How to Mount a Girliness Offensive

Sorry I went MIA again. I promise I really am trying to keep up with this blogging stuff! Just had a little craziness at work. And I was trying to get ready to go on vacation.

And I started a Girliness Offensive.

Girliness Offensives are everything their name implies – girly, yet offensive. They put the "pretty" in "NOT PRETTY". If you've never been a part of a Girliness Offensive before, I'll walk you through it. I hope you're wearing rubber boots. Stylish rubber boots, though. If they aren't $125 Hunters, DON'T BOTHER.

Step 1: Glance at a calendar and notice that you have a vacation in about two weeks. Get all excited.

Step 2: Glance in a mirror and freeze in abject terror as it dawns on you that your picture may be taken on said vacation. Make a mental inventory of all the things that are currently wrong with your appearance. Run out of space in your brain for all the things that are currently wrong with your appearance. Opt instead to sum it up in a single sentence: "I look like a cross between an acne-ridden teen, an 85-year old hag, and a linebacker with a hormone imbalance. When the hell was the last time I shaped my eyebrows?!?!?!"

Step 3: Resolve to do something about it! Make a list, preferably on a piece of paper you can lose, so you won’t be reminded of your failure later on. The list will typically look something like this:

• Lose 3,000 pounds
• Get super-stylish high-maintenance haircut at expensive salon
• Have Penelope Cruz’s face grafted over my skull
• CAP TEETH!
• Acquire all new brand name wardrobe
• Buy expensive undergarments that have been designed by the Engineering Department at MIT
• Anti-wrinkle treatment: Blood of a Dozen Brazilian Virgins™ Transfusion

Step 4: Realize you cannot possible afford everything on your list. Revise.

• Switch from M&Ms to Jelly Bellies (low-fat!)
• Get a trim and a TON of hair-restraining devices
• Maybe wash your face
• BUY LISTERINE!
• Do laundry
• Do a load of delicates, too
• Believe in the power of prayer

Step 5: Purchase all sorts of products that promise “professional results at home”.

Step 6: Get professional results in an Emergency Room for any injuries/maimings/loss of limbs incurred in decidedly at-home attempt at girliness.

Step 7: Put your fat jeans and old t-shirt back on. Get professional results from an at-home margarita machine. Take a nap.

Girliness Offensives never end well for me. In the past, I’ve suffered injuries including but not limited to: having my skin melded with my underwear on a molecular level (“I’ll just have to wear this pair until all the current skin cells die off and are replaced”), having a fingernail sliced in half down the middle, puncturing my knee with a pair of scissors, tiny open/bleeding wounds all over both legs, bone bruises in my feet (x-rays are pricey, y’all!), countless blisters, and having my facial skin peel off like I was in a zombie movie. So this week’s attempt was among my more successful stabs at girliness, as the only negatives were:

• Having to ask someone to help me dress myself at a super-glamorous salon where I couldn’t operate a SMOCK properly. I spent 10 minutes wrestling with it in a bathroom before wandering out, restrained in a straight jacket of my own making.
• First-degree burns on my neck and hands (me + curling iron = BAD IDEA)
• Blood blisters on both feet (new shoes!)
• Thick, gloppy nail polish with my fingerprints conveniently embossed in two nails! I’ll know I’ve started a fad when J Lo goes into a nail salon and says “Give me an OPI manicure with an ulnar loop imprint”. This is how manicurists will “sign” their work in the future. Mark my words.
• Both legs are orange (self-tanner!)
• 2 gaping, bloody scrapes on my scalp (details to be revealed in my Lifetime Original Movie entitled “I Tried to Put My Hair In a Bun…and Accidentally Lobotomized Myself”)
• Over $200 spent on the tools and potions that have effectively converted my bathroom into my personal torture chamber

So, as is always the case with a Girliness Offensive, I’m feeling really sexy! And by “really sexy”, I mean “like a mental patient who shouldn’t be allowed to handle sharp and/or very hot objects”. I used to be an average-looking girl who wanted to better herself. I am now a frizzy-haired one-woman burn unit with a head wound, scented with a hundred flesh-burning chemicals, held together by an intricate web of Band-Aids and nail polish, hobbling around in blood-filled designer shoes. HAWT! Form an orderly queue, gentlemen.

And next time, go for the girl in the fat jeans, t-shirt and ponytail. At least she’s still in one piece.