A Closet Full of Memories (And Terror…)

So far for me, the best thing about being single is “time”.  Time to read books, time to paint nails, time to watch Meg Ryan flicks, all kinds of time.

Some might view the preponderance of time as a negative thing, but it all depends on how you use it.

For example, spending an evening wallowing in the fact that no one’s parking their “car” in your “garage” whilst eating slabs of Baker’s Chocolate ’cause it’s all you could find in the cupboard = BAD.

On the other hand, using the added time to become hard-working and efficient in several areas of life = VERY GOOD.

I went with option #2 on the weekend, and boy did it have potential…

…It was Saturday afternoon and I was picking out my clothing for the upcoming week at work (that may seem weird, but hey, I’ve got lots of time!).

As I rifled through the shirts, I couldn’t find anything I didn’t hate.

My mood became foul.

Things weren’t any better on the trouser-front, and eventually, my room became a state of emergency: 

It was time for a self-appointed closet-intervention, something I hadn’t done in ages.  Though I was ready and eager to cut out the “textile-fat”, I wasn’t too keen on the emotional part, since every piece of clothing comes fully equipped with memories (good, bad…and ugly).

And so I walked down memory lane, one vintage piece at a time…

The first thing I saw was a greenish slut-top, so slutty in fact that there were glittery sequins which formed an outline of “boobage”. 

I loved this shirt at the time; it was one of those shirts that could pick me up (or “get me picked up”) on even the “zittiest” of days. 

The funny thing was, I hadn’t worn this “pick up” shirt in ages, and yet here I was, lonely and single. 

Contradiction? 

So it seems.

The truth is, I gained some weight my back bones got bigger or something, so now it’s not wide enough to fit me anymore.

Though I was pretty sad that the glittery outline days were over (’cause it’s not like my back’s gonna shrink or anything), it was time to say goodbye to my Grade-A slut-top…

…The next thing I saw was my bright white pants.  I have never shunned myself for owning “white pants”, nor should I.  As a matter of fact, I specifically bought white pants for the purpose of attracting men, since I once heard a rule that goes like this:

-Any chick, no matter how reprehensible in appearance, gains ten points of hotness if she’s wearing white bottoms.

That’s a fact.

I was really hyped up about “white pant magic”, so I wore them to work immediately.  Before the day was over though, I developed an irrational fear.  You see…I became afraid that because I was wearing these gleaming pants, something terrible would happen to spoil the gleam (’cause God forbid I could actually be gleaming and happy).  More specifically, I was afraid that I would cough too hard, get my period, and ruin the pants with that special brand of “woman’s blood”.

This fear consumed me whenever I thought of the pants.  It didn’t even matter if my monthly crimson river was 2 weeks away, I was totally convinced that a “health mutation” would occur if I wore the pants, thus making my period flow, right out of the dam and onto my gleaming pants.

Even that day when I wore the pants to work, my fear took hold and I had to go home at 11am.  I then placed the pants in the back of the closet to keep the ”menstrual voodoo” at bay. 

I never wore them after that, but there they sat on the bed, torturing me all over again.

They had to go.

…Upon re-living the horrific memories of my blood-leeching pants, I became very fearful of the rest of my closet.  I didn’t know what to do, so I left everything where it was, drank some “cocktails for one”, and returned to the scene in a much calmer state:

(this will be my profile pic for Match.com)

I then proceeded to toss out 2/3 of my clothing.

I now have almost nothing to wear, so I’ll probably “repeat” Monday’s work shirt for a second run on Friday…do you think anyone will notice?

Or maybe it’s time to go shopping, but do I even have time in my busy schedule?  I better go check my date book…

Hoo-Haas: Latest Looks and Trends…?

I’ll probably begin and end this post in a nervous kind of state.

Not that what I’m about to discuss is such a nerve-wracking topic…I’m just one of those folks who approaches certain topics with a bit of trepidation (haven’t you noticed???).

…This time it started at the local gym.  Before I continue, I DO NOT hang out at the gym, local or otherwise.  In fact the only place where cardio happens is the basement…yes, the quiet, private, “no one to judge me/no one hotter than me” basement.  In this case though, a friend had offered me a “visitor’s pass” to her sweaty gym, so off I went..

…I drove to the gym, went inside, got on the eliptical, and broke a sweat.  I’d hardly call that “blog-post-worthy”, but when I entered the women’s locker-room, that’s when things got juicy…

…There I stood, in the middle of the women’s “group shower”, lathering it up in my self-conscious way (they had individual shower-heads of course, but as long as we’re standing in front of one another nude, I call it “group time”).  As I tried my best to look “naked awesome”, I couldn’t help but notice my surroundings. 

