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enablement
May. 17th, 2008 09:42 pmYou know, it's strange. I just watched my cousin get tarted up to go sell shots to dirty old men. It's been described as something between a waitress and a call girl. During this time, I made a number of hooker jokes, but the truth is, she pulled it off. She's the kind of girl who can get (and has gotten) $50 tips just for being pretty. I mean... she models. Not like, super models because she's only 5'3" and not built like a celery stick, but she models and sells things just by showing cleavage and smiling. I kind of want to hate her for it, but the worst part is that she honestly just doesn't understand how being in the same room with her can make other people feel uglier than they usually do. Not that I usually think I'm ugly, but when she's standing around with her legs and breasts (she has very nice breasts, I've envied them since I was 13) and hair, she has a way of making me feel like something that crawled out of a cave. I can feel my armpit hair growing. And she doesn't get it at all. I tried to explain once, and it hurt her feelings. It's like... she sees everyone else as they are and doesn't ever even compare their looks to her own. Or if she does, it's like she doesn't see how they could not measure up.
Which is even worse, because if she were snooty, at least I could say she has an ugly personality.
(This was Devon, by the by, not Bri. I'm not speaking to Brittany for reasons which, I'm sad to say, she doesn't understand and probably won't understand even when I'm able to explain them without hitting something. Which would be a bad thing because last time I was this angry, bad things happened, and I can't afford Bri's hospital bills. Or my own, for that matter, because Bri is the type that would hit back.)
Anyways, she gave me an eyeshadow. A $20 eyeshadow. Just casually, here you go, you'll use it and I like the caked version better. I bantered, something about how her sister couldn't use it because they don't make black eyeshadow for florescent pale skin, but inside I kept thinking, What? Are you kidding? I'm not worth a $20 eyeshadow! I'm not even worth a $5 eyeshadow!. And then she was putting on her hot pants and bra and told her boobs to "look big, boys" at which point I tried not to think about how I'd love for mine just to look full, but alas I have my mother's breasts. We bantered, we're very good at that, and I talked her out of the hooker-red patent heels for silver ones that at are at least more escort-girl than hooker. And then on her way out she said that she'd ask me to go except she's working and we wouldn't get to hang out at all.
Gods, I wanted to cry. I can't even imagine going the same places she goes and trying to pretend I don't look like the sad cousin who tagged along unwanted.
But you know what? I went back inside and worked out. Not much, because it gives me a headache to be perfectly honest, but a bit. And I shaved my legs, because it makes me feel girlier and almost pretty. (How sad is it that we live in a society that judges us by the hair we remove?) I know the legs are kind of pointless, because I have Hair, not just hair, and they'll be prickly again in a couple of hours, but for now they're smooth and kind of weird. Anyway, I did all those girlie things that I normally don't bother with, and I worked out, and it kind of hit me that Devon is an amazing type of motivation. Not only is she pretty, and not only does she not realize that other people aren't, but she's like a living testament of how I could be. I know I could have her body, because we're built almost identical. We used to be mistaken for twins. Hell, there one picture of us when we were younger that I love to trot out. She and I are wearing the exact same clothes, with our hair done the same way, and only the shoes are different. I pull it out and ask people (my own parents!) which is which, and they always pick the one one the left as me, which makes me cackle and go "NO! The other one! I remember because I wore the red shoes and I was angry because I wanted the black ones!" And this strange similarity never really went away. Even now, if we let our hair go back to its normal color, we have the same hair, and face-shape and honestly her tan makes her look more like my father's daughter than I do. Boobs and five-digits of dentistry before I can get braces aside, we'd look a lot alike if I just kicked my ass in gear and got rid of the extra jiggle in my extremities.
She's an awesome enabler, the kind that makes me want to work out, to dress nice, to wear more make-up than just what doesn't make my face feel naked. To be able to see whatever it is she sees that makes her wish I could go spin dirty old men with her for money. One of these days, I should try and tell her that.
Which is even worse, because if she were snooty, at least I could say she has an ugly personality.
(This was Devon, by the by, not Bri. I'm not speaking to Brittany for reasons which, I'm sad to say, she doesn't understand and probably won't understand even when I'm able to explain them without hitting something. Which would be a bad thing because last time I was this angry, bad things happened, and I can't afford Bri's hospital bills. Or my own, for that matter, because Bri is the type that would hit back.)
Anyways, she gave me an eyeshadow. A $20 eyeshadow. Just casually, here you go, you'll use it and I like the caked version better. I bantered, something about how her sister couldn't use it because they don't make black eyeshadow for florescent pale skin, but inside I kept thinking, What? Are you kidding? I'm not worth a $20 eyeshadow! I'm not even worth a $5 eyeshadow!. And then she was putting on her hot pants and bra and told her boobs to "look big, boys" at which point I tried not to think about how I'd love for mine just to look full, but alas I have my mother's breasts. We bantered, we're very good at that, and I talked her out of the hooker-red patent heels for silver ones that at are at least more escort-girl than hooker. And then on her way out she said that she'd ask me to go except she's working and we wouldn't get to hang out at all.
Gods, I wanted to cry. I can't even imagine going the same places she goes and trying to pretend I don't look like the sad cousin who tagged along unwanted.
But you know what? I went back inside and worked out. Not much, because it gives me a headache to be perfectly honest, but a bit. And I shaved my legs, because it makes me feel girlier and almost pretty. (How sad is it that we live in a society that judges us by the hair we remove?) I know the legs are kind of pointless, because I have Hair, not just hair, and they'll be prickly again in a couple of hours, but for now they're smooth and kind of weird. Anyway, I did all those girlie things that I normally don't bother with, and I worked out, and it kind of hit me that Devon is an amazing type of motivation. Not only is she pretty, and not only does she not realize that other people aren't, but she's like a living testament of how I could be. I know I could have her body, because we're built almost identical. We used to be mistaken for twins. Hell, there one picture of us when we were younger that I love to trot out. She and I are wearing the exact same clothes, with our hair done the same way, and only the shoes are different. I pull it out and ask people (my own parents!) which is which, and they always pick the one one the left as me, which makes me cackle and go "NO! The other one! I remember because I wore the red shoes and I was angry because I wanted the black ones!" And this strange similarity never really went away. Even now, if we let our hair go back to its normal color, we have the same hair, and face-shape and honestly her tan makes her look more like my father's daughter than I do. Boobs and five-digits of dentistry before I can get braces aside, we'd look a lot alike if I just kicked my ass in gear and got rid of the extra jiggle in my extremities.
She's an awesome enabler, the kind that makes me want to work out, to dress nice, to wear more make-up than just what doesn't make my face feel naked. To be able to see whatever it is she sees that makes her wish I could go spin dirty old men with her for money. One of these days, I should try and tell her that.
