I’ve been reminiscing about junior high as of the last couple of days (don’t worry I’m still doing the latest Twifuck rehash review- but after I finish Harry Markopolos‘ book No One Would Listen which I will also be reviewing). Since I had no friends I will mention people by name (those I could remember that is). In my junior high ghettoness was epidemic- black, white, Hispanic, Asian, whatever the fuck you were, you were ghetto. Ghetto girls largely come from bad situations, and regardless of her age she’s going to dress provocatively since she really doesn’t like herself. So male attention is her aim because it is her familial comfort substitute.
And in so many girl cliques, a dress-up day would suddenly be announced.
“How come we don’t see you in a skirt?” One bitch cattily screeched at me.
“‘Cause I don’t have one.”
And that fuckwits was the honest-to-Buddha truth. Unless it’s for work, dressing up is tantamount to Bubonic Plague exposure. Since I was a Catholic X-mas, Easter, weddings, communions, christenings, and funerals had especially strict dress codes. Mom would get my little piggy ass up at 8:30 AM and panic would ensue. If it was a wedding the perfect storm would begin two days before the blessed event- at minimum. When I was little Mom and Grandma would buy a lot of my clothes at this chi-chi Brooklyn shop Blossoms (since Peanuts was frank crap). They sold casual and dressy gear for designer prices until they shut their doors to become one of many 99 cents stores in the early 90s. My Sunday dresses, coats, hats, gloves, purses, and communion dress all courtesy of this one shop, and woe to my ass if I even sat in the damn things wrong!
We humans dress to impress, it’s part of the universal culture. But it took Mom 20 years to figure out that regardless of the venue, nobody even knew that we were even there. So dressing up is a waste of time, in my opinion. So whenever these dumbass ghetto girls would show up in chunky heels, dresses, and more makeup and jewelery than usual I used to wonder if the effort they put out was worth it. This one Guido bitch, Danielle, showed up to school in an outfit that would (at least today) get her sent home: a mini skirt (that rode up nonstop), black thigh-highs, platforms, a red crop top, and a black vest. Her second banana Dominique (I think that was her name) wore a slip dress (that was made of cheap thin material) with a baby doll underneath and sandals. I can’t be sure, but I think she wore Lycra shorts under that getup.
So gym period rolls around and I’m sitting on the bleachers reading when I hear some shit happening a-way’s down. A bunch of asshole guys (some from my class) were egging Danielle on to get up on the bleachers and stretch out- with her back facing them. And she did. Well this was 16, 17 years ago and a few years before the debut of SPJ’s rebirth in Sex in the City, so at the time nobody had really heard of the thong. Today that strip of fabric that’s nothing more than a crotch eye patch is a fashion phenomenon, and I’ll never forget an SPJ Oprah interview where she was blatantly lying when she said she was wearing one at that moment. Wearing a thong is like having a wedgie 24/7, and with the rise of low-rise jeans thongs could literally be seen every-fucking-where. Don’t believe any bitch that says she’s comfortable. Or when she says she’s used to it.
So what’s the point of wearing a thong (outside of performing at a strip club, of course)? So a dumb bitch’s ass can jiggle more freely to get more asshat male attention. And yet these are the same bitches who blow thousands of dollars a year on cellulite cream. If you want your ass to jiggle, why are you using cellulite firming cream? I think any woman even considering wearing this shit should read Jenna Jameson’s autobio, How to Make Love Like a Porn Star: A Cautionary Tale, and she gets into the nitty-gritty (you know, reality?) of the adult industry and fashion it inspired.
Victoria’s Secret offers many variations of the thong, and whether it’s an ass wedgie or a pussy wedgie (Cheekys underwear) is it worth $29? Macy’s has its thong line- one of them is part of a wedding trousseau- virgin white lace and in white rhinestones on the front ‘I DO’ is printed. And fat women love the thong, even though it’s probably the most uncomfortable thing they’d ever put on! One pig of a woman at my Mom’s office, Sondra, loves her thongs. But she’s just not fat, she’s huge- beer belly and Shamu ass to match! So when she got back from vacation (resulting on more pounds packed on) she got up and literally screamed that she needed to get rid of her thong. So one of the supervisors, Carmen, went to a guy she knew at the hospital’s patient services that ordered up garments and got her a pair of these gigantaur granny bloomers.
