can result in consequences, both physical and emotional. You need to feel that you can deal with those consequences. Are you going to be able to deal with it? If not, then wait. It won't be the last time anyone ever wants to have sex with you. Truly.
4. I mentioned the Family Guy episode before. I knew a lot of "pledged virgins" who would do ANYTHING else, just not vaginal intercourse. And while there's something to be said for oral intercourse having fewer consequences in your teens, I'm pretty sure if you are letting a guy in the out door (if you know what I mean) in lieu of vaginal sex, in order to preserve your purity...I think you can see where I'm going with that.
5. Did I mention I find the whole idea creepy? And weirdly anti-feminist. Like a girl can't be in charge of her own body. She is going to give the responsibility to her father, and then to her husband. And also did I mention creepy?
6. Mostly, I think I just find the whole idea creepy and repulsive.
In conclusion: teach your kids about birth control and also teach them to make serious, serious fun of those weird kids with the abstinence ring. Seriously, let us all mock them mercilessly.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Called (Possibly by the Lord)
I have found my calling. I am going to start teaching a free class, open to all women in the community as a public service. The class will be entitled "What Are Pants?" and will be a five part series including the following classes:
Introduction to Pants: What are Pants?
Why the Salesgirl is Not Your Friend
Why Tights are Not Pants
When are Leggings Pants?
Identifying Pants - in which participants will be asked to identify actual pants.
Afterwards, I will conduct a shorter seminar for men with classes including Identifying Men's Pants (Are You Wearing Womens Jeans?) and Why Your Pants Should Not Hang Below Your Ass.
Introduction to Pants: What are Pants?
Why the Salesgirl is Not Your Friend
Why Tights are Not Pants
When are Leggings Pants?
Identifying Pants - in which participants will be asked to identify actual pants.
Afterwards, I will conduct a shorter seminar for men with classes including Identifying Men's Pants (Are You Wearing Womens Jeans?) and Why Your Pants Should Not Hang Below Your Ass.
Thursday, April 1, 2010
Greetings from Bedlam
Including friendship, dating, engagement, and marriage my husband and I have been together for ten years. In those ten years, it has always been one of his secret missions to see exactly how crazy he can make me. At first, he thought it would be easy because I'm already half crazy. But I'm also crazy adaptable. I'm like an adapting ninja. Plus, I was raised in a Southern Christian household and I know how to push the bad feelings way deep down inside where they are ignored for years, creating ulcers and random outbursts of anger.
He started in college with the hard core Drive Megan Insane campaign. First, he would invite me over and every drawer would be closed crooked and the closet would be open and there would be random piles of detritus scattered around the piles of his clothing. He knew that all of these things were triggers for my crazy. But he was a little too obvious. I could see what he was doing, and damned if I'd let him win. Plus, dude, its your room. I'm crazy, and if this were in MY dorm I'd kill you, but whatever, do what you want in your own room. Megan 1, Future Husband 0.
I mistakenly let him discover my issue with feet. Namely: mine, do not touch them. No, really. I see you looking at my feet. Do not touch. He thought it was clever to grab me by the foot and pretend to try to lick my toes until he got kicked in the face. Megan 2, Future Husband 0.
When we moved in together and it became apparent that the man could not cook for shit (sorry, honey, overcooked pasta with uncooked spaghetti sauce dumped on it is not cooking) I began cooking. He saw the potential for a new assault on my sanity: he didn't want to eat whatever I cooked, even if he had requested it at the beginning of the evening. "I had Mexican for lunch" and "That sounds horrible" and "I want something light" or "I want something hearty". Cooking strike! Guess you are eating frozen burritos and hamburger helper from here on out. He caved in less than a week. Megan 3, Future Husband 0.
There've been various other, unsuccessful attempts. But this week he might have found the perfect plan. The plan I cannot combat. He has suddenly decided that he needs to watch t.v. with the volume on, listen to music on his iPhone without headphones, and have a conversation with me all at the same time. Its like being trapped in a schizophrenic's brain. You know its not normal or right, but you can't make it stop and you can't ignore it. When I leave the room I can STILL HEAR IT.
