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Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Women...oh, and the Day of Doom

I'm not really a fan of women. Generally I mean, not specifically. Salma Hayek, though, is exempt from any and all dislike of women. She is a force of nature. Unstoppable. And before you ask, yes I would...

I have no sisters. Well, step-sisters, but we have absolutely nothing in common (one has ten kids, the other is 8 years old, you do the math here).

Sure, as a kid all my friends were girls, because boys? Just...eww. Germs and sweat and dirt and GI Joes ripping the heads off my Barbies. Boys were rude and smelly. And blew up my dollhouse with their chemistry sets. That's what you get with brothers, and I have three. Blown up life-sized dollhouses. Literally, blown to bits. Except the roof, since it sailed about 50 feet into the air. But still.

As I got to middle school, I realized it's the girls who are actually the rude ones. They'll try to kick your ass just for smiling at the guy they like (but are not actually going with). We learn early what pouty lips and a certain look can do. And if you are the one wearing said look and lips, that chick who's glaring at you from across the hall wants you dead. Meet her on the playground when the bell rings, bitch.

I was lucky to have never gotten into a fight in school. But there were a lot of close calls because I was friendly to everyone, even while sporting my Metallica t-shirts, dyed black hair (cause yeah my black hair wasn't black enough already), and my oh-so-metal black nail polish. Girls usually hate "the girl who talks to everyone". Not that I'm a social butterfly, I just don't see the need to ostracize anyone because they're not 'just like me'.

The one girl who was most determined to kill me actually came to my house after school one day. She was mean looking and my little brother was terrified. He's a wuss, that one.

Instead of letting her nails leave permanent marks on my face and certain bald spots on my head, I got her a soda and we sat on the front stairs and talked. She soon realized that it was Bubba (given name, I swear to god) who sent me the "I like you, do you like me? check yes or no" note during English, and not the other way around. I told her even if I did like him, there's not a chance in hell I'd be interested, cause really...His. Name. Is. Bubba. Ya'll.

Even then I had standards. Aren't you proud?

So that's been my habit for most of my life. Make friends of anyone who thinks they don't like me. Unless I just don't care about what they think, which happens more now that I'm older. I'm still astonished when I run across the rare chick who absolutely detests me. I wonder what goes on in her head. For about five seconds.

Then I say, "eh, whatever", and usually something equivalent to "kiss my ass, bitch," with all the love I can muster, and the sweetest smile in the world.

Because there are few things I can tolerate less than superficial, bitchy women. And I steer clear of them like they might infect me and give me boiling, itchy, red sores with their diseased thoughts of, "Oh. My. God. That is sooooo last season!" and "Girl, if you even look at him....".

Honey, don't even. I do not care that much.

I've been wise enough though, in my increasingly older age, to begin cultivating meaningful friendships with several wonderful women who were carefully selected from a slew of applicants. I beat some of them off with a stick, I swear. I searched long and hard and finally found girlfriends who are not superficial at all (or I would have kicked ya'll to the curb, girls, don't doubt me, it's been done before).

They're all intelligent, independent, witty, funny, and determined. Yes, every one of them. With friends like these, who needs sisters right?

So for the dreaded V-Day of Doom...

This valentine is for my girls. I love every single one of you, for who you are and for who you are not. You are all perfect, special, and fantastic to me, and my life would not be the same with out you. *big hugs*