There's Always Playboy...
Got JELL-O?
I was the JELL-O amongst the crème Brule. I mean, these girls are the kind of girls who have to go to the bathroom with one-another. They are the girls who started the myth among boys that girls don’t fart. Their hair flows like silk and their nails are as manicured as you can imagine the rest of their body is. As for me, I have no idea how to curl my hair.
They are the future Stepford wives- The future Bob Hope Chrysler Classic Girls. The Classic Girls are like the Maxim girls compared to the Penthouse girls. They are just sexy enough to be consider classy and non-exploited. But from many of the upgraded breasts in the room I am sure most of girls wouldn’t care either way. They Classic girls represent the Bob Hope Chrysler Classic Tournament out in Rancho Mirage (Palm Springs). To be a Classic girl, they consider your “personality and appearance”. Well, minus the personalisty part.
Survival of the “Fittest”
As I sit there amongst the 20 provocatively dressed girls I start to observe my competition. Quickly, I realize what I’m up against and I slowly bury my stumpy nails into my lap. Well, at least I shaved my legs today, I thought as I looked around at the stilettos that screamed SEX straight to the four old perverted judges. Well, hopefully the old judges know that UGG style boots and schoolgirl skirts are in style and they don‘t think I am weird.
The room is awkwardly silent, warm and stale. Uncertainty and insecurity seep through the air as each new specimen walked through the door. Aren’t these girls supposed to be Classic girls? With personality? With the ability to charm and spark up conversation with strangers? Feeling like the only person at ease in this situation, (probably because I found it amusing) I break the ice. “I feel like this is a beauty pageant,” I said to the girl next to me. “I know,” she says. “It’s very pagent-esque.” We introduce ourselves and the girl next to her chimes in. “Oh my Gosh,” I say kind of sarcastically. “Our names all start with “A, I think they should choose us and end it now!” So I broke the ice and now my two Alisha, Amanda and I are BFF and the whole room is gabbing away. God, I would be a great Classic girl.
Ladies, Start Your Engines
For the first of four rounds each girl had to stand up and had to announce their name, where they were from and why they want to be a Classic girl. Most were teeth-filled planned speeches. Some nailed it. Damn, why didn’t I think of that BS. The more girls who went, well the longer the speeches as each had to out due the other about their “charitable work”. Gag me now! Amanda and her goldie-locks stood up next to me. She looked poised but she couldn't put a sentence together. God, what an airhead. As she sat down I leaned over, patted her knee and whispered, " Good job you blew it.” Wow, I have turned into one of those ruthless pageant girls.
Okay, my turn. “Hi, my name is Amy and I am from Northern California but I live in LA. I am a writer and I am usually the one asking questions so I am a little nervous,” I said as the room snickered. Good one. Confidently, I continued. “I have been playing golf since I was 14 and this is my favorite tournament, lie…it’s the Master’s, and I want to be a Classic girl because a Classic girl represents something that is missing in our society these days Good one What can I say, a classic girl is Classic. She is not exploited, well she sort of is, like many images of women are in our society like Hooter girls or Playboy Playmates.” The older, frumpy girl next to me giggles,” I was a Hooter girl.” The whole room giggles even the judges. I continue laughing, “That’s funny, I was going to say, “no offense” to those Hooter girls or Playmates in the room. Anyway, I would love to represent this tournament, the parties would be frikkin’ awesome, and I would love to influence children to play golf and I would love to get involved in the community. Thank you.” I sit down. Oh crap, “community" I don’t even live here. It’s just what everyone is saying. Well, other than that, I nailed it and they probably didn’t even notice.Most of the girls had about the same amount of personality as a screen door on a submarine. But boy, were their crest-white-strip smiles mesmerizing. But I was just as good. Most of the speeches went a little something like this. Take Tiffany- an aspiring hair stylist from Palm Desert. “Hi. My name is Tiffany Carter and I went to Palm Desert High School. Go Tigers! Okay. Um, I want to be a classic girl because I have been involved in charitable work forever and I think golf is