Tantrum Warehouse
Tact Free Since 2003

Neurotic Crap

I remember just before my birthday my sister said something about how when she turned twenty-six her skin got really dry. And she went from combination skin to dry skin. Almost overnight.

I didn't believe that it could happen to me. But today I faced that it has. I don't have oily skin anymore. Its so dry its cracking.

And I still have acne.

What the hell kind of deal is that?

Of course part of me doesn't want to admit to her that she was right. Because I take this perverse pleasure in her never being right.

Even though she usually is.

So my skin has changed. And my hair has changed. Little children listen to me when I yell at them from my car window (this could be because they think I am crazy). Few high school boys check me out anymore (this could be because my ass is so big).

Other than that, twenty six is pretty much the same as twenty five.

Just a couple more days until J is twenty six too. And then it will be all better.

J's company has a holiday party in a couple of weeks. It is fairly schmancy, held in a nice venue with a concert afterwords. The invitation says "semi-formal."

I fucking hate that.

What does that even mean?

For him, that means a jacket and tie. Great. That is pretty much the uniform for men in all occasions. But for women the possibilities are endless.

And I have this irrational fear of being dressed wrong. I cannot have fun if I think I look weird.

Why this bothers me I have no idea.

I long to be one of those women that can just shrug this stuff off and think whatever. I want to just think to myself that I look great and not worry and just have a good time.

I think we all know that I am not mentally well enough to be that woman.

But I want to be here. Because I honestly used to be here. I bought my prom dress on a clearance rack for twenty-five dollars and thought it was gorgeous. I wore it with white shoes (WTF is that?!). I wore sneakers to my wedding. I used to wear clogs.

But my job over the past few years has really changed that part of me. I work with really gorgeous women. Gorgeous women who look that way every day. That know how to carefully groom themselves and create a look and make it look effortless.

I never learned that. My mother doesn't wear makeup. She has terrible taste in clothes. She doesn't do her own hair because she can't.

And so in high school and college I wore what I liked and what made sense to me. I bought thrift store stuff and fun shoes and dyed my hair weird colors. It never really occurred to me that my appearance really changed how anyone percieved me.

And then I started this job and I realized that it absolutely does.

And I have learned a lot in the past few years. I have become really confident with my body. It will never be as perfect as some women. But I am really comfortable with it for the most part. I learned how to dress this body. I found a level of professional dress that makes sense to me and to my job and to the image that I want to project. That image lets people know how to treat me, lets them know they should listen to me and trust me. I think that this is more important because I do work in a fashion industry. And no one trusts a woman in my office who wears ugly shoes.

And they shouldn't.

So as much as I know that J doesn't give a shit what I wear to this party. Wouldn't care if I wore jeans. And thinks I am an incredible catch of a wife (which I AM). I still want to look right.

Which is so stupid that I am going to try to spend the time I would have spent obsessing about this thinking of ways that I can not care about this shit anymore.

Of course we all know this won't work.

4:59 p.m. :: comment ::
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