If we have to do this again tonight, there's a good chance I will rip my own eardrums out in order to get a little peace.
He started in college with the hard core Drive Megan Insane campaign. First, he would invite me over and every drawer would be closed crooked and the closet would be open and there would be random piles of detritus scattered around the piles of his clothing. He knew that all of these things were triggers for my crazy. But he was a little too obvious. I could see what he was doing, and damned if I'd let him win. Plus, dude, its your room. I'm crazy, and if this were in MY dorm I'd kill you, but whatever, do what you want in your own room. Megan 1, Future Husband 0.
I mistakenly let him discover my issue with feet. Namely: mine, do not touch them. No, really. I see you looking at my feet. Do not touch. He thought it was clever to grab me by the foot and pretend to try to lick my toes until he got kicked in the face. Megan 2, Future Husband 0.
When we moved in together and it became apparent that the man could not cook for shit (sorry, honey, overcooked pasta with uncooked spaghetti sauce dumped on it is not cooking) I began cooking. He saw the potential for a new assault on my sanity: he didn't want to eat whatever I cooked, even if he had requested it at the beginning of the evening. "I had Mexican for lunch" and "That sounds horrible" and "I want something light" or "I want something hearty". Cooking strike! Guess you are eating frozen burritos and hamburger helper from here on out. He caved in less than a week. Megan 3, Future Husband 0.
There've been various other, unsuccessful attempts. But this week he might have found the perfect plan. The plan I cannot combat. He has suddenly decided that he needs to watch t.v. with the volume on, listen to music on his iPhone without headphones, and have a conversation with me all at the same time. Its like being trapped in a schizophrenic's brain. You know its not normal or right, but you can't make it stop and you can't ignore it. When I leave the room I can STILL HEAR IT.
If we have to do this again tonight, there's a good chance I will rip my own eardrums out in order to get a little peace.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
This post may be offensive to dumb people, minorities, anyone with a working knowledge of English grammar, the MPAA, and people who speak Spanish
I feel like I am being stalked by...an idea? The idea that what you say can bite you in your ass so hard you'll cry for your mama.
See, the other day, I was listening to the radio (yes! The plain old radio! They still make that!) and it was discussing some wording on the census form. I filled out my census papers pretty quickly, and I was a little disappointed to see that all that hype and YOU MUST FILL THIS OUT OR WE WILL SEND ANGRY BEAVERS TO DESTROY YOU was just because they wanted to know that 2 white people live in my house, and we own the house. Let down, much? Anyway, I didn't pay attention to the other blanks. But apparently one of the blanks for ethnicity lists black/negro/african-american. And ya'll? Apparently the people who would check that box are PISSED. To tell the truth, I get why they are in one way (negro? really?) on the other hand, isn't that the Spanish word for black? And don't Spanish speaking people also fill out these forms? Couldn't you be black and only speak Spanish and live in America? But the only way that works is if there is a Spanish translation for all the boxes, and while I didn't pay a whole lot of attention, I did not notice any "blanca" option for the white people. I get that not all black people are offended by it, but I can see where it might be a little thoughtless to put it on the forms.
Then, I was listening to the radio AGAIN ( I do that) and some guy calls in to ask the hosts how in the world they put up with all the ignorant dumb dummies who call in. Because the hosts of the show are originally from somewhere like Ohio or something, and apparently there are no dumb people in other states, they all live here. And we're in the South, so we're used to being called dumb. If you look at test scores and whatnot, its even true. BUT. The guy says he is from New Jersey. We are a little oversensitive on the issue of being considered dumb. Its a little bit like bitching about your mama, and then beating the crap out of anyone who isn't your family who dares to agree with you. And wasn't there just a REALLY, REALLY popular show illustrating the various types of dumbasses that can be caught in the wild in New Jersey? So, long story not even a little bit shorter, the guy goes on to plug his band. The band promptly fires him, because holy shit are people pissed about this guy calling us dumb.
