the ugly step-sister and other fairly stupid tales

It has occurred to me what a terrifying word ugly is. And fat is even worse. Quoting the lovely Margaret Cho, “Ugly is irrelevant…it is an immeasurable insult to a woman, and then supposedly the worst crime you can commit as a woman. But ugly, as beautiful, is an illusion. A matter of taste…” Lately it seems that the only conversation I hear is talk of nothing but this new diet or pill or exercise plan or self-tanner or teeth whitener or whatever. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my little pearly white teethies just as much as the next person, but when did I get caught up in the hype of becoming this cardboard cutout of what a beautiful woman “should” look like. Most of my life I have grown up hearing about how beautiful my sister is. Yes, for all intents and purposes, she is a good-looking person—the kind of girl that gets stares and catcalls and creepy older men desperately trying to get her number in their phones—but why does her beauty have to equal my ugly? And when did I fall victim to the illusion that thin equals pretty and fat equals unattractive and undesirable. When did I decide it was okay for me to accept less than acceptable from my relationships because I was “lucky” to be landing these attractive men. After all, who wants the ugly step-sister when you can have Cinderella? This is how I feel. Pathetic isn’t it? As a person of intelligence and confidence—I have surprisingly little of either in relation to the shell of my essence that is my body. I have no insight or revelations for this blog. It’s almost painful and embarrassing to admit that I’m so insecure about something I pretend to be so flippant about. When someone tells me that I’m beautiful or attractive or sexy or any compliment in relation to my appearance, I am not pretending to be modest or gracious—I cannot accept your compliment. I do not accept my beauty and I do not accept that anyone else can find me beautiful.

So from the age of 10, I became anorexic, and then bulimic, and then stayed that way for about twenty years, until one day I just said, Hey, what if this is it? What if this is just what I look like, and nothing I do changes that? So how much time would I save if I stopped taking that extra second every time I look in the mirror to call myself a big fat fuck? How much time would I save if I just let myself walk by a plate-glass window without sucking in my gut and throwing back my shoulders? How much time would I save? And it turns out I save about 97 minutes a week. I can take a pottery class. –Margaret Cho

any friend of the devil is a friend of mine

When you’re in a relationship and you break up—it’s hard, very hard. And your friends, and family, and co-workers can commiserate. But what about when you’re in a friendship and you break up? Relationships, both platonic and romantic, have their ups and downs and the people involved in said relationships may not always want to stick it out—but I guess if it’s worth fighting for you try to stick around during those rainy days so you can enjoy the sunny ones. All this brings me to this: Someone who I have been friends with for a long while has more or less decided he can’t and/or doesn’t want me popping in and out of his life anymore. We’ve had our ups and downs. I hated him for a while and he hated me back. I was also in love with him for a while and I can’t speak for him, but at some point I think he felt the same or similar. But things are very sour between us right now—with the blame finger pointed at me. I feel bad. There’s really no other way to describe it. I just feel bad about the whole thing. I don’t want to lose him, but I think part of my resentment and hostility towards him has to do with the fact that he cut me out of his life for the last year while he became absorbed in a new girlfriend. I knew that it would happen, but I was frustrated nonetheless. And I guess I just expected things to pick up where they left off more than a year ago and when that didn’t happen I had a teeny little emotional fit…which has taken the form of picking fights with him. So he’s decided he’s fed up with me and I’m still irritated at him; so I’ve erased him from my phone and all other electronic devices… no more calling, or texting, or Facebook or whatever. I will put him out of my mind. Enough is, as we say, enough. Enough.

Artists can color the sky red because they know it’s blue. Those of us who aren’t artists must color things the way they really are or people might think we’re stupid. --Jules Feiffer

tell all you know

I swear, if you just read my blogs you would have to assume but I eat, sleep, and think non-stop about those other people. You know, the people with unattractive appendages hanging off their bodies—otherwise known as men (or let’s be honest, most of them are really just grown boys). It really consumes a large chunk of my writing, but that’s about it. I think about it very little in my real life. Well yes and no.

So get ready for this. I may actually have a crush on someone is not a) an alcoholic b) a drug addict c) a musician/actor/other unemployable artist or d) just plain wrong. Now, I’m not for sure that he isn’t attached, I need to do some digging around—but I didn’t want to seem obvious and so I didn’t ask. He’s quiet and sweet and he seems to be really bright. Crazy, I know riiight?! He’ll probably end up being married or some shit. Bleh. I must do some homework.

And I’m back on the proverbial Guthrie horse again. I have to admit that it felt very familiar to be there and in a way I missed it, yet I was unenthusiastic about being there today. So anyways, after my brief hiatus from touring I was tossed back into the mix with two tours today: little Girl Scouts and a regular public tour. There is something to be said for the awe and sense of wonder that children have. At what point when we are growing up do we start acting as if we are interesting in nothing and nobody… why do we do it? What is the point of pretending to be so disinterested? And after a while, you forget that you’re just pretending and then where are you?

And that’s all she wrote tonight mystery lovers.

The most interesting information comes from children, for they tell all they know and then stop. --Mark Twain

More to Come...

There is a lot o’ stuff bouncing around in my brain right now but nothing worth talking (or writing) about… nevertheless. I am exhausted from this weekend. Two birthday parties, a wedding shower, and a high school graduation in less than 48 hours. Being that I am an introvert and I expend energy at social functions—I was expending as quickly as my social self would allow and now have nothing left to give. So don’t expect to hear from me for a good six months while I hide myself away and recharge my social batteries. I also was bartending solo on Friday night and six straight hours of drink recall when you’re as green to mixing drinks as I am, and you feel like you just want to stab your eyes out of your head at the end of the night. Not to mention taking the bar tables and trying to remember the six pages of menu, plus the specials, plus this, that, and the other thing. Never mind all that and the job is going well. Well enough I guess.

I’m frustrated with myself on many levels. I don’t want to even go into details yet because I waiting for the outcome later in the week. I swear I’m a glutton for punishment.

More to come.

I generally avoid temptation unless I can’t resist it. –Mae West