Beauty Is as Beauty Does...

I'm lying here in my living room as HGTV redesigns on in the background, it's past three AM, and I cannot sleep. Most likely because of the words someone spoke to me a few days ago that keep running repeatedly through my brain. These words were meant to compliment and cheer me up, I'm sure, however all they did was make me feel even worse.

        It was later at night, I'd gotten home from work early since it'd been a slow night and I wasn't needed on the floor any longer ( I'm a bartender/server). Feeling discouraged and depressed, I went home, as I do almost every night I'm cut early. I curled up on my chair in my living room, turned my TV on to HGTV (I'm an avid fan) and then stared into space for a while. A friend of mine hit me up, asking how my day was. I gave my standard reply of "okay" and waited for the usual question everyone always responds with. It came. "just okay?". I was immediately irritated, for several reasons.

       One, lately everything seems so predictable to me that I even knew what that text would say before I had even read it. Two, why, when I say 'okay' do people feel the need to question my certainty? I said 'okay' because I was 'okay'. If I was absolutely freaking grand I would have stated so with much enthusiasm. If I was completely miserable, which I was not, then I would have grudgingly admitted so. I was okay. He seemed to think I was mistaken (along with the other ten or so people that responded exactly like he did) and told me I must be better than just 'ok', to which I replied that no, I'd had just a normal day. Then it happened. He insinuated that I had to have had a much better day than I had stated because I have "fantastic boobs".  As if having a fantastic rack (which yes, thank you, it is) guarantees that I have wonderful days all the time or at least nothing so bad could happen that my "fantastic boobs" couldn't brighten instantly. 

     Really? Really! I was instantly pissed off. My boobs, kind sir, did not fix the fact that I went home having worked about three hours less than I was hoping, and having made not even a fourth of my usual tips, due to almost no one venturing out that night (mainly because of the crappy weather that has decided to stay a while). Perhaps if I was an Exotic Dancer my boobs would've made a difference, however I sincerely doubt that considering the location of the town in which I call home at this time. Even if I was a stripper, that doesn't give you the right to assume that my breasts possess such wonderful magical powers as allowing me to skip through life. If it did, I wouldn't have worked nearly so hard in college. Honestly, I wouldn't have gone to college at all-because the debt I now have will, most likely, be hanging over my head the rest of my life. I'd be super rich, living my dream life with a nice house on the beach - you get it. I guess my boobs haven't gotten the memo yet because I'm nowhere near any of those things being a remote possibility at this point. 

      That short conversation lead me into remembering other conversations where people assumed I have a perfect life because of my appearance (which I really cannot take much credit for. God decided what I'd look like and I've left myself alone). At a previous job I admitted to someone that I suffer from depression, and over the past few years my depression has increased. At one point, I couldn't find a reason to get out of bed other than avoiding my dog peeing all over my apartment. Honestly even that almost didn't seem worth facing another day. They were surprised and told me so. They said they couldn't imagine someone as pretty as me being depressed. 

      When did being pleasing to the eye mean that people wouldn't have hardships? When did the promise  that as long as you're beautiful you'll never have a bad day, or a bad month, or even a bad year happen? I never got that contract. This time last year I was working four jobs and barely even making ends meet and it's still a struggle. I pray every day when I go to work that my car will start. Yesterday the heat and defrost quit working. I had to stop halfway to work to get a towel to wipe off my windows so I could see to finish the drive. I'm not complaining, my car got me to work and that was all I needed. I see people walking to work in the snow and I'm so thankful that my car still runs. 

