I love diamonds and the excess of weddings. And still, I put up with nonsense from unsuitable men even though I know better and can do better. They're interesting to me, and I mostly wish they'd be better about how they treat women so I wouldn't have to call them out so often. I still call my father with questions about cars, and am not terribly interested in changing any of my car-related ignorance.ĭespite what people think based on my writing, I very much like men. When I take my car to the mechanic, they are speaking a foreign language. If I take issue with the unrealistic standards of beauty women are held to, I shouldn't have a secret fondness for fashion and smooth calves, right? I have opinions on maxi dresses! I shave my legs! Again, this mortifies me. Maxi dresses are one of the finest clothing items to become popular in recent memory. For years I pretended I hated them, but I don't. I read Vogue, and I'm not doing it ironically. If I have an accessory, it is probably pink.
I used to say my favourite colour was black to be cool, but it is pink – all shades of pink. (I am mortified by my music choices.) I care what people think. "Bitch you gotta shake it till your camel starts to hurt." Poetry.
The classic Ying Yang Twins song Salt Shaker? It's amazing.
When I drive to work, I listen to thuggish rap at a very loud volume, even though the lyrics are degrading to women and offend me to my core. I want to be in charge, respected, in control, but I want to surrender, completely, in certain aspects of my life. Sometimes I feel an overwhelming need to cry at work, so I close my office door and lose it. I want to be strong and professional, but I resent how hard I have to work to be taken seriously, to receive a fraction of the consideration I might otherwise receive. I want to be independent, but I want to be taken care of and have someone to come home to.
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