Hey there, ho there. How’s it going? How are you? Well, I hope.
Today’s post is a mish-mash of topics, so apologies now for the discombobulated nature of it.
First up, a little about me and where I am at the moment. As you’re well aware, my job situation is not improving. I have none, try as I might to land myself one. My unemployment benefits have exhausted and I’m also broke as a joke, but I’m not laughing. I have lived with a friend and her husband since June. What was just supposed to be a few weeks until I found a job and got money to move out has turned into months. I decided I was essentially mooching off them, and decided to give them a much-needed break, so I temporarily moved out. I know what it’s like for a married couple to have a roommate. It tends to interfere with…things. (wink)
I am now staying with my dad in a tiny town about an hour and a half away from Lincoln. I’m going to be honest here: I love my dad, but sweet Jesus, if I don’t find myself a g.d. job soon, I’m going to pull a Lizzie Borden. I don’t want to be here at all. The other night over dinner, my dad asked me, “have you ever considered moving back here permanently?” I looked my father, the man who is half responsible for giving me life, dead in his eyes and said rather bluntly, “fuck no.” “…well, okay then.”
I know that was harsh and rude, but no effing way in effing H will I ever move back to a small town. I realized over the years living in the metropolis that is Lincoln, I’ve become a person of convenience and being away from that convenience is brutal. Take now, for instance. It’s almost 1pm, I’m hungry, and think a greasy fast food hamburger and freedom fries sounds like the most wonderful thing ever. But, oh ho ho, guess what? I’d have to drive either thirty miles east or fifty miles north to do so. Ridiculous. The town I’m staying in does have a Subway, though. Cool. Subway. Eat fresh.
I’ve spent the last two days redoing my résumé, brushing it up a bit, making it shiny and stuff, and applying for jobs. Any job. Well, I guess I can’t say “any” with absolute certainty–I still refuse food service. Not that I think it’s below me or anything like that. I slopped pizzas together in a convenience store kitchen for almost two years. I’ve done that work before. I’m talking more like wait staff jobs. I can’t do it. I know I can’t. One bad customer being a total cockfart to me will ruin me and I’ll start crying and I just can’t do it. I applied for retail jobs, and of course, more medical jobs. I busted my hump. This move is temporary and I’m going to make g.d. sure of it. Sorry, Dad.
So this new-found fire lit under my rumpus has seemed to awaken a part of me that I oft forget I own. Confidence. In general, I lack it. I tend to self-denigrate myself daily. That has to stop. Revamping my résumé made me realize I really do have some genuinely great accomplishments in my working career and listing off all my skills and qualifications made me go, “well, I’ll be dipped. Employers would be foolish to not hire this.” And that job confidence has leached over to my person life, as well.
I got to thinking of a guy I dated very briefly during the summer of 2012. I met him on the Okay,Cupid site and at first, it was fine or whatever. Did I think he and I would end up together? No. I have this odd thing called intuition and it kicked in after our first date. He was fun to hang out with, sure, but outside of that, eh. We dated for about two weeks and then he stopped texting. Spidey Sense Activate. I sent a message asking what up. You okay? He was fine, thanks. Just thinking about things. Like what? Where you and I are going. And? I don’t want to see you anymore. …Okay. Any reason? I’m not attracted to you physically. Ouch. I have this ideal woman and you’re not it. You’re not 5’5″, 125 pounds, and blonde.
Holy eff, dude. At the time, it hurt. It hurt a lot. What confidence I had been ruined. I’ve always been so self-conscious about myself anyway, so for this choad to attack my appearance like that stung. Thanks, man. Thanks a lot.
But I was thinking about this today for whatever reason–oh yeah, nothing better to do than think–and perhaps it’s my sudden clarity or what-have-you, I thought to myself and wish I had said this to him, but moot point now. Anyway, I wish I had said to him, “well, you know what? That’s fine. I’m 5’11”, almost twice that weight, and a bottled redhead, and I have the size cans your “type” would have to pay thousands of dollars for. And while that doesn’t match your ideal woman profile, I match someone else’s. I refuse to let your opinion of me and how I look effect me. Peace out, guy. Good luck to you.”
Seriously. I wish I had said this, but I’m saying it now, and better late than never. I always have had this negative perception of my body. I am too tall. I’m overweight. My teeth are crooked on the bottom. I have stretch marks thanks to an enormous growth spurt during puberty and weight gain. I think my legs are stumpy and I have a funky scar on my right knee. I always hated my top lip; it forms these two weird little points in the middle. My butt is flat-ish and kind of wide. The list goes on.
But today, I was sitting in bed, my legs outstretched before me, and doggone it, I have pretty decent gams. Muscular and firm. My scar is awesome. My knee isn’t awesome, but the scar is pretty cool. And Lethal Weapon taught me scars are a turn-on, so yeah buddy. I am tall. I like being tall. I can reach things. While I am overweight and do need to work on killing some excess weight for my knee’s sake, I’m shapely and curvaceous and have a nice rack. Gravity nor childbirth have gotten to me there. My teeth may no be perfectly straight, but at least I have teeth and add a bit of quirk? I don’t know…this one is actually kind of difficult to make positive. My stretch marks are just there. I can’t do anything about them, so I accept them as part of me. My lips look pretty effing good covered in red lipstick and sorry, Mom, but I’ve never had any complaints about how I use them, either. I’m working on my ass by doing squats. The wide thing is unavoidable since I’m freaking German and my structure is sturdy. I like that–I’m sturdy.
I also have fabulous hair. It’s thick, it’s long-ish, and I effing love my hair. I’m letting my natural color grow out and I can see patches of beautiful silver strands and I’m so excited to rock a head full of silver-streaked hair, it isn’t even funny.
My eyes range from grey to blue-grey and my former spouse used to tell me how amazing he thought they were. Gross.
So, you see, I have it in me to be confident in myself. I do. Why I let myself ever not be is beyond me. I’m working on all this. I know confidence is an attractive quality to have. I sometimes hesitate to exude the confidence lest I seem arrogant and self-centered, but sometimes, dang it, sometimes you have to let yourself be that way.
That about wraps it up. I’m working hard, doing what I can to make my situation better so I can get back to Lincoln soon. And I will.