And then I get home and my husband is watching This Film is Not Yet Rated. Which you should also watch. Its interesting. On the one hand, I think we need a more European attitude about certain things in movies. For instance, nipples? Not a big deal in Europe because they don't make them a big deal. I think that we should be able to use our common sense to determine if a movie might have content we might find offensive (also, I know some fundamentalist Christians who are offended by Disney movies, so I'm not sure the ratings really matter that much anyway). I think it was a good idea when it was intended to let people know that there might be language they would prefer not to hear, or something they'd prefer not to see, without actually making any judgments on that content. But what happens is, they can keep the general public from seeing a movie with the ratings and they can make the director change scenes in order to get a rating they can show to general audiences. Which is at least flirting with censorship, if not out and out tongue kissing it. Plus, I'm pretty sure that I can use deductive reasoning for the most part. If Quentin Tarentino's name is on a film, its going to be violent. John Waters makes films with sexual content I might not want to explain to my 6 year old. Guy Richie films use cuss words (oh noes!). Anyway, the whole thing is trying so hard not to offend people that its offending people and maybe even violating their Constitutional rights.
So I'm pretty sure the universe is telling me to try not to put my foot in my mouth, and also that getting angry about every little thing someone says is a HUGE waste of energy, and also that getting offended too easily leads to the MPAA. Or something like that.
See, the other day, I was listening to the radio (yes! The plain old radio! They still make that!) and it was discussing some wording on the census form. I filled out my census papers pretty quickly, and I was a little disappointed to see that all that hype and YOU MUST FILL THIS OUT OR WE WILL SEND ANGRY BEAVERS TO DESTROY YOU was just because they wanted to know that 2 white people live in my house, and we own the house. Let down, much? Anyway, I didn't pay attention to the other blanks. But apparently one of the blanks for ethnicity lists black/negro/african-american. And ya'll? Apparently the people who would check that box are PISSED. To tell the truth, I get why they are in one way (negro? really?) on the other hand, isn't that the Spanish word for black? And don't Spanish speaking people also fill out these forms? Couldn't you be black and only speak Spanish and live in America? But the only way that works is if there is a Spanish translation for all the boxes, and while I didn't pay a whole lot of attention, I did not notice any "blanca" option for the white people. I get that not all black people are offended by it, but I can see where it might be a little thoughtless to put it on the forms.
Then, I was listening to the radio AGAIN ( I do that) and some guy calls in to ask the hosts how in the world they put up with all the ignorant dumb dummies who call in. Because the hosts of the show are originally from somewhere like Ohio or something, and apparently there are no dumb people in other states, they all live here. And we're in the South, so we're used to being called dumb. If you look at test scores and whatnot, its even true. BUT. The guy says he is from New Jersey. We are a little oversensitive on the issue of being considered dumb. Its a little bit like bitching about your mama, and then beating the crap out of anyone who isn't your family who dares to agree with you. And wasn't there just a REALLY, REALLY popular show illustrating the various types of dumbasses that can be caught in the wild in New Jersey? So, long story not even a little bit shorter, the guy goes on to plug his band. The band promptly fires him, because holy shit are people pissed about this guy calling us dumb.
And then I get home and my husband is watching This Film is Not Yet Rated. Which you should also watch. Its interesting. On the one hand, I think we need a more European attitude about certain things in movies. For instance, nipples? Not a big deal in Europe because they don't make them a big deal. I think that we should be able to use our common sense to determine if a movie might have content we might find offensive (also, I know some fundamentalist Christians who are offended by Disney movies, so I'm not sure the ratings really matter that much anyway). I think it was a good idea when it was intended to let people know that there might be language they would prefer not to hear, or something they'd prefer not to see, without actually making any judgments on that content. But what happens is, they can keep the general public from seeing a movie with the ratings and they can make the director change scenes in order to get a rating they can show to general audiences. Which is at least flirting with censorship, if not out and out tongue kissing it. Plus, I'm pretty sure that I can use deductive reasoning for the most part. If Quentin Tarentino's name is on a film, its going to be violent. John Waters makes films with sexual content I might not want to explain to my 6 year old. Guy Richie films use cuss words (oh noes!). Anyway, the whole thing is trying so hard not to offend people that its offending people and maybe even violating their Constitutional rights.
