Did I ever tell you that I went to fat camp? I did. Three separate times. Two summers--1985 and 1986--at The Body Shop (no, not a car repair joint)and one summer at Weight Watchers Camp in Wisconsin (1988). The first two summers were more about my parents deciding I needed to "get in shape" and "learn healthy eating habits" since, apparently, they couldn't teach me themselves. The third summer was all about me wanting to get the hell away from my parents. Fat camp was a familiar option.
I don't fully remember the first two visits to fat camp; I was young (and fat) and kind of a shy kid. I recall clearly that no one knew how to pronounce my name. It's really not difficult, so I can only assume that they were all starving and therefore unable to take on simple tasks, like pronunciation. I also remember that The Body Shop camp was all girls, which was fine because I was too young to understand that benefits of a co-ed summer camp (that came later). The Body Shop is where I learned weird camp songs like the one about old friends being gold and not-old friends being silver (cuz that makes sense) and some ancient tune about begging for "pence" on the street. I also recall being screamed at at 6am because I wasn't doing aerobics with quite enough enthusiasm.
But Weight Watchers Camp...that's where the action took place. You see, I was 12 and therefore a woman. Ok not really but I was 5'10" sporting a full C cup and when I look back at pictures of 12 year old Dresden from that summer, I have to admit, I was a little bit smokin'.
I doubt that my parents drove me to Wherever, Wisconsin in the summer of '88 fully understanding the ramifications of sending their daughter to a co-ed camp but I'd like to take this opportunity to thank them. because it changed my life. Wanna know how? Stay tuned, bitches....
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
It would be cool if you could call me and just say hi.
I don't think they have phones where you are.
Do you remember when we watched Casablanca? I do.
But the thing that I remember the most is the day we had some stupid fight about nothing. Some trivial, doesn't-even-matter argument and I walked away from you. I just turned and walked away and left you standing there. I was mad, probably crying because I tend to do that even if I'm not sad, just frustrated. I remember looking over my shoulder at one point and you were following me. Just a tiny, small little figure walking slowly after me, shoulders slumped forward, wearing that blueish-gray knit cap you wore for practically the whole year. You didn't look mad. You looked sad. And so, so small. I wish I had stopped, waited for you to catch up and squashed whatever crap had wedged itself between us. We could have sat on the lawn and drank Olympia beer and complained about how much it tasted like pee.
I remember the time you hooked up with the guy I told you I liked. So I went back to our dorm room and locked the door, knowing I had your keys in my backpack. I remember you sat on the other side of the door and knocked and cried and said you were sorry. I remember I forgave you pretty quickly and never thought of it as an actual betrayal. Because it wasn't; it was just girl drama and that shit don't matter. But those few minutes that I knowingly locked you out of our room were cruel, self-centered and incredibly immature. I wish I could have those minutes back. I wouldn't even think about closing the door on you.
I miss you every day. But today, I miss you a lot. A lot a lot a lot.
Do you remember when we watched Casablanca? I do.
But the thing that I remember the most is the day we had some stupid fight about nothing. Some trivial, doesn't-even-matter argument and I walked away from you. I just turned and walked away and left you standing there. I was mad, probably crying because I tend to do that even if I'm not sad, just frustrated. I remember looking over my shoulder at one point and you were following me. Just a tiny, small little figure walking slowly after me, shoulders slumped forward, wearing that blueish-gray knit cap you wore for practically the whole year. You didn't look mad. You looked sad. And so, so small. I wish I had stopped, waited for you to catch up and squashed whatever crap had wedged itself between us. We could have sat on the lawn and drank Olympia beer and complained about how much it tasted like pee.
I remember the time you hooked up with the guy I told you I liked. So I went back to our dorm room and locked the door, knowing I had your keys in my backpack. I remember you sat on the other side of the door and knocked and cried and said you were sorry. I remember I forgave you pretty quickly and never thought of it as an actual betrayal. Because it wasn't; it was just girl drama and that shit don't matter. But those few minutes that I knowingly locked you out of our room were cruel, self-centered and incredibly immature. I wish I could have those minutes back. I wouldn't even think about closing the door on you.
I miss you every day. But today, I miss you a lot. A lot a lot a lot.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Please Stop Trying to Sell My Vagina Things
Dear EVERYBODY:
Please stop trying to entice my vagina with your bullshit products.
I think most women would agree: our vaginas are doing JUST FINE. Once it's vagina time, rest assured, we will make our purchase quietly and based entirely on our personal needs.
That said, please stop trying to convince me that the following products are awesome:
1. Summer's Eve. First of all, soap is fine, thanks. I do not need to spend an extra $5 on a "gentle vaginal cleanser." My vagina is not fragile. Also, "Summer's Eve"? Really? Yes, because when I think about the level of cleanliness my vagina possesses, I think of a warm summer evening. Who the fuck came up with that?
