They say confidence is sexy… and arrogance makes you look like a repulsive, pig-faced whore. Okay maybe I made that last part up, but I only know a handful of people that manage to successfully straddle the line between self-assured and self-obsessed and they truly are the most charismatic people around. In other words: Fuck them. (This time I DO mean in the good way. What? It’s not my fault those cocksure cocksuckers are so damn irresistible.)
I, on the other hand, carry myself with all the confidence of a dung beetle whose kingdom of crap is always on the verge of collapse. If I ever had a single ounce of self-esteem, I certainly snorted it at some point during my high school years.
It doesn't help being greeted with SNOBS in every aspect of life. Some things haven’t changed a bit since high school, other than I at least ask the person in the next bathroom stall what it is I’m snorting before I vacuum it up with my face. Usually they tell me they don’t fucking know, since I brought it in with me. This isn't the 80s anymore, people. Or even good ole' 90s Beverly Hills 90210 Kelly Taylor shit. But I digress.
|Yes, I know this is Donna and not Kelly. Sober Tori Spelling just makes a better mess than a coked-out Jenny Garth.|
I've stuck my toes far enough into the shallow ends of both the writing and pin up modeling pools (weird combination, I know) to be surrounded by “peers” that are a million times better than me in their respective roles, and most make little attempt to hide their superiority. Either I’m a dick because I've never read an Indie writer or I’m an ugly slob because I can’t apply liquid eyeliner and have never graced a magazine cover… there’s always a reason to be treated like an infected wart on a platypus’s nutsack. Of course there have certainly been pleasant exceptions in both of the previously mentioned professions; hence the objects of my unwavering lust from the first paragraph. And yes, I would hump ALL of their faces if given the opportunity, but the majority of the fucktards I've encountered I’d like to scratch in the damn eyes with my jagged, unmanicured fingernails.
Luckily, due to my own lack of effort my writing career seems to have finally hit its bathroom ceiling, so I won’t have to face the fallout of people finally realizing I’m an untalented shithead. But the part of myself I've always struggled the most to like is, well, myself.
Modeling might seem like a stupid hobby for someone who can’t stand the way they look… wait, now I’m dumb too??? Christ. <Adds “lack of intelligence” to running scroll of her own faults. Along with “referring to self in third person.” Also “makes way too many lists.”> But there’s something about being prepped, pampered, and posed to look your best that is quite therapeutic. Until you look at yourself in the mirror again without all that professional help, but that’s a problem for another day. Most days, actually. But for a FEW minutes every few months I feel pretty… and that’s pretty awesome.
I’ve not peppered this post with pictures of myself because I don’t want a bunch of “Awww, but you’re so PRETTY” comments. If I wanted to go fishing, I’d be on a boat drinking beer and refusing to touch worms… which is a lot like what I’m doing now, except I’m on dry land. And I don’t really mind worms. Except for on spring mornings after it rains and those squirmy little pricks are laying dead everywhere, like slippery little landmines. And it always smells like sweat outside on those days, although I don't really think that's the worms' fault. Anyway, I'm just trying to write a little blog post here, so get the worms out of my fucking face, okay? Yeesh.
I’ve actually lost friends over my inability to take a compliment. I know my always-down-on-myself attitude is a drag. And all of the highest compliments in the world from others won’t do a damn thing to improve my image of myself, and its my own perception that is the problem. Obviously everyone else thinks I’m awesome. Pfffft.
A few months ago I set a goal for myself in an attempt to overcome some of my stupid insecurities: going fully nude for a photo shoot. I did it, and for a little while it actually did help. (And it was completely private and tastefully done, so sorry—even if the Google could find it for you it wouldn't add much fodder for your spank bank.) But I've long since sobered up and am back where I started… but you know what? I don’t care. I’m too old to be so self-conscious about every stupid thing.
My big crooked nose, small boobs, and weird bulges of arm pit fat are all parts of who I am. My bad puns and excessive use of alliteration are my style, however juvenile. And yeah, I totally rhymed “style” and “juvenile” on purpose, so cringe away motherfuckers. I’m not trying to kid myself that I’ll ever grace a bestsellers list or the pages of Vogue, but I’m no longer going to hide my face in public or lie and say I don’t want to be a successful writer. I’m also not going to attempt liquid eyeliner ever again. (Truthfully I've never tried it at all; it looks hard, and I’m insanely lazy with my appearance for someone who can’t stand how they naturally look.)
I am, however, going to hold my head high as I look in the mirror—as that’s the best angle from which to identify and pluck any weird growth of chin hair—and attempt to take pride in myself. Because no matter how ugly or talentless I may be, at least I still have a fabulous ass.