Get to Know Me

I am a girly girl, a feminista, a girlbot, and an all around old fashioned type of girl. I love cooking, gossip, champagne, dark chocolate, lacy underthings, and the smell of makeup.

I like mirrors and will practice many pouts and facial emotions in their pleasing reflections. I like the way lotion sinks into my pores, and I appreciate the pop pop of bubbles in my bath. I own a purse sized dog (male) and whisper sweet nothings in his silky ears. I unapologetically take two and one half luxurious hours to get ready for a night on the town. My personal record was five hours for my wedding, and I had a bevy of attendants to assist me. I am one hundred percent, unashamedly, female.

I have a problem with women who proudly acclaim their ability to be ready in ten minutes or less. More power to them but, really, how comfortable can they be at the luncheon with three inches of stubble on their legs?

I knew that Z was my future mate when he arrived at my apartment for one of our initial dates, and upon being informed that I was not yet ready, promptly settled down for a nice little nap. When I awakened him, he proffered a sweet and refreshed smile and said, "Wow, you look gorgeous! Let's see if we can make that midnight showing of Rocky Horror." What a man.

What makes me (and so many other women) unique? The strange little quirks that seem very masculine to the general viewing public.

I don't take shit from anyone, and prior to getting shit, I make it known that it will not be taken from me. Just in case.

I am very sentimental, but I act like a hard nosed Army General when Tragedy arrives. I take care of everyone and everything, and cry later.

I am not afraid of anyone. Don't try to intimidate me, especially if you are a doctor, teacher, policeman, or priest. You are human just like me, and I am not buying it. Oh, and due to the internet, I may well know more about what you are trying to sell or teach than you do.

I can tell you to go straight to hell and make you look forward to the trip, with a smile on your face. I have many ways to do this, including but not limited to, making you a dinner of Angel Hair Carbonara with Bacon and Shrimp; plying you with the sweetest/dryest vintage white or red, and playing Sinatra while I convince you that you were so wrong to criticize me when I informed you of my decision to baptize/not baptize/circumcise/not circumcise/divorce/remarry/convert to Judaism/rediscover my Catholic roots/disown you/become a Buddhist, and finally, come clean and admit my lifelong hatred of you and all that you represent.

Oh yes, you are right, I cannot change a tire. But it will take me 2.5 minutes to find a man who can.