Merriam-Webster defines a Drama Queen as a person given to often excessively emotional performances or reactions. But I feel this cursory explanation only reinforces the negative connotation of the lifestyle. As a Southern, small-town girl, ex-debutante, ex-sorority girl, and current Army wife, I feel uniquely qualified to educate the masses on one of America's least understood groups: Drama Queens. Below, I have outlined a few little-known facts about these royals.
Drama Queens are born, not made. Regardless of what people might try to convince you, Drama Queendom is not a choice. Situations- huge, complicated situations - find real Drama Queens. If these people were not biologically engineered to handle such happenings, I would legitimately fear for their sanity. Not just anyone is a Drama Queen. Many young girls ages 12-22 will experiment with being a Drama Queen. I am unsure if this is an act of rebellion against non-dramatic parents, or perhaps an attempt to repel young males, but, eventually, most of these "Drama Princesses" will find that they are better suited to a mundane existence. However, true Drama Queens will find comfort in this tumultuous lifestyle; it will just feel right. If you find yourself among the few, the proud, the OMG!!, then congratulations! You will find yourself in elite company with the likes of former Senator John Edwards, screen and courtroom legend Lindsey Lohan, and that lady from my bank, who, I've never technically been introduced to , but has told me (in great detail) of her third divorce and questionable shoulder mole.
Drama Queens are just like you and me- except better. I believe that one of the reasons Drama Queens are looked down upon by the rest of us, is that we feel inferior. And, really, why shouldn't we? Drama Queens are more than you and me. They are altogether smarter, dumber, taller, shorter, faster, slower, happier, and sadder. Their lovers love them more, their haters hate them more. They are more patriotic and religious. They work harder, have longer hours, and regardless of who you are, their life is better than yours. Unless, of course, your life has recently hit a rough patch. In that case, quit your whining, because a Drama Queen has is worse.
Drama Queens are the natural prey of mother-in-laws, but are, nonetheless, remarkable mothers. I don't have an explanation for this one. All I know, is that despite being an exceptional human being (see above), a Drama Queen is always hated by her mother-in-law (or baby daddy's mama, as Drama Queens sometimes eschew marriage). This fact is particularly puzzling in light of how well Drama Queens parent. A pregnant Drama Queen is truly a magnificent thing. She is healthier and sicker than you ever were. She gains less weight, and loses it all approximately thirty minutes postpartum. She does not take the drugs, and even if she does, they will not work so, really, it's still totally natural childbirth. She will have the longest/shortest most painful delivery in the history of the universe- afterall, her cervix dilated to eleven centimeters. But it's all worth it in the end, as her child will most certainly crawl first, walk first, talk first, and generally be the smartest child on or off the planet. Her little darling's first birthday party will rival the Royal Wedding, and cute? Fugetaboutit. The rest of us pale in its glory. It's easy for we peons to become resentful of the constant gloat, but me must remember little-known Drama Queen fact #212: During Pregnancy, a chemical is excreted in a Drama Queen's brain that effectively erases all prior knowledge of mankind. So, you see, a Drama Queen will act like she is the first person to ever be pregnant and her offspring is the first child to ever be borne and grow up, because, to her, that is the case.
Drama Queens are natural predators. Please don't feed them. Drama Queens feed on, well, drama. Unless you went to a special school, or you know, any Southern Baptist church, you are woefully unprepared to handle them. Drama Queens are tricksy. They will tempt you with long sighs and woebegone looks, but do not, under any circumstances, ask why. And as is so often the case, the Internet, or more specifically, Facebook, has widened the predators' net. Drama Queens will lure you with cryptic status updates that allude to familial discontent, marital discord, or health concerns. They might even solicit advice. Please, do not be fooled! Remember, Drama Queens are smarter than you. They don't really need your advice; you can't contribute any suggestion that they haven't already thought of, implemented, and deemed useless.
