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Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Shit Brittney Says I am 'birthdayzilla,' hear me roar
Posted By Brittney Cason on Tue, Jan 25, 2011 at 3:17 PM
I have a new-found empathy for bridezillas.
You spend all this money, time and effort into planning the perfect party. You coordinate it like a production, buy a new dress, and even put on fake eyelashes ... and then something goes wrong and your expectations became disappointments. You can’t help but get pissed — and being the center of attention makes it hard to disguise the fact that you are.
Well, my 30th birthday party was like my wedding … and got to be so big it felt like it was, with the pressure of turning 30 bearing down on me like cold feet. I had 90 people joining me to the Bobcats game, and then we took a party bus from the arena to Butter, where I spent a week trying to coordinate everything from decorations and deliveries of party rentals.
My phone blew up the entire dinner from all the people from the game calling and texting asking me where Front Court is — or that they’re running late and to leave their tickets at Will Call versus meet up with me before.
I spent my entire night making sure everyone else was having fun — and then realized, I wasn’t.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Shit Brittney Says I'm turning the 'Flirty 30' today
Posted By Brittney Cason on Mon, Jan 24, 2011 at 3:20 PM
Thirty years ago today, I was being squeezed out of my mother’s vagina. Well, actually I was being ripped out of her stomach via emergency C-section. Hence, I woke up this morning the big 3-0.
And I just discovered some new wrinkles under my eyes. Happy Birthday to me.
I don’t really mind exiting my 20s, or physically aging even — what I do mind are the people who put pressure on me to act my age.
“You’re turning 30! You going to get married or become an old maid?” are the birthday sentiments I seem to be getting.
For some reason, the age of 30 is viewed as some sort of relationship deadline … especially in the South where I’m like an endangered single species attending church every weekend — to attend weddings, that is. What is the rush to the altar at 30? Our eggs do not have the shelf-life of dairy… the expiration date extends beyond 30 years. Hell, my mom had me when she was 40 … 30 years ago, before fertility was a scientific experiment.
Turning 30 is such a big deal, apparently it's newsworthy and warrants the cover of the Living Section in the Charlotte Observer: Breaking News: I'm 30 and still single. Even Kim Kardashian did a feature in People Magazine about how she thought she’d be married with kids before 30. But life doesn’t always work out as planned does it, Kim. I figure I’ll just play it by ear … life that is.
Maybe I am missing a few screws, but there is no clock ticking (or eggs rotting) in my body. I’m not going to put the settling in settling down just because I am a few years short of cougar status.
Now that I’ve conquered all my adolescent fears, I’ll do it better in my next 30 years … wait, now I’m just singing a Tim McGraw song. Well, I’m going to enter this new decade with the intelligence and worldliness of a woman who has 30 years of life experiment. The 20s were just practice and the wrinkles on my face are from my laugh lines. They are just proof that I smiled a lot in my first 30 years.
So to me it’s not the dirty 30; it’s the flirty 30. And that means it's merely an excuse to throw a big party.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Single-Taken-It's Complicated The bitch-her
Posted By Brittney Cason on Fri, Jan 14, 2011 at 3:30 PM
I was having dinner one evening at my married friends’ house where the entertainment was listening to them argue.
Wife: “YOU DIDN’T FEED THE DOG! You’re so worthless! I went and got dinner for us and you can’t even remember to feed the dog!”
Husband: “I’m so sorry, I forgot. I’ll do it.”
Wife: “I have to do everything around here … (bitch bitch bitch bitch bitch)”
And from there, the argument escalated, until I slyly interjected, “I’ll feed the damn dog!”
I’ve often noticed that some of my girlfriends treat their men in a way that they would never treat me: like a bitch-er. They bitch about the most insignificant things, such as taking out the trash or hoarding the remote — basically that his head isn’t inserted far enough up her ass. What I really want to say is: “You have a man who loves you, and comes home to you every nigh. Who cares if he wanted to feed himself before the dog. By the time you sat there and bitched at him for it, you could have fed the dog yourself!”
Perhaps I’m just jaded from being cheated on and lied to so much that I don’t really see chores as a relationship offense punishable by bitching. Like a survivor of a “heart-attack,” I don’t take anything for granted, especially not a man who’s loyal.
I wouldn’t care if he pees all over the toilet seat, never washes one dish, and farts in his sleep, as long as he doesn’t cheat on me — everything else is compromisable. So here are a few things women should definitely not bitch about …
1. The toilet seat. Men don’t complain about us leaving it down, so therefore, we don’t have the right to complain about them leaving it up.
2. Guy time. Just like you need your folic acid and calcium, he needs his dose of testosterone — and if you trust him (which you should if you’re with him), then why wouldn’t you want some space to hang out with your girlfriends or yourself? Absence makes the heart grow fonder, so let him miss you for a few hours. And who cares if he comes home drunk, as long as he comes home to you (and didn’t drive to get there).
3. What he wears. How he dresses is how he is. You try to change a man and he’s going to change girlfriends. Imagine if he told you that dress made you look fat; same thing.
4. Money. ?If you complain about him not making enough money, well, then why don’t you just cut his balls off while you’re at it. Men often feel like they need to be the provider in the relationship. As long as he’s providing you with love and loyalty, don’t complain about what’s in his wallet.
Remember, he is a guy after all. So we should try and limit our bitchiness to once a month … when we’re menstruating. We’re at least entitled to it then.
