The Raunchy Hoe-Bag

I'm many women, and that's not just because I own a few wigs.

 In order to survive we all must be at least a few different people. An employee, or maybe even a boss. A mom; which by definition entails one to be multifaceted by default. A wife; submissive yet equitable. A ninja; master of sabotage and assassinations. You get my drift. We're all required to play different roles ant different times in our lives.

In order to play these roles we have to follow a script, so to speak. Social norms can't be breached. You can't come to work with your hair in a 10 inch mohawk, no matter how great of a job Trish did. So there's the tricky part: combining the person we are, and the person we have to be.

The only difference between me and a "normal" lady, is that I haven't quite embraced Kailah enough to mesh these two people together. Im all work, or I'm all play. So, here lies a list of things that I like about myself that make other people cringe just a little bit. And I don't care anymore.

• It is perfectly fine to be the hold-up in McDonald's drive-thru: It's 12 o clock on a weekday. Of course we are all making a run for the golden arches, and the employees are pissed. Count on it. I order a double cheese burger, a small fry, and a small sprite. Simple, $3 meal. Except I get a chicken sandwich and a Dr. Pepper instead, and my fries are stale. Don't worry, I'll wait. :)
• Leg shaving is optional: Despite the initial thrill i experience rubbing my legs together after shaving, after about 24 hours I don't give a hoot. Sorry, future husband: you're in for a fuzz ball in the winter. 
• None of my dresses fall below knee-length: ...and I'm a tall glass of water. If this makes me a sleezy- skanky-raunchy-stinky-hoe-bag, I'll embrace the title. Of course men have nothing to say about this. But the female population usually gives me the typical once-over and by the end of the  day my dress is a trending topic in girl-gossip. 
• Sounding like a lady: This task was impossible. I have a loud, flat, demanding voice; even when I'm just asking someone to pass the bread. It's just just my luck, really. I've already had terrible misfortune with making girlfriends my whole life, and now I can't even sound friendly. Ha! I practiced my best Janet Jackson impression for about a week before becoming hoarse and bitter. I'd rather sound like a grumpy old man.
• Bald headed: And beautiful. As a black woman, I wanted to experience my natural hair in all of it's horrific glory. I cut my hair off, and started from scratch. I have more nicknames than I can count now. I used to be bothered by this but now I don't give a fuck, blankly. I don't give a fuck. Not one fuck. Not a single one. I'll be as nappy headed as I want, and I'll wear a wig when I feel like it. :)
• Potty Mouth: I curse when I stump my toe. I curse when my feelings are hurt. I'm a person, no less a lady. It feels good to say SHIT. It feels beautiful. Sometimes I chant it to myself  while polishing my toes. SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT. No human being doesn't say SOMETHING. Shoot, dagnabit, dangit, fiddlesticks, shitaki mushrooms. Shit belongs to me, and guess what? My vagina doesn't mysteriously disappear when I swear. 

Imagine that.

Wedding Without

All the bells and whistles are present.
Swarovski crystals. Check.
Hand-stitched embrodiery. Check.
Something imported. Check.
Something borrowed. Check.
Something blue. Check.
Hair-stylist and nail tech. Check.
Mooching cousins. Check.
Alcohol for the mooching cousins. Check.

We dream of the perfect wedding our whole lives. We envision the perfect swatches, bridesmaids dresses,  venue, and most importantly, the dress. We watch the shows anxiously, hoping to be as exacting as David Tuterra without being "that bitch" from Bridezillas. We read romantic novellas about the butterflies our groom will have the moment they see us at the end of the aisle.

Upon meeting a newly engaged couple, I ask how he proposed. The room fell silent all at once and I knew that I had just invited the elephant into the room. He didn't propose, the ring is rented.
They would marry quickly, in her grandparents' backyard and retreat to their bedroom for their second honeymoon---the baby's due in December.

The grandmother of a friend told me the story of her and her husband's love. She was with another man, soon to be married, and her current husband stole her away. It was a real Nicholas Sparks, hopeless romantic type of story. However, upon meeting this gentleman I came to the conclusion that he was nothing short of the typical couch potato and he was a bit naggy about the way his veggies were prepared. He was a retired military man and obviously her personal savior. She treated him like a King, and he paid the bills.

I was watching TV. A lady married for 23 years is calling it quits after she realized that her husband had been cheating on her with a cousin for 26 years. Understanding that this is TV, I made a mental note that this woman was probably just stupid for 26 years and avoided all the signals---until I saw him for myself. The man was not especially sexy, nor did he look like a sex-pot-pervert. He seemed like a yes-man---and probably was. For her cousin.

Initially I thought that these women only fell into marriages because they were blinded by situations. An unexpected pregnancy  A man's wealth in a failing economy. Acceptance. But in actuality, they had all dreamed up a life for themselves and were so desperate to make their dreams a reality, they sacrificed their delicate time for a man that "might" make it happen.

Maybe the best weddings occur when no groom is present. The consolidation of woman, and herself. The self-acceptance of female flaws and personal imperfections. The moment we meet ourselves halfway by joining the strength gained from mistakes, and the wisdom learned from experience. The best day of our lives isn't planned while watching a sappy love story. It happens slowly and mysteriously.  It happens when you vow to love you.