Lifestyles of the Rich and Plastic!
Queenie is now the ripe age( No! I dont stink!) of thirty. Some of my friends and family are curious to know just how I survived this long....sheer will! I find some interesting things go along with the age.
I am now considered an adult. Weather I like it or not, and weather I behave like one or not. Perception is the key. There is some kind of magic involved with this particular number when applied to a person. If you are twenty-nine, you are still irresponsible. IF you are thirty, you are taken seriously, how scary is that? I can't even take myself serious, and now there are other people in the world who will, no matter what. Just becasue I had "the birthday"
I love my birthday. Its like a present to yourself. You wake up, and blam, you are another age. Its like taking a pill, and suffering the side effects for a year! Everything changes.
Plus, its an excuse to make people buy you things out of guilt, and they acually ask you what you want. This was so much easier when I was nine, and there were four million eight hundred and two Barbies to choose from. Now, if I asked for a Barbie, I would probably end up with a life size bimbo that one of my friends brought by the house to introduce me too. WTF? As if I have a burning desire to converse with hair and boobs for the sake of being nice. NOT!
Yet they constantly put me in that postition.
When I was younger( ha! I can ligitimatley say that now...cause I am thirty, you see) I had lists of what I wanted for "MY DAY". Now I have lists, but they have things like: Boobs, quit drooping. Ass, stay put. Hair must be dyed. More make up required. Sex, just once this year would be nice. A maid would be helpful. Someone else to do the shopping. Wrinkles, go wreak havoc on someone else for five damn minutes!.
LOL.
I miss the Barbies. But perhaps that is why my list is now so Fu*** up! Barbie had a hot car, a hot man, a mansion, forty two hundred careers( so she was loaded dont you know) and a wardrobe that rivals Renelda Marcos' shoe collection. WTF. Who knew I was going to end up Po, and not even able to afford the "or". I certainly didn't. I figured I would be an astonaut for a week, a secretary for a couple of months, and then meet "Ken" and he would take care of everything else. I would try on outfits that matched for the rest of my life, live off the royalties from the Make-up that never wears off, or needs replacing( come on, who of us didn't think that was how it worked?) and eat bon-bons on the beach with Skipper, my perpetually perky 16 year old sister, that never did show up to wash the dishes my Parents made me do for slave labor wages?
See, I never had a problem with how Barbie looked. I am just pissed I didn't end up with all the stuff she had. I am sure she has a Hummer now, and a log cabin in the woods on six million acres and Ken chops all the wood she'll ever need. Bitch.
So, no. I dont have a list of Crap I want for my Birthday. I just want what Matel sold to all of us stupid, unsespecting idiot children. The American Dream that came with everything no one I will ever know...Got! She even Has a CyderMocle for Pete's Sake! WTF!
So too all of you that wish me a "happy" I thank you much. Now go out there and get me a Barbie Life! And step on it. I ain't gettin' no younger here folks.
Queenie. Out. Of. Her. Mind.
I am now considered an adult. Weather I like it or not, and weather I behave like one or not. Perception is the key. There is some kind of magic involved with this particular number when applied to a person. If you are twenty-nine, you are still irresponsible. IF you are thirty, you are taken seriously, how scary is that? I can't even take myself serious, and now there are other people in the world who will, no matter what. Just becasue I had "the birthday"
I love my birthday. Its like a present to yourself. You wake up, and blam, you are another age. Its like taking a pill, and suffering the side effects for a year! Everything changes.
Plus, its an excuse to make people buy you things out of guilt, and they acually ask you what you want. This was so much easier when I was nine, and there were four million eight hundred and two Barbies to choose from. Now, if I asked for a Barbie, I would probably end up with a life size bimbo that one of my friends brought by the house to introduce me too. WTF? As if I have a burning desire to converse with hair and boobs for the sake of being nice. NOT!
Yet they constantly put me in that postition.
When I was younger( ha! I can ligitimatley say that now...cause I am thirty, you see) I had lists of what I wanted for "MY DAY". Now I have lists, but they have things like: Boobs, quit drooping. Ass, stay put. Hair must be dyed. More make up required. Sex, just once this year would be nice. A maid would be helpful. Someone else to do the shopping. Wrinkles, go wreak havoc on someone else for five damn minutes!.
LOL.
I miss the Barbies. But perhaps that is why my list is now so Fu*** up! Barbie had a hot car, a hot man, a mansion, forty two hundred careers( so she was loaded dont you know) and a wardrobe that rivals Renelda Marcos' shoe collection. WTF. Who knew I was going to end up Po, and not even able to afford the "or". I certainly didn't. I figured I would be an astonaut for a week, a secretary for a couple of months, and then meet "Ken" and he would take care of everything else. I would try on outfits that matched for the rest of my life, live off the royalties from the Make-up that never wears off, or needs replacing( come on, who of us didn't think that was how it worked?) and eat bon-bons on the beach with Skipper, my perpetually perky 16 year old sister, that never did show up to wash the dishes my Parents made me do for slave labor wages?
See, I never had a problem with how Barbie looked. I am just pissed I didn't end up with all the stuff she had. I am sure she has a Hummer now, and a log cabin in the woods on six million acres and Ken chops all the wood she'll ever need. Bitch.
So, no. I dont have a list of Crap I want for my Birthday. I just want what Matel sold to all of us stupid, unsespecting idiot children. The American Dream that came with everything no one I will ever know...Got! She even Has a CyderMocle for Pete's Sake! WTF!
So too all of you that wish me a "happy" I thank you much. Now go out there and get me a Barbie Life! And step on it. I ain't gettin' no younger here folks.
Queenie. Out. Of. Her. Mind.
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