I realized something today. I am at a major catch-22.
Some of you can attest that I was NOT an attractive girl when I was younger. I don't care how good of a person I was in your eyes; let's be honest here: I was fugly. Somehow I grew into my looks (and my plastic surgeon gave me some large breasticles), and suddenly, everything seemed to change. Outwardly, that is. I have been given opportunities I would have never been given, befriended people that would have never given me the time of day prior, experienced things I otherwise would not have... but I have retained my "ugly girl" personality. Herein lies the problem.
I read for fun. I draw, paint, write, volunteer for charity, act like the world's biggest dork, get pleasure out of the most inconsequential things... I'm still the ugly girl. I'm still nice to everybody, because I know how it feels to be berated solely because you are not "attractive" to the masses. I still could give two fucking shits how much money you have or the fact that you bathe in Fiji bottled water, blah fucking blah blah blah. If anything, I tolerate these things less. Sure, you can be well-off, but do you need to present that as the most pivotal thing you have to offer? Get a fucking personality. Can't you buy those on Rodeo Drive or something?
My problem can probably be attested, at least partially, to myself. Maybe if I walked around like a fucking slob, people would take me seriously. Ironic, sure. But a put-together outfit, blonde hair and big boobs does not typically equate to somebody worth taking seriously. For the most part, I don't even blame the people that generalize me; these stereotypes are in place because they are typically not too far from the truth.
The men I meet expect me to personify the bimbo image, and are usually rather offended when I do not comply. So what am I to do? I give in. It's so much easier to convince you that I am everything I appear to be (which is, not much at all), than to convince you I am everything you don't want me to be. Let's face it, you walked your rich, haughty little self aaaall the way across the room because you wanted to stick your weiner in my vagina. Nothing more. You really want to hear me ramble about globalization? Religion? Politics? Didn't think so. Unfortunately... I am not going to let you stick your weiner in my vagina, but it sure is fun to string you along. How trivial can you be? I can play along; "Look, I'm trivial too. Let's tango."
Why do I even do that? Why do I entertain their deluded concept of who I am? Ultimately, once they find out I'm not putting out, they get all pissy. That, to me, is probably the fun of it all. Take your massive ego, your pompous bravado, and shove it up your ass. That's the most action you're getting from me.
Now... when I find a guy I genuinely like, things get tricky. I have this stupid idea that every single guy I am ever going to meet is going to be like the aforementioned assholes. So I inadvertently isolate as much of my real personality as I can. Once I realize I like the dude, I groan in retrospect at how much I need to back-pedal, and wonder if it is even worth it in the first place. Why bother? What if he won't like the real me anyway? What if I'm too dorky?
The kind of guys I like don't want a girl that looks like me as it is. Blonde = instant turn-off. Again, I don't necessarily blame them. They see the fake knockers and assume I am low on self-esteem, or any redeeming qualities for that matter. Then, I know I have some impressing to do, so I fumble and look like the idiot they expected me to be. It gets exhausting to change somebody's mind when it has been made up prior to a word ever being spoken. It also gets old, so I try to avoid this approach as much as possible. Sad, but true. I just let them think what they are going to think. The energy I save on that can be harnessed effectively elsewhere, hahaha. For the most part, I have all the people I need in my life anyway. I have never had to impress them; I never felt intimidated enough by them to play a game of any sort.
Although, I do have a guy that I like. He told me living by a rigid set of rules is silly, and by that he was referring to my "I don't have sex with guys that aren't my boyfriend" rule. This is yet another catch-22. I feel like humans should just run rampant and hump the living hell out of everything. Seriously. I don't even think monogomy is all that practical. In terms of raising a family, that is when it is practical. But even at that... seriously, having sex with one person forever and ever and ever does not sound like my idea of fun. Yet I have always been faithful to my boyfriends. And here I am, waiting until I am in a monogamous relationship to be having the sex I should be having with the rest of the world. What gives?!
I guess some part of me has been shaped by romantic, unrealistic ideals... wouldn't it be nice if it could work that way, yet when I think about it realistically, maybe it shouldn't work that way.
Despite that, I still stand by my self-imposed rule. I always counter that intimacy is a reward of committment. I could have sex with basically any man on the planet. Please note, this is not an arrogant statement in the slightest, this is a statement that takes into consideration the way a penis works. Let's be honest here. Testosterone is not exactly discriminating when it is surging through your body and you've got a naked chick in front of you begging for it. With that said, I am NOT having sex with these men. I could be, yet I choose not to. What's so special about you? Why are you more deserving than any other Joe Shmoe? Impress me.
Ahhhhhh. I am done. The only purpose this has served is to reaffirm how incredibly confused I am, hahah. I will bet one of my boobs that nobody read this far anyway. Not like I blame them. ;) It is bedtime for me. Goodnight all.