Team Whitney!

"I'M EVERY WOMAN IT'S ALL IN ME!" - Fashion Bug.

Being a chick is the shit! I have always been a strong supporter of being this gender but tonight, I'm liking it even more. As a wee little sprout I rarely got excited about girl things besides barbies, easy bake ovens, hair accessories, dresses, attempting to paint my short chewed finger nails, making beaded necklaces, participating in neighborhood ballets, laying out on funky beach towels with the girls exposing our bellies that greet the summer sky in hopes of gaining the tiniest ounce of color, plastering my bedroom walls with photos of Justin Timberlake and Leonardo Dicaprio, naming all sixty stuffed animals and then pretending they were my offspring (maybe that wasn't so girly and it was just weird). HA NEVERMIND, I got excited about all of those things and so much more. Don't think I'm some puss though, I did do manly things like lift weights and participate in rollerblading competitions down the neighborhood street. I get excited about girl things now too. But it's an excitement for things that are squishy. Being treated like a girl is AWESHUM! Soft and gentle and beautiful. I love being a girl. GIRL'S JUST WANNA HAVE FUN. I FEEL PRETTY OH SO PRETTY.

Earlier I was freakin' the fuck out. I was tempted to put a bowl on my head and cut the hair hanging down so low cause I wanted a change. I cut a few pieces but nothing you can notice (cause yous a computer program, fool!). I really felt and still feel a bit lower than I should regarding my cool factor. I need to do something drastic, whether that's dying my hair orange, getting ugly bangs or painting my skin green. I just need the inside Kim to match the outside Kim and then we'll be all good again.

Rainbow Pie

Do you remember gym class in elementary school when the slightly androgynous, white haired teacher who swished and swooshed with every move she made in her Adidas track outfit would pull out the oversized tarp that was sectioned to look like a flat rainbow pie? One slice of the giant cloth was dark green, the next blue, the next red, the next bright yellow. Ms. Martin would lead all of her little waddling students who would form a human chain to the blacktop on the nicest of spring days. Then she would unfold the tarp on the sparkling asphalt to reveal tiny holes at the edge of the rainbow pie for all of the tiny hands to cling to. On the count of three, knuckles turning white with anticipation, you raise the pie to the sky, hurry underneath and wait for the wind to gently carry it down around your shoulders. For the six whole seconds you're waiting for the foreign touch of the soft cotton cloth on your shoulders, you take notice of the small bursts of warm sun coming through the worn holes. All of your classmates huddled together, exploding with smiling innocence blush with blue and yellow. And then it happens. The quiet parachute lands, tiptoeing on the highest points of your exposed skin, winding all the way around. Hugging you, the rainbow pie is everything you could want. Colorful, thrilling and a gentle touch.

More then ten years later, the rainbow pie is entering my life once again, except this time I can hug him back without having the fragile tarp collapse between my squeeze. Everything is in the open with this, stretched out on the blacktop exposed. I hold his hand in mine, knuckles turning white with satisfaction. When I quick run under the tarp as its suspended high in the sky, the sun breaks through the openings. However this natural light comes to me in the form of his jokes, warm on my neck. And his energy, reflecting vibrant blue and yellow on my cheeks. As we lay, blankets guarding our legs, his hands fall to me, fingers tiptoeing through my hair and down the side of my face, winding all the way around. This is everything I could want.