The Broad Appeal:
One chick's case against perfection

In with the old, out with the new

By Lani Voivod

Hi. I’m Lani, and I’m a chick.

I’m also a glutton for punishment, a patsy for failure, a really slow learner ... and as John Lennon says, “I’m not the only one.”

In fact and unfortunately, millions of women share my shortcomings.

Every January, we get all revved up about the new, improved, amazing life we’re finally ready to lead. We write goals, join gyms (or Mapquest our way back to our current sweat lodges), buy new makeup and blast girl-power music – Aretha, Helen Reddy, Gloria Gaynor, Alanis Morissette, Madonna and, of course, Justin Timberlake. (Who’s bringin’ sexy back? We are!)

By February, all we’ve got to show for January’s go-get-’em gusto is a pulled hamstring and overpriced mascara that does nothing to nourish, lengthen or multiply our eyelid hair.

Will the madness never cease?

Suddenly, it hit me…

I’m too old for this %&*@.

That’s why this year I’m using January’s hope jolt to forge into unfamiliar, completely uncomfortable territory.

I’ve decided to give props to the woman I actually am, instead of the woman I think I should be.

So with a deep breath, a pounding heart and my hair pulled back in a ponytail, here goes nuthin’ ...

The woman I am drools when she laughs, cries on a dime and can’t get enough sleep. Ever.

She thinks Gwyneth Paltrow is lame, likes obscenely huge margaritas and doesn’t know squat about puréeing anything.

This chick is the mother of two beautiful boys, the wife of one fine man, the co-owner of a marketing-and-success biz built around the “A-Ha!” and the landlord of a libido with a reach that exceeds its grasp.

On an average day, I’m in: 1) a bra from Wal-Mart, 2) way over my head, and 3) the bathroom for a good 10 minutes, several times a day, because it’s quiet in there, and I get to skim over articles in Entrepreneur, Esquire, O, and, of course, the NH Mirror.

My kitchen floor is a crime scene unto itself, and the dust bunnies are so big I get to claim them as dependents on my taxes this year.

I go on unsustainable exercise binges, hail fresh whipped cream as my favorite food and chat with God like he’s a fast-talkin’ prankster with a penchant for saying “I told ya so.”

None of these attributes align with that “other” woman – the woman I’ve tried like heck to become each and every January.

Come to think of it, THAT woman is rather Paltrow-like, and I wouldn’t even want to get stuck in line with her at the supermarket, let alone dish dirt over a fishbowl-sized margarita.

So instead, I’m finally, clumsily, yet heroically lifting my gargantuan, salt-rimmed delight to the woman I actually am.

And to you. The REAL you. The one that’s been dying to come out and play, but thinks people will flip, judge, shirk, complain or simply call you crazy.

Care to join me for a drink?

Here’s to us.

Cheers!

Care to chime in? E-mail Lani@TheBroadAppeal.com.