Friday, August 10, 2007

A Brief History of Pink


Starting when I was 14, just entering high school and buying my own clothes for the first time, I began to wear black. Almost exclusively.

I came back from my first big mall blowout on my own dime, excited to show my parents what I'd purchased.

The spoils:

1 pair black jeans
2 pairs blue jeans
1 sparkly, see-through black chiffon blouse§
1 pair black kid-leather pumps
1 pair black suede elf boots with 2 1/2-inch heels
2 black bras
1 burgundy bra
3 pairs black lace panties
3 pairs burgundy lace panties
1 pair black cotton string bikini panties
1 black belt with pyramid studs

[SUMMARY: Wardrobe building is an elusive concept to the carbonated of hormone.]

Years (years and years) later, Mom told me that after dutifully admiring my acquisitions (and probably choking at the lingerie), Dad asked Mom, "Should we be worried about this?"



"All girls go through a black phase. And a pink phase. And a red phase."

I augmented my wardrobe over the next four years with black concert t-shirts (Blue Oyster Cult, Yes, Rainbow, The Greg Kihn Band, Armored Saint, Metallica#) and, perversely, t-shirts from my summer swim league, which were baby blue and forest green.††

I wore the sparkly shirt, boots and belt on concert days (i.e. -- when I was going to a concert that night) the way the athletes wore ties or skirts on game days. Concert days were also the only time I wore makeup or did fuck-all with my hair.‡‡

Huh. I'm suddenly gaining insight on why I was a virgin until college.§§

Anyway, there was the college boyfriend who wanted me to wear a pink fuzzy sweater.


Eye rolling.

You know how I got into Led Zepplin? I *hated* Led Zepplin. Everything about them. The bluesy grind, the posturing, the wailing, the ubiquitousness of it all. Then one morning, I woke up and KAZY was doing a Mini Concert Weekend¶¶ and I tuned in just in time for the start of a Led Zepplin set and I loved it. Never looked back.

That's pretty much what happened with pink. Hate it... hate it... hate it... love it. Same with brown, really.

Never forget: obsessive AND compulsive (though not so much obsessive-compulsive).

It was a lot of fun telling Mom I finally hit my pink phase twenty years later than expected.

Now, I don't like sugary, My Pretty Pony, shiny happy pinks so much. I like delicate petal pinks and rosy pinks and dusty pinks and deep, hot, slap-you-in-the-face pinks.

So that gives you some insight on "why pink?" and probably a good look into "why not pink anymore?"

[SUMMARY: Pink and sex could have a LOT in common in my world, but don't delve too deep into that. The therapy could be prohibitive.]


Update of the DAM'd: Bachelor #4 called again Wednesday and Thursday, both during the day.

Bachelor #2 called Wednesday evening as his schedule had freed up and he hoped maybe mine was similarly open. For the record, I told him I was busy and would see him Monday as planned. I worked until 7:00, then went home and knitted.%

I spent time with a friend of Bachelor #1 last night. One thing I may not have mentioned? Bachelor #1 and Bachelor #4 are friends. I actually met them the same night.

Until fairly recently, Bachelor #4 didn't know I ever dated@ Bachelor #1. Turns out that until really, really recently, Bachelor #1 didn't know I was flinging with Bachelor #4. He asked a mutual friend how I'm doing, what I'm doing, but apparently wasn't prepared for WHO I'm doing.

I believe the quote was, "Oh, no, I can't be having that."

Can you feel the waves of glee coming from your computer screen?$

[SUMMARY: Boys!]


The Brown was lovely. The food was outstanding. People around me were impressed that some of the staff know me by name. That's all I really need. Good food and adulation.

And yarn.

And books.

And my cat.

And this lamp.*

[SUMMARY: A simple girl with simple needs...]


I got a big ol' box o' yarn from Knit Picks yesterday. I got all jazzed about the Red Scarf Project last week and went straight out to buy yarn for it. It's not particularly exciting yarn, but I'm excited about knitting it up. Worthy charity makes me happy.

[SUMMARY: I may be a wicked, lustful, greedy, covetous creature, but I have a heart of gold. I mean, if you can find it under all the piercings and push-up bras.]

Happy Friday, ev'rybahdy!

FOOTNOTE (crossed): I believe these three items to be *extremely* relevant to this tale, and I think anyone who is now or has ever been the mother of a teenaged girl, or anyone who actually remembers what a dink she was as a teenaged girl would agree.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I believe my total bill was $158

§FOOTNOTE (sweved): Not nearly as hideous as it sounds. In fact, I wish I still had it. It remains one of the coolest items of clothing I've ever owned.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): For which I had so little use, but they were so soft and they looked like Audrey Hepburn and even through my wild days and my mad existence, I loved Audrey Hepburn.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Ride the Lightning. You know, before they got bigger than the Beatles and started taking themselves way way way too seriously. That would also be "before anyone else heard of them." I keep that shirt as proof of one of the two or three truly hip moments in my dorky, dorky life.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Not on the same shirt. Two shirts. One forest green, one baby blue.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Things haven't changed that much.

§§FOOTNOTE (look at them curves!): Actually, it was sheer stubbornocity. Yeah, that's it! It was a CHOICE! Actually, if you pause to ponder high school boys, you'll know it really was a choice.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (we got your paragraphs right here): Three songs in a row from each artist. A device, I'm convinced, designed to allow DJs to get well and goodly stoned between mic times.

%FOOTNOTE (I was going to get totally pounded, but I figured it might be confusing, what with all those legitimate number symbols up there): For the benefit of those of you who think I'm too available.

@FOOTNOTE (atted. Just for variety.): Is that what the kids are calling it these days?

$FOOTNOTE (moneyed): I am wicked. And evil. And fiendish. Wayward, naughty and probably going to hell. But how inhumanly *good* would you have to be not to take a little joy in the jealousy of a man who abandoned you?

*FOOTNOTE (goin' old school with the asterisk... 'cause that's how I roll): Name that movie!

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