She Shows Her Underwear.

I feel as if I have begun to misrepresent the Female Gender. I have found myself in a situation where I must live my self made slogan "Live Beautiful." Many of you may know that this is not in any way correct grammar, but it inspires a certain joyful sunlit image that makes you want to join in. I now daily put on a makeup designed for my face and bone structure, make sure my outfits are form fitting and wear pink. Pink is the lovely color that Carma threw at me. When coming up to Utah I told my mother that I was going to abandon dark colors so that I would be inspired to be happy daily. Now I sell Mary Kay.

My two uniforms consist of either pink lettering or pink stripes of pure joy. I sleep in a pink bed and work in a pink booth. If I were to tell you that being beautiful daily has not become a joy in my life I would indeed be lying; the amount of pleasure I get from it may never be duplicated in the course of my life. This being said I must now admit that beauty is only painstakingly pinned and painted deep. I have gotten in the habit of hanging out with boys. And now my work clothes are my beauty and my chill wear is running mascara. So in order to be comfortable around boys I enjoy I must be...manly. So with them I have hiked, devoured three bags of popcorn and stood and cheered when Batman flipped over a 16 wheeler. Yes, I am truly feminine. Don't let the pleasant light misted smell deceive you, it is a well crafted witches brew that smudges all the ruff and tumble edges that are my new found qualities.

So the question must be posed. What should people believe? The cellulite-free blemish-less Goddess? Or the suspicious smell in her kitchen? I know what one person would answer. My dear friend David has a brother that met me on Halo II night. I sat and reveled in the testosterone air as six men called each other girls. (That in itself deserves the question of gender definition) I ate brownies and laughed at the jokes I should never have known the punchline to. I expected myself to burp at any given moment. Then today I had dozed off on Dave couch and his brother walks in and notices that the shirt I had thrown on to replace my work shirt did not cover my pink striped underclothing. despite my graceful sleeping position this lack of concern could only mean two things on my part, that is to any one looker. That, one: I was expected to show my underwear anywhere, or two: that I don't feel like a girl around those dang boys. I am hoping that number two is that wonderful revelation, simply because I know that this three color blend of eyeshadow does not suggest hooker.