Saturday, January 22, 2011

What's wrong with suburbia?

My sister loves the big city, and the media definitely agrees.  Suburbia is portrayed as the land of morons, as deep as a puddle and dangerous to anyone with individuality.  From Edward Scissorhands to Desperate Housewives, suburbia constantly gets thrown under the bus. 

I don't understand why.  Where Nicole sees excitement, I see chaos.  I was seconded to a big city office once for a few months and I've never been so unhappy in my whole life.  I remember walking down the street with the acrid smell of piss in my nose, people jostling me like a pinball and wanting to cry as I saw a tiny piece of sun through the grey highrises that surrounded me.  I hadn't seen a tree in weeks. What's so glamourous about hanging out in the bottom of a garbage can?

And the people are mean!  No one in my mid-size city has walked in front of me while I was trying to turn onto a crowded street, then pounded on my car and called me a whore.  Yeah, there's road rage everywhere and I'm not exactly a blazing ray of sunshine - I'm the suburban Bethenny Frankel.  But I'm still startled by how cold and judgmental the people I've met in the big city have been.  It's odd because supposedly people come to the big city to escape judgment and find diversity, but once they've found their clique, those noble ideas vanish and outsiders get the stinkeye.

There's more than one colour on my street and in my workplace.  My friends are smart, thoughtful women who enjoy occasional dancing with their daiquiris on a night out sans kids.  When I sit on my deck with my husband and baby watching the wind ripple through the green marsh in our backyard, I feel truly blessed, and my soul is at peace.  What else could a girl want?

So here's a toast to surburbia.  You may not be cool, but I love you.

Friday, January 14, 2011

Pajama jeans

Why do celebrities dress badly?  How many times have you looked at someone on a red carpet and thought "All that money and this is what you came up with?"  I personally would dress like a drag queen or Lady Gaga if it were socially acceptable for an accountant at an insurance company.  Unfortunately it is not.




But I'm not talking about your garden-variety "I'm a fabulous rock star so I don't have to wear pants" look.  After all, a hot mess is still hot, right?  What I don't understand is when celebrities choose outfits that are both in questionable taste and unflattering.  Who wants to be remembered as the "stained camel toe" It girl?

In real non-celebrity life, most bad fashion comes from the "c" word.  If I hear one more slob self-righteously say that she just wants to be "comfortable", I'm gonna hit her upside the head with one of her Crocs.  What I'd really be comfortable in would be nothing, but I don't think the general public wants or needs to see that.  It's great we don't pass out anymore because we can't breathe through our boned corsets, but come on, ladies.  A pretty top and plain black pants are just as easy to wear all day as a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants.

This topic came to mind after I was subjected to a hilariously horrifying commercial for the following:

Now you don't have to change when you get out of bed at all!  Trashtastic!

Not that anyone would mistake me for a fashion role model.  My style tends to veer wildly between grandma and hoochie, although in my defence, it's disturbingly easy to look like a porn star when you're into the double letters.  Thank God I'm a brunette or no one would listen to a thing I said. 

So today is day three of Thirty Days of Truth and today is something you have to forgive yourself for.  I don't have many regrets and I'm really happy with my life.  So the only thing I can think of is that I'm disappointed in myself for using the holiday season to gain back some of the pregnancy weight I had lost.  But I'm getting back on track now and gobbling Christmas cookies and ice cream is pretty minor on the sin scale.  Wearing pajama jeans, on the other hand... 

Sunday, January 9, 2011

A love of solitude

What a crazy week!  I went back to work and S. started daycare, so my multi-tasking superpowers are at full strength.  Time to sit back and breathe for a few minutes.

So here's day two of Thirty Days of Truth - something you love about yourself.

I love that I enjoy my own company and that I'm as easily pleased as irritated.  I like being curious about the world and finding new mysteries to ponder.

Well, back to reviewing financial statements.  The mystery-pondering will have to wait.

Saturday, January 1, 2011

The first day of truth

Donna at Write Now, Write Later posted the beginning of a series, Thirty days of Truth, that I enjoyed and decided to do as well. 

Day 1 is something you hate about yourself.

I hate my anxiety and how I look cold and haughty when I feel shy and overwhelmed.

I hate that my chattering is seen as self-absorption, because I want others to chatter back.  Every person's story is interesting to me, not just my own.

I hate that my female friendships have resembled Margaret Atwood's Cat's Eye, and whenever I try to peel back the bandage, I get sliced again.  I wish I had a female best friend.

Above all, I hate feeling so misunderstood while I do everything I can to push others away.