Monday, July 10, 2006

I Am Woman...Hear Me Roar, Hear Me Bitch

For the most part - this weekend was fabulous. I was a pimp, I was a shopping fool and I was a girl with hardware in hand. Friday night Rachel and I ended up leaving one bar for another and hanging out with an out-of-towner named Guido. I love out-of-towners. In a small town like this one they are refreshing in the way finding a foreign film at the video store or finding the New York Times at the gas station is refreshing. Guido was particularly entertaining. Not only because his friend was completely wasted and looked like Jim Varney, but because Guido himself was tall, tan and quite handsome. He also had one of those personalities that allowed him to sit down at a bar and strike up a conversation, remembering everybody's name and tell dirty jokes without so much as a moment of hesitation. I like personalities such as this. The kind of confidence that is not cocky. Just an air of arrogance that is actually charming. I immediately sent a text to my coworking counterpart informing her of a man that was just her type. A perfect 6' 5 for her 5' nothing frame. We drank, we laughed, she left, he left and in the morning I woke to a text: "Oh my - a very big thank you!" I have yet to be brought up to speed, but just waking to a text like that, the gin still swirling around my brain (I never drink these days) and my chest heavy from smoking a pack of cigarettes - I was oddly amused. I was a pimp. It was all very...chick flick, chick lit...'Sex & the City'. After dragging myself through the shower, with Starbucks in hand, I met my little brother who didn't know what he was getting himself into when he agreed to go shopping with me. When I got home I made three trips into the apt, carrying in my new shower curtain, cleaning supplies, picture frames and french press. I also carried in the Elizabethtown soundtrack and my new Gazelle Edge. I don't know what happened but I went on a cleaning frenzy, scrubbing my bathroom with my new Mr. Clean Magic Reach (GENIUS), scrubbing my kitchen down with Clorox wipes while the rest of the world fell into slumber. Suddenly I felt ferociously independent. Here I am, a single gal...being single...cleaning in the middle of the night. Needing no one to take care of me or my shower curtain. A queen size bed waiting for me and only me to sprawl out however I see fit. I kept it going - tossing "Failure to Launch" into the DVD player and putting my Gazelle together myself, wrenching the bolts and screwing the screws in place while Sarah Jessica fell in love with People's Sexiest Man. Yeah love is as cute as Sarah Jessica running frantically through a paint ball game - but real love lives in a girl as self reliant as one who can put excersise equipment together herself. Nothing like a few sore muscles and a little sweat. I suddenly wished I lived in New York City. The next morning - I let myself entertain that wish with some breakfast and "Breakfast at Tiffany's". I secretly want to be Holly Golightly. After, I worked out - and I couldn't have felt better. I can't even sum up the girlishness up with words. But it was all very independent woman. Throw your hands up - yeah, yeah. Then - as almost every Sunday does - I wound up in panic. Stories still unfinished, an uncertain week ahead and no grasp on any of it. Self-doubt has been plaguing my writing. I stare at stories like a deer in headlights. Blank page syndrome rages. When I get in my car to head to work, my brakes remind me I need to have them fixed. Now. Suddenly I hate being an independent woman. I hate my car. I wish I had a man to fix it. And so it goes....

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

Keep up the good work » » »

Anonymous said...

That's a great story. Waiting for more. » » »

Anonymous said...

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