I’m not a very girly girl and I can talk about sex for hours. If you know me, you probably already know that. You’ve probably been witness to it. If it’s been a long friendship, at some point, I’ve probably dropped into a chair, sighing, with four-day-old makeup and hair in a ponytail, complaining of a sex-related injury and explaining exactly how I got it.
What can I say, I’ve got class.
Funnily, being this trashy personality who is based on, “that’s what she said” one-liners, yogic positions, bed-head and lack of exceptional grooming habits? Totally works for me. But when I say works, I mean that it makes me no surprise, maybe because so much is a surprise, and it hasn’t hurt my ability to get laid, back when I might’ve considered working to get laid.
I have a trucker mouth with horrible dentistry and cigarette-coffee breath. Naturally arsonist-inspired hair that does what it wants and gets in the way all the time. A visual mind that allows the same fantasies over and over, because I lack the imagination or drive to fantasize, to come up with something original. My prime club-going ensemble, when I was the club-going type, was relaxed jeans and a white wife beater – with a black bra and smoky eyes.
I’m overt, I’m a flirt, and I generally don’t give a shit. (except, you know, I so give a shit.)
But the thought has occurred that 30 is coming sooner rather than later and I don’t want to be this girl stuck in an aging body, who reeks of the same perfume the girls in the trailer park are wearing. That maybe fabulous should be a goal, instead of easy, evil, apathy. Maybe my eyes should sparkle with excitement, not mischief and maybe I should wash the effing mascara off before it wears off on its own.
I like my sense of humour, don’t get me wrong, and I like how comfortable I am with anyone I feel any kind of connection with. I like that I can tell you anything, here or out in the real world. What I don’t like?
Is that I don’t know how to be girly and soft and smooth and giggle, without feeling exceptionally wrong. That a man flirting with me, when I actually care that he’s flirting can reduce me to blushing and looking away and being embarrassed for my inherent girlness. To feeling stupid and second guessing myself, when if that same man came onto me clearly, said, “You’ve got amazing tits,” there’d be no questions in my mind and I’d know exactly how to proceed.
I don’t like how it will take me 35 minutes to pick out a moisturizer, but lingerie, two. That I haven’t painted my nails since before it became the new millennium. That a facial seems frivolous and slow moving, even when it’s taking place in my own apartment. A bath is requisite every once in a while, to make sure the mandatory curves and divots remain fuzz-free, but shaving my legs only happens when I’m really trying to impress. No really, like five or six times, annually.
Masturbation is a means to an end only, and it took me three days to search for a toy that ultimately I said I couldn’t review since I just am not a toy girl. I mean, kegels are my friend – I’m in, I’m out – I don’t need props for an infrequent two minute rendez-vous with myself. Yes, I did just say infrequent.
I don’t know how to be…more than one of the boys in most situations, without being extremely uncomfortable with any sort of femininity that I’m portraying. It feels like a badly played part. Wrong. False.
Yet, I still covet those girly moments – a spa day, candles, romance, sex that doesn’t take place at the same tempo as a spinning class might, glossy nails and perfectly arched brows. Okay, I’ve got the eyebrows. But the rest of it? Never had it, maybe soon will.
Resolution #5: Engage in a little more (okay, a lot more) self-love. In every way possible.
Put my hair in curlers while the mud dries on my face, then slip into a dress and open-toes heels that show off newly-blue-tinted toenails and silky smooth legs. Wear lip gloss one day, instead of lip balm. Think of the phrase ‘making love’ without smirking. Wear pink underwear and think of them as panties without making an unpleasant face.
You know, be a girl.
