I’ve spent a lot of today eating rubbish, drinking Coke and watching the game. How about them Vikings huh? Oh and did you see Brett Favre’s version of “Pants on the Ground” which was, I’ll admit was a lot cooler once I understood the reference. Hay, I live in the UK – I’m allowed to be out of the American Idol loop, even though I have to admit a bit of a crush on Simon Cowell that calls my sanity into question. I went straight onto the Jets/Chargers match up without even a timeout. After that, I was suffering from a massive testosterone overdose and I had to turn to a couple of hours of Dress Heels Jewelry and “who are you wearing?” in the form of the Golden Globes Red Carpet show just to remind myself that I am, in fact, a chick. Previous years I’ve been all over the fashion and the glamour, even the gossip. Did you see Mariah Carrey’s dress not quite covering her tits enough to stop me mistaking her for someone who has sex for a living? Do you, like me, prefer Drew Barrymore with dark hair, love that Sandra Bullock came dressed in purple (actually I just love Sandra Bullock… yay for her win). I’m totally made up that Helen Mirren and Meryl Streep were giving lessons in classy as I think I’ll add them to my role models list. And as for Heidi Klum…well that girl just owns sexy in a way that makes her destined to be envied but never equaled by us mere mortal women (God like powers is the only reasonable explanation, clearly!)… but this year i have a confession…*whispers* I had more fun with the football. Crap… what happened to me!?
While I am not your pink fluffy kind of girly princess (make it purple and sparkly and I’m so there) its true my reasons for choosing which side to root for this NFL filled Sunday were totally based on female logic. I don’t like Tony Romo and the Vikings wear purple. I liked the Jets when I was in NJ because my brother/dad loved the Giants and I’m contrary like that. And yet, recently I’m becoming more and more disconcerted by the realization that, in a disturbing number of ways, stereotypically at least, I’m so the guy in this relationship. You know, the one who refuses to cook, doesn’t know how to work a washing machine, almost kicks KM out of the room when its “baseball time”, can’t hear a thing when the football’s on TV and NEVER “has a headache”. I’m seriously in danger of letting out a belch or two without gagging. if I suddenly start scratching my groin in public SHOOT ME !
Before you start thinking… saying KM is my bitch out loud… he is in no way shape or form feminine. Seriously, he could be mistaken for a cave man. Dude speaks fluent grunt, laughs at his own farts and won’t wear pants if he thinks he can get away with it. Far be it from me to insult his manhood and I’d advise you not to do so either, but that’s enough about him.
When did I lose this sense of myself as a woman? When I think about It, I laugh at the ridiculous notion that anyone could find me attractive and not see me as defunct, broken, useless, carrying too much weight with awful tits.
My body failed to develop any form of breasts. My mum took me to buy a bra more out of pity (everyone else had them) than actual need. She kept telling me reassuring stories about how all the women in my family got theirs after they had kids (fat lot of use that is to me now. Nature is withholding motherhood and apparently breasts too!?) Yeah it sucked, but most people get over it right? Not me. I can’t stand mine; I can’t cope with anyone drawing attention to them in any way. I get thrown off… shudder… and have to look the other way if God forbid KM should touch them even though I enjoy the sensation. It’s nuts and that’s why I will personally bitch slap anyone who says I’m planning a boob job for anyone other than me. Let’s face it I’m fighting a losing battle really, when the pair of us could be the reincarnation of Shrek and Fiona shaving side by side in the bathroom mirror each morning… no, I haven’t quite been reduced to that yet.
I seriously need to… what is the opposite of man up??