Well, today started the comments again… my boss was helping me at work yesterday and asked what I had eaten. She knew the answer, so I looked at her and said, “Do you want the truth or do you want me to lie to you?” She then returned with some shortbread cookies which reeked of fake vanilla flavoring and looked even less appealing. I took one to humor her.
then one of my guy friends pulled up and him and I began to talk. About an hour later he returned with lunch for me, (which I didn’t ask for, or want.) Him and my boss both stood there as I held whatever boxed food he had just brought me. I began to get sassy since they were both just staring at me.
“I am not a stray dog who needs to be fed! I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!”
She responded with “You haven’t eaten anything all day.”
He chimed in, “You have to eat something, you are skin and bones.”
Which is total bull shit. I am not skin and bones, I desperately wish that I was, but I am not, and I am so damn tired of people trying to feed me. People need to quit trying to fucking feed me. GRRRRRRRR
Well, today that same guy showed up, brought me lunch, and asked me to a date. I hesitantly said yes.
My boss, decided to come “help” again, and was there for the round 2 of yesterday’s show.
She piped in and said, “Well yesterday I couldn’t get her to eat anything until you showed up, so you must be someone special for her to eat for you.” The word spread around my work quickly about my date.
As I was leaving my other boss, we will call him “fucking Bob”. Well, even he had something to say, “He seems like a nice guy, he even got you to eat something, I’m impressed.”…. fucking Bob -_-
So, when I got home the anxiety and stress began to fill up. I got in the shower, and laid on my bed, in my towel, for a good half hour, dreading having to get dressed. Tried on two dresses. They were ok… One was iffy, the other I really liked, I just didn’t want to be cold. I tried on jeans. Holy shit that sent me into panic mode. So after trying and trying I decided on leggings with a shirt and scarf. Oh well…. Clothes suck anyway. Wish I was normal, able to get dressed, go on dates, etc without freaking out. Wish, just once, I could get dressed and not see a huge fat heifer staring back at me. I want coffee.
I am like one of the guys, and not girlfriend material.
I wear makeup, sure. Do I get my nails done? Yeah. I don’t enjoy getting all cute and dressy, it stresses me out. Dates typically consist of eating some meal, and movies are just boring. I enjoy my sweatpants, I say stuff that would make a sailor blush, I am more likely to flip you the bird or the peace sign than giving you an actual hug. I use the word “fuck” as frequently as a comma, I laugh at inappropriate times, I have my concealed carry permit, drink with my coworkers and love my big dogs. I own more pairs of running shorts than actual pants, skirts, dresses combined. I’ll take black coffee over fluffy frappe-whatcha-ma-jigs any day, and I’d rather go to the range than the spa or fru-fru dinner.
This is just who I am. I am independent, stubborn and loud. I don’t handle authority well, and would rather give orders than take them. When my orders aren’t followed, I flip out. I hate taking advice from anyone, and unless I ask for help, then fuck off, because I can do it myself. Do I sound like girlfriend material yet?
Stay around me a little longer and you will see that underneath I am just a hollow shell of a person; filled with nothing but coffee, air, and self-hatred. My walls? To keep others out. If I am a bitch nobody wants to be around me or get close, which has many benefits. The people that actually know me tolerate me quite well and have become accustomed to my off the cuff defensive snarky comments. My relationships with others are as fucked up as my relationship with myself and food. Getting close to a guy means having to be vulnerable, having to let him in, and worse, even the possibility of being intimate. I don’t even like hugs, let alone having a hand on my ripply fat thighs, or around my dimply roly midsection. I use my sarcasm and blatant mean side to keep others at a distance.
You see the tough, mean, loud side of me. To the people close, they see the side of me that never comes out anymore. Laughing to the point of crying, stopping in the middle of the road to let a squirrel cross, taking my sister to get her nails done. The girl who actually wants a hug, wears her pink lacy underwear under the running shorts, curled up in bed with her best friend on a Friday night watching Despicable Me.
So here I sit, black coffee, and pineapple, shivering. Debating on going on a date, and getting my nails done, but wanting nothing more to go to the gym. Fuck I want a nap….and more coffee.