Count Your Blessings My Dear -- and Don't Forget to Windmill High Five

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.

My Date -- That's Why I'm The Sheriff

I didn't get any booty, tonight.

Which is just as well. Regardless of how desperate I am lately, not even I give it up on the first date.

Actually, the thought of sex without love -- is a real turn off to me. I don't think I could do it. I don't really know how my friend Nina gives it up so easily. And she does. Because she more often than not, tells me all about it afterwards. I can kind of understand the intrinsic want or need for the touch of a man.... but... I don't know. The thought of doing it with someone who I have absolutely no meaningful connection to at all kind of fills me with revulsion. And as much as I like this guy, I really barely know him. And although there's part of me that wants that, and thinks he's attractive, I know me, and I know I'd regret it. So I already know going in that neither of us are getting lucky tonight.

It might have been a different story had he asked me out while I was hormonal. I probably would have torn his clothes off, if so. It's hard to say. Regardless, it wasn't meant to be. Besides, not sure if he would have been into it. The guy is nice, albeit opinionated. But he doesn't seem the type to screw around, I don't think. He comes across as a gentleman. Although it's hard to say. Most guys screw around, don't they? Hell, most of my women friends, do.

Sometimes I wish I was more like them.

Last week, I was telling my friend Nina about my date.

She cackled. "Are you going to fuck him?" She said, staring at me. Ah Nina, so classy, as always.

"I don't know!" I shot back, "I don't think so."

"You totally should, we need to get you laid." She said, flipping her long dark curly hair.

I made a face. "I don't see the point. I'd be too nervous to even like, 'get there' during, I'm sure."

She looked at me as if I was stupid. "Do you think I get off on my hookups!?" She stared incredulously. "Just finish yourself off when he facking goes to the bathroom," she practically rolled her eyes.

All my conversations with Nina go this way. As an example of the way Nina thinks-- when I went to her birthday party two weeks ago, we walked by this group of men who looked at us. She called out; "Two hundred a facking night, all roight?"

"Only two hundred?" I said. "I think we're worth more than that. At least I am-- I'm not too sure about you."

"Fuck you, D," she slurred.

"Okay, if you like. But I want at least four hundred."

She's actually already texted me tonight. Well, it's 4am now, and my date is long over. But she texted me hours ago; "R U in the bedroom? LOL does he have a big..."


...

Friends like Nina kind of make life interesting, that's for sure.

It was standard date fare; dinner and a movie. He rang me, earlier today. When I saw it, I briefly wondered if he was cancelling, but all he said was;  "I know you don't really want to watch the Avengers, But I've been hearing it's good; and 'Act of Valor' isn't on at the cinema we were going to go to. Do you want to watch that? Or something else?"

"Oh, no, we can totally watch that." I said, trying to sound  nonchalant. I don't think he'd cottoned on that I'd already seen it last week with my brother and his friend. Regardless. I have such a crush on Jeremy Renner right now, so I had no problems watching it again at all. "That sounds good," I say.

"Well, can I pick you up at about 10 past seven tonight."

I resist the urge to sign off with "It's a date!" Argh. So fucking cliche. I instead I mumbled something like; "that sounds good." Ah, fuck. I just said that twice. Oh God, I'm so retarded.

And suddenly, it just felt so real. It was really happening. I was really going out. With a guy. I was nervous.

Things don't scare me usually-- despite my insecurity; I don't get scared very easily-- but if there's one thing that really makes me nervous is dating. Especially cute guys. And even though he's not my type-- and I feel conceited saying that, I mean, 'beggars can't be choosers' and everything-- he is pretty cute, superficially speaking. He's tall. Somewhat tanned. He's a lot muscular than I usually like; I can tell he takes pride in his appearance. His hair is sandy coloured, his eyes are a dark blue. They're very piercing. That was the first thing I noticed.

He's a decent guy. He has a decent job, a decent haircut, a decent car, and decent sense of humor.

But he doesn't get my jokes. That was frustrating. I don't know if I can spend my life with someone who doesn't get my jokes. And his surname... it really doesn't go with my first name at all. So there goes marriage. Not that I'm that into marriage or anything... I actually don't like the idea of marriage at all, and even if I did get married, I like my surname.

