It’s been a while since I’ve been on a flyer – what more with clothes on lol.
Growing up, I was called a lot of names in regards to my body. “Midget” and “mosquito bites” were a few of my favorites. I had no tits, bad skin, big thighs, and zipping boots over my calves was always a struggle. It got better in high school, because I heard the term “thick” for the first time and found out it applied to me. However, I still wished I was at least three inches taller and could actually fill up my moms bras that I borrowed because I was too lazy and embarrassed to get measured and buy my own.
Now? Now I get to see Instagram models with both real and fake bodies getting “famous” and paid to be beautiful. Now? Now I am constantly reminded of every unwanted and wanted pound. Of every non-existent curve. Of how my clothes fit loose and tight in all the wrong places. Sometimes I look at old pictures of myself and sulk over how I left myself go. Other times I feel like a tween’ waiting for puberty to hit amongst a world full of beautiful women with hips and cleavage and pole wrapping legs.
Yet, I feel as if I’m not allowed to vent my frustrations. I feel bad for feeling bad, because I live in a world where if we aren’t an extreme – “fat” or “skinny”, we aren’t allowed to complain. Either I’m fishing for compliments, or need to shut up, or am simply being silly.
“HELP. How do I do this correctly?”
I am still in the process of loving myself for everything I am – and am not. That, I feel is a never ending journey. But I have learned a little something along the way. I’ve learned that it’s OK to FEEL. I’ve also learned to accept that everyone is entitled to do what they want to their body, whether I agree with it or think it’s “unfair”. But most of all, I’ve learned not to dismiss other people’s complaints (unless they’re just being petty lol).
I used to tell my friends, “You’re not fat. Stop complaining, etc.” But I’ve realized that when I say this myself, I’m not fishing for compliments – I’m looking for motivation and support. Thus, telling my friends otherwise discredits their feelings. So instead, I say “I would kill for your curves. But if you want to run with me sometime, or do anything let me know!” The response is usually a blank stare followed by a, “Never mind I’ll just be fat” but at least I put the offer out there.
Abs may start in the kitchen, but a positive self-image starts in your head.
I had a conversation with my ace this morning. It started with me trying to figure out what tropical island I was going to spend money I don’t have on, then quickly spiraled into a pity party of 1. Instead of cake and confetti, this party had insecurities and self-loathing. I told her that I lurked the Instagram pages of the exes of any man I’ve kissed in the past year and wished I had their body, their hair, their lips, their confidence, their job, their anything and everything I didn’t have. Then, I told her how I started personal training today, so at least I could “fix” that part of me.
I took a double take at what I messaged her and silently screamed to myself,
“BABY GIRL YOU DON’T NEED TO BE FIXED!”
Fix? I say it again, FIX? No honey, you do not need to be fixed. Silly girl. Continue reading
I have amazing friends. They’re beautiful, and talented. Thoughtful and funny. Smart, and cultured. Every now and then we’ll summon our 25-year old selves and do something crazy like put heels on, drink all the drinks, and stay out past midnight. We laugh until our tummies hurt, and cry unfamiliar-but-becoming-more-of-a-thing happy tears when we see one of us walk down the aisle towards the love of her life.
But when those familiar-not-as-frequent-but-wish-they’d-be-non-existent tears do appear, I feel alone. I’m on the outside of inside jokes, and I no longer know who is doing what with who or where. Catching up used to be, “So did you fuck the guy from last night?” to “Wait. You have a boyfriend? Who? WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN AND WHY DON’T I KNOW ABOUT HIM?!”
At work I know what shelf the very last paperclip is on. I like my co-workers, and they like me. I think. I’m taking on new responsibilities and getting my feet wet in the HR and recruiting pool. I received a bonus and got a raise earlier this year. I have my very first business trip Sunday, and I don’t have to wait for lower back pains to go away because I don’t have to worry about health insurance.
However, I am currently living my biggest fear as a senior in high school. My Journalism degree is just a very expensive piece of paper (which I can’t even find), and at times I can do my job on auto-pilot … from a plane with smoke coming from the engine.