      I know several people who have similar stories. People have told them they're too pretty to have problems, or too beautiful to be depressed or unhappy. Outside of plastic surgery,  we have no control over how we look. Sure, we've learned how to enhance our appearances (make up), even capitalize on it,  and take pride in ourselves (we don't show up to work disheveled and unkempt), but that doesn't mean as much as society has come to believe. I don't "look" depressed because showing up to work with my hair uncombed, un-showered, and my clothes wrinkled and reeking of beer from working the bar a week ago, is completely unacceptable and instant cause for suspension or being fired. Despite never feeling like it, millions of people manage to pull themselves together long enough to be in public. The sad thing is that we're all wearing masks and few people care enough to see what's behind it. Stop assuming based on appearance and stop speaking without considering the fact that you might be about to say something ignorant. 

      Maybe I'm overreacting but this is my place to rant and rave when I feel the need and you're all free to disagree if you want to. If you're the guy whom I had that wonderful conversation about my boobs with, I know you meant well, and thank you for that backwards compliment. I don't recommend saying anything like it that to another woman, but then maybe another woman won't mind. And if my boobs ever do develop the power to let me skip through life, I'll be sure to let you know. 

    In the mean time, my friends, please wander on. 

A Peek Inside...

Going against everything that I portrayed in my last blog entry, here is a peek inside me. I scrabbled it down about ten minutes ago.

It

Something inside me-something I didn't even know existed before him,
something I don't recognize, or understand, or can explain, blossoms
for him. Only him.
I feel it tickling the tips of my toes, whispering behind my knees, quivering
through my thighs. I feel it contorting in my stomach, dancing
on my lungs, and twisting my tongue into a sailor's biggest pride. Whatever
it is, it turns my intellect into a mess that could impress the most seasoned Lunch Lady.
I, am useless.
Looking at him, feeling him, is all I can think of. I hunger for his
company, continuously. I'm a junkie for his poison, constantly
craving the prick of his needle into my vein...
Were he Vampire, I would adore nothing more than to die
in his arms; his teeth sunk into my neck to drain every drop
of love from my body. "Please," I would beg, "please
take me. All of me." And I would rise from the mist
of death to repeat the sacrifice.
We are a match. My body sings it is so whenever he touches
me. We harmonize. As the flame will leap from match to wick
without touching, I ignite from a look into his sea-green
eyes; ever changing yet always captivating me.
We cannot be replicated. There is no cloning
of our fusion. Whatever it is within me that rises like a wild cat
at the scent of its prey, is also domesticated for him. It thrives
off of his desires-begging to please-plummeting from the sky like Icarus
at the hint of disappointment. Pouncing at the taste of play. No one else can unleash
it. No one else can keep pace and no one - NONE can make it yearn
to satisfy, but him.
He is intelligent,he is strong. He is
compassionate, and giving.
He, is mine. I am his.
And It, awakens only for him.

Something borrowed, something blue? No, thank you.