... sorry, women jump the gun like this all the time. I don't care how feminist one is; there's always a split second where you just put your name next to a potential partner's to see how it sounds.

And he smokes. That's kind of my deal breaker. Not because I care if someone smokes or not-- after all, both Nina and my mother smoke, and I don't give them crap about it-- but I care about it in a partner. It practically helped send my Dad to an early grave. And even with my mother... I don't know, watching someone be a slave to cigarettes is kind of disheartening. I've been watching it for three decades now, and I really don't want my future to reflect that, either. It controls her.

But I firmly believe in letting people do what they fuck they want, so I'm not going to belittle him for it. I do wonder how this guy can be so vain in regards to appearance -- yet smoke cigarettes, though.

Dinner was nice; pleasant. It was a steakhouse. We had steak. It was kind of awkward. We talked about my trips. He asked me if I was afraid of the radiation when I went to Japan, I said I wasn't. I said there's more chance of getting radiation doses just going up in a plane than being in Tokyo itself. Besides, I was around Osaka, mostly. He goes on some tirade about nuclear energy, and like most people, he doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about.

I'm not a fan of nuclear energy; but not because of the radiation exposure from a meltdown-- for me it's due to the waste it generates. That's the real down side to Nuclear energy. It's not clean or renewable because of this. Not because of the potential to meltdown, which while significant, is avoidable. Of course I'm not sure how wise it was to build a crap-load of reactors on the earth's most seismically volatile country... they were kind of asking for trouble.

However, Nuclear energy really fascinates me, and always has. As a consequence, I know way more about it than the average person. I never really understood how people could be vehemently opposed to something, yet not actually read up on it or research it, at all. It's not inherently 'bad', just like coal and oil plants are not inherently 'good' either.

So he has a knee-jerk reaction to nuclear energy. Fair enough, we all do. I can accept that.

But Goddamn it, he isn't funny and he doesn't like my jokes. That part sucks.


There is a foosball table at the cinema, and a few arcade games. We decide to play foosball because we're early, and we have like 20 minutes.

I beat him.

We had our own foosball table, growing up.  I mean, I'm Italian; it's like a fucking life skill they force upon you. Calcio balilla. My citizenship would have gotten revoked had I not known how to play. I don't tell him this. I think his male competitive pride is slightly wounded because I win.

"Do you want to play something else?" he asks me, "we still have a bit of time."

I nod over to the video games in the corner; "what about Time Crisis?" I say.

"Oh sure," he says. "I'm good at this one," he grins.

I smile.

It's co-op but I manage to stay in the game, while he gets killed. He has to sit there and watch me go through at least an extra two minutes of gameplay since he runs out of lives.

"You're good at this," he says at the end.

"That's why I"m the sheriff," I say.

"What?"

I explain that when I went to Tokyo Disney, there was a shooting gallery in Westernland. I love shooting galleries; I beat my ex at the one at Castles in Coasters in Arizona. Anyway, my brother had three turns and couldn't get over 5 hits. Instead I had two tries-- I got 7/10 on the first one, then 10/10 on the second go. You give a slip to the lady. "Yatta!" She said, stamping it, and handing me a plastic sheriff's badge with Donald Duck on it. I fucking love Donald Duck. To say I was happy was an understatement-- I consider that plastic badge and the slip of paper one of my life's achievements fulfilled.

Okay, that's really kind of sad.

But simple pleasures and things of that nature kind of make me giddily happy for some reason. I can't really explain why. That stupid badge is one of my prize possessions. 

I briefly wonder if I should have lost on purpose. Guys don't like girls who are better than them, or smarter than them, do they? It threatens their male ego. I quickly decide I don't give a shit though. If he is threatened by me being awesome, then he sucks balls.

I can't help being awesome.

We watch the movie; he liked it. That's good. He's the kind of guy who glances towards you during the movie, occasionally. I wondered if it was because he liked me, or if he was checking if I was still there. Meanwhile I was thinking; 'you're missing the best part, asshole! This movie fucking rocks.'

Sigh. 

He isn't funny. But he's cute.

But he's not funny.

"Pretty sure Hulk can beat Thor, though," he's telling me.

