Back In The Day

This post was inspired by Cuppatea's last post.. check him out on http://colourful-cuppatea.blogspot.com/

When I was in high school, all the girls were obsessed with being skinny… what am I saying? They still are! But for the purpose of moving on with this post, let’s stick to the highschool days.
Many a lunchtime would pass where some girls would only nibble at something, most opting not to eat, and some going the Mary – Kate route. I wasn’t in any of these categories; I was the odd one out, pigging out with the boys. I’d love to tell you that this was because I was confident about my body, but sadly, that is not the case.
I was skinny.
Painfully so.
Much unlike my counterparts, I was dying to put on weight, not to lose any. I was the stick – thin girl and save for my (already) large breasts, I pretty much looked like a boy.
I wore baggy pants because I thought they would somehow mask my skinny legs. I even wore shorts on the inside to give the appearance of wider hips and a more curvaceous ass. I tried everything, even investing in a few very impractical white pairs of jeans!
But nothing doing.
And so I resorted to my last defense, making fun of my boyish shape… well, boobs aside =P

Then came boarding school for my A levels, mother dearest thought it would be prudent to send me to another country... so off I went... and with it all came a whole new bag of insecurities…
See the girls in this country… voluptuous would be an understatement! And so I began to pig out on everything and anything. unfortunately for me, boarding school food isn’t prepared with the healthy type of oil and well, let’s just say I became more appley than peary…
Then I did something that I am very ashamed of; I pulled Mary – Kate y’all! I started throwing up when I ate and starving myself until I couldn’t stand it… and 15 minutes later I was back in the bathroom; fingers down my throat. It got so bad that I passed out once during a school assembly. I don’t know what was more embarrassing, the fainting or my pants almost falling off as they carried my off to the sick bay…
With age comes wisdom (well, usually…) and I realized that my body was mine forever and I would eventually have to accept it for what it was. And so I did. I even embraced my tiger – like stretch marks on my butt and stopped wearing shorts with my bikinis =)
I recently put on about 5kgs and I’m loving it! My hips and ass are rounder and I couldn’t be happier!
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have days where I felt fat or ugly, but surprisingly, they are less and less common. And I think that’s because I have learned to love and accept myself. And that ladies and gentlemen (brace yourselves for an über cliché line) is the greatest gift you can give yourself…
Jheez, that last line was horrible, the weed must be eating away at my brain already =D
xox

*this one doesn't have a name*

And Hansel said to Gretel: “Let us drop these bread crumbs so that together we can find our way home. Because losing our way would be the most cruel of things.” This year I lost my way.
That’s a line from One Tree Hill. It rings true for me though. I have lost my way. I have lost my passion. I have lost all the things that mean so much to me.
I have lost myself.
I didn’t want to admit it to myself, much less to anyone else. But I had to. Because admittance is the first step to recovery right?
And so, after a week spent in a drunken and/or stoned stupor, I managed to epiphanize (that’s not a word is it?). I’m withdrawing from my courses for the sem, who knows, maybe I won’t even be back next sem. I’m going to find myself again, do all the things that make me happy.
Write.
Sew.
Paint.
Play on the swings at my grandma’s house and remember what it’s like to be a child again.
Discover new music.
Rediscover old time favourites.
Relearn the monologue at the beginning of Rock and Rolla…
I’m going to find my way before I get even more lost. And sure, there’s probably an evil witch lurking somewhere in this forest that is life, waiting to eat me up. But that’s the best part about fairy tales; everyone lives happily ever after in the end =)
Except the bad guys.
They just die tragic deaths and go to fairy tale hell =P
xx