Now that you understand a little more about Drama Queens, I hope that you can use this newfound knowledge to your advantage. Feeling a little down? Call a Drama Queen- there's at least one in every family. But please, don't misinterpret their looks of delight at your misfortune- they are only excited to share their wisdom. Drama Queens are voracious, if not sympathetic, listeners. And no matter your troubles, a Drama Queen has been there, done that better than you.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
All Hail the Power of my B
All hail the "power of the V". Ladies, are you pissed yet? You should be.
I went to a movie recently, and the theater showed a commercial before the film. Imagine this: The sun dawns over the horizon as a male voiceover announces, "It's the cradle of life." Mesopotamia? Epic battle scenes play as the man continues, "Men fight for it, die for it." SEC Football? "Some say it is THE most powerful thing on EARTH!" Oprah?? Then, suddenly, the scene cuts to a woman pushing her shopping cart down a grocery store aisle. She stops to examine a display of Summer's Eve feminine wash and cleansing cloths. The voice, now a chipper female, says, "So ladies... take good care of it! Summer's Eve- hail to the power of the V!" Immediately, two distinct sounds filled the theater- female gasps and male guffaws. I cannot begin to explain how enraged I was, but just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I see that the ads are now being nationally broadcast on television.
So, I went to Summer's Eve's website to post a complaint, but their position is that they are actually empowering women, and that, in fact, "it's about time vaginas were celebrated for their awesomeness." You've got to be kidding me. Tell me, Summer's Eve, what's so awesome about it? It's a body part that serves a specific purpose. Grand. So is my elbow. So are my ears, but I don't see Q-Tips hailing the power of the E's. Personally, I wish to celebrate the awesomeness of women's brains. How about hailing the power of the B? Lets, for a moment, put aside the fact that physicians agree your products are not only unnecessary, but possibly harmful. What's up with telling women our anatomy is awesome, but only if it's appropriately scoured with chemicals first. Face it, you are preying on the insecurities of women, and you must be destroyed.
The saddest women I know, are those who define self-worth by men's perceptions of them. You know the ones- you've probably got a few of them on your Facebook friends list. You don't know what (or if) they read, or how they feel about current events (American Idol and The Bachelorette don't count), but you've seen a bazillion pictures of them in crop tops, booty shorts, and bikinis, draped over a different guy in each one. It's like they want to brag about how attractive men find them. Well, congratulations? What does this adoration buy, exactly? Sex? So someone wants to have sex with them... again, congratulations, but you know what? Chances are, the most unattractive woman you've ever met has had sex; it's not that hard to procure. I want to shake these women, and tell them that they are so much more than a physical shell placed on Earth for male enjoyment! Not to mention the fact that these women are almost always trying to chase down the good ol' days. A thirty-five year old, no matter how good of shape she's in, cannot compete with a twenty-five year old. And you mid-twenties gals- you're going to be thirty-five so fast your heads will spin. Trust me. Please, ladies, find something real about yourselves to take pride in.
My mother taught my sister and me that gender is as arbitrary as hair color. She was always aware of society's seeming acceptance of sexism, so she did all she could to raise us as strong, independent women. Looks didn't matter in my household. I was told often that I was loved, smart, funny, capable, tenacious, etc., but I never, ever heard words like pretty, cute, thin, or any other physical qualifier (I might not have been all of these things, but my sister was, and she didn't hear them either). My parents didn't remark on these things, because they didn't matter then, and they don't matter now. Sure, every few years you will read about a study that finds "attractive" people to have better jobs and whatnot, but can you guess how many beauty queens are on Forbes' list of the 100 most powerful women? (Alright, there's that one Alaskan, but anyway)
Daniel and I are doing our best to follow this parenting model. I want my girls to feel self-assured and self-aware. I want them to assert themselves, and doggedly pursue whatever goals they set. I teach them that they can do anything they are willing to work for, and that confidence and determination are powerful. And yet, sadly, the fine folks at Summer's Eve want a woman to believe that her true power comes from between her legs. Nothing less, nothing more. So take care of it ladies, they assert, or men won't care about you anymore, and you will have no power left at all. So, friends, you can listen to Summer's Eve, or you can join my ranks of strong, self-thinking women. We are, afterall, way too intelligent to listen to a bunch of douches.