Oh Jesus no. This isn't happening; there's no way I'm going to get into a debate about how Thor is a God and Hulk is just a dude with altered DNA. There's no way I'm going to go on about how Thor has powers; the ability to summon lightning from thousands of worlds, fly, that he's practically invulnerable, that the consensus is Stan Lee intended him to be the most powerful superhero in the Marvel universe, that they overpower the Hulk in the modern universe and constantly under-power Thor-- that although Hulk has beaten Thor in matchups occasionally, the opposite has been true too. That they will probably never resolve who really is stronger, although there's a strong bias towards the Hulk, technically, on paper-- it should always be Thor, as long as Thor has Mjolnir.

He looks at me awkwardly.

Fuck. Why do I gotta alienate everyone I even remotely like?

Sometimes... I wish I wasn't me.

"Can I walk you to the door?" He says.

"I don't have keys for the door." I say.

"How are you getting in?" He asks.

"I have the garage remote."

"Oh. Can I walk you to the garage then?"

"Sure, but it's just here."

.... Goddamn it, I'm so stupid sometimes.

"I had a good time," he says, smiling at me. He has perfect teeth. It pisses me off slightly. I idly think that he must have had braces when he was young. 

I smile. I fucking hate my smile. I look like a goof. Damn my crippling self-esteem issues.

He leans in slightly. My heart leaps into my chest. There's no way, I think. There's no way he's going in for the lips on the first date. Nobody is that fucking suave.

He doesn't. He kisses me on the cheek. "I'll call you," he says.

I color immediately. "Yeah, that sounds good," I laugh nervously.

"Well... see you," he says.

"Bye,"

And he's gone.

He's gone, and I'm here, my heart racing a mile-a-minute, unable to sleep-- wanting to pour my heart out onto the page. Sometimes I hate feeling as deeply as I do; certainly it's extremely alienating, I think. Anyone I remotely like, I wind up alienating.

.... for the second time, I kind of wish I wasn't me.

So I Have A Date; And Not With My Hand

So I feel a lot better today; thanks for asking, Internet.

You don't care? Fuck you, buddy.

So, I had this bottleneck thing happening (figuratively, not literally-- that would be weird, yet funny...) with my emotions.

I kept pushing them back over and over, and suddenly, I couldn't cope. I felt like I was in a cage, throwing myself at the bars repeatedly. At that moment, it kinda felt like my world was closing in, and I had this feeling like it would take me with it.

Ah, that's so romantic. I like that. That can stay in there.

I'm such a ponce.

Anyway, when I get like this, I call it 'hermit-itis' -- I withdraw so far into myself I can't deal with anyone or anything. I tend to feel so much I can't handle it, and as a consequence I actually become unfeeling and uncaring. It's not a nice place to be. Anyone who knows me really really well, (namely Tazzy, Dabbers and Hezzah) have experienced it first hand many times, and you're always so supportive and always make me feel like a friend even when I'm in hermit mode. I always feel like a douche about it. I'm sorry I do that. I am working on being better. Thanks for being there for me all the time.

... I just realized the people closest to me are all overseas and online. That's crazy, but it makes sense. And you're all American. What's up with that?

GUYS. ILU GUYS. *tears*

I don't get this bad usually, but things have been overwhelming, lately. I found out something really bad which triggered everything, and everyone I reached out to was busy with their own stuff. To be fair to you guys, my 'reaching out' is pretty fucking subtle. You would have needed a magnifying glass to notice it.

My 'reaching out' is kinda weirdly feeble. Like a really effeminate throw. "Eeeuggh." *falls short*

Well, shit.

I'm working on leaning on people more. It's tough. I secretly like to be completely alone, and find it insanely difficult to open up, to anyone. Even this entry is difficult to write. I keep editing it over and over, trying to take anything that deals with how I really feel, out.

That's kinda messed up.

But, I'm trying to keep it in, because truly and honestly, having this outlet helped me-- that's what I took from that person. That having one at all, helped. It doesn't matter if nobody reads it. Just it existing and it being 'out there' is helping me, in some strange way.

I feel good.

But I felt shitty.

In fact, I think I've only felt this bad in one other point in my life, and that time was horrible. And, I think only one person in the world knows about that time. Maybe two. It just always feels like it's a pity party when I tell it, and I hate getting pity. And it's hard for people to hear, too.