And by surroundings I mean…exposed “hoo-haas”.

At this important juncture, let me confirm (as appropriately as possible) that I am a fan of men, in all their “shlongy goodness”.  That being said, I was obviously doing the “I’m looking at your naughty bits when you’re not looking, and strategically looking away when you catch my eye”–thing…whether or not that makes me a confused heterosexual, I was doing it.

I wasn’t having a look for the purposes of excitement, but I was staring (and continuing to stare) for the reason of curiosity. 

I found myself feeling not only curious but puzzled, by the wide array of hoo-haa “looks and styles”.

What I mean is *ahem*, the varying extents to which “landscaping” had occured. 

It was rather intriguing, and it got me thinking…what’s the way to go, when it comes to the look “down under”?

Before my day at the gym, I hadn’t even thought that it was up for discussion; I mean girls are encouraged to wax it off from every other inch of skin…so why not there?  In fact my default logic had always been the arm-pit defense: “when was the the last time you shaved only half your arm-pit?”  

But then I thought: “Wait a minute…what if it’s not that simple?”

Like remember in the 60′s when it was cool to “hippie it up” and let it all grow, arm-pit hair included?…What if hoo-haa trends change with the decades too?

To add to the complexity of the issue, it’s easy to end up lost if you haven’t had a boyfriend for eons (who me?).  In other words, this is one area of the body where the b/f will certainly clear things up, if you’re wondering “stay” or “go”.

But without the boyfriend-test, what’s a chick to do?  I mean it’s not like they have any fashion shows which model the latest hoo-haa trends.  It’s all so very “hush-hush”, and yet we’re all supposed to know.

Well I for one don’t know, and if I ask my mom, she’ll simply tell me to make the landscape as treacherous as possible, in her never-ending quest to keep me untouched (ya mom, I think it’s time to give up now…).

So if I don’t have a clue what to do “down there” in 2008…who does?

A little help?

The “Man-Ponytail”: Y/N?

The world seems to work in mysterious ways, and I’m starting to think that karma’s a bitch.  The latest example comes directly from my very own blog…

Two posts ago a reader commented on the incidence of men with ponytails, and after loudly exclaiming my anti “man-tail” views, I was karma-slapped by a “manly mane” encounter, not even a week later…

…Imagine a busy street corner, right at the peak of the morning rush.  Tack on a warming sun and a boisterous breeze, and there you have the scene of my trauma…

…The traffic light was red and I patiently stood there waiting to cross.  My surroundings were a semi-conscious blur (as is usually the case “pre latte”), but suddenly the setting sharpened, in a shocking and horrific way:

-I was hit in the face with a “man-ponytail”

Did I mention the boisterous breeze?  Well let’s just say that this man-ponytail had serious wings.  FOUR TIMES I was lashed in the face by his manly locks, with my innards squirming in agony.

It was a terrible moment, one that I wanted banned from my permanent memory (like the time I pooed my pants at a wedding), but as the morning wore on my mind become obsessed with the mane, and every “manly mane” for that matter…

Here’s my position on man-ponytails: I hate those nasty “danglers”, and I wouldn’t date a man who had one.  Surely this sounds judgmental, but the source of my hatred has always been a popular stereotype fact: man-ponytails (at least the long ones) are associated with greasiness, smelliness, and a colony of head-lice. 

So wouldn’t you imagine my surprise when the ponytail that whipped me didn’t possess these traits?  Not only was his waist-length pony-tail soft, but it smelled of papayas and luscious berries.  Despite his ponytail credentials, I almost projectile vomited on his back when his tail started hitting my face.

My continued abhorrence left me with the following quandary:

-If a man-ponytail is groomed and soft and luscious (but ugly), am I still allowed to shun the men that have them?  And if I do, what does that make me?  A superficial beyotch?  And if so, what right do I have to be a superficial beyotch, when I’m nothing more than a desperate dried out “hoo-ha” surrounded by a 27-year-old semi-crazy chick?

You can imagine how these questions haunt my soul, and to think that it all started with a careless comment…

So I guess it’s time for a long hard look in the mirror, to try and figure out if the well-groomed ponytail men are indeed dateable entities, or completely off my list (along with relatives, chimps, and chicks (well mostly…))

In the meantime, I wonder what the people out there think of man-ponytails…hmm?  (to help in your decision, I’ve peppered this post with unbiased, neutral ponytail pics)