So I'm pretty sure the universe is telling me to try not to put my foot in my mouth, and also that getting angry about every little thing someone says is a HUGE waste of energy, and also that getting offended too easily leads to the MPAA. Or something like that.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Grass Is Always Greener
I haven't had an anxiety attack in almost 2 months. This is WONDERFUL in many, many ways, but I don't want to talk about those ways, because that is not what we do here. I want to talk about the things that suck about having anxiety somewhat under control. Because that's the way I am, apparently. (LOOK! I'm LEARNING things about myself! Who would have thought I only find the bad things interesting?)
Firstly, my house is slowly being taken over by...The Stuff. The Stuff is the collective entity of individual items that begin accumulating on the bar between the kitchen and den, then sneakily annex the dining room table, and then the desk, and then the coffee table and then whatever flat surface that is not the floor. When I am at peak OCD this does not happen because the world will end. I am a ninja, ambushing and removing The Stuff before it can even begin to think about that attack on the buffet where we keep the fruit. When I am not an anxiety riddled mass of quivering frayed nerve endings, The Stuff takes over. Its not that we have that much stuff. Its just that my husband doesn't like to put things away. Wherever he is standing is where things belong, which is how we end up with three pairs of pants hanging over the back of the desk chair, 18 pairs of socks under the coffee table, and shirts on the couch. And when I'm, you know, NORMAL, this isn't a priority. If I don't update within the next week please come check to see if The Stuff has assimilated us.
Also, its much harder for me to organize my thoughts. With anxiety and OCD in full bloom, my brain operates on the level of a flow chart. It is very organized and structured. Okay, 80% of my thoughts are freak outs over nothing, but whatever, my thoughts are totally coherent and organized. When I feel like a normal person, I cannot organize my thoughts AT ALL. I just wrote three separate posts and deleted them because a post starting out about that guy yelling "Show us your tits," when I was running the other day ended with something about dog farts, and I didn't really get to the point of the story. If there was even a point in the first place (I think the point might have been A. What tits? B. Who does that? and C. Something about my friend who got some awesome boobs for herself and why I always thought I wanted to do the same but don't really because they cut off your nipples, and DUDE. Pass on that. I get that they put them back on and all, but still. Some things were just not meant to be removed from your body. Nipples are IMPORTANT. You do not mess with your nipples. Its not like they are your appendix or one of your kidneys or something. You NEED them. At least, I need them). And the dog farts? Well, they stink. And the dog is always incredibly surprised by her own farts. Which never fails to crack me up, but I think that story's been told. The farts and the rednecks in the truck probably have several things in common, but none of which were used to connect the story. Because my brain has changed from rigid computer like machine to grassy meadow with butterflies and clouds and ooooh, look, something sparkly (it might be a sparklepire! Which I find hilarious. Speaking of which, I think those books are a crime against vampire literature everywhere and if I were a vampire I would totally sue for defamation of character). I think you can see my point.
Thirdly, my will to work has been completely removed because without anxiety over getting fired, and then not having a paycheck and having to go through unemployment and worse, telling people I'm unemployed, much of my desire to do a good job goes right out the window. I would be perfectly content to be a housewife, really, and right now I'd be a really crappy housewife because of my first complaint, re: The Stuff.
Also, when I'm OCD things like running everyday and eating a very regulated diet and going to bed at the exact same time every night and the like, are easy. Because of the structure and all that. But then, those very things are things that help me control OCD and be less anxious. The less anxious and OCD I am, the more likely I am to get lazy about the food and sleeping and working out. Which puts me right back where I started.
Aren't vicious cycles FUN?
Firstly, my house is slowly being taken over by...The Stuff. The Stuff is the collective entity of individual items that begin accumulating on the bar between the kitchen and den, then sneakily annex the dining room table, and then the desk, and then the coffee table and then whatever flat surface that is not the floor. When I am at peak OCD this does not happen because the world will end. I am a ninja, ambushing and removing The Stuff before it can even begin to think about that attack on the buffet where we keep the fruit. When I am not an anxiety riddled mass of quivering frayed nerve endings, The Stuff takes over. Its not that we have that much stuff. Its just that my husband doesn't like to put things away. Wherever he is standing is where things belong, which is how we end up with three pairs of pants hanging over the back of the desk chair, 18 pairs of socks under the coffee table, and shirts on the couch. And when I'm, you know, NORMAL, this isn't a priority. If I don't update within the next week please come check to see if The Stuff has assimilated us.
