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2004-07-28 - 11:59 a.m.
My roommate, who is a lovely person, spends a lot of time being beautiful. She gets manicures, pedicures, goes to the tanning salon and has a complicated nightly beauty regimen. She only wears designer clothes and shoes. I'll venture to say that there are no Wet `n' Wild lip pencils mixed in with her Clinique eye-liners, foundation and blush.
She is looking to hook a man.
After all, this whole working thing is pretty tedious and most of her friends are married, or getting married, anyway.
The men she goes out with must be educated, upwardly mobile, well-dressed and have nice cars. The cars are important. He must take her to an expensive dinner and provide charming and witty conversation. On the second date she *might* kiss him.
She is a more "successful" woman than I am.
She makes more money, wears nicer clothes and her social skills are more applicable to our culture than mine are. She writes thank-you notes for fucks sake.
She is miserable most of the time.
Then again, so am I.
I who have worn the same pair of $20 shoes every day for the past two years.
I who shop for clothes at Target.
I who fuck, almost always, on the first date.
I who have no patience for niceties like thank-you notes or rites of passage.
I who have had one manicure in my life, on the day of my high school graduation.
I who do not have a savings account.
I who will not marry. For money, love or convenience.
I who feel carsick with "new car smell."
I who am uncomfortable when strangers buy me dinner.
I who live in the same world, and am critiqued with the same set of standards as, my roommate. I who am just as lost, just as maligned, just as desperate for answers as every other woman _ and maybe man _ I know.
I am here, doing this thing called living, day by day, night after starry night.