[listening to: Eet - Regina Spektor

Pavlove

I had a dream the other night, and it was a really trippy one. Which is weird because I hadn’t smoked up or taken any medicines in a while. But regardless, here I was having this super psychedelic dream, and I woke up to an epiphany. Allow me to elaborate.
In my dream, I was at a techno rave. In the middle of like a platform with candles all around it. And I was having sex with this incredibly fine dreadlocked man. Now I know that I don’t particularly have any exhibitionist tendencies so that was quite strange. Then the other thing, yummy Mr. Dreadlocks was a complete stranger. Someone I have never seen ever. What’s weirder? This is not the first time I have had a dream about having sex with a stranger; it happens a lot of the time. In this dream, however, the sex was like a spiritual experience. Like we were on an altar and it wasn’t just sex, it was like an honest – to – God pure, spiritual act. And as we got closer to climax, the emotions intensified and I knew that I needed to just let go but some part of me wouldn’t let me. And all of a sudden I began to feel ashamed and I slipped out of that dream into another.
In my second dream, I was a white woman. Yes, please believe. And not just any white woman, I was so Stepford, it was ridiculous. Think Britney’s alter – ego in her If You Seek Amy video; pie – baking, not a hair out of place, prim and proper, blushing at the mere mention of sex. Considering the dream I had before, this was strange. So I slipped out of this dream and jumped into another.
I was on a shrink’s couch, and I was hypnotized or something. And I could see myself, like it was an out – of – body experience or something. And I could see us talking, but I couldn’t hear anything. And then like someone had popped a bubble, I could suddenly hear the conversation.
“Why do you repress your sexuality? Why is sex so shameful for you?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled. “I need to go back in time.”
And then I woke up.

I’m a big believer in that dreams are trying to tell us something, and obviously my unconscious is trying to give me a heads up about something that’s important to who I am now.
I’m not sure I want to delve into the past though.
Sigh…

Oops, I did it again…

Hi, my name is _____ and I’m a drama – holic. I’m not even sure that’s the right word; methinks I suffer from temporary insanity. And the catalyst? Seximus Prime… I though I was done with him but clearly I’m not.
I saw him on Thursday, hadn’t seen him in a while sot we were catching up. Time flew faster than I realized and I was still at uni, more than an hour’s drive from my house. So he suggested that I stay. I went outside to talk it through with my mum and she was cool. So I walk back inside to look for him and he’s nowhere in sight. So I call him. He says he’s left. Where is he? At a friend’s place. And there’s no room for me to sleep over. Great.
Long story short, I stayed at a friend’s house. And I’m still kicking myself for letting him back in.
And for letting him know he still has a hold on me.
Sigh, I don’t know why I do this to myself.

On a happier note, I’m done with my exams and now I have time to start on something I’ve been thinking about in a while. Perfect distraction while I sift through the nonsense that is my brain…

Ready For Love...

Before I begin, isn’t this like the best song ever? Well, maybe not ever, but it is pretty awesome. And just for the record, I’m talking about the India. Arie one, not the one by Bad Company or Cascada.
I think I’m ready for love. Now I know what you’re thinking L.A, you’re like whoa, slow down there horsie!, but let me explain. I don’t mean that I’m ready to jump into something really deep right now, just that I’m ready to love again, and to be loved. And when I meet someone that I think is going to be worth my time, I'm going to ever – so – slowly ease into things and let love happen if it’s meant to.
I haven’t read The Secret so I’m not so sure how this Power of Attraction thing works but I think it has something about telling the universe exactly what you want. Someone please correct me if I’m wrong, I can’t be assed to Google it… but for the purpose of this post and my current train of thought, let’s just go with what I said.
So listen up Universe, this is what I want!
I want a man who will treat me with absolute respect; I’m tired of taking shit from guys.
I want a man who will laugh at my jokes… even the really dumb ones… especially the really dumb ones.
I want a man who will appreciate the music that I love. I’m not asking him to love it, just to appreciate it.
I want a man who can quote my favorite lyrics to me.
I want a man who I can sit with in silence and there’s no awkwardness.
I want a man who I can talk to for hours non – stop. About everything and nothing.
I want a man to kiss in the rain.
I want a man with lips that beg me to kiss them… thick, juicy lips… like Jeremih… yum =)
I want a man to go on walks with; our hands in each other’s back pockets.
I want a man who smells real good. The kind of guy who makes me want to jump his bones just by catching a whiff of his cologne.
I want a man who is much taller than I am. But I’ll settle for just slightly taller than me when I’m in my 6 – inch heels =)
While I’m on that point, I want a man with a sexy body. I don’t mean washboard abs but a nice, tight body would be appreciated… and nice arms… and thighs… ;)
I want a man who will inspire me to paint like I used to.
I want a man who I will want to write soppy poetry about. I haven’t had that in a long while.
I want a man who will make fun of all my little strange habits but love me for them anyway.
I want a man who will get along with my family. Especially my mum… and my brothers.
I want a man who will be completely honest with me, even though the truth might hurt me.
I want a man who will understand when I turn into a bitch every 28 days or so.
I want a man who would sit through all my favorite movies over and over even though he doesn’t care much for them, but just because he knows how much I love them… like Grease… especially Grease…
I want a man who will make me feel like I’m discovering love for the first time…

