Confessions

I have a confession to make.

Chocolate is okay. Don't get me wrong, there are certain times of the month when I absolutely have to have some chocolate ice cream with chocolate syrup and chocolate chips or I will die. In our house that would be referred to as The Deanna Troi. On a day to day basis, however, I don't even give chocolate a thought.

I happily refer to myself as a "chick," and not a woman. This used to bug the daylights out of an ex-boyfriend who thought he was being progressive when he told me that it's a degrading term. I, for one, think chick sums it all up perfectly. I don't really understand modern womanhood. Or even womanhood of the past. To put it bluntly, I don't enjoy being a "girl." I don't think I ever really did.

Granted, it's better than the alternative to me. I certainly don't want to be a dude. First of all there's that whole business of having your personal parts hanging loose and being all vulnerable. Does anyone understand WHY a boy's bicycle has a cross bar and a girl's doesn't? That doesn't make a damn bit of sense to me. The other reason being a dude would suck is because of the expectations. Oh hell no. There's just too much they're expected to do and be, by simple dint of having a Y chromosome.

Every year I get closer to simply handing in my Girl Card and calling it a day. I realized this when we were packing up our closet, and I noticed that Rich's clothing occupied 3/4 of the damn thing. The other day when I finally busted through 3 weeks worth of laundry, when I got it all folded and placed on the bed I had a small pile consisting of two sweat suits, a thermal shirt, and one pair of jeans. Oh, I also had 6 pair of underpants. Everything else belonged to Rich and the kids. I own, basically, two pair of shoes that I actually wear. My Doc Martens and my flip flops. I do own a couple pair of dress shoes and heels, but I couldn't even tell you the last time they were applied to my feet.

I really, often feel like a fish out of water. The thing is, the older I get, the less I care.

Confession #2- My mother's wedding gown wouldn't button closed because my torso is larger than hers was. I was secretly delighted, even though it's a beautiful dress.

I have a friend, Nina, who occasionally manages to guilt me into proper skin care. We were conversing one day, and when she discovered I was using Dove bath soap on my face I heard the shriek all the way from Manhattan. She told me she could hear my face cracking all the way from Raleigh. So based on her recommendations I got on eBay and purchased some items to more properly take care of my skin. I used them. For a few weeks. Then I discovered that Livvie's Burts Bees baby shampoo makes a delightful face wash in the shower. I was packing the bathroom closet to move, and I discovered bottles and tubes and small tubs of things I didn't even remember I had. There was stuff to help clarify. There were exfoliants. There was cream to provide light moisture.

I chucked most of it into a trash bag and reapplied Neosporin to my split bottom lip (baby skulls can do some serious damage).

I wear makeup only when I am going to be seen in public with Coyote. When we go out together she always looks nice. It's embarrassing. The problem is, when I wear makeup I feel like I'm in drag. I always feel like I'm drawing way too much attention to myself. And forget lipstick. I own some. It doesn't get worn. I usually slap on some lip balm and call it good.

Confession #3- I watch Legally Blonde every time they show it on TV simply so I can feel inadequate. Every time I watch it I am overcome with the desire to purchase anything I can in pink, up to and including kitchen utensils. I never do though.

Ok, that's not true. When Rich bought my iPod Shuffle for Mother's Day a few years back I asked for the hot pink one.

I know nothing from handbags. My friend Jennyquarx rattles off brand names in conversation and my eyes glaze over. I have no idea what she's talking about. The only reason I know as much as I do about shoes is because it took me months to find the pair I wore on my wedding day. I like jewelry okay if it's simple and unobtrusive. I haven't painted my fingernails in years. Lingerie? Nope. Try sweats in the summer and fleece footie pajamas in the winter. I have known women who lived on ramen so they could afford the $100+ to get their hair cut and colored every 6 weeks. I color my own hair for the simple reason that when it's too dark people ask me if I'm not feeling well. I think I manage to get it cut 4 times a year.

Confession #4- I do not usually use shopping as therapy. Not in the way most women do. I have bought things as therapy. I cannot, however, abide shopping for hours at a time in stores or malls the way some people do.

My "retail therapy" has involved only single, big ticket purchases. While down in the dumps I have bought: a trip to Mexico, a trip to Ireland, a Sony Vaio laptop, a surround sound system, a DVD player, an Xbox, and a Nissan Frontier pickup truck. As a teen in NJ we did the requisite hanging out in the mall thing, but more often than not I'd park myself in B. Dalton or Waldenbooks while the other folks I was with roamed the rest of the mall. I know it drove them crazy. It even drives my mom crazy. She can wander outlet malls for hours. Every Saturday morning she feels the need to read the sale circulars to me. I make appropriate "mmhmm" and "oh cool" noises, but I barely listen.

Confession #5- Anniversary gifts and birthday gifts mean nothing to me. Having enough money to pay the cable bill does.

I have known many, many women who compare the sheer spectacularity of gifts received from their men as if it's some type of contest. I've known women who only consider men who make X amount of dollars a year, and I even know women who use blow jobs on their husbands in order to get permission to spend money. Then again, I seem to have met a lot of women who don't actually enjoy sex in the first place. At all. Not only with a particular partner.

Weirdos.

And forget about bringing me flowers for any other reason than you simply saw them in the yard or in the woods and thought of me. Coyote has a fabulous post about apology flowers. I can't even count how many women I've known who believe them to be their right and downright expect them after a perceived affront.

One would think that it might bother me that Livvie is completely into the idea of princesses, to the point where for about a week recently we were directed to address her as Princess Livvie. It doesn't bother me a bit. In fact, it makes me happy that what I have is apparently not contagious. Knocking around on this planet at this time uncomfortable in my own skin is for the birds. Not that I want to do a complete 180 and turn into a superficial twat, but at least caring about my appearance might be nice. Occasionally buying myself new clothing that actually fits me would be a good idea. Spending money on myself before putting money into something the kids don't actually need would be nice every now and then.

I could start small. Move from only owning one pair of jeans that is a size too big into owning two pair of jeans that fit. Wear actual shoes every so often. Wash my face twice a day instead of only when I shower.

Baby steps, man. All suggestions are welcome.