I went to a movie recently, and the theater showed a commercial before the film. Imagine this: The sun dawns over the horizon as a male voiceover announces, "It's the cradle of life." Mesopotamia? Epic battle scenes play as the man continues, "Men fight for it, die for it." SEC Football? "Some say it is THE most powerful thing on EARTH!" Oprah?? Then, suddenly, the scene cuts to a woman pushing her shopping cart down a grocery store aisle. She stops to examine a display of Summer's Eve feminine wash and cleansing cloths. The voice, now a chipper female, says, "So ladies... take good care of it! Summer's Eve- hail to the power of the V!" Immediately, two distinct sounds filled the theater- female gasps and male guffaws. I cannot begin to explain how enraged I was, but just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I see that the ads are now being nationally broadcast on television.
So, I went to Summer's Eve's website to post a complaint, but their position is that they are actually empowering women, and that, in fact, "it's about time vaginas were celebrated for their awesomeness." You've got to be kidding me. Tell me, Summer's Eve, what's so awesome about it? It's a body part that serves a specific purpose. Grand. So is my elbow. So are my ears, but I don't see Q-Tips hailing the power of the E's. Personally, I wish to celebrate the awesomeness of women's brains. How about hailing the power of the B? Lets, for a moment, put aside the fact that physicians agree your products are not only unnecessary, but possibly harmful. What's up with telling women our anatomy is awesome, but only if it's appropriately scoured with chemicals first. Face it, you are preying on the insecurities of women, and you must be destroyed.
The saddest women I know, are those who define self-worth by men's perceptions of them. You know the ones- you've probably got a few of them on your Facebook friends list. You don't know what (or if) they read, or how they feel about current events (American Idol and The Bachelorette don't count), but you've seen a bazillion pictures of them in crop tops, booty shorts, and bikinis, draped over a different guy in each one. It's like they want to brag about how attractive men find them. Well, congratulations? What does this adoration buy, exactly? Sex? So someone wants to have sex with them... again, congratulations, but you know what? Chances are, the most unattractive woman you've ever met has had sex; it's not that hard to procure. I want to shake these women, and tell them that they are so much more than a physical shell placed on Earth for male enjoyment! Not to mention the fact that these women are almost always trying to chase down the good ol' days. A thirty-five year old, no matter how good of shape she's in, cannot compete with a twenty-five year old. And you mid-twenties gals- you're going to be thirty-five so fast your heads will spin. Trust me. Please, ladies, find something real about yourselves to take pride in.
My mother taught my sister and me that gender is as arbitrary as hair color. She was always aware of society's seeming acceptance of sexism, so she did all she could to raise us as strong, independent women. Looks didn't matter in my household. I was told often that I was loved, smart, funny, capable, tenacious, etc., but I never, ever heard words like pretty, cute, thin, or any other physical qualifier (I might not have been all of these things, but my sister was, and she didn't hear them either). My parents didn't remark on these things, because they didn't matter then, and they don't matter now. Sure, every few years you will read about a study that finds "attractive" people to have better jobs and whatnot, but can you guess how many beauty queens are on Forbes' list of the 100 most powerful women? (Alright, there's that one Alaskan, but anyway)
Daniel and I are doing our best to follow this parenting model. I want my girls to feel self-assured and self-aware. I want them to assert themselves, and doggedly pursue whatever goals they set. I teach them that they can do anything they are willing to work for, and that confidence and determination are powerful. And yet, sadly, the fine folks at Summer's Eve want a woman to believe that her true power comes from between her legs. Nothing less, nothing more. So take care of it ladies, they assert, or men won't care about you anymore, and you will have no power left at all. So, friends, you can listen to Summer's Eve, or you can join my ranks of strong, self-thinking women. We are, afterall, way too intelligent to listen to a bunch of douches.
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