It's that time of the year again. Wal-mart is overflowing with stuffed animals and "everyone" is talking about dates, and engagements, and ugh, love (by everyone I am generally referring to the teenagers and early twenty-somethings....No offense).  Don't get me wrong, I adore love. I enjoy being in love greatly. However, I don't think many people genuinely look forward to Valentine's Day. It's full of unrealistic, mostly unobtainable, and overly-romantic expectations from both men and women. Women dream of being proposed to (don't) and men dream of their woman doing a strip-tease (do?) or whatever their fantasy really is. Referee the basketball game? I don't know. My point is, Valentine's Day is usually full of unmet expectations and mega-downers.
         So instead of hoping my boyfriend shows up outside my apartment with a 1990's boombox posted on his shoulder playing some cheesy, yet heartfelt, song that really pertains in no way to our relationship, then will whisk me off into the sunset while telling me how much he adores me, I'm looking forward to remembering why I love, well, myself! Seriously, I'm an amazing person. My own opinion of myself is often enforced by others, so it must be true. Therefore, why can't I spend some time fulfilling my own expectations of a perfect day?
       I can start my day off by making myself my favorite breakfast, followed by a good hour or two (or five) of reading a juicy novel, or watching a few episodes of Vampire Diaries with no interruptions. Put down the cell phone, ignore Facebook, and just get lost in a sappy story and a great cup of coffee. Then I'd go get my nails (and maybe even my hair) done. Who doesn't feel better after some beautification? That goes for men too! I know ya'll love a good haircut, don't try to pretend you don't!
       Take yourself out for dinner at that restaurant/coffee shop/whatever that you've been dying to try but no one ever wants to go or doesn't have time to go with you or maybe all your friends are lame and just refuse to do what you want all the time. While you're there try to spot the couple that's been together the longest (they're usually elderly, absolutely adorable, and a great representation of what true commitment is).
       Enjoy the freedom of being alone. This doesn't mean you have to be single to have a day of YOU! Go do something fun apart and then meet up for dessert. And I mean actual food, not sex. Like cheesecake, or ice cream, or for me, both! Tell each other about what you've experienced that day, actually communicate-share, express!
       Or go home alone, take a super long, hot, bath (mine would include candles and rose petals because when I have a "me day", I think I'm worth all the extra's) and just take some time to breathe and relax. Let go of expectations, especially the ones you have for yourself, and remind yourself that you are amazing and you LOVE YOURSELF!
      Give yourself a present, do something unexpected and out of character to surprise yourself. That's what I'm planning to do. Sure, I'll probably still try to do something for my boyfriend, but most likely it won't be what he was expecting. Because Valentine's Day expectations (while more towards the typical) are just plain built up by companies trying to make some extra cash off our gullibility. Flowers? I can get those for myself. Surprise me with a packed bag and a blindfold on a day that I'm not told you have to show me how much you love me. Because on that day, I'll be reminding myself how much I love me...and you too.
      If you have to work on Valentine's Day, send yourself a beautiful bunch of flowers and a cute stuffed animal just to make your co-workers wonder. It's fun. Go ahead, feed into the holiday!

Beginnings

Well, it's the new year - 2014, and I thought why shouldn't I try blogging? Everyone else seems to love it. So here I am, finally putting some deeply hidden dark thoughts into print. Some things everyone should know if you actually care enough to keep reading. The first one being that I'm planning on being blatantly honest with any thought that I decide to write about. So if you're overly sensitive or easily offended, buzz off. If you hate swearing, be warned, I'm sure I'll drop a couple offensive four-letter words here and there. I believe in self expression. So if I feel it at the time, chances are I'll say it. No apologies offered. Also, this is all just random rantings and ramblings. Don't expect too many charming phrases, carefully planned jokes, or clever/witty sayings. I doubt I'll premeditate anything I write on here, so try to keep up. That being said, we're all strapped in and ready for take off.
   New Year Resolutions. I don't really make them because I wouldn't stick to them. I think that if you want something to change, you should just change it right then and there. Why wait for a new year when every twenty-four hours we get a new day? We aren't getting any younger and we're aging much more rapidly then ever before - thanks to alcohol, cigarettes, STD's, and well, plain stupidity.  There's really no need to wait three hundred and sixty-five days to take a breath and put your new best foot forward? I think we all need to remember that it's quite alright to seize the day whenever we feel it may be necessary.
      However, that doesn't mean that every night we can go out and get drunk and make reoccurring life-threatening/ruining decisions and then pretend that consequences are as mythical as unicorns. I'm that girl that seems to always get the consequences smacked in my face the next day, while I see people making disgusting choices on the daily and skip right on along. I'm sure you understand and maybe even feel likewise, but let's just agree to believe that their consequences are all building up and will drop-kick them all at a later date. Mean? Not really. More like Karma, which I believe in to a point. 
      Meaning that if, for some reason, your January first wasn't spent in bed recovering from a night of too much fun saying good-bye to 2013 (which I think a lot of people can agree with me in being super happy to see it go), and you actually spent your night drinking hot chocolate and watching movies, don't worry! You can get drunk tomorrow!  


Sidenote: New Year's is my favorite holiday. Enjoy.