Even thinking about it is difficult.

Needless to say, I'm not ready to tell the entire world. I don't think I'll ever be. Maybe if you break down my barriers, I'll tell you, but the only people I ever told I had to maim. Not because they knew too much, but just because I really like to injure people.

It's for fun.

You know, in hindsight, maybe he didn't deserve my unbridled vulnerability, since I give it so reluctantly and yet he was bad at handling it. But truthfully, he was the only person I think I was ever all of myself around, both in-person and online.

I want that again.

Anyway, as I said, I feel way better.

... even though I actually deleted the angst filled entry in question, where I poured my heart out. I wasn't ready to have it so out there. But having certain things 'out there' is again, cathartic to me (I like using that word, shut up) and writing it all out is helping me a lot. So. Thanks. Thanks blog? Whatever, I'm functioning on very little sleep. Leave me alone.

So, the exciting part is, I have a date.

I don't feel I'm ready to seriously date, actually-- and I'm not sure this guy is my type mentally or even physically (he's buff, I like 'teh' weedy guys with the malnutrition), but he is pretty hot, at least.

AND he wears glasses! For reading, but still.

Is it bad I want him to wear glasses all the time? That's superficial, isn't it? If I ask him to just randomly read stuff during our date constantly, will that be suspicious?

WHAT'S THAT ON THIS MENU? WHAT DOES THAT SAY OVER THERE?

.... I don't know why I'm going to be shouting during our date, but that would be fucking funny.

I know, I have a problem. I'm sorry! I just get all swoony over guys wearing glasses. It's mah kryptonite. SIGH.

Also I'm not going into this close-minded. He really is pretty hot and he appears to be relatively nice.

Well, anyways. At the least my 'bleedies' are over now; so I can maybe get lucky. They ruined any prospect of gettin jiggy last weekend. I'm not a floozy but hey, I'm not above getting some. He's hot and  the last tail I got was about five years ago, so I'm due, dammit.

Actually I really don't give that up easily at all, and I've had offers. So while the thought of it might be nice, the reality is I'm probably going to be too freaked out even if he goes in for the kiss.

... fack. FACK. Now I feel nervous just thinking about it.

Anyway, it's a start. I don't think he's my future husband because  I suggested watching Avengers with him, but I betrayed my inner Nerdette and his expression betrayed his disinterest in seeing that movie. He either must really like me, or is reaaaaally polite because he agreed really quickly to seeing it, even though I could tell he really didn't want to watch it.


I reneged, though. Like backpedalled so fucking far that he probably thinks I hate comics, or hate movies, or hate the Avengers. So we're going to watch something else, probably.

So he doesn't like comics. Strike one.

"But you're a buff dude! Don't you like action?"

"I like action, I want to watch 'Act of Valor' actually."

Sigh. Where are all mah comic nerds at?

Anyway, I feel good. It's good for me. And I don't think anything is going to come of it, but it's a start. And I need this right now. And he's pretty good husband material. So my friend keeps reminding me.

But I hate the thought of marriage, and my name doesn't suit his surname at all!

.... like all women, I jump the gun somewhat.

But on to more important things; AH THE AVENGERS IS OUT. We get it like a week before the US. How fucking excited am I? Pretty excited.

I actually am super fangirly about watching it this weekend-- is that sad? My brother Jay wants to go and my best male friend. It's good. because if I went with date guy, then I'd have to wait till NEXT weekend, which is way too far away. Next weekend is practically when the US gets it, and if I watch it at the same time as the US then I have nothing to lord over you guys. Psh.

.... this kinda degenerated into incoherent rambles. Hmm.

That happens to me a lot.

So I don't know how to end this entry. I feel like I should say 'peace out' or something. That's so 90s. Maybe my sign off should reflect my personality more.

My brother says; "to reflect your personality more your tag off should be like: 'See You Later, Bitches!' ... because you know, you swear a lot."

...

Shut up, I'm very ladylike. I braid my leg hair and everything.

..... well I'll let you know how it goes. And by 'let you know' I mean... probably never write in here again, because I tend to neglect this when I'm happy, and I'm getting pretty happy, Internet.

.... See you later, bitches.