…Hate me because I know it.

That was my senior year yearbook quote.  It had nothing to do with vanity, I put it because I thought it was hilarious.  It was because of that Pantene commercial that chick from Weird Science was in.

What I wanted it to be was “If I was gay I’d turn myself on”.

I’m popular.  It’s a thing for me.  I’ve been a published writer since I was 14.  I have a category called  Weekend Flashback Series where I scanned in the pictures from the articles I wrote and I transcribed the them into this blog.  I was pretty fucking funny as a kid.

I’m a humor writer.  I know I’m funny.  I’m also me.  I use this blog as a diary the entire world can read.  I’m awesome, right?  Of course I am.  You make me awesome.  I’m going to let you all in on a little secret -

I HAVE TERRIBLY LOW SELF-ESTEEM.

I’m not joking.  Ask anyone who knows me in real life.  I’m in constant anxiety over how I look and act.  To the crowd I’m fantastic.  That’s why I love karaoke.  I love being the center of attention- I know how to get a mass of people on my side.

It’s the individuals who terrify me.

After two years in my neighborhood, I just realized my neighbors like me.  To quote – “Oh, honey!  Of course we like you we’re just not like you!”

No one is like me.  I was voted most unique in my graduating class. I campaigned for it.  Well, I basically said “Lindz, make me most unique.” and she said “Ok”.

Going back to when I was a kid, everyone always called me weird.  Then my parents said “You’re not weird, you’re unique.” so I rolled with that.  Make me sound like I had more money.  I’m not kidding, that was the thought process I had in third grade.

I’m super pissed because I just wrote half of an awesome post and this piece of shit laptop dropped a deuce on my face and I lost everything.  You know when you pour your heart out to someone?  You can’t just turn to the next person and have it be the same so I had to start over.

Lucky for you I didn’t get to the good stuff yet.  Maybe.  I might suck.

So let’s take a look at that picture above.  That’s this year’s Halloween costume.  I’m a Prom Queen/Princess.  Hot, right?  I did feel pretty.  I really did.  I know I was, okay?  Don’t give me shit here.  My point is that I had so much anxiety over it I talked it up for weeks, planned how to put it together for days and took over three hours to get it all together.

All I had to do was curl my extensions and put some makeup on.

You see a hot chick.  This is my thought process-

My tiara is crooked because I always do that stupid “tilt your head to the side” thing but if I look straight forward I don’t like how my nose looks.  It’s too wide.  I have absolute shit skin. Fuck. I’m glad I know how to put makeup on so my skin looks great in pictures.

Shit. I wish I made the hair fluffier on that one side, it looks too flat and I hate forced smiles.  I’m so glad the bar I went to has an amazing guy who takes a shitload of pictures because I took some awesome ones.  I just need to get my hands on them.  I love my real smile.  Hate my pose smile.  Does my stomach look fat?  Do I have an ass?  I’m totally wearing granny panties tonight.  LOVE this dress.

I know you.  I know you’re going to say we all think like this.  I know people will get pissed because I’m whining.  I’m only telling you this because the other day someone said they were so impressed at the self-confidence I have and I outright laughed.  Of course, she didn’t know I laughed, because it was on Facebook so I replied instead with a ROFLMAO.

This is me when I was thirteen -

That guy right there was my first kiss.  Smokin’ hot, right?  Yeah.  I look like a tool.  THAT is my natural hair color.  The blond just fits my personality.  Bubbly, exuberant and a little psychotic.

There I am.  That’s me.  My core.  I remember sitting at my dressing table mirror every day staring at myself wondering how anyone could possibly find me attractive.  I used to write on the glass door in my shower begging for beauty (I write everywhere on everything. I started writing when I was seven.  I know I’m damn good and I’ve never once doubted that save for the fact I suck at punctuation.  Ever since I was 13, this is my thought process when I pass a mirror nude (like heading to the shower you pervs ) -

I always start with a general body overview.  Take a look at meh nekkid self.  I stretch real high so everything goes nice and flat then I take a look at how it really is.  I see stretch marks,  the battle scars from two pregnancies and a hysterectomy (well none of those at 13), my belly piercing scar (should I do that again?  I’m too old, huh.) and my stomach that is only flat when I’m a size four. I know, I can’t bitch about it popping out at a six but remember, I worked real fucking hard for two LONG years to get the right to bitch about this.

Then I look at my face.  I always look closely at my face.  Every day. I wonder how anyone can say I have beautiful eyes.  I suppose the color is cool, they change from blue to green to gray depending on my mood.  The shape annoys me.  I can’t pull that swoopy thing chicks to at the end with the eyeliner.  I’ve always been told I have Brooke Shield eyebrows and have never liked her because of it.  I hate my nose.  Always have.  It’s too wide at the tip or whatever.  I have decent lips.  I like my lips but my skin.  Ugh.  I hate it.  I fucking hate it.  I was told as a teen it would clear up when I got older but what the fuck, I’m thirty fucking three and I’m seeing a dermatologist.  Should I stop smiling?  When do I wrinkle?  I can’t stop smiling.  I see a camera and *boop!* out it comes.  Stupid awesome-ish smile.  Frick.

There’s a point to all of this.  It’s actually meant to be a way to motivate you.  If you tell everyone you’re awesome enough times, they’ll start to believe you.  Once they believe you, they’ll start agreeing with you and if they agree with you enough times, you’ll start to believe it yourself.

I go out twice a week because I love to make myself up.  I like to be pretty.  I’m not going to get my ass out of bed every morning and doll myself up to sit at my couch and blog.  I don’t have the money to buy that much makeup and I don’t have the desire to do that much laundry.  I wear the same shit three days in a row and could care less if I brush my hair or put deodorant on.  Julie “Momspective” Maloney is a public figure.  She is a super star on Facebook and Twitter (not so much on Twitter lately, I’ll take care of that next week.  Commenting too.  Honest).  Mostly Facebook. Facebook is my home.  It’s my stage.  It’s where I shine.

You can shine, too.  Even when I was a size 16 I got free beers.  Why?  Because I have personality (and some people say a natural beauty and I totally roll with that one) and I do it because even though in my core I am filled with nothing but anxiety and doubt.  I’m pretty sure everyone who knows me hates me, except bar people.  They love me. Even sober I’m awesome when the lights are on me.  You need to stand tall, keep your shoulders straight and tell everyone you rock.

Don’t say you’re awesome though, that’s mine.

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