Hold up Universe, I’ve got finals to read for, can I get back to you when I’m done?
P.S: I want to pass my finals!

…Lately I’ve been thinking
Maybe you’re not ready for me
Maybe you think I need to learn maturity
They say watch what you ask for
Cause you might receive
But if you ask me tomorrow
I’ll say the same thing…

Progress check…

I’d written this on a random piece of paper in August of last year, and because I’m the forgetful kind, it didn’t make it into the blog… but now that I’ve found it, I can look back and see if I accomplished what I so badly wanted to…

IT’S CALLED A BREAK – UP BECAUSE IT’S BROKEN…
I read this book while on vacation (yes, I went down to the coast, and ignored sun and sand to read a self – help book) and it made me feel like an idiot! I actually cried while reading it because I pitied myself… and then I was angry with the authors for telling me these things. Ignorance is bliss, that’s for sure.
After two nights in tears, a few bottles of wine, and packs of cigarettes, I began to see the book as a tool to making me better… to fixing myself as it were. So I finished the book sober, I even managed to laugh at some of the stories, and at myself. And then, before I knew it, I’d reached the end of the book… so now what? Well, the author says it’s time to go out and be that “superfox” that I am deep down… and not to make the same mistakes… easier said than done!
For the past year and a half, I’ve basically been stuck in the same break – up… and that makes me feel so……….. stupid! I have dated guys during that time but I’ve been trapped in the wake of my last “successful” relationship…
A horrible thought just occurred to me; I’m the poster girl for daddy issues! In movies, on T.V and everything else, the asshole, the guy who’s only out to get laid, always looks out for the girl with the daddy issues… because they’re insecure and easy… and that’s me… well, and exaggerated version of me but you get my drift… even my guy friends tell me that when guys aren’t up for a challenge, they’ll look for a girl who seems to have low self esteem or has guy issues of some kind… and I realized that all but one of the guys I’ve been with since my huge break – up, (which weirdly enough was the same day my dad died) have been with me for that reason…
And not just guys in the post – break – up era, just guys generally… so that makes the exceptions three or four… I think… now that’s depressing…
So ANYWAY, I’m on this mission to change… because I do know that I have many great qualities and I do want to be with someone… but only for the right reasons and only when I’ve fixed myself so I know not to settle for less…
But I’m lonely…
So it’s definitely not going to be easy to stay on the straight and narrow…
I guess all I can do is take it one step at a time, do the things I know I ought to, the rest will fall naturally…. I hope… first thing I’m going to do is redecorate my room… messy bed; messy head… it’s time to sort both out!!

Hmmm L.A, looks like I was on to this drama – tox thing before we had our joint epiphany, haha… I have to admit, it’s been a lot harder than I thought it would be, I didn’t really start til you and I agreed to help each other out. With the exception of S.P, I did behave; I got over the bastard ex – boyfriend, I stopped hooking up with guys randomly, I haven’t done so badly for myself… if I had to give myself a grade for my progress so far, it’d probably be a B-; I’ve definitely improved but I could do better… here’s to self – improvement!

Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?