2. "Cool" tampons. Tampons are inherently not cool. Some things are just not able to achieve hip and trendy status, like PowerPoint presentations, taxes and yes, tampons. I would like to add here that packaging your allegedly cool tampons in NEON COLORS does not inspire confidence. Rather, my vagina is wary of anything that glows in the dark entering its space.
3. Douche. Really? I mean, people still buy that? There's a reason assholes are referred to as "douchebags." I'm just sayin....
4. KY jellies and creams, as well as any condom, that markets itself as "for her pleasure." Listen...by now, we all know how this works. No amount of artificial lubricant or odd shaped condoms is going to do your job for you, dude. Any woman who buys these products in the hopes of "getting back that spark" is really just spending way too much dough on a short night of disappointment.
5. Vaginal odor blockers. I wish I had been in the room where the meeting took place where the ad executives decided that the best way to artistically capture a particularly stanky day was to show a woman seeing a reflection of herself wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt, looking like her dog just got hit by a car right in front of her. Or the woman hanging out with her friends who suddenly gets an unexpected whiff of her own vagina and turns away, embarrassed. Have you ever been out with the girls having cosmos when suddenly Carol looks horrified, gathers her purse and says, "You guys, I'm sorry, I have to go, my vagina reeks"? NEITHER HAVE I. And furthermore, if it's that bad, might I suggest a trip to the gyno rather than a trip to Walgreens.
6. Any menstruation product that markets itself using women wearing white pants. And I promise I'm almost done. But any woman who has a brain does not wear white pants or skirts when she is on the rag. It's just a fundamental no no. And while I appreciate that she is out dancing with her boyfriend in her white pants with that devil-may-care attitude, we all know that the day before, she was holed up in her room with cramps, diarrhea and a copy of The Notebook.
In conclusion, while I enjoy your hilarious commercials, you will never own me.
Please stop trying to entice my vagina with your bullshit products.
I think most women would agree: our vaginas are doing JUST FINE. Once it's vagina time, rest assured, we will make our purchase quietly and based entirely on our personal needs.
That said, please stop trying to convince me that the following products are awesome:
1. Summer's Eve. First of all, soap is fine, thanks. I do not need to spend an extra $5 on a "gentle vaginal cleanser." My vagina is not fragile. Also, "Summer's Eve"? Really? Yes, because when I think about the level of cleanliness my vagina possesses, I think of a warm summer evening. Who the fuck came up with that?
2. "Cool" tampons. Tampons are inherently not cool. Some things are just not able to achieve hip and trendy status, like PowerPoint presentations, taxes and yes, tampons. I would like to add here that packaging your allegedly cool tampons in NEON COLORS does not inspire confidence. Rather, my vagina is wary of anything that glows in the dark entering its space.
3. Douche. Really? I mean, people still buy that? There's a reason assholes are referred to as "douchebags." I'm just sayin....
4. KY jellies and creams, as well as any condom, that markets itself as "for her pleasure." Listen...by now, we all know how this works. No amount of artificial lubricant or odd shaped condoms is going to do your job for you, dude. Any woman who buys these products in the hopes of "getting back that spark" is really just spending way too much dough on a short night of disappointment.
5. Vaginal odor blockers. I wish I had been in the room where the meeting took place where the ad executives decided that the best way to artistically capture a particularly stanky day was to show a woman seeing a reflection of herself wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt, looking like her dog just got hit by a car right in front of her. Or the woman hanging out with her friends who suddenly gets an unexpected whiff of her own vagina and turns away, embarrassed. Have you ever been out with the girls having cosmos when suddenly Carol looks horrified, gathers her purse and says, "You guys, I'm sorry, I have to go, my vagina reeks"? NEITHER HAVE I. And furthermore, if it's that bad, might I suggest a trip to the gyno rather than a trip to Walgreens.
6. Any menstruation product that markets itself using women wearing white pants. And I promise I'm almost done. But any woman who has a brain does not wear white pants or skirts when she is on the rag. It's just a fundamental no no. And while I appreciate that she is out dancing with her boyfriend in her white pants with that devil-may-care attitude, we all know that the day before, she was holed up in her room with cramps, diarrhea and a copy of The Notebook.
In conclusion, while I enjoy your hilarious commercials, you will never own me.
And today's WFT award goes to.....
While testifying against former Liberian president Charles Taylor, supermodel Naomi Campbell stated that until she met Taylor 13 years ago, she had never heard of him...OR HIS COUNTRY LIBERIA.
