Browsing Tag

not a girly girl

Fashion/Design

I’m not a girly girl, but I f’ing love glitter

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I’ve never been a girly girl.
I don’t like the color pink.
I’ve never gotten a manicure or pedicure (I even have difficulty saying the words “mani & pedi.”)
I like men’s clothing, but I don’t wear it all that often (I own two top hats, three suspenders and six ties).
My fashion icons are Annie Hall, Maude Chardin, the Marx Brothers, lesbian graphic designers and John Jolie Pitt.
I often forget that my eyebrows need grooming.
I don’t own a a pair of kitten or peekaboo heels.
I don’t own anything with animal print on it.
The only type of alcohol I like is straight tequila. 

With all of that being said, I love the f out of sparkles and glitter.
I especially love that type of glitter that appears in retro vinyl and bowling balls (I used to own a pair of red glitter Sketchers that I named “Elton” for the left and “John” for the right).
I decided that my bike helmet needed a splash of sparkles, so I super glued plastic rhinestones on the entire thing. It took me about fifteen (more…)

20-Something, Hipstercrite Life

Why I’m Incapable of Touching Other Women

I’ve never been a girly girl.

This is a topic I’ve written about before and one I often battle with. When I see a gaggle of gals giggling and gallivanting with one another (I’ve been practicing my alliteration skills lately), I feel like a sad puppy staring out onto the sidewalk from inside the pet store window while simultaneously throwing up poopy newspaper that I ate from the bottom of the cage.

Having large herds of girlfriends and playing with each other’s hair and going on shopping trips together is something I’d like to do, but physically can’t make myself act on.

Maybe it’s because I’m an only child and am still perplexed at 29  as to how to play well with others or maybe it’s because as a child most adults thought I’d be a future lesbian due to my lack of wanting to dress as Cinderella or Madonna and instead reveled in pretending I was Rod Serling or Groucho Marx. Who the hell wants to be a blonde chick with no decipherable talents? I’d rather be a middle-aged Jewish (more…)