I’m tired of being tired, but never have the motivation to execute. Yet, I seem to always have just the right amount of energy to complain. Continue reading
The sun shines through the sheets hanging from your windows as makeshift curtains, and I feel your hand reach over to pat my head. Oh there you are. I’ve missed you. You used to do that before. You know, make me feel as if it could actually work. Like I actually mean something to you. Something more than enthusiastic road head and a tight pussy.
Head rubs usually meant “Good morning,” you were horny, or sometimes both. I turn to my side. Not because I don’t want to feel your body against mine, but because I don’t want to face the day. To get up and leave knowing that whatever we just shared, as menial as it was, only exists as long as I lay in that bed. I just want to lay there with you. Not in an “OMG I could do this forever” way. I’m an idiot, but I’m realistic. But in a let me pretend for a little bit kind of way.
Your arm slides across my waist and you rest your other hand on my thigh. Squeezing it every so often. I’m a tiny little thing, but I thank the universe for granting me a little bit of thickness where it counts. You’re being sweet to me. It makes me sad and happy at the same time, but mostly sad.
Moments like these are fleeting, and I know it’s only time until I feel like a convenience again. The anxiety is far less often, but the intensity remains the same. A picture, a mention, the mere thought of your hands on someone else. The inevitable potential of you looking at someone the way you could never, and would never look at me. That feeling of not existing until I do again.
Daaaaaamn Abi, back at it again with another post. It’s been a while since I’ve blogged, what more wrote a “Shit Bitches Love” post, so I thought one was overdue. For first time readers, it’s pretty self-explanatory: a list of shit bitches (including myself sometimes) love. If I’m missing anything, feel free to let a bitch know in the comments section.
Kylie Lipkits. Let’s be real here. If you are a woman (or man) under the age of 25 and obsessed with pop-culture, then Kylie could slap her name on dog food and you would buy it. You don’t even need to on a dog. While I don’t look at her as a role model (mainly because I could be her mother), I will shamelessly admit that I dig her style. She’s business savvy (wonder where she gets it from) and capitalized on all the hoopla surrounding her infamous pucker. And if her followers are willing to buy a tube of lipstick for $50+ she’s going to sell it to them. I on the other hand will wait until Colourpop comes out with a metallic dupe for less than half the price. Because #RealBitchesLoveDiscounts. Continue reading
I’ve always wanted to go skydiving. While I’m frantic in 5 feet of water, I’m pretty sure I was a bird in a past life. A timid one, but a bird nevertheless. I once had a dream that I went skydiving. I was scared the entire time, and just as I was about to board the plane I woke up. I took it as a sign to hold off.
Then, I booked a trip to Kauai last year and saw a picture of my friends 60+ year old father with a knee brace skydiving tandem to one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen, and decided it was time. If he can do it, I can do it I thought.
I remember arriving at Skydive Kauai unshowered with no makeup on, a pimple on my chin, and nappy ocean hair hoping Mr. Beautiful wouldn’t be my instructor. Of course he was my instructor. During the plane ride up he asked me how I was feeling, and I told him “I want pancakes”. *Insert face palm felt around the world* I wasn’t nervous, and not being nervous made me slightly nervous. But I figured if the last thing I ever saw was this beautiful island, it wouldn’t be so bad.
I wonder if that’s what Wayne Rose, my instructor that day was thinking this past Sunday when he hopped into the Skydive Hawaii cessna plane for the last time. My roommate sent me a link to a news article about a skydiving incident in Kauai, and I immediately knew it was Skydive Kauai. It didn’t take long for me to find out more details regarding the horrible incident, and during my search I also found the following excerpt written by Wayne’s twin sister:
Please take a minute today to tell your family and friends you love them. Never take one second of this precious life for granted. Quit the terrible job you complain about every Monday (that’s what Wayne did). Move to the city or state you’ve always wanted to live in (Wayne did that). Go on that adventure you’ve always dreamed of (Wayne did that, too). Put yourself out there, meet someone, and don’t hold back from falling head over heels in love. Live out your storybook romance despite all the odds against you (yep, that happened, too)
I remember walking over to tip Wayne that day before I left thinking, you must really love doing this because I know they don’t pay you shit. I handed him the money and said, “Thanks for not letting me die”. What I should’ve said was, “Thanks for letting me live”. Thank you for living a life worthy of dying for, and being an inspiration for me to do the same.
And for the record, I will never eat pancakes the same way again.