You, Tarzan. Me, Brandi

"What do men have in common with mascara?" a friend asked over a margarita the other day, letting out a few preemptive giggles before the punchline. I raised an eyebrow for the answer. She smiled and triumphantly announced, "They both run at the first sign of emotion!" When I nodded, unimpressed, she tried again. "Why did God create man before woman? You need a rough draft before the final copy."

I've decided I'm over the difference between men and women. Really. And it may be because all of my friends are sexually ambiguous. But you can't tell me men and women are so different.

We all breathe. We all put on our pants one leg at a time (except for some overachievers). We are all blessed with the ability to cry, laugh, smile, love, and feel proud or inadequate. We all are living with goals and interact with people the same way. Our bodies and thought processes are similar.

Generally, I know more women than men who are sex-obsessed. I also know more men than women who are at home in the kitchen and are excellent cooks (and many women who can burn water). I know more women than men who can change their tire. I know more men than women who know the best way to dress a pear shaped body versus an apple shaped body.

Frankly, in 11 months of dating, my boyfriend has cried just as often, if not more, than I have. So much for "running at the first sign of emotion". And I'll have it known that after the women's struggle to be equal, I find it disgusting that so many women now feel the need to make men feel inferior.

And as far as mascara goes, try L'Oreal Waterproof Voluminious Mascara. It don't run for shit, ladies (or men... because I know a few guys who wear it. yeaaaahh, I'm talkin' about you!).

Be vewy vewy quiet... I'm hunting jobs..

Yes, my friends. The job hunt it on.

I woke up this morning two and a half hours early. I put on my nicest piece of jewlery and a cute flattering skirt. I put on enough makeup to make myself look more appealing and shoes that didn't fit quite right (my feet are impossible to shop for and therefore must spread themselves out in the few dress shoes I own so that the backs don't slip off the feel). I hauled my cute butt into a car with less than a quarter of a tank of gas and an orange light alerting me of low coolant and prayed it would take me to Vanderbilt.

I even left an hour early in anticipation, which is lucky because I did cruise around Music Row until I turned around in the right direction, all while praying my car didn't run out of gas until I got home. And then I walked in to talk to a man who will inevitably call me in 3 to 5 days to tell me they "went in a different direction". In other words, I am one of thirty becuase jobs are hard to come by, friends, and every twenty something ladder climber knows it.

If this were a movie, my actor-husband would tell me not to worry and that I should take this opportunity and fufill my dreams. My actor-children would jump up and down and squeal that they are right behind me. And somehow, without a job, I would miraculously be approved for a loan to open my own restaurant or something. And the whole family would be right behind me. There'd even be a camera shot of my two year old clumsily and endearingly attempting to sweep my restaurant with an oversized broom.

But this isn't a movie. In real life, my boyfriend smiles tightly when I complain that I'm tired of date night consisting of a movie and my parents' couch. In real life, my mother's tone rings in my head from when she told me that I could live with her as long as I had a job. In real life, I am faced with the fact that this is the first time in five years I've gone more than two weeks without a job.

Although I have five years of customer service and excellent references, I am an Undesirable. At least that's what has been the result of the last seven job interiews in the last two weeks.

Boys will be boys... and girls... well, that's a different story

I just got back from Centennial Park where I watched my boyfriend and my male best friend goof around trying to climb a tree.

I saw a flower on a high branch and teased them that the first one to get it would "win my affection" and in true testosterone form, they both began to climb the tree while I sat with a snow cone on the grass to watch. It made me think.

Gender roles are placed from birth. We're all aware of this. Blue is for boys, pink is for girls. Little boys play "let's blow shit up" and little girls play "mommy for baby dolls". But. Our society is changing. Women are doctors, mathematicians, electrical engineers... Men are now fashion designers, stay at home dads, and teachers. I'd like to think our world is becoming less misogynistic. I complained when my best friend donned her baby boy in blue, telling her she's just following the mold and psychologically fucking with him.

And yet..... I found myself watching the boys climb to win me a flower.

I did not climb. I did not get rough. I just sat pretty and cheered them on.

Maybe my role as a woman is more genetically engrained than I suspect.

Or maybe I didn't want my skirt to fly up and expose my thong clad ass cheeks.

Either way, I didn't get my flower. I guess my demands were too high.

Intro

So, at the moment, I am currently jobless. So, I am not successful. I am overweight. So, I'm not thin. And because I am unsuccessful and overweight, I am not fabulous.

This blog will chronicle my efforts to conquer these three things. In the end I should have a better understanding of what truly makes a person happy. I think.

By the way, my blog title is a play on the quote from The Green Mile. I have an odd sense of humor and every time I read the title it makes me laugh. No one else will laugh. But that's the definition of marching to the beat of one's own drum, I guess.

Or. That's the definition of a crazy person.

Seriously? Someone who laughs at their own unfunny jokes? Maybe I should divulge into that issue as well while I'm self exploring.