[about the author]
i actually like speaking in front of large crowds. freakish,
i work crossword puzzles in ink.
i am the american nigella lawson. or maybe the american eddie
izzard. can't decide, really.
i would be a really good mom, but i'm cool with being a really
i am sometimes more perceptive than i would like to be.
i am fiercely loyal. sometimes, stupidly so.
i never play dumb. never.
i am way too hard on myself.
i am a change agent.
i sometimes cross that fine line between assertive and aggressive.
i am not afraid to tell people that i love them.
i am militantly pro-choice.
i am pro-adoption.
i know a little bit about alot of things.
i typically enjoy the company of men more than women.
i am capable of being really mean and nasty, but i fight it.
i am a lifelong cubs fan. do not laugh.
i have been known to hold a grudge.
i have hips.
i am not my sister.
i am lousy at forgiving myself.
i am an indoor kind of gal.
i am a bargain shopper. to the point of obsession.
i am 32 flavors. and then some.
i bet jesus would offer to buy me a drink
my girlfriends and i have this little quirk. we use the term "hooker" as a term of endearment with one another.
"what's up, hooker?"
"you're such a hooker."
i have no idea where it started. or why. i just know we say it, and it's never been a source of offense. because, you know, we say it with love. and we're joking. i mean...we're not really hookers.
although, i would probably have a nicer car if i was a hooker. well, if i was a call girl...'cause i understand that's different. oh, and i would probably work out more.
not to mention that, as you may recall, i was destined for hookerdom anyway.
so, you know, being a hooker wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing.
but, calling your girlfriend a hooker isn't the same thing as having some judgmental coworker call you a prostitute.
two days ago, i was talking to a friend who also happens to be a coworker. while we were talking, another coworker stopped by. she began talking to my friend and, suddenly, the conversation took a rather sharp turn.
"you know, i'm sure you think you look cute, but nobody really wants to see all this," she said, waving her hand in the general direction of my friend's cleavage.
we laughed because we were just sure she was joking.
"oh, you go ahead and laugh, ladies. although i shouldn't call you that. i should call you women. we are all women, but very few of us are ladies. as you can see," again gesturing toward my friend's cleavage.
i'm still laughing -- still sure that this is a joke. has to be a joke.
my friend isn't laughing anymore though. i mean, it is her cleavage that's being disparaged.
but, now it was my turn.
"what, you're laughing? you think it's funny? i've seen you walking around the office with your stuff on display. and i don't see you that often, so it's probably a lot more often than that. you think you're better than she is? you think you're not a prostitue like she is?"
now it's pretty clear to me that this isn't a joke. or, at least it's not a funny joke.
"i'm sorry...what? first of all, i do not think i am better than her. or anyone, for that matter. know why? i'll tell you why: i don't judge people. not my place. not my business. live and let live. and, second of all: did you just call us prostitutes? did you just walk into my office and call me a prostitute."
"by prostituting your bodies this way, you're earning yourselves a place in the fiery pits of hell. jesus...."
"oh, okay, hold on right there...this is a small office, okay -- let's not crowd it up by bringing jesus in here. besides, jesus was a man, right? you think jesus wouldn´t appreciate an attractive lady with nice decolletage?"
my friend and i burst out laughing.
"oh, you laugh now, but what do you think st. peter will say to you when you arrive at the gates?"
and, despite what i know to be my inside the actors studio answer to the question, i just couldn't stop myself.
"well, i'm hoping he'll say 'nice rack.'"
"i'm gonna pray for the two of you."
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