Fucking Body Image Part 2

I got to thinking for months that I think it's wrong to post how women should love themselves, and want to it better for health, not a skinny body (that's not permanent). So, I'm posting my own story:

I remember looking in a mirror, staring at my naked body. I felt the curves of my waist, the rolls of fat jiggly there in my grip. I watched my stomach move and asked myself, "Who would find me attractive?" I have stretchmarks, and bags under my eyes, and rough feet, and no boobs? There was never any intention of it being answered; it was a completely rhetorical question. There cannot be an answer, unless you want one.

I put my arms down at my sides, and tilted one foot, to look at my ass in the mirror. It was red from my skin tone. Red bumps that women get, fat rolls where the indention of my bra remained, and two thighs with no air between them. I sighed, asking myself, again, "Who would find me attractive?"

Then the question didn't seem less answerable.

I remember smiling. Some smile you would give in polite conversation when you quite didn't hear the joke all the way. "Me," I whispered, smiling at my reflection who gave me the same smile back.

I remembered when I was a little girl. Below fourth grade, I thought I was pretty. No one had called me ugly yet, except the ones flirting and all. Somehow in the midst of my childhood, the times were changing outside my little world. Then they started to invade my classmates before it reached me. They were all about body image and what guys might find attractive. Even in fourth grade I was seeing girls trying to make themselves look like The Spice Girls, or something. All that make-up and sex appeal starring a shred of cloth stretched up on breast, waist, and ass.

Boys from then on teased me about my short, stubby fingers; about my chubby stomach (that was only matured with me through adulthood); and about how I ate too much at lunch. I tried to change who I was. One time, in my Junior year of high school, I wanted to impress a boy. I knew he only liked skinny "chicks." So, before the school bus would arrive around 6:30AM, I would wake at 4:30AM to run and try and be skinny so he would like me. I did try. Really hard. He just never saw me as anything. He's married now, growing kids somewhere in the states.

I let them tell me if I was attractive or not. I had always thought I had been, looking back. Despite the false livlihood of my classmates and peers, I always wondered WHY I wasn't pretty. I had everything I felt attractive in. Even I embraced my stretch marks, never having lost my virginity until my early-twenties because of the fright I would be even more horrosome.

Ladies and gentlemen, I will put something very personal, so let's supress our giggles and laughter. When I masturbated, I even loved the feel of my own body squirming, sweating, just moving in those special ways. The special ways I never felt with someone else until I lost my virginity. Instead of feeling the scalded opinions of pop culture, I felt attractive in bed. I always wanted to know why another human being couldn't find what I found in my own body. I was ashamed to feel anything uplifting about my appearance, humliated to never be esteemed enough to wear a skirt or a dress, or even a shirt that slightly gave a hint of fat. God forbid.

I faced the mirror again and thought of how my body must seem to my boyfriend. Took me a good month to take off my shirt during sex. And two months before I gave him head (afraid I would awful at that as well). Even after I gave oral, I still had a hard time being on top. He took this with immense patience. I adore him for it. With me afraid of even dressing in front of him long after we began having sex. All the times I hid away and he would ask why, I would just joke it off. But, to really hone in on all the little details, I never noticed him NOT being attracted. He was always hard, even if I walked in the room naked. He loved touching me, not caring about the rolls or the stretchmarks. He even made me feel as sexy as when I touched myself.

Now, I do chores naked in front of him. Let him do what he pleases without apprehension. I try moves I saw in a porn once and wanted to try. And knowing he never cared about those imperfections I saw in the mirror, helped me realize that I shouldn't have either. He is of a different string of male, meant for a distant planet and not here, on earth. A few are stranded here and what a rare treasure they are. My epiphany comes from him: never be ashamed to love your body. I don't care if it's falling apart, growing, flaking, smoking, or combusting, you should already have a predetermined view of yourself and don't allow for the invasion to begin; I hear it's really hard to recover from.

Father's Day

No, this isn't a post about my father, may he rest in peace, but it's about what modern society is doing to itself.

Out of all the Father's Days I have celebrated, I used to buy my father so much shit. So much of it that it becomes worthless after awhile, half the stuff people have to remind me I bought it for him. Everything does, if you think about it, in some prophetic way. I just want to say that I regret buying anything, despite being a person who loves homemade gifts and just spending time with friends on my day of any kind.

I see all the cards.
I see all the ADs being prepped for the last week before Father's Day. See, I prep the next week's AD at Target and its theme is Father's Day. Hell, we even have graphics everywhere there can possibly be about "buying this for your father, make it worth his while!"
Honestly, it kind of makes me sick.
In my new found maturity of how to perceive things better than when I was a spoiled cunt, I see that I shouldn't have bought him anything, but probably his and mine's fishing licenses. He tried for years to get me to fish with him. He tried for months before his death to have a father-daughter day (like we did when we were kids). He tried so hard for me to go learn about cars (that I now see he was preparing me for the hardness of life after he wasn't there to be overprotective). My father was a very intimidating man. And he never had the best attitude. And, you know what, despite the typical teenage angst, despite our fights (are very serious, hard fights), and our special way of hardly talking so we wouldn't argue, I regret not having more fights, more disagreements, and more complaints working on my car -- to learn about it for future's sake.

