BADF

And other thoughts of the day

6 October 2000

I can't believe how sad I was yesterday morning. That sucked. Sorry about that.

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.

Superstar!

Which is why I think, perhaps, Marilyn and I were made for each other.