Pride and Petulance

I just finished watching Pride and Prejudice (basically late 18th century porn) and although I’ve probably seen it around twenty-something times, the cinematography and scenery never cease to amaze. While I was expressing regret (bitching heavily) on missing out on the English countryside during my study abroad fiasco this summer, and the tragic fact that I do not own a riding coat like every other tramp in Netherfield Park, my father mentioned that I should be grateful for all that our time period affords us now. With my luck and the lack of modern medicine, I probably wouldn’t have survived infancy in the age of propriety and pandas. (I couldn't think of another P word, fuck off) I readily agreed, as I have a pretty serious allergy to lanolin (found in the sebaceous glands of wool bearing animals) and there was a shit-ton of sheep back then. After my parents stared at me for a good ten seconds, they kindly explained I probably would have kicked the bucket from something like pneumonia, which is no stranger to a household that thinks sending their precious daughter to shovel snow in a New England blizzard builds character. I’m like a frail, belligerent flower and should be treated as such. And to be fair, we discovered I had developed an allergy to lanolin when I was given a tube of evil called Triple Lanolin when I was around eight or so. Considering it was winter and I had dry skin, I thought it would be a grand idea to smear the entire tube all over my body. To this day I’m still afraid of moisturizers. And sheep.

It’s hard to believe that Jane Austen novels like Pride and Prejudice were equivalent in popularity to what the Twilight crap phenomenon is now. While most literary critics of her time praised Austen’s work (considering she was proficient enough to pen a best seller without airing a morbidly obese pre-teens daydreams of dry humping a twinkly vampire) some of her peers thought otherwise. Charlotte Bronte, the eldest (and sluttiest) of the famed Bronte sisters and author of Jane Eyre, found Pride and Prejudice "...a carefully fenced, highly cultivated garden, with neat borders and delicate flowers; but... no open country, no fresh air, no blue hill, no bonny beck.” Put bluntly, Bronte is saying that Heathcliff could kick Mr. Darcy’s ass. While I have much better things to do on my winter break than envisioning what would happen in a death match between fictional characters residing at Wuthering Heights and Pemberley, it’s hard to decide which arduous task takes precedence over the other. Like trying on all my old prom dresses before or after I catch up on Nip/Tuck. Like some great Chanukah miracle, which really has a lot more relevance than that retarded oil thing, I actually fit into all of them. Because I was truly grateful I could still fit into a size 2 BCBG cocktail dress (I don’t get it either) and during the holiday season we’re supposed to reflect on what we’re thankful for, I decided to make a list.

THINGS I AM THANKFUL FOR

Coffee
Grain Alcohol
Netflix/Hulu
J Crew
Raccoons
Coupons
Happy Hour
Melatonin
Robert Downey Jr.
Top Gun
H1N1 Vaccine
Disney Princesses
Bedazzling
My Co-op
Adult Swim


THINGS I AM NOT THANKFUL FOR

Rabid Raccoons
Dirty Pirate Hookers
Jew-guilt
Twilight
Facebook chat
Christmas Carolers
Nesbitt
Epson printers and paper
Interviews
Fake luxury goods
Petroleum
PC’s
All of the white trash that Sharon has seemed to accumulate
Slut magic