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| I must confess that I always secretly hope that I am beautiful in some classical, basic, male-perceived way. I think every women wishes this, but I am also terrribly insecure. Each flaw, tiny, real, imagined, or otherwise, becomes a paranoid focus when I look in the mirror before going out. My internal dialogue usually goes something like this: (depending on what time of the month it is too :) Oh, my god! Is that a zit on my shoulder? Fuck. I wanted to wear my strapless top and my sailor inspired French Connection pants with my new stilettos. If I change my shirt, then I need to change my pants and then I need to change my shoes. But, the other shoes that I want to wear cut into my feet because I 've gained water weight. And the only other shirt that shows my cleavage this nicely is at the cleaners, and I wanted to show cleavage because that's the only thing I've going for me, especially with calves that look like sausages, and a huge zit on my shoulder! Oh, wait, ...shit! Do I have back fat? I think I am muffin topping...why did I eat that medium popcorn at the movies, salt always bloats me. I am in no shape to show myself in public, and I forgot to tweeze my eyebrows and now I don't have time because I have to find an outfit. What does it matter anyway? Whatever I wear just makes me look like a pig in a dress. Is that...? No, it can't be - oh, my god! Is that a mustache? Do I have a mustache? More light, more light, okay; phew it was just the lighting in the bedroom. Screw it, where is my mumu? I'll just stay in tonight, no one is going to want to dance with a zitty, mustached, muffin-top. Yes. It's exhausting, but it's what I go through before I leave the house. That is until I discovered the best place to find your self esteem. Gen Con. Yes, a gaming convention. Every year a few friends of mine pack up their wenches costumes, pirate hats, and dice to head on down to Indianapolis. I had always avoided going for several reasons, but namely I assumed it would bore me to tears and coupled with the stench of unwashed basement dwelling mommas boys, I was completly averse to the thought. This year I joined in the, ahem, fun. Let me tell you they should sell vacation packages outside of therapists offices for insecure female patients. I never opened a door, bought my lunch, lit my own cigarette. If you have all your teeth, wear deoderant, own a razor and weigh in under 400 pounds - you are as precious and rare as a diamond, and are treated as such. Men moved out of the way when I walked, respectfully held back crowds so I could walk by, told me how lovely I was. Lovely! Me? Wow. Even though they weren't my dream men, it was really nice to walk through a crowd and know that they were admiring me, not staring questionably, or avoiding me. They offer what's called "Gaming Widows" events; Wine tastings, historical homes tours, haunted house tours, brewery tours, pilates, yoga, crafts, movies, and I always had something to do. Plus, Indy has a great downtown. More importantly, it was nice to just be looked at. After the last 4 years of my life, I have not felt worthy of male attention. My whole life I felt that whoever noticed me is who I should pursue, anyone who wants me I should be lucky to have. It never entered my realm of thought that I should hold out for someone worthy of me. Now I am learning that I am better than I give myself credit for. Gen Con reinforced this new found freedom; I am desirable. He may smell like fritos, mountain dew, and moldy basement dampness, but goddammit, someone thinks I'm cute! Now, if I could just meet someone with a job.... I am already planning my outfits for next year. Do you blame me? | | |
| In second grade we did a cheesy science experiment, it never occurred to me then, standing in my overalls and pigtails on tippy-toes to catch a glimpse of what the teacher was doing, as it does now, that the implecations would reverberate with meaning and metaphor for me as an adult. Water tension: take a bowl of water and place a pin on top and watch it float miraculously on the water; upon closer inspection with a magnifying glass you'll observe that the pin isn't exactly floating on top- just the water tension on the surface has accomodated space for the object; creating a symbiotic relationship that can only last as long as the tautness of the surface is maintained. I know this relationship intrinsically, for this is how I have lived my life thus far. As a pin, gingerly poised on the light surface of a vast expanse of water, and in a state of dire fear and emergency that any moment a figer could come along to disturb the subjective mercies of the physics that held me in place. I would sink to the bottom never to return to the surface, forgotten and alone in the muck of the unkown world beneath the water. But, I am not afraid anymore, I have glimpsed the deep and unforgiving darkness; I have discovered a place within my soul that should the need a rise, could fashion fins for my pin and bring me back to the glorious surface again. Bring on the giant finger of a Cyclops then, and you shall see a pin become the Phoenix. | | |
| I cannot sleep, my mind is crowded with too many random stressors and dangerous musings. The t.v. is on, droning haplessly in the background, the books on my shelves revolted against me, for I know them too intimately for them to provide the prescripted diversion. So I am here; left to my own devices. It's too hot for tea, too late for coffee, too early in my sleeplessness to be this bored. My east coast friends are slumbering peacefully, my west coast friends are out to dinner, and my cats are mad and won't speak to me. I have a pint of Hagen Daas soflty whispering my name while it collects ice crystals in my freezer, and a half bag of oreo's demanding my fullest attention on top of my counter; however, my workout Dvd's snicker at me everytime I attempt to rescue the icecream from its freezer burn doom, and my free weights called me fatso when I accidentally slipped and an oreo went into my mouth. Ooops, accidents will happen. I could attempt the experimental and radical solution of a romantic comedy dvd. About 90% of the time I am asleep before the hilarity ensues, but sometimes, I become so engrossed in the flick I inadvertantly stay up longer than intended. So I must choose wisely... When Harry Met Sally...no. Wedding Crashers....no. Love Actually...hmmm possibly...50 First Dates....maybe.............oh fuck it....where's a spoon? Hagen Daas hang in there, I'm coming for you! | | |
