Thursday, May 05, 2011

36 Soon Come: The Fat, Ugly Friend

Confession: My vanity knows no bounds. I’m extremely conceited and need to be assured, regularly, that I’m pretty, sexy, etc. Maybe it’s the writer in me or maybe it’s latent daddy-abandonment issues or maybe I fear my own mortality, and I've always denied wanting to be known as "pretty" or "attractive" but there you have it- Jaded survives on Buffalo wings and compliments.

This vanity extends to the company I keep. Call it mean or whatever, but 99.9% of the people I allow myself to be seen with are attractive (and right about now you're wondering if you're in the .1% of Fuglies, aren't you? Well, if you're thinking it then you probably are! LOL). That sounds mean, right? But it’s true. Chances are if I keep making excuses for hanging out with you, well, let me not even finish that sentence.

Given all this, I’ve been really down on myself lately for the weight I gained while unemployed, because not only was I nearly 200lbs but my skin was looking BLECH and my hair was BLECH and my wardrobe was even more BLECH than usual because nothing fit (and big girl clothes are either ridiculously expensive or tent-like). And it manifested itself in feeling like the girl in the group that no dudes approach. You know her: she holds everyone’s purse, stands by the bar sipping a drink trying to look busy and has a look of steel so as not to emit the stench of defeat and disappointment in her life.

I felt like that girl so many times that initially, at the end of the night, all I wanted to do was go to sleep and never get up. See, others might take all that and get this determination to change their life. ME? No no no...I take all that and retreat into my own imaginative dream world where I have the body, skin and hair that I desire. In that world I’m an effortless dancer and social butterfly. I don’t sweat like Patrick Ewing. And my lipstick is always the perfect shade of red.

We’re our own worst critics; I know this. But it’s what I feel. And come to think of it, it’s how I’ve always felt. Even when I wasn’t the fat friend, I was the too-tall friend, or the awkward friend or just plain ol’ unapproachable. I’ve honestly never felt like the baddest bitch in the room. I only seem to attract old, homeless dudes; broken, damaged souls; and fuggos. But that’s my fault because I wear my low self-esteem like a big ass neon sign everywhere I go. Sad, right?

Reason #54,299 I’m single.

I write all this to say that besides the desire to get healthy and avoid the diseases that plague my family and race, I mostly decided to finally embark on a mission to lose weight so that I will look good. A lot of us won't admit it to ourselves or to others but there it is: I want to be desired. Not at stalker levels where dudes are camped outside my apartment waiting to slash my throat because they can't have me, but at that almost-caused-a-traffic-infraction level. Plain and simple.

I want women to be afraid to leave their men around me. I want a full dance card (did I just date myself with that sentence? ahhh fuck!). I want all the extra special privileges afforded to the beautiful people of the world always, whatever they may be. And I know that Step 1 is to be at fitness model level. So that's what I'm aiming for. Fuck all you hos...

Vanity, thy name is Raquel.

*smooches...promising you a light at the end of this pity party*
there will be a happy ending. for real. trust the process! lol