But Sondra isn’t the only thong fan in the office, so is my Mom’s other supervisor Star, a delusional wannabe elite mestizo Filipino fruitcake Lucille, her pal Cecilia (an actual snobby upper-class mestizo), super ghetto two-pack-a-day Hazel (and she had breast cancer), and the office bullhorn Darlene. With the exception of Sondra, these skinny bitches love to gloss on how pretty they are (although Star yo-yo’s on account of her untreated thyroid condition- she has money and plenty of sick days, therefore she shouldn’t have excuses- and her love of economy-sized bags of potato chips) just like the girls in junior high. And every time they bend over, their thongs show to everybody’s delight. So the office church lady doormat Marcy comes back (every time) and asks them, “So where’s your white man with his condo and luxury car?”
After 30 seconds of stunned silence the room erupts into defensive, “I don’t need no man to buy me shit! I’ve got my own money!”
We all know that’s not what Marcy meant.
Well this past Thursday Mom had me in tears with the latest on Star and her sexcapades with her newest boyfriend, Little Man (that’s what they call him). So this asshole rolls up in a handicap scooter with a huge-ass WCW belt decal he ripped off a patient and slides into Star’s office since the newly-appointed 30-year-old corporatist-ass licker director Mike Zuckermann was at a meeting for the day. God knows how much time passed, but it was quiet in Star’s office. That doesn’t mean noise ain’t being made outside. So Mom went to the copy room feigning productivity checking if she could see anything because there’s a door there that leads to Star’s office. The door’s not even open half way, so Mom couldn’t see shit. Ready to give up, this idiotic giggle surprised her and Star burst out of the door with LM chasing her. Apparently LM wanted her to do something that involved getting something down from a really high shelf because she was wearing a really tight skirt… and a thong.
When I’m lyin’ in my bed at night I don’t wanna grow up
Nothing ever seems to turn out right I don’t wanna grow up
How do you move in a world of fog that’s always
Changing things Makes wish that I could be a dog
When I see the price that you pay I don’t wanna grow up
I don’t ever want to be that way I don’t wanna grow up
Seems that folks turn into things that they
Never want The only thing to live for is today…
I’m gonna put a hole in my T.V. set I don’t wanna grow up
Open up the medicine chest I don’t wanna grow up
I don’t wanna have to shout it out I don’t want my hair to fall out
I don’t wanna be filled with doubtI don’t wanna be a good boy scout
I don’t wanna have to learn to count I don’t wanna have the biggest amount
I don’t wanna grow up
Well when I see my parents fight I don’t wanna grow up
They all go out and drinkin’ all night I don’t wanna grow up
I’d rather stay here in my room Nothin’ out there but sad and gloom
I don’t wanna live in a big old tomb on grand street
When I see the 5 o’clock news I don’t wanna grow up
Comb their hair and shine their shoes I don’t wanna grow up
Stay around in my old hometown I don’t wanna put no money down
I don’t wanna get a big old loan Work them fingers to the bone
I don’t wanna float on a broom Fall in love, get married then boom
How the hell did it get here so soon I don’t wanna grow up
Tom Waits, I Don’t Wanna Grow Up (Bone Machine, 1992)
The Ramones, I Don’t Wanna Grow Up (¡Adios Amigos!, 1995)
P.S. Here’s another prime example of fashion ignorance, Bella-Smeyer’s and Alice’s prom inspiration:
In reality girls would have been kicked out of prom for wearing shit like she described. And didn’t you just love the red leather fetish dress Jezebel donned in Smeyer’s Prom Nights From Hell turd? I think I saw something like that in an episode of Forever Knight where the prostitute/dominatrix that turned out to be the crazed murderer wore a silver version of Jezebel’s dress. Mormon sex obsession. Go figure.