I love going out with my best girl buddy. She has a cool job, lives in a cool neighborhood, has cool friends. So yeah, I like to bask in her reflected coolness.
We are planning to hang out in the East Village for drinks, dinner. I'm OK with what's going to happen. What's going to happen is she is six feet tall and blonde. Yes, I hear salivary glands starting up. I'm OK with that.
It's Friday and I'm in dress-down wren-wear: a grey t-shirt, jeans that are neither super-low nor skin tight, nerd-girl glasses. I am a total Mutt to her Jeff, save one thing. I have one weapon in my arsenal against her towering blonditude.
I have red lipstick.
And so I put it on and so I have the confidence to stride down the street with her high-heeled, mini-skirtedness, I can pretend to be chic and glamorous, watch her her swing her hair and flash her enormous smile.
I think I am doing a good job of it. After dinner I reach into my bag for a re-application of lipstick, and that's when who I really am is illuminated. I pull out what feels like my lipstick. It's a pen. Then another pen. Another. We start to giggle. I put my hand back into my bag--this time it will be my lipstick! Another pen. Pen again. I have a clown car of pens, and now we are laughing openly as I pull out more and more, one by one, line them up on the table, twelve in all. The illusion of a crimson-lipped sophisticate fades into the reality of the preponderance of ink, and I am laughing at myself.
posted by ttractor @ 6:19 PM
4 Comments:
This is perfect, and so much my life. I got to class a few weeks ago and reached into my bag only to find that I had six identical click-pens, in addition to all my good pens in their zip case, and the pencil I was actually looking for. I held up the six pens as I pulled them out, one by one. The students laughed.
Power to the nerd girls! I may be blonde, but trust me, this does little to raise me out of nerd girl status.
you coulda gone goth, yo--"if you can't go hot, go dark."
--every high school girl who went goth.
Let us not even pretend, we all know how hot nerd-girls really are! There is something incredibly charming about the turned in feet, the messy hair, the clutch of pens, the total unawaredness...(or at least I hope this is true, because then I am smokin, and not just smokin crack).
Although, on a deflationary note, I did get a "hey, guy" from one of my neighbors this morning, on the way back from the grocery store. Must be the baseball cap.
On a more honest note, if I allow my friends to define me, they all yell at me that I AM a writer. They also yell at me that I AM beautiful. So, I think what I am tapping into here is not that I am really a retardo mutt, but that everyone feels like they are, 7th grade girls locker room is never too far away.
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