Ok, I admit there are mostly likely some countries I have never heard of but LIBERIA???? Probably the country in Africa with the most interesting history, in my opinion. So I guess this is proof that UK elementary schools are no better than American schools. Which is sad for the UK. Cuz, I mean, seriously. Take a minute and think about the applicable shit you learned in public school. IN CLASS, not in the hallways or the cafeteria.
Or maybe we can blame this all on Naomi Campbell. I say we do that and stay in the shallow end of the pool. I'm too tired to tread water in the deep end today.
Ok, I admit there are mostly likely some countries I have never heard of but LIBERIA???? Probably the country in Africa with the most interesting history, in my opinion. So I guess this is proof that UK elementary schools are no better than American schools. Which is sad for the UK. Cuz, I mean, seriously. Take a minute and think about the applicable shit you learned in public school. IN CLASS, not in the hallways or the cafeteria.
Or maybe we can blame this all on Naomi Campbell. I say we do that and stay in the shallow end of the pool. I'm too tired to tread water in the deep end today.
Monday, August 2, 2010
God I Hope My Kid Does Real Drugs
No, I don't want my child to do any drugs. I want them to play the clarinet, join the math club and graduate from high school a pristine virgin.
But if they must, oh let them do real drugs. Mommy doesn't want people to stare and whisper when she walks into the PTA meeting:
"Her son Carl...he huffs gas."
"I heard her daughter Linda is blind from too much Duster. You know, that stuff in a can that you spray on your keyboard at work to get all the Taco Bell crumbs out? Such a shame."
Yeah, don't do that to me Carl and Linda. Haven't I given you everything?? You lived inside me, for Christ's sake, like I was a goddamned studio apartment and this is the thanks I get?
Go to your room. Mommy can't look at you right now.
But if they must, oh let them do real drugs. Mommy doesn't want people to stare and whisper when she walks into the PTA meeting:
"Her son Carl...he huffs gas."
"I heard her daughter Linda is blind from too much Duster. You know, that stuff in a can that you spray on your keyboard at work to get all the Taco Bell crumbs out? Such a shame."
Yeah, don't do that to me Carl and Linda. Haven't I given you everything?? You lived inside me, for Christ's sake, like I was a goddamned studio apartment and this is the thanks I get?
Go to your room. Mommy can't look at you right now.
Crazy Girls Get All the Ass
It has come to my attention that I've been lied to since puberty. See, what you don't know, fellas, is that in addition to being told e can still go swimming when we have our period, we are also told that we must work hard not to be crazy. It's not blatant, you know. It's disguised as medical jargon.
"You're going to experience a lot of hormones during that time of the month."
What the fuck is a hormone? Oooooh it's something unseen that insights rage and terror to all those in my path. Right.
"Just remember...it's hormones and this is all perfectly natural."
Translation: Stop acting like a fucking maniac or no one will take you to prom.
This was ALL a lie. Crazy girls get so much ass. How many times have you thought to yourself, "That girl is fucking crazy" as she's walking down the aisle in a (laughable) white dress? I was at a wedding reception once and the bride danced over to me. She just danced over, didn't have anything to say. So I said what you're supposed to say at all weddings: "The ceremony was beautiful. You look gorgeous. Congratulations!" Lindsay Lohan smiled like she was on acid and said, "I've had 6 glasses of wine, 8 vicodin and 4 adderall. I'm surprised my heart is still beating." This was not her first marriage.
Think about it. Think about all the crazy, crazy chicks you know who always have a man. It's stunning. For now, I'm going to work on being much, much crazier in an effort to get laid.
"You're going to experience a lot of hormones during that time of the month."
What the fuck is a hormone? Oooooh it's something unseen that insights rage and terror to all those in my path. Right.
"Just remember...it's hormones and this is all perfectly natural."
Translation: Stop acting like a fucking maniac or no one will take you to prom.
This was ALL a lie. Crazy girls get so much ass. How many times have you thought to yourself, "That girl is fucking crazy" as she's walking down the aisle in a (laughable) white dress? I was at a wedding reception once and the bride danced over to me. She just danced over, didn't have anything to say. So I said what you're supposed to say at all weddings: "The ceremony was beautiful. You look gorgeous. Congratulations!" Lindsay Lohan smiled like she was on acid and said, "I've had 6 glasses of wine, 8 vicodin and 4 adderall. I'm surprised my heart is still beating." This was not her first marriage.
Think about it. Think about all the crazy, crazy chicks you know who always have a man. It's stunning. For now, I'm going to work on being much, much crazier in an effort to get laid.
A non Haiku Haiku for Kyle Waterman, my first college boyfriend
Oh, Kyle Waterman,
Did someone finally shank you,
or did you start buying your own cigarettes?
Did someone finally shank you,
or did you start buying your own cigarettes?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)