Thursday, August 7, 2014

Clown


It is 4:11 in the morning.
I cannot sleep.

I am fully dressed, make-up on, ready to go to work and finish my presentation. If only it were not weird and unsafe to walk to work at this hour. I wish I could just go sit at my monitor and finish the goddamn work.

I know I shouldn't be writing this blog post. 
I know I should be in bed, asleep. 
I know I should be Keeping Things to Myself and laying low. 
I know I should be Staying Away From Social Media until things settle down.

But see, two things:

One
I write because, when I am desperate, it is the only antidote to my crazy.

Two
Social media is not "fun." Social media is a fucking job and a half. Social media is the conduit for the job of Brand Me. And if it could just completely go away – if the need to broadcast yourself and Who You Are and Haaaaay!!! Here's Me All funny/witty/cute/sexy/nice/interesting/in-the-know…Well, then, fuck…let me crack open a nice cold one with a stupid Young Adult novel on a secluded beach and wear a comfortable one-piece swimsuit with sweatpants and a hoodie in case I get cold. Yeah. 


Back up.

Why Clown? Here's why. 
That's what I am. I am a clown.

I am one of the funny/witty/cute/sexy/nice/interesting/in-the-know fucking Urban Clowns. 

That's all we all really are, us City Women. And before you get your Victoria Secret undies in a bunch, just hear me out. 

It's almost like I gotta write to the women and the men can just sit back listen. The Gays can commiserate, I guess. 

Here is the deal. 

Sure, the make-up, the clothes, the shoes, the bags, the parties, the flirting, the haircuts, the mani/pedis…they are, in a sense, fun.

But.

When is the last time you woke up, did not shower, did not put on make-up, and just slipped into a comfy pair of baggy jeans and your cool graphic tee and your Converse or your Pumas and just shlepped your way into work. And, let's just say you actually did do that yesterday. How did you feel? Did you feel powerful? Did you feel at ease? Did you feel just fine in your own skin sitting at your desk, feet fuckin propped up, writing your good ole PowerPoint?

No, you did not.

Because, fact is, you can't.

“To be born a woman has to be born, within an allotted and confined space, into the keeping of men. The social presence of women is developed as a result of their ingenuity in living under such tutelage within such a limited space. But this has been at the cost of a woman's self being split into two. A woman must continually watch herself. She is almost continually accompanied by her own image of herself. Whilst she is walking across a room or whilst she is weeping at the death of her father, she can scarcely avoid envisaging herself walking or weeping. From earliest childhood she has been taught and persuaded to survey herself continually. And so she comes to consider the surveyor and the surveyed within her as the two constituent yet always distinct elements of her identity as a woman. She has to survey everything she is and everything she does because how she appears to men, is of crucial importance for what is normally thought of as the success of her life. Her own sense of being in herself is supplanted by a sense of being appreciated as herself by another....One might simplify this by saying: men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only most relations between men and women but also the relation of women to themselves. The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed female. Thus she turns herself into an object -- and most particularly an object of vision: a sight.” 
― John BergerWays of Seeing

You wanna try it, girls? Be my guest. Do it. Go without makeup. Don't get your hair did. Be mousy brown Chicos boring and what do you get?

I am asking you – what do you think you will get if you just phone it in on being a woman at work??

NOTHING. 
You will be nothing.
You will not advance. 
You will not be liked. 
You will not progress in your career. 

And, hey - for real here – if you are one of those women who follows the description above (sans make-up, sans layered haircuts and sans skinny), fucking BRAVO to you. Because you must be so smart and cunning that it does not matter if you just phone it in on being a girl. Well-done, yo.

That's all I got. Just one more agitated I-Am-Not-A-Feminist-But-Boy-Do-I-Sure-Sound-Like-One-Tonight-Actually-This-Morning, chick. 

Girl. 
Lady. 
Piece of Ass. 
Bitch.

Wife. 
Hopefully someday mother.
Daughter.
Sister.
Friend.

Take this post and tear the shit out of it. See if I care. Crazy? Maybe. But conscience-clean and maybe now I can catch some fucking shut eye. God knows I will wake in the morning and regret this post…And those bags I'm gonna have under my eyes. I'll be needing some concealer, for sure. And maybe a touch up on my matted hair...

P.S. I do still adore Giorgio Armani Rouge Ecstasy #400. $34.00 but, worth it. Try it. It just might help you get ahead.


Sincerely,
Susan B. Agony











3 comments:

  1. I miss you so effing much Franklin!

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  2. I did not know you had a blog, I discovered it tonight, and I've been reading your shit for hours. You are SO entertaining, please don't ever stop writing. love you girl

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  3. Mostly true. But men most also look presentable if they want to get ahead. I think it's self-respect as much as societal demands. And thank god the older you get, the less you care what society thinks, the more willing you are to to forgo makeup, hair dye, spanx, etc. I take a perverted delight in going to the grocery sans shower and makeup. But I try not to stink.

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