I'm still listening to the disc M made me. I just keep reshuffling it and I hear songs I forgot about. It's so good.
But now it's Friday and I've had great
fun emailing and being silly today.
Too bad the boys in my life aren't quite cooperating. Allison and I figured out today is Be a Dick Friday (BADF). How I could've forgotten such an important day is beyond me. That's like missing your mom's birthday or something, yo. You've gotta be prepared for this shit or it'll just sneak up on ya.
I don't have big plans for the weekend.
Zep and I are going to hit a costume station on the way home and look around
for the Great Idea. The deli ladies cornered me in the café this afternoon
and told me I must be Marilyn Monroe for Halloween.
But isn't that sort of overdone? Maybe I could be dead Marilyn and carry around a bottle of pills. Uh, but maybe that's a little gross.
I've had people tell me I look like Jessica Rabbit, which is a little bizarre since she's, oh, I dunno, a cartoon. Maybe I could pull that off ? Carry a stuffed bunny and ask people to play paddycake?
And then Mo has to go and say she doesn't
get the whole dressing sexy for Halloween as it's just an excuse to dress
like a slut. Riiiight, and we don't dress like that when we go out normally?
Have you seen the backless shirt in your closet? Mkay.
And I don't really think we dress like
sluts. I just like getting divaed up: wearing a skirt, strappy shoes and big
earrings. I'm probably that girl a lot of you hate. I know I used to hate
girls like me. Hell, I hated me.
I spent my entire high school years hiding
under big flannels and baggy jeans. We've already been down the self-esteem,
food issues, blue bleeh blah road. We're not hitchhiking that way, I promise.
It's just, I've finally, in some aspect, learned to at least appreciate my
body.
And I have a body. A bod. Ee. Not
a great one, or a hard one, or one fit for the runway. Not even remotely.
But I take up space, I fill the air around me. I couldn't hide even if I tried.
So why try?
And here comes the kicker - it took men
to make me realize this.
Until I embraced my sexuality, my sensuality, I didn't understand what my
body was made for. How it moved, how it could feel. That curves were, gasp,
appealing.
But I didn't get any of that. I felt so
inadequate about myself. I let stupid, idiot high school boys (one in particular)
make me feel self-conscious about my breasts, my curves, the fact that yes,
I take up space.
I don't like admitting this because I
don't want it to sound like I let men rule my decisions, or allow them to
affect how I feel about myself. But I sort of do. That sucks, but it's true.
However, in my experience, their opinions
and feelings have only improved my self-image.
I'd rather be in large group of men than
in a big gaggle of girls. Pretty girls intimidate me. (Another topic for another
time, I assure you.) What can I say, I want to be the star.
Which is why I think, perhaps, Marilyn
and I were made for each other.