Part of the 12 – step program is to admit to our shortcomings. So I’m going to fess up to one of my major ones…
I get physical too fast. Now I don’t mean that I jumped in the sack with every single guy, but I have on three occasions been guilty of that.
Most recently was Seximus Prime. Sure, I’ve known him for years but in the words of my best friend, I wouldn’t have died if I made him wait before he got his hands on the goods.
Then there was G.I. Joe, the guy who was responsible for most of my heartbreak last year. We never really dated but we were somewhat exclusive. We liked each other but he thought I was too wild for him and I didn’t exactly try to prove him wrong. We left things hanging but the last time I saw him, he was with some other girl and acted like I was part of the wall hangings.
And there was my ex. The Bastard. We did the do only a week or so after we met. Sure, we dated for more or less two years but I consider it a monumental waste of time and he left me deeply emotionally scarred.
Anyway, I digress.
Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? Case in point, G.I. Joe; he got a years worth of the mattress mambo without committing to me. And Seximus Prime, who I know I’d boink again, given the chance, fully knowing the chances of him committing are as slim as that Olsen twin with the eating disorder. Clearly, there is no need to buy the whole cow. Sure, it would be awesome to have cheese and butter, and later tasty beef burgers and leather… but those are all frills that guys can live without, or simply get from another cow.
I’m not easy, I sometimes just get carried away, but I really need to figure out a way to make a transition from being the hook up girl to being the girlfriend. I’m lonely; I want someone to cuddle with and to stay up all night talking to. I don’t want to constantly worry if I’m overstepping my boundaries and if I’m acting too girlfriendy…
The next step? To fix the flaws… so I’m consciously trying to ignore my cherry and pay more attention to common sense…

PS: methinks L.A should get out of my head, our blog posts are starting to sound a lot alike =P

Conversations with my 13 year old self

I found my old diary today, the one I had when I was 13, halfway through high school, and very opinionated. I had a punk phase that I’m not quite out of; I do have my random Avril Lavigne – esque days. At 13 I was kind of a rebel, as most kids that age are, and I was very against all types of conformity. I knew I was pretty, but wasn’t the typical girly kind of pretty that the world takes notice of. I was the reserved girl, undiscovered in my cocoon of rocker t – shirts, heavy eye – shadow, pants that were always one size too big, and of course, the classic studded accessories. I would become a butterfly in my own time, being a tomboy was fun; I never had to worry about chipping a nail, running out of my favorite kind of lip gloss, or having my hair out of place.
And then a strange thing happened; I became popular, without my realizing it.
I stuck to my rocker girl image but that too began to change. My rocker tees were replaced by slightly more form fitting, lower cut tops, my baggy jeans were substituted for better – fitting jeans that showed off my assets, the spiky accessories too disappeared into the back of my closet. I grew my nails out and although for years I stuck to black nail polish, I eventually discovered that other colors don’t look half bad.
Years later, I’m still one of the popular girls; my vans and chucks rarely ever see the light of day while my super cute sandals are all worn out, the jeans that aren’t super skinny are only ever worn on my fat days, and my rocker tees are folded neatly in my drawer for those chilly days when I don’t want to expose my chest. Which, in a tropical country straddling the equator, is not that often. I went from never wearing skirts or dresses to loving ones that are not very generous with material… I’m sure my mum regrets pushing me to dress more girly now!
I’m a conformist. The one thing I never wanted to be.
I realize that at 13 I hadn’t factored everything in, it was only normal to want to be more feminine as I grew older, and I can’t wear my Vans with everything, but I still feel like some sort of a sell – out. Musically, I’m a rocker till I die. Looking at me, you probably wouldn’t think so, save for the dark eye – liner that I don’t think I’m about to give up anytime soon. My style is definitely edgier than my more girly friends, but it’s still quite reminiscent of the stereotypical popular chicks in those trite high school movies.
I miss expressing my identity through my clothes, and not caring what people would think. Apparently to show up in public dressed as 13 year old me would be what one of my friends calls “social suicide”. And I've gotten used to a certain standard of living, sudden unpopularity wouldn't be good for my health (seriously, it's been proven, popular kids are healthier! lol!) So I’m thinking more of rocker – chique as opposed to rocker – chic. Who says I can’t have my cake and eat it too? 13 year old me would be so proud…