Also, its much harder for me to organize my thoughts. With anxiety and OCD in full bloom, my brain operates on the level of a flow chart. It is very organized and structured. Okay, 80% of my thoughts are freak outs over nothing, but whatever, my thoughts are totally coherent and organized. When I feel like a normal person, I cannot organize my thoughts AT ALL. I just wrote three separate posts and deleted them because a post starting out about that guy yelling "Show us your tits," when I was running the other day ended with something about dog farts, and I didn't really get to the point of the story. If there was even a point in the first place (I think the point might have been A. What tits? B. Who does that? and C. Something about my friend who got some awesome boobs for herself and why I always thought I wanted to do the same but don't really because they cut off your nipples, and DUDE. Pass on that. I get that they put them back on and all, but still. Some things were just not meant to be removed from your body. Nipples are IMPORTANT. You do not mess with your nipples. Its not like they are your appendix or one of your kidneys or something. You NEED them. At least, I need them). And the dog farts? Well, they stink. And the dog is always incredibly surprised by her own farts. Which never fails to crack me up, but I think that story's been told. The farts and the rednecks in the truck probably have several things in common, but none of which were used to connect the story. Because my brain has changed from rigid computer like machine to grassy meadow with butterflies and clouds and ooooh, look, something sparkly (it might be a sparklepire! Which I find hilarious. Speaking of which, I think those books are a crime against vampire literature everywhere and if I were a vampire I would totally sue for defamation of character). I think you can see my point.
Thirdly, my will to work has been completely removed because without anxiety over getting fired, and then not having a paycheck and having to go through unemployment and worse, telling people I'm unemployed, much of my desire to do a good job goes right out the window. I would be perfectly content to be a housewife, really, and right now I'd be a really crappy housewife because of my first complaint, re: The Stuff.
Also, when I'm OCD things like running everyday and eating a very regulated diet and going to bed at the exact same time every night and the like, are easy. Because of the structure and all that. But then, those very things are things that help me control OCD and be less anxious. The less anxious and OCD I am, the more likely I am to get lazy about the food and sleeping and working out. Which puts me right back where I started.
Aren't vicious cycles FUN?
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Evil. Now in convenient liquid form!
Oh my God. What is up with this "cool burst" cough syrup crap?
It may be the most awful thing I have ever, I mean EVER, put into my mouth. This statement is coming from the girl who once drank raw moonshine on a dare.
So you take a drink of this "cool burst" stuff, and first you think, "Eh. What's the big deal about the -h'ohmmigod- what, what is that? That's weird. At least it is just in my mou-dear holy lord its in my throat. Am I breathing? That- that burns a lo---gnnng. Uh. Yuh. Hooooo...."
The unintelligible part is the part when you start to feel the cool bursting in your chest. Which is exactly as disturbing as it sounds. And then it DOESN'T GO AWAY. There is a weird, cold feeling in your chest. Which should never be cold unless you are dead, I am pretty sure that is a scientific fact. I know the cold is actually in my digestive system, but it frightens me that I can feel it in my entire chest cavity, because it might be because this unholy concoction just melted through my esophagus and is pouring out into my chest. At least, that's what it feels like.
What the hell was Tylenol thinking? This is unnatural. And I mean that in the way that means it is a sin against all that is good and right in the world.
GAK.
It may be the most awful thing I have ever, I mean EVER, put into my mouth. This statement is coming from the girl who once drank raw moonshine on a dare.
So you take a drink of this "cool burst" stuff, and first you think, "Eh. What's the big deal about the -h'ohmmigod- what, what is that? That's weird. At least it is just in my mou-dear holy lord its in my throat. Am I breathing? That- that burns a lo---gnnng. Uh. Yuh. Hooooo...."
