Wherever there are people trying to figure out how to make the most of life, there I am. Places filled with laughter or where strugglers meet survivors, there I am. On the mountain top and in the trenches, there I am. Places I have been I see myself again, pausing to remember how I got here. It’s a bit odd to see my own life experiences culminated in the blogs of other people. It’s almost like we all travel the same road.
So much of my young life I truly believed nobody, and I mean NObody, could possibly understand what I was going through. Teenage angst aside, I had some pretty screwed up ideas about myself. I did not fit in anywhere. I wasn’t a brainiac, a jock, a geek, slut a cheerleader…well, you get the idea. I carried those screwed up ideas about myself into adulthood. Luckily I had a good friend who didn’t hesitate to kick my ass when I needed some, we’ll call it motivation, to snap out of it and get over myself.
I’ve never really kept pace with women in my own age bracket. No mommy track, no coffee klatch, no corporate ladder madness, no Mary Kay party hostess or bridesmaid duties for me. Even now I don’t fit the profile of most women my age, who have kids or careers to give them an identity. Also, I’m not a joiner. So, that pretty much limits me socially to people who don’t mind women who have occasional bouts of bitchiness, tears or gas. Sometimes simultaneously. Blogging has been the perfect solution. Of course, none of this looks good on a résumé. So, I may have to remake myself if I ever decide to seek employment again. Nah! I yam what I yam an’ tha’s all that I yam.
I commented on a post today which asked if a Go Daddy ad during the Super Bowl was brilliant or an insult. You can’t see that post anymore, but this was my comment:
It may be time to rethink the definition of brilliant, but if women got offended every time we were objectified, mountains of laundry would pile up, meals would go unprepared, penises would be falling off in the streets! Jimmy Choo would go broke and humanity would cease to exist. People need to get a grip on reality. Most women know they are more than the sum of their tits and ass. Most women have more important things to do than worry about being objectified. Most women are NOT super models and do not care what super models waste their time doing. Like most women, I find the entire argument getting tiresome.
I meant every word, still do, but I started thinking, as you know I do, and realized I may not be the best spokesperson for most women. I like to think that there is some sort of general rule that women do in fact have better things to do than get mired in the muck, but then again, I could be mistaken. Beauty in a jar is big business for a reason and just because I think most of us are smarter than society gives us credit for doesn’t necessarily mean we are, does it? Are we or am I just clueless?
I’m not going to pay for a poll daddy whatchamacallit, but I am interested in what you, my three-hundred some odd (not that some of you are odd) followers think. So, if you can break away from the important stuff in your life to give me a clue, please do.