I don’t know what it is I have to do exactly… but I definitely need to do something that will make me the next Michelle to grace the cover of Time Magazine. (Ok, and so long as it's something that'll make my Momma proud and not some sex scandal or act of terrorism or some other shameful misdeed against humanity.)
Grocery shopping is so... zen. I feel so grown up doing it. When I'm walking down the aisles, looking for all of the things in my shopping list, comparing prices, buying different cuts of meat, vegetables, cans of tuna, and toiletries then whipping out my advantage card and the "grocery budget"... I begin to realize that this [husband holding the calculator, daughter pushing her own cart] is what I've worked so hard to achieve --- the ability to buy my own groceries. And eat whatever the Hell I want. =)
When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire.
I would honestly pay to see STARS perform (and I don't really pay to see anyone perform except Janet Jackson because... it's Janet Jackson), just so I can sing to their songs and live the history of my miseducation all over again.
I don't think I've emoted more to a band than this one.
"I'm not sorry there's nothing to save." <------------------ They f*cking nailed it.
To you a housewife is someone who sold her soul for a center hall colonial. She has no depth, no intellect, no interests. You're the one who said I could do anything I wanted. This is what I want.
Maybe it's because of "Desperate Housewives" and "The Real Housewives" franchise that's made post-modern, self-righteous feminists all over the world believe that wanting to make a career out of being a housewife is so sad and revolting of a goal. Maybe people think all housewives are these repressed, good-for-nothing women who drink daquiris all day and flirt with the pool boy. I could see why people may find that sad.
Now on the other hand, I have very high hopes of becoming a housewife someday. More than becoming the next tech-savvy Anna Wintour.
Because being a housewife is the most challenging thing I think any woman (or man) can pursue. Many people may be called housewives or househusbands, but very few are actually very good at it.
I want to learn to cook. I want to bake muffins. I want to crochet and make pillows and clean my bathroom and make the bed and prepare food in lunchboxes and casserole dinners and walk around my house and do the chores naked. I want to be the one thing my family looks forward to at the end of their long grueling day.And I want to do all of these things, not out of some obligation or because I'm chasing that next promotion or that paper. I want to do it because it makes me a f*cking saint. (Yeah, I said it). I want to provide that comfort, that solace, that security for my loved ones who need it. Otherwise, they'll want to find it somewhere else... like the local bar or a friend's house. And that just sucks.
I know it's not practical right now to want that. But I hardly think it's sad. And for women who say it's sad, well... that's probably because they're ugly and single and want to sour-grape about how being single and independent and free is awesome and they want to be career-driven because they think it'll substitute and justify the sad state they've so convinced themselves to live that it's more important and fulfilling to compete in a man's world than nourish the world we were given the privilege to attend to - our homes.
I'm saving up to become a housewife. And anyone who thinks and says "it's sad" SUCKS SALTY BALLS. Not as if your goals are better unless you wanna be a missionary or something. Sorry if a life of servitude is so pathetic to people these days. Stupid corporate hipsters, think they've got it all figured out.
I'm gonna let Julia Stiles school your asses the way she did Julia Roberts.
If I could, I'd be a potato farmer. So f*ck whoever says potatoes are NOT vegetables. They're THE vegetable. Alas, they are also the bane of my perpetual diet. Then again, you can't have just one. *sigh*
I remember being at a family bbq and I grab this huge hunk of what-I-assumed-was-steak, hungry as Hell and put it on my plate. Then I take this enormous, ravenous bite... only to find out it was liver. I swear, I never spit food up so fast.
Not even the mashed potato and bacon can save this dish.
"Because of its unusual taste and gray appearance, it is an acquired taste and not a favorite or comfort food with everyone at the dinner table. This has given rise to the popular Jewish-American expression 'What am I, chopped liver?,' signifying frustration or anger at being ignored on a social level."
Now... I'm not even gonna say some of the "crazy" sh*t we've done together (because I'm married now and a changed woman =) but definitely, it's with good reason why people get us confused sometimes and call us by the other's name and think we're twins even though we're four years apart.