| Am I a horrible racist? I have never used the "n" word, nor participated in conscious bigotry; yet I ask myself this question this evening because I found myself frightened by stereotype...and I gave in. I was in a drive-through this evening, the summer breeze blowing easily through my open car windows as I idled, waiting my turn. I was lost in the music I was listening to, letting my thoughts wander aimlessly along the corridor of memory, so I have no recollection of their arrival. All at once out of my peripheral vision two teenage boys came strutting acroos the parking lot; their gait loose and rythmic, their posture tight in the shoulders and leaned back, hats to the side, scowls of intensity and attitude plastered across their faces, pants with the waist around the knees.... One had a toothpick precariously dangling from the corner of his mouth just casually enough that you are aware it was thought of and placed carefully in its current position, the other one's mouth unadorned yet twisted into a hardened snarl. At first they were just two kids; a distraction in my line of sight as they sauntered toward the door, but they walked in between my vehicle and the car in front of me, and they slowed to a halt. The one with the toothpick in his mouth put on his hardest face and gave me his finest, mirror-practiced sneer; the irises in the corners of his eyes, looking up to the sky for drama then back down to gaze finally, and intensely into mine. His friend facing me, bent at the waist and hit the hood of my car with both his hands, looking me squarly in the face as he did it, daring me to challenge him. I stared back, mostly in frightful shock, until the car in front me moved ahead and the spell was broken. They turned to each other and kept strolling toward the front door. That's when it happened- I gave in, and they heard it. I quickly rolled up my windows and locked the doors. As the restuarant door opened, my doors were locking with a "cathud" in perfect, electronic unison. They looked back at me in the moment, their eyes no longer full of teenage male ego-driven anger, but with realization that I was scared of them, and they knew that I knew- it was a horrible cycle. I felt sick and confused, so I just drove off. Did I do the wrong thing? I am not making excuses for myself, it was after dark, and I was alone, but still....I had never done that before.... In hindsight it was a crowded parking lot, with a fair number of patrons still inside- I doubt anything serious could have occurred; however, I was frightened nonetheless, and I acted on it. Male fears are quite different from female fears. I wasn't afraid of them stealing my car, of taking my money (which is laughable anyway because I have none). Men are afraid of that. As a woman I am afraid of crimes of a much more, um, intimate, and dangerous matter. The kind of crimes that women dread in dark parking lots, the reason we look under our cars as we approach, and in the backseats before we get in. The glares that they gave me, made me shudder, left my skin crawling. But why do I feel so guilty? Am I a horrible person? | | |
| Let's take this in two parts, shall we? First, my stance on religion. I understand why people attend church, why they are drawn to religious dogma, why they selfishly impose their beliefs on others, but are at the bar on the dance floor provocatively rubbing their genitals on random people. I get it. However; I also see the distinction between spirituality and religion, the two are quite commonly confused. Religion is the METHOD of serving the chosen deity. If you are religious, you are therefore following the church doctrine to serve your god. I just love that phrase, "I'm very religious." So, you go to church, wow. That makes a difference, so did Hitler. Hmmm. Spirituality is a more abstract concept, it deals with the individual's connection with their higher power, the ability to communicate with "God". We all know that person that I briefly mentioned earlier, the one who wears a crucifix, becomes enraged if anyone dares to put down religion, yet strangely is at the casino gambling, imbibing, until 3 a.m. Saturday night. Hypocracy anyone? Everyone is either quick to flock to religion when it suits them, or run screaming for the hills when it scares them. But what no one realizes is that the key to spiritual awakening lies within ourselves. So, I really see no need for religion, a man made device (man who is inherently flawed), unless the people being served by the religion are spiritually awake, aware, and committed. Secondly, I am not religious. But, I am guessing you already figured that out. I read the book The Four Agreements 7 years ago, and it completely changed my life. I asked myself so many questions about where I belong. I fought for years to reconcile my relationship with god, my family's views, and what I felt in my heart was right. This book answered all of my questions and then some. Where I fail, Emily Dickinson prevails: Some keep the Sabbath going to Church --
I keep it, staying at Home --
With a Bobolink for a Chorister --
And an Orchard, for a Dome --
Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice --
I just wear my Wings --
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton -- sings.
God preaches, a noted Clergyman --
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at least --
I'm going, all along.
(J324 - Poem Hunter) I just answered this Featured Question, you can answer it too! | | |
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