great but really boring. I don’t play but I love it because it helps a lot of causes. Actually, I really just want to meet Justin Timberlake. Also, Justin….I mean Bob Hope is one of my heroes and that is why I brought a golf club here today because Bob Hope always carried a golf club and I thought it would bring me luck. Actually, my mom told me it would look good.At the end of the speeches then the judges asked everyone to stand up again, just so they could get one more look before they cut the group down to 20. Each girl stood up poised and some even posed with their desperate smiles beaming. The room was silent as the judges were busy making marks on their notebooks. My turn came and I stood up and said, “I must add, you men have a really great job.” The judges and the rest of the room erupted in laughter. I’m in! “Yes, we do have a great job,” one of the judges said smiling. I smiled and sat down. Perverts.As the judges left the room the girls waited in nervous anticipation. After 20 minutes they returned and they were going to announce the numbers of the girls who were to stay. I was 19. “1,2,4,7.….16,17,18, 21, 22.…What the F*#$! Me! Is there a mistake? HELLO?! Didn’t they want personality? Did I make myself sound too accomplished? Was it the UGG boots? No. The girl in front of me was UGG-ed out. My stupid jokes? Maybe it had to do with the fact I am not from Rancho Mirage because most Classic girls are and all the most girls there were from the area?Amanda, who I thought was my BFF, well, I guess we weren’t such good friends. She avoided eye contact with me as I stood up to depart.I wanted to take my un-manicured middle finger and show the judges what a 'bird' really means. I wanted to deflate the air from Amanda’s head and knock a little intelligence into her with my driver. And I wanted to take that driver and nail a couple Titleists into the judges cars screaming, “I know golf. Can those girls do this, huh? Huh? How dare you laugh at my superb jokes and then chew me up and spit me out. ARRRRGGGGG!!!!!
Then a couple minutes later I woke up from my pageant-like hypnosis. Y'know, I am just not the cheerleader type. I am not the kind of girl that has to go the bathroom with another girl. But I can drive a golf ball 250 yards and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
On my way down to the parking lot I found the Hooter’s girl and said, “Hey, there’s always Playboy."
I was the JELL-O amongst the crème Brule. I mean, these girls are the kind of girls who have to go to the bathroom with one-another. They are the girls who started the myth among boys that girls don’t fart. Their hair flows like silk and their nails are as manicured as you can imagine the rest of their body is. As for me, I have no idea how to curl my hair.
They are the future Stepford wives- The future Bob Hope Chrysler Classic Girls. The Classic Girls are like the Maxim girls compared to the Penthouse girls. They are just sexy enough to be consider classy and non-exploited. But from many of the upgraded breasts in the room I am sure most of girls wouldn’t care either way. They Classic girls represent the Bob Hope Chrysler Classic Tournament out in Rancho Mirage (Palm Springs). To be a Classic girl, they consider your “personality and appearance”. Well, minus the personalisty part.
Survival of the “Fittest”
As I sit there amongst the 20 provocatively dressed girls I start to observe my competition. Quickly, I realize what I’m up against and I slowly bury my stumpy nails into my lap. Well, at least I shaved my legs today, I thought as I looked around at the stilettos that screamed SEX straight to the four old perverted judges. Well, hopefully the old judges know that UGG style boots and schoolgirl skirts are in style and they don‘t think I am weird.
The room is awkwardly silent, warm and stale. Uncertainty and insecurity seep through the air as each new specimen walked through the door. Aren’t these girls supposed to be Classic girls? With personality? With the ability to charm and spark up conversation with strangers? Feeling like the only person at ease in this situation, (probably because I found it amusing) I break the ice. “I feel like this is a beauty pageant,” I said to the girl next to me. “I know,” she says. “It’s very pagent-esque.” We introduce ourselves and the girl next to her chimes in. “Oh my Gosh,” I say kind of sarcastically. “Our names all start with “A, I think they should choose us and end it now!” So I broke the ice and now my two Alisha, Amanda and I are BFF and the whole room is gabbing away. God, I would be a great Classic girl.
