Thursday, November 10, 2011
Cuz I'm a Broad
17_ Oh never mind lbs. It’s up due to turkey burgers (no bun) with low-fat Swiss consumed too late at night (yes, it does make a difference).
Fortunately for me, as a part of the HCG diet protocol (Third phase, calorie restriction is off, but no sugar, no starch. I can live with that), when one’s weight climbs more than x pounds, there is a cure called “Steak Day.” One meal, 12 to 14 ounces of steak and either a tomato or an apple and that’s it for the day. Where do I sign up? Sadly, the meal does not include a good glass of Scotch, but in a few weeks, it can.
I’m thinking I may have subconsciously triggered the gain just to get the steak. I wouldn’t put it past me.
My enthusiasm for things like a great steak, a glass of good Scotch (or Bourbon) and certain sports got me thinking. These are considered to be on the more masculine end of the spectrum than say, salad, a white wine spritzer and fashion.
Growing up, I would say or do something and then hear from my mother (Sigh) And I so wished my daughters would grow up to be ladies.” I heard this a lot. Enough to where I kind of figured it was a lost cause.
Part of the problem could stem from my admiration of Bette Davis (I had gotten my hand on a copy of “Mother Goddamn”, a biography by Whitney Stine that he’d sent to her for approval, she’d written a ton of comments and corrections that were included in the book. I now have a copy she autographed). Newsweek published a quote of hers that I took to heart (at the age of 12). “There are two kinds of women; ladies and broads. Me, I’m a broad.”
My grandmother was one of three sisters. During an extended family gathering, in which all three sisters were present (known in the family as the Gabor Sisters) and their husbands (Whom my grandfather dubbed “The Three Stooges”), somehow, the conversation turned to flatulence (Yes, people had been drinking. How did you know?). Gram stated firmly and flatly, “I never permitted that in my house.” My great aunt, her sister, leaned back in her chair and asked, “Really? What did you do? Sweat ‘em out your ribs?”
Grandmother: Lady. Great aunt: Broad (and one of my favorite people).
Broads are a lot of fun (and shouldn’t be confused with Skanks. Skanks wear extremely short skirts and no underwear. Broads wear extremely short skirts and the most expensive, sexy underwear they can find). According to Elaine Stritch, a broad is the elegantly dressed woman at the dinner party, leaning across the table with a drink in her hand asking, “What the hell are you talking about?” Broads are fearless. You have to be to pull it off.
Hillary Clinton in the White House: Lady. First Lady, but when the news broke that the President had been messing around in the Oval Office, she didn’t throw all his stuff on the South Lawn and change the locks (Donna Hanover did with Rudy Giuliani. It amuses my ass that the mayor of New York City was successfully tossed from the official residence, Gracie Mansion,). Hillary Clinton on the campaign trail downing a shot of Crown Royal at a bowling alley: Broad. Well, politician courting the vote masquerading as a Broad, but it was a Broad kind of move. Sarah Palin, Michelle Bachmann? Not Broads. Not Ladies, either. I’ll take “Opinionated Dumbass Opportunists” for $600, Alex (It’s Double Jeopardy. You can make up a lot of lost ground that way. Not that it did me much good in the end).
Eleanor Roosevelt? Lady with a Broad’s backbone. Barbara Bush? Bitch in Lady’s clothing.
A Lady will be impeccably turned out and never discuss the process. A Broad will not only tell you she’s had a Brazilian wax, she will also reveal the cost and how she had to straddle a frozen turkey afterwards to get some relief (Men: if you think women shouldn’t serve in the military because they couldn’t stand up to the rigors of torture I offer the Brazilian wax – something we do for you. Not only do we submit to having hairs from a sensitive part of the body ripped out with hot wax, we make appointments to get it done and WE PAY FOR IT).
Samantha Jones? Broad (Not Slut. Samantha was in control). Charlotte York MacDougall Goldenblatt? Lady (Duh). Miranda Hobbes Brady? Broad with Bitch overtones. Carrie Bradshaw? Bradytic (Half Broad, Half Lady, completely neurotic. But I still love her).
A Broad is not a Bitch, although you may fling that at her when you don’t like her truth. A Lady will not tell you that your skirt is tucked into the waistband of your pantyhose, revealing your slip or pantyhose. A Bitch will not only not tell you, she’ll tell all her other friends about your blunder several times over. A Broad will say (perhaps too loudly), “Jesus, Christine, your ass is hanging out!” and then proceed to help you fix it. (By the way, if you’re a Skank, no slip, no pantyhose and probably no waistband for the hem of the skirt to get stuck in. But your ass will be hanging out. You should have felt the breeze).
Betty Ford: Broad all the way.
A Broad is courageous. She will not follow trends and crowds just because everyone else “is doing it.” A Broad knows herself, knows her truth and sticks to her guns even in the face of overwhelming opposition (Had they been women, the Light Brigade…would still be men. Broads are courageous, not suicidal). Everyone else at the table can be drinking Cosmos or Appletinis, she’ll have single malt Scotch on the rocks. Or a very specific drink order that doesn’t include fruit juice or flavored vodka. (Makers Mark Manhattan, perfect, straight up, chilled. Okay, lots of cherries.) She can hold her own with the boys and discuss the finer points of various whiskeys and knows her limits so no one takes advantage of her (that’s wandering into Slut territory). It is in these kinds of situations that the Broad will lean over the table and yell, “What the hell are you talking about?” While Ladies may attend male strip joints only because that’s where the bachelorette party is being held, Broads will make a special trip to the bank to get dollar bills and tuck at least two into a G string, depending on how many Ladies she has to cover for.
You know where you stand with a Broad. (See anecdote about skirt hem in waistband). If she likes or loves you, you feel it, you know it and if she offers to break the nose of someone who’s hurt you, she means it (accept such offers carefully). If she doesn’t like you, you’ll know it. And it’s best to steer clear because you’re probably THIS CLOSE to a broken nose. And you have no doubt earned it.
Broads hide their lights from no one: if she wants a steak, she’ll get it (and pay for it herself unless she’s pissed at you and been told NOT to break your nose. Under those circumstances, you’re on the hook). Where Ladies may order salad in public, eat a quarter of it (dressing on the side. Dip tines of fork before spearing lettuce), when she gets home, she’ll scarf a half box of Oreos and leftover Chinese. I say proudly that today, I ate 12 ounces of surprisingly good filet mignon (I got it at Ralph’s, good grocery store, not renowned for their meat. They’re not known for having crap in the store, but this was primo filet. Price wasn’t too bad, either). I understand the consequences of eating a lot of red meat; How do you think I got to be over 220 lbs. It wasn’t nighttime injections of fat, my friends). Some Ladies will make a point of telling you how they never eat red meat. They’ve probably led you to believe that they don’t fart, either.
Broads are kind. They’ll lend you pretty much anything, including the shirt off their backs (sometimes literally, depending on Scotch intake). Of course, they believe in all people being created equal, so you’d better be prepared to return the favor (or the borrowed item). Otherwise, you may be cruising for a broken nose.
Why is George Clooney still single? He’s not dating a Broad. He needs a Broad. I volunteer.
In conclusion, I think we need to celebrate The Broad. A holiday. Broad parties (at male stripclubs). A T shirt that reads “Damned straight I’m a Broad” (black shirt, V neck, letters in gold or crystals). Now you know what to get me for Christmas.