Deconstructing the OCG

Last Thursday night when I went out with the girls for Beach Chic’s birthday we were smokin’. Fuck, I was smokin’. But it’s funny the extremes of illusions girls will go through to create the goddess before you.

Now we all know that the majority of us do not wake up looking like the siren that stands before you.

The Siren that by a mere glance… a wink… you begin to get a semi as you imagine her mane getting tangled through your fingers as you grab her head and place it where you wish… your eyes wandering slowly up the golden legs that seemingly go on forever… from her pretty pink toe-nails until they reach her heaven, images of those pillars wrapped tightly around your torso… her flirty eyes gazing at you and alluring lips beckoning to be placed somewhere.



We know that we do this, that you imagine this… because we have done this for you…

Sometimes more effort than not is put into it…

This last Thursday was one of those, “more effort than not days”. I used to work with a guy that would talk about putting girls through “the shower test”. If you had a girl, put her in the shower, and she came out looking almost as great as she did when she went in, she passed.

I would have failed miserably.

I got to Beach Chic’s house and proceeded to straighten my mane, apply my smoky eyes and glisten my voluptuous lips… I put on my booby shirt and jeans… Beach Chic, while getting her
voluminous hair curled for the second time of the day (after having her make-up done twice) looked at me and said that I wasn’t adhering to the “dress” code, and pulled a dress out for me to wear.

I put it on and Beach Chic and Ah (Who was curling Beach Chic’s hair) proceeded to point and laugh at me for seemingly forever… okay so it was more like 5-10 seconds, but it was horrible. Beach Chic, still laughing, said, “OCG, I really don’t mean to be racist… but I do NOT have white friends. You need to wear jeans under that dress, or do something. That is unacceptable.”

I sat on the floor with my face bronzer and brush and for the next twenty minutes created the illusion of a golden glow… while working on it I realized that I hadn’t gotten a pedi and needed to paint my bare toenails. I then found out that neither Beach Chic nor her roommie had any fingernail polish, “Why would we, we don’t paint our own nails?”

Trying not to touch anything, lest my glow rub off, I found the only thing I could to add some color. Rounding off the smoke and mirror effect that was quickly becoming my outfit, I grabbed a pink highlighter and colored my toes.

Walking out of Beach Chic's on our way to the evening that was to unfold we made jokes about being able to track any guys who tried to rub against me while dancing by the tan they would be wearing on their pants. I prayed for no rain, lest my hair curl, my make-up drip down my face, my tan wash away and my toes be in puddles of pink. Shower test indeed…