Someone recently told me to count my blessings.
I don't know why this in particular resonated with me. I can't tell you if it was the term itself, or the person telling me, that made me take notice. But I did take notice; and every once and a while I'm reminded of what he told me. And I try to be mindful of it when I feel especially down, or when I wish I was somewhere else, or someone else. I can't really put my finger on why that in particular stood out, but in any case, it was something that I needed to hear at the time. It seems stupid, but I hold onto it, even now.
So when my date told me I looked pretty today, and seemed to mean it-- I tried to hold onto that-- and more importantly-- believe it.
I took a look around, and I said, (to myself) "Oh yeah. You know what? I don't look all that bad. Maybe I am pretty."
That was really, really difficult.
I've never thought I was pretty.
Even now, it's tough for me to take anyone who has ever told me that seriously. I feel that they're just being polite, or telling me what I want to hear -- like my long suffering ex boyfriend who'd tell me I was beautiful till he was blue in the face and I'd shrug it off, continuously. I'd even say things like, "well you have glasses, so maybe out of focus I look pretty." He'd laugh, but... part of me always kind of meant it.
Yeah. I don't take compliments well.
I think women in general have really fucked up self-esteem, especially compared to men. I'm going to take a wild guess and say it's a product of society, but that's hard to say. It's difficult to feel beautiful when you're slightly chubby and society is ramming rail-thin women down your throat, but in the same vein, if you don't fit the mold of curvaceous and big-titted, you don't fit in either. I was looking at women today, and we're all completely different, shape-wise. Nobody is the same. So why is the perception of women a dichotomy? You should either be Twiggy or Marylin and nothing else in between is either allowed-- or is sexy. Men don't help because they tend to classify you as either 'fuckable or not' even though the reality is most of them will screw anything. Anyway, this is a rant for another time, but I think it's tough being a woman and also having healthy self esteem.
It's something I've been working extremely hard at for the past two years, and I've made some progress. But I'm still not where I'd like to be, either physically or mentally. The physical part isn't as big as a barrier as the mental part, truthfully.
Am I pretty?
I don't look unfortunate or anything. I think I'm 'pretty' -- argh, that's so hard to think, and to say. But I don't think I'll ever be a great beauty. I think I'm kind of goofy looking. My features kinda look a bit odd all together. And people call me pretty occasionally, but of course, I never really believe them.
Heh, that reminds me of something. When I went to Japan for the first time-- in 1999-- I remember Ana-san's mother complimenting my nose at one point. "Kawaii... it's... cute..." she managed, in stilted English. (Her mother couldn't speak Italian like Ana-- she could only manage English.) She basically described how when she was little, she always wanted a nose like that; 'a tall nose' -- and here she was, someone who would have been a really beautiful woman back in the day. Prettier than me, I'm sure. And there was nothing wrong with her nose. I remember thinking, 'Shit, us women are never happy.'
It's funny how my nose-- my somewhat long and wide nose-- was a source of envy for her, when I've never really liked it. Okay, It's fine. I mean, It's kinda cute I guess. It's mine and I wouldn't ever change it-- it feels like it makes my face uniquely mine-- so I'd be to scared to alter it. And It could be worse. A lot worse.
Anyway, yes, the thing at the top was eluding to the fact I had another date today, and now I'm hot and sunburned and tired. Actually I'm not that tired; because I can walk and walk and walk and I don't tend to feel it very much any longer. I'm sure my date's feet hurt more than mine in the end.
So we went to the Royal Australian Air Force Airshow today-- which was my idea. I love planes; (I already mentioned this but I love vehicles of all kinds... except maybe trucks. I don't really ... get trucks.) And I love boats, and trains. But I think I like planes the most.
.... In fact, when we go to the airport to pick someone up, or to drop someone off-- I make whoever is with me watch the landings and takeoffs on the observation deck for a while. I get excited, like I'm ten. I'm a grown woman, though. I'm old enough to know better. ...
I'm such a spazz.
But I just love watching planes take off and maneuver and fly. I guess I'm easily pleased in life... I don't know. I tend to take most things in with a sense of wonderment and whimsy. Everything can be fun to me, everything is fascinating, everything is exciting. I'm not sure what it is about flying and planes. Something about this contraption that is entirely man-made but can take off by harnessing physics and yet looks like it's defying logic is endlessly fascinating to me.
.... sheet. I tend to digress a lot.