Ladies, Start Your Engines
For the first of four rounds each girl had to stand up and had to announce their name, where they were from and why they want to be a Classic girl. Most were teeth-filled planned speeches. Some nailed it. Damn, why didn’t I think of that BS. The more girls who went, well the longer the speeches as each had to out due the other about their “charitable work”. Gag me now! Amanda and her goldie-locks stood up next to me. She looked poised but she couldn't put a sentence together. God, what an airhead. As she sat down I leaned over, patted her knee and whispered, " Good job you blew it.” Wow, I have turned into one of those ruthless pageant girls.
Okay, my turn. “Hi, my name is Amy and I am from Northern California but I live in LA. I am a writer and I am usually the one asking questions so I am a little nervous,” I said as the room snickered. Good one. Confidently, I continued. “I have been playing golf since I was 14 and this is my favorite tournament, lie…it’s the Master’s, and I want to be a Classic girl because a Classic girl represents something that is missing in our society these days Good one What can I say, a classic girl is Classic. She is not exploited, well she sort of is, like many images of women are in our society like Hooter girls or Playboy Playmates.” The older, frumpy girl next to me giggles,” I was a Hooter girl.” The whole room giggles even the judges. I continue laughing, “That’s funny, I was going to say, “no offense” to those Hooter girls or Playmates in the room. Anyway, I would love to represent this tournament, the parties would be frikkin’ awesome, and I would love to influence children to play golf and I would love to get involved in the community. Thank you.” I sit down. Oh crap, “community" I don’t even live here. It’s just what everyone is saying. Well, other than that, I nailed it and they probably didn’t even notice.Most of the girls had about the same amount of personality as a screen door on a submarine. But boy, were their crest-white-strip smiles mesmerizing. But I was just as good. Most of the speeches went a little something like this. Take Tiffany- an aspiring hair stylist from Palm Desert. “Hi. My name is Tiffany Carter and I went to Palm Desert High School. Go Tigers! Okay. Um, I want to be a classic girl because I have been involved in charitable work forever and I think golf is great but really boring. I don’t play but I love it because it helps a lot of causes. Actually, I really just want to meet Justin Timberlake. Also, Justin….I mean Bob Hope is one of my heroes and that is why I brought a golf club here today because Bob Hope always carried a golf club and I thought it would bring me luck. Actually, my mom told me it would look good.At the end of the speeches then the judges asked everyone to stand up again, just so they could get one more look before they cut the group down to 20. Each girl stood up poised and some even posed with their desperate smiles beaming. The room was silent as the judges were busy making marks on their notebooks. My turn came and I stood up and said, “I must add, you men have a really great job.” The judges and the rest of the room erupted in laughter. I’m in! “Yes, we do have a great job,” one of the judges said smiling. I smiled and sat down. Perverts.As the judges left the room the girls waited in nervous anticipation. After 20 minutes they returned and they were going to announce the numbers of the girls who were to stay. I was 19. “1,2,4,7.….16,17,18, 21, 22.…What the F*#$! Me! Is there a mistake? HELLO?! Didn’t they want personality? Did I make myself sound too accomplished? Was it the UGG boots? No. The girl in front of me was UGG-ed out. My stupid jokes? Maybe it had to do with the fact I am not from Rancho Mirage because most Classic girls are and all the most girls there were from the area?Amanda, who I thought was my BFF, well, I guess we weren’t such good friends. She avoided eye contact with me as I stood up to depart.I wanted to take my un-manicured middle finger and show the judges what a 'bird' really means. I wanted to deflate the air from Amanda’s head and knock a little intelligence into her with my driver. And I wanted to take that driver and nail a couple Titleists into the judges cars screaming, “I know golf. Can those girls do this, huh? Huh? How dare you laugh at my superb jokes and then chew me up and spit me out. ARRRRGGGGG!!!!!
Then a couple minutes later I woke up from my pageant-like hypnosis. Y'know, I am just not the cheerleader type. I am not the kind of girl that has to go the bathroom with another girl. But I can drive a golf ball 250 yards and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
On my way down to the parking lot I found the Hooter’s girl and said, “Hey, there’s always Playboy."
posted by Riley at 7:33 PM
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