The unintelligible part is the part when you start to feel the cool bursting in your chest. Which is exactly as disturbing as it sounds. And then it DOESN'T GO AWAY. There is a weird, cold feeling in your chest. Which should never be cold unless you are dead, I am pretty sure that is a scientific fact. I know the cold is actually in my digestive system, but it frightens me that I can feel it in my entire chest cavity, because it might be because this unholy concoction just melted through my esophagus and is pouring out into my chest. At least, that's what it feels like.
What the hell was Tylenol thinking? This is unnatural. And I mean that in the way that means it is a sin against all that is good and right in the world.
GAK.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Just Pondering
I saw someone all decked out in Ed Hardy (Hardee? I don't know) today. I have sort of a love/hate thing with old Ed. On the one hand, I think his clothes are ugly, over priced crap. On the other hand, I can now recognize a douchebag in under 5 seconds. Also, you have to respect the guy's thinking. Produce crap, put a large price tag on it, watch people fall all over themselves to be the first one to wear the most expensive of the crap. I have to admit its a little bit genius.
I myself am not a label girl. I refuse to buy anything with a brand name plastered all over it. I recognize the short term marketing genius inherent in it, I just prefer not to pay somebody a lot of money so I can advertise for them. Think about it, for a short period of time a company can get you to pay for the privilege of promoting their goods. Because at first its the rich and attractive that want to wear your clothes. And of course, at least most of us when we are teenagers want to be rich and attractive. So we emulate. Then the poorest and least attractive are wearing it, and of course no one wants to be poor and unattractive. At least not in our teens.
I don't know if I've ever seen anyone do this as well as Ed Hardee or Hardy or Har-whateverthefuck. Although I do recall plastering myself in head to toe Tommy Hilfiger when that hit Arkansas about 14 years ago. And I sincerely thought then everyone would think I was rich and suddenly I wouldn't be a too skinny nerd with a Beatles haircut, braces, glasses, and bad skin. I'd be Winona Rider or Kate Moss or something. (SPOILER: I did not become Winona Rider or Kate Moss).
Then, later today, I saw some goth kid. And I was thinking how COMMITTED goth kids are. I mean, decked out in all black, heavy materials, heavy makeup, everything, no matter the temperature or the humidity. I mostly look at them and feel hot and claustrophobic. And I wonder if that kid is so different from the label wearers. A lot of goth kids pay just as much money to look different like all the other goth kids.
So then I got to wondering if anyone is really any different than anyone else. Are we unique snowflakes, or are we all really the same deep down?
I don't know, and now I'm all self-concious, because I don't really have an answer. Also, I'm pretty sure 15 other people have written about this better than me. Just consider it loose head change and go with it, 'kay?
I myself am not a label girl. I refuse to buy anything with a brand name plastered all over it. I recognize the short term marketing genius inherent in it, I just prefer not to pay somebody a lot of money so I can advertise for them. Think about it, for a short period of time a company can get you to pay for the privilege of promoting their goods. Because at first its the rich and attractive that want to wear your clothes. And of course, at least most of us when we are teenagers want to be rich and attractive. So we emulate. Then the poorest and least attractive are wearing it, and of course no one wants to be poor and unattractive. At least not in our teens.
I don't know if I've ever seen anyone do this as well as Ed Hardee or Hardy or Har-whateverthefuck. Although I do recall plastering myself in head to toe Tommy Hilfiger when that hit Arkansas about 14 years ago. And I sincerely thought then everyone would think I was rich and suddenly I wouldn't be a too skinny nerd with a Beatles haircut, braces, glasses, and bad skin. I'd be Winona Rider or Kate Moss or something. (SPOILER: I did not become Winona Rider or Kate Moss).
Then, later today, I saw some goth kid. And I was thinking how COMMITTED goth kids are. I mean, decked out in all black, heavy materials, heavy makeup, everything, no matter the temperature or the humidity. I mostly look at them and feel hot and claustrophobic. And I wonder if that kid is so different from the label wearers. A lot of goth kids pay just as much money to look different like all the other goth kids.
So then I got to wondering if anyone is really any different than anyone else. Are we unique snowflakes, or are we all really the same deep down?
I don't know, and now I'm all self-concious, because I don't really have an answer. Also, I'm pretty sure 15 other people have written about this better than me. Just consider it loose head change and go with it, 'kay?
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