Yesterday's post was heavy. Why do serious things happen on Tuesdays? But thank you for the outpouring of positive response. It took a long time to be ready to write/publish that, so to have many others say it meant something to them was a great relief.
For today, I'd like to take things in an entirely different direction, to lighten up a bit for humpty-hump day, I'm going to share with you a few awesome things about myself.
Happy Narcissist Wednesday!
1.) I can go en pointe in Converse.
2.) I attended Latin conventions in high school.
And not Latin like Hispanic culture. That would have at least been useful. Latin, like Junior Classicists who were all about amo, amas, amat and carpe-ing the diem like whoa. We travelled to Richmond to take Latin tests, wear bedsheet togas, and meet other nerds who, like us, would have to wait many years for a sexual encounter. They were SO MUCH FUN.
3.) I have a permanent lower retainer.
In order to maintain some semblance of order once the braces came off, my beloved orthodontist straight up fused a retainer to my lower teeth, because they are very affectionate and want to be way too close together. Bits of apple are the most easily stuck. And it has definitely startled the crap out of a makeout buddy. Sometimes it's incredibly irritating. But then I think that it's a lot better than the headgear and rubber bands that used to occupy my poor teeth. Nothing says sexy like headgear. (Between the headgear and Latin conventions, I think I'm painting a pretty clear picture of exactly why I was such a late bloomer - but I have great teeth and an impressive vocabulary, so I think I came out ahead of the game).
4.) I won't tell anybody the perfume I wear because I am jealous and paranoid.
It's just that I've never met anyone else who wears it, so I like to think that I'm the only person in the world who smells so damn good.
5.) Last summer I got so sunburned you can still see it.
Oh man. By the time I got to LA last year, I was clamoring for a trip to the beach. All I wanted was to sit by the ocean and forget my troubles. I made sure to apply plenty of sunscreen to my face, arms and back, but figured my legs could stand to get a bit of color. (The worst part is that I've totally made the same mistake before and obviously learned nothing. Idiot.) We sat out for hours, the cool breeze on my skin making it feel like the perfect temperature. It was only when I got inside that I realized my legs, specifically the top of my thighs, were RED. Not pink, not blush, but straight up blood in the water RED. And it hurt. Like a motherfucker. I could barely lie down. Clothes hurt. We bought aloe. We used ice. Why am I so stupid?
Eventually, I went back east, and the pain faded away. But the burns didn't. It peeled, and then the skin stayed darker. The reason I will obviously die from my own stupidity is that a year later you can still see the line of distinction between my real skin and the skin that fried. It looks like I am always wearing some kind of fleshtone thigh-highs. Sexy? Maybe?
A girl can hope.
5 1/2.) This exists. Totally getting it. *Dunk Dunk*
