Wednesday, January 30, 2013


You know what I love? Bad ass chicks, that's what.

Chicks rule!

What's not to love?

Michelle Rodrigez, Lisa "Left Eye" Lopes, Ugly Betty, Betty White, and Betty Boop? I heart all of those chicks. They're all hardcore, they're all hot, and they could all whoop Chris Brown one-on-one.

You know, I remember the very first lady who really made me realize girls are indeed way better than boys.
Picture it: I'm a mature 9 year-old, taking time out of my busy summer Atari-playing to dream up a grown-up job that wouldn't take too much time away from my future career as a model/actress/wife-of-Michael Jackson. That's when my insta-fave new show, "Hunter," came on, and I saw her. Dee Dee McCall.

*heavenly choir sounds here*

I've never been in roll call, but I'm sure it goes down like this:
80's hair? Check.
Extra eyeliner and lipstick? Check.
Dangly earrings and gold headband? Check.
Alright, McCall, you're totes ready for badass chick patrol.
From the very first time I watched that show, I quickly made up my mind to abandon my future life as a Hollywood glamazon. That super-gorgeous police chick made me do an about-face, and I had my mind dead-set, for about the entire next decade, on being a police chick also. For all of my young life, I never wavered from that goal.

Well, until I went off to college as a Criminal Justice major and realized being a cop isn't as glam as I'd thought. Turns out, it's actually a wee bit dangerous.


That's when I turned to a life of crime. And by "crime," I mean moving back in with my parents in order to spend Saturday nights playing Scrabble with my mom. But it was still a life of crime, if you think about it. Being such a devout word-nerd is kinda criminal.

Spelling is sexy!
(Can someone get me a shirt with that on there?)

Speaking of sexy spellers, my reigning badass girl I still crush on is this chick:

You guys know of my love for Jennifer Weiner. In fact, I just started re-reading "Then Came You" again last night. I can't think of any other author whose words yank me in like hers. And the way she champions for girls non-stop, no matter who the Goliath may be, is purely inspiring. I would never, ever have the guts, courage, or wit to stand up for women the way she does. I heart her so hard, if I was still in school, I'd graffiti all my notebooks with Helena Weiner. (I still do graffiti, but usually I just trace "Helena luvs weiners" in the dirt on my car.)
But you know what, loveys? I'll tell you about the chick that rocked my face all-the-way off. That lady was the gem I had the pleasure of calling my very own Grammy.

Today would have been her birthday, and she would've likely cooked up some vile concoction nobody except my brother Jeff would eat. Ah, my Grammy.
She was famous for her love of all things purple, for always having the best candies on hand, and for always making her best effort to look amazeballs, even through a tough fight with an asshole opponent named Cancer.

"Does this breathing tube make my butt look big?"

It's funny, the things you remember about people.
Impressions are everything.
For me, the impression was that she embodied badassness. One example? At the start of one of her many chemo rounds, Grammy took a quick therapy detour from the hospital to the beauty salon and had them dye her hair purple. Ha! That's a chick with moxie!

If it were me, I'd sob myself into a stupor over knowing my hair would fall out. What a complete time-suck over something so stupid, right?

Not this gal. She, (in her own sweet way), was kinda flipping cancer the bird and yelling "YOLO!" That's my homegirl.

Purple hair, way before Kelly Osbourne. Trend-setter!
Impressions are everything, loveys. I hope I have made one on you. I won't be here forever, obvs, and I ain't leaving you jack, so that impression is all you'll have of me.

I hope you will remember me as a girl who would do anything to make you smile, a girl who would do anything to offer needed comfort, and a girl who will go down in the books as being a bad ass chick.

What impression will you leave?

R.I.P. Helen Inside-Out.
Love never dies.

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