As a human, we don't typically believe the future will ever reach us. Hell, I never thought I'd live to be 23-years-old, and I can't believe I'll ever see fifty. I never believed, either, that my dad would be dead at 42-years-old, at 2:25PM in a really nice afternoon of cool November weather.

It makes me sad all these people rushing to get to stores and show their love through their gifts that were on sale, because that's what "the man" makes you believe he wants.

I say, what he really wants, because if your dad truly loves you, he'd be happy teaching you something, fishing, driving, playing a game he likes for you to join him. Parents love their children. Hell, I love my sister. We are two different people, probably wouldn't be close friends if we weren't family, but if I get to do anything with her I'm happy. I'm happy because I love her and it makes her happy. I HATE watching movies through their entire playing time. And I do it, for her. I watch them because it makes us happy to do it together.

That's the message I'm trying to get across.

Do something with your parents, on any of their days, that they're interested in. Let yourself see the gleam in their eyes from talking about it, showing it. Let a smile they don't realize they're giving make you smile. Even if you hate it, find it the most boring thing in the world, let them show you their love for it, how it calms them down. Learn about your parents. They were kids once. They had hopes, and they, too, did the same thing with their parents.

I wish I hadn't been such a fucking cunt-face toward the end when my dad was trying to mend our relationship. I regret that the most and it makes me angry how selfish I was.

Please, ask them what they want to do with you. Anything they want, just like they ask you when you're sick, having a bad day, your birthday, or just to spend time with you.

I've Been Running on Empty

 (Em is her friend. Took me a bit to understand that because I thought she was text-ually clearing her throat.)

I do decree it was lame of her to use "Lmao."

I got my hair did. It's that short all around. Originally she had it flat-ironed to my head. My round fucking head. Even the bangs she left me were trying to make my face a square. But I'm not a [square]. So, I went home. Cut my own bangs as short as I wanted. Then I wet it and let my natural curl take place. In person, it looks very vintage-British. I like to think I'm that cool.

Jaccob is playing Sleeping Dogs right now. I'm trying to find middle ground in music. I have been devotedly listening to his Pandora station "The Used." So I find songs. Right now, I'm listening to The Used's album In Love and Death. I'm trying really hard. He did with mine. The only band he successfully likes is The Black Kids, and they haven't made an album in a few years. He got me obsessed with Kings of Leon. They've been dominating my playlist for several upon several months. My favorite album is still Only by The Night. So, if you find a kick ass shirt with that album, hit me up.
They're the only band I actually want to see live at the moment.

My puppy is proving how much of a strict, dominate mother I would be.
I'm talking, sit down and listen.
River does neither. She's so fucking defiant. The other day when it was merely me and her, she looked me right in the eyes and began peeing.
I started cursing and trying to catch her. She knew what she did. That's why she high-tailed it out of there.
She also likes pissing on my bed. I wouldn't let her up here anymore, but those puppy eyes do swoon Jaccob and Jaccob swoons me. It's a very rough cycle, very rough on the skin. Have to moisturize twice a day.

I have nothing interesting to say.

Oh. When I was at the gas station the other day. I heard some guy coughing up something. I looked over and some dusty, middle-aged guy was chucking out his lunch beside his pick-up truck. Then he stopped, wiped off his lips with his forearm and just casually headed up to the minit mart.
Kudos, stranger.
I've seen more people vomit out and around their car than actually seeing my vomit hit the toilet. I know, I miss a lot.
Ha, get it?

I'm about to piss my pants.

Cock-it

So, I paid four-hundred and fifty dollars for a cock block. Honestly. River loves interrupting our "physical time." We now have to go through a fucking ritual to have "physical time."

After I shower, I usually smoke. That's a ritual within itself.
Jaccob usually talks to me while I do so (because he's so amazing while I smoke).
Then we lay in bed, talking, as we wait for River, who crawled up on our chests, or face, to sleep. We wait for her snoring, or her little paws twitching to puppy dreams.
I usually move her to her bed.
We wait for a minute to make sure she's still asleep.
When that's one-hundred percent, we get at it.
But, some nights, she just won't take to her bed. She will get up and sit up on the bottom of Jaccob's end table to whine on the bed while making eye contact. I try to ignore, but Jaccob is the lovable fool who looks at me with his own puppy eyes to get her on the bed.
We allow her and usually decide to not finish and do our separate things until we fall asleep.

It's really depressing.
So much money for something that won't allow a dick inside of me.

But, between you and I, I think she's purposely doing it so we won't procreate.

That's all I had to say.
I just really wanted that out of me, which is the exact opposite of what I want with Jaccob's penis.

Fuck me.