Well, it's about damn time I post something for 2011 (Happy New Year, BTW) and fess up to the three pounds of fat that I got myself for Christmas. At least three pounds -- that's what I'm admitting and I'm not gonna weigh myself right now, in case I'm fooling no one but myself. So that's it -- I was very busy with the holidays from about November 1 through January 1, and then I was busy with the work that I didn't get done earlier from January 1 on. During which time, I was also all frickin' itchy, and a trip to the allergist/derm confirmed that it's NOT Grover's this winter, it's my old friend Atopic Dermatitis. Sigh. And now it's January 28, almost February, and I haven't worked out in like two months, I itch eternally despite the magical ointment that helps with the worst of it, and I'm back to my pre-blog squidge, just on a slightly smaller, less-squidgy scale.
So here's what I want to discuss today: (1) cherry bombs, and (2) how Enjoli and Virginia Slims sold all us chicks a bill of goods in the 80s. Not necessarily in that order.
First up for angry-middle-aged-lady ridicule: Enjoli. "I can bring home the bacon. (da, da, da da) Fry it up in a pan. (da, da, da, da) [So far, she's working full time, AND she's doing all the cooking.] And never, ever let you forget YOU'RE the man...." Okay, it's been a good 30 years since 1980 and I'm older and wiser and no longer distracted from reality by a catchy jingle. Seriously? We have to work a full time job, come home and do all the cooking and housework, AND act all submissive and stupid to make some man doing half as much feel superior? Makes me want to scream. But I'm a WO-O-O-MAN, who lives alone, so I don't have to do all that shit for some guy and be annoyed about it, so I won't scream. Not right now, anyway.
And then there was the Virginia Slims "You've come a long way, baby." campaign. Remember these?
Yeah, we've come so far that now we have to work outside the home in addition to doing all the same shit AT home. And we get paid less to do the same work as our male counterparts. And get treated like "the help" or patronized while doing it. I remember one secretary at my first job as a young lawyer saying "Well, I'm not going to get her coffee." Ouch. I hadn't even asked anyone to bring me coffee. Plus they'd GET the coffee for the male lawyers. So why not me? Am I not a lawyer? Nope, just a chick. So we really haven't come all that far, Baby. Which is why I prefer to work from my home, where I don't usually have to deal with the BS. My male law partners, ALL have wives at home that do not work outside the home and who make sure that their homes are clean, repairs happen, the fridge is full, meals are cooked, errands are run, parties are planned, gifts are purchased, trips are scheduled, pets are fed, walked, taken to the vet, etc. -- you know, everything in life outside of work. So they don't understand at all when I get pissy about working nights and weekends for more than a week -- after all, what else could I possibly have to do, but sit around eating bon bons? Or maybe smoking a cigarette in my Annie Hall outfit and manly smoking jacket. Frickin' Virginia Slims.
What the Hell were Enjoli and Virginia Slims trying to do to us, ladies? And what bunch of old white men thought it was a great idea? Where was Gloria Steinem when we needed her. I know. I'm not knockin' Gloria -- she's done some fine work. But we aren't helping ourselves out much these days,with all the boob jobs and cosmetic surgery and reality shows that glorify gorgeous idiocy. It's like we've given up and just want to be sex objects again. Well, at least that would be easier than bringing home the bacon and fryin' it up in a pan on TOP of never letting you forget YOU'RE the man.
On to issue number two. I LOVE me some bing cherries. And they must be in season, because my Safeway has had them on sale for a few weeks now. Yu-um. So I bring home my 1.16 pounds of dark red deliciousness and rinse them (thank God I don't have to fry them up in a pan) and set them on the counter in my locally-hand-made berry colander. And lo, they are some good cherries. So I'm eating cherries. And I'm eating cherries. And...you get the idea. I ate ALL the stupid cherries in like an hour or two. 1.16 pounds. And I'm thinkin', "No big deal. These are fruit -- they're good for me, right? Fiber, vitamins...." Well, you can imagine my surprise when I spent the next 24 hours offending my two dogs and even my feral cat with random noxious explosions of pretty serious size and scent. Who knew? Well, now we all know. Word to the wise for 2011: Don't eat them cherries all at once on an empty stomach. No matter how good they are.