Anyway, the Airshow was pretty sweet. Even though all they kept playing was "Fly Away" by Lenny Kravitz over the loudspeakers. I'm sure I heard it at least twice. What the fuck? You don't fucking sit there watching Super Hornet Fighter Jets to fucking Lenny Kravitz. I don't care how good the first 14 seconds of guitar is. Once he compares flying to dragon flies, (Incidentally I actually saw a dragon fly humping another in mid flight today) it's all over. Besides, everyone knows you fucking need Kenny Loggins and "Danger Zone" blaring. Did these people never watch Top Gun? Seriously?
Half of the people there today were only there because of Top Gun-- me included. Actually that movie was a little before my time... I was too young when it came out, so I've actually never seen it-- but even I know you can't have an Airshow without "Danger Zone" or at least AC/DCs "Back in Black" on endless loop.
... so yeah, that was me shouting, "THEY SHOULD PLAY DANGER ZONE" over and over. I'm sorry. I wasn't even drunk.
Much.
I kind of had a moment today, I think it was when the Hornets did a bomb burst formation over us, where I was like: "Holy Fuck. That's it. I'll never be as cool as someone who can fly a fighter jet. My life is meaningless." Haha. I think Nick kind of felt it too, because he kind of puffed out his chest all manly-like when servicemen walked by us.
And he had good reason too. I hate to get all swoon-y girl on him, but hell-- maybe I inhaled too much jet fuel or got too much sun or something-- half the servicemen were seriously incredibly good looking today. There was no lack of male eye candy for me, even though I tried not to notice, out of respect. But I'm ovulating, dammit. I wanna hump anything that moves. It was very difficult to not blank out, you know-- thanks to all the testosterone in the air.
Of course I don't think they were looking at me all that much; there were a lot of women with impossibly thin legs and impossibly big tits strutting around today. Nick was nice enough to not stare, much. He really is a sweet guy.
Although it's kind of funny how a kind word from someone else goes a lot further than a compliment from someone who knows you or is expected to like you.
.... unless of course that person has a kind word and a gun.
.... wait, what?
When Nick complimented me today, it felt good. And I'm trying to hold on to that. I'm trying to you know, count my blessings, and not wish I had legs to my armpits and impossibly big tits-- I don't want them. I don't want implants or anything-- I don't really want to be anyone other than me, deep down, despite my problems with confidence and self-esteem. I like me. I like my body. It's kinda cute. And I'm cute, in a weirdly odd, funny, fun, and slightly deranged way. What? Deranged? Well I'm told it's endearing.
Fuck you. It IS endearing. And if you don't agree, I'll hunt you down and make you agree-- so help me...
cough.
Oh, I mean, nothing. Sorry. *eyetwitch*
We walked by some recruitment booths today, and I kinda had this split-second where I was like, 'Yeah that's a good idea! I never realized I had a dream to be a pilot until today! Maybe I SHOULD join the Air Force!"
.... yeah. Like if I joined I'd suddenly have the opportunity to fly a jet. I can't even hold onto my chunks in a Japanese train, and yet apparently I'm both smart enough to undergo years of specialized training and I'm going to be fine in 6-G loops and not pass out. Right.
Though when the jets were flying and doing hesitation rolls, and barrel rolls -- my internal fangirl was squeeing madly imagining the people inside. There were four guys inside! Real people! And of course everyone inside must be impossibly handsome and amazing and ready to sweep me off my feet when they landed.
... I know. So fucking cliche. I know. I'm sorry. My inner feminist wants to slap the me that was deliciously corrupted by a steady diet of Disney romances. It's sickening. But I can't help it!
... it's like Astronaut Mike Dexter. So amazing. And... so not real.
... I'm not even pro-military so much. This is generalizing but I kind of view service men like pro athletes -- very alpha male. Drinking and sexing. Okay I have nothing substantive to confirm that at all but it's the impression I get from those kind of guys and those kind of places. I kinda like sweet guys. I like good guys. I don't do bad boys. But something about military aircraft is insanely cool, and there's something about service men (the power factor? the 'man in uniform' cliche? who knows) which is also cool.
Maybe I can't be an F-16 fighter pilot... but hopefully I can at least date one. Such a sad thing to think. "I"m not cool but my boyfriend is!" .... that's lame. Haha. But still, it would be fucking cool.
But if I ever do date a fighter pilot, I'm totally making him greet me with windmill high fives every fucking day. Just like Top Gun.
Oh yeah.
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