This month is apparently National Blog Posting Month or NaBloPoMo aka “The theme with the most awkward and sort of dirty sounding acronym ever” month. Even though the name is a little bit lame and I’m 3 days late starting I’m going to attempt to take part. I haven’t actually read anything about it yet other than I’m supposed to make a commitment to post every day of the month of November. That might be a little bit difficult logistically speaking during Fake Thanksgiving and Actual Thanksgiving but I’ll figure something out.
I don’t really have a reason for not blogging, I just haven’t sat down to do it. Every time I’ve had some free time I’ve been obsessively playing New Super Mario Bros on the Wii. But this last weekend was Halloween and I resolved to write a little something about the kick-off to the Holiday Season. Mostly because of something disturbing Daniel and I encountered at his DJ cousin’s big annual Halloween Bash.
OK, I’m accustomed to the concept of a majority of girls’ Halloween costumes being “Slutty _____”. Especially college girls. I usually prefer to think up something witty or culturally relevant so I wish I could say I’ve never partaken in this (newish?) tradition. Sadly I cannot honestly make that assertion. I had some friends in college who I’m still quite close to today who threw epic parties. EPIC. One year for the Halloween party we all had a meeting and wrote costume ideas on little pieces of paper and put them in a bowl. My suggestion was “Bertha the Bald-Headed Ballerina” but, sadly, no one pulled that one from the bowl since we all made multiple suggestions. I drew “naughty nurse.” Very inspired. But I am a slave to the rules of the game when it comes to theme parties so I scoured the earth and located an actual vintage nurse’s uniform. I hemmed the HECK out of it so that it was so short if I bent over slightly you’d see the bright red boy shorts I purchased for the occasion and borrowed a lacy red push-up bra from a friend. I felt very daring. But that pales in comparison to the travesty I witnessed last Friday night.
Daniel and I were hanging out at the club checking out everyone’s costumes when a “Dorothy” started walking our direction. She wore a little white top with poofy cap sleeves that was just big enough to cover her girls. I leaned over and yelled in Daniel’s ear over the music “I’ve seen lingerie bigger than that!” And then she passed us by and my eyeballs almost caught fire. The following is what I saw:
That is not a costume. Those are SEQUINED UNDIES! Which, BTW, just makes me itchy to even think about. I’m not totally sure what the little bowed bands are supposed to be, garters I think. Home girl doesn’t even know those are supposed to be holding up stockings. Or maybe it’s supposed to be worn that way. Who knows? I’m sure not Googling it.
I guess I can’t judge too much. I did, after all grab my boyfriends arm and scream “You have GOT to take a picture of her @$$!!!!” I was self-aware enough to realize immediately what a weird thing that is to ask of your boyfriend but I couldn’t help myself. My mind was blown. So many questions.Does she KNOW that it’s almost November and COLD outside? And yet she chose to leave the house in pretty much nothing but panties? What, exactly, was she hoping to accomplish by dressing this way? I don’t think I’m a prude. I have no problem with the human body. It’s a beautiful thing. I don’t necessarily think poorly of women who dress provocatively in public. I do wonder WHY? I just can’t relate. Maybe if I were as fit as this young woman I’d feel differently but I don’t think so. Still, I do have one major problem with this concept.
You probably think, from the direction this seems to be going, that I’m about to launch into a tirade either about modesty or about the right of a woman to walk down the street buck neckid and not have it be sexualized because women aren’t just sexual creatures created for the enjoyment of men everywhere. But that’s not where this is going.
Some things are just too sacred to mess with for me.
I don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.
I do not tolerate vegetables or fungus on my pizza.
Don’t touch me with your feet.
And DO NOT.
Under ANY circumstances.
In any way, shape or form.
And I mean EVER.
Disrespect anything that is involved with, pertains to or represents The Wizard of Oz.
Dorothy Gale is a sweet little innocent farm girl.
She should not be part of your disgusting little perv fantasy.
If I had been a little bit tipsy I might very well have waltzed up to her half-naked self and given her a lecture on how to pay proper respect to the classic works of Mr. L. Frank Baum and the iconic image of the radiant Judy Garland.
Instead I was just too distracted trying not scratch my behind just thinking about sequined undies.