On Being Just Cute

I have come to acknowledge, and have been recently told as well, that I’m not necessarily hot. As in, the kind of hotness that a woman possesses that when she walks into a room all the guys (and girls who lean that way) want to bang immediately. Or at least whistle at. And then talk about for a couple days afterwards. We’ve all seen them around, and that’s an amazing ability…very coveted.

It’s not exactly that I don’t have the body for it (I don’t, but I could if I really worked at it) or that I don’t have the face for it (again, I don’t, but if I did my makeup more often and took pictures with the right angle, it could happen) or even that I don’t act correctly for a “hot girl” (once again, I don’t because I’d rather be a tomboy than anything else)…it’s more that my composition doesn’t lead to a “hot girl” all the time. I manage to pull it off from time to time, usually unaware that I am at the time.

I do however, apparently, have the perfect looks/behavior/etc…for a being “cute” girl all the time. Especially when I’m not trying. The way I see it, it’s like when a kitten is trying to act all tough and brave, and you know the poor thing is actually attempting to be more than it is; that’s how I feel whenever someone’s like, “aw, you’re so cute!” Or something like that. It’s not a bad feeling, but I’ve noticed that it’s not a pleasant one either. I feel like that needs to change.

Lately I’ve been hanging with a new group of people and one of them has slowly been rubbing off on me. He’s been teaching me (unconsciously, of course) that I should be more accepting of my lot in life and who/what I am. And I’ve noticed some things I’d like to change. One of them is the way I feel about myself. Mostly physically, but somewhat mentally and emotionally too.

So while a part of me wishes I was one of those hot girls that could stop a man in his tracks, taken or not, or that turns guys on with a glance, I’m learning to be satisfied with just being cute. Because here’s the secret I’ve learned about it: it lasts longer and is usually more genuine. Hot girls fade and are–generally–bitches. Or crazy. Or broken. Or all of the above. Cute girls, on the other hand, while usually passed over on the first, second, or third attempt–generally–find good guys. Because of that whole ‘passed over beforehand’ issue.

Or they end up with assholes who cheat on them time and time again because they’re not hot…cute girls are also usually nicer than their hotter counterparts. But not always, which sucks because being cute, while better than plain, coupled with being a bitch just means that they’ll get passed over more often. Unless they find a guy who likes it…then all bets are off.

And yes, I realize I’m speaking in generalizations and I personally know some hot chicks who are nice (but also broken AND crazy), but I like my odds better as a “cute girl” than a “hot chick”. And that’s whole point I’m learning from this new friend: to accept my odds and use them to be more comfortable with myself and life in general rather than constantly beat myself up for something that I’ll probably never be.

Yahoo Comments Trial 1

There’s no realistic reason to read Yahoo! News. Yahoo! News is at the bottom of the barrel when it comes to news sites, and its writers (all offense intended) suck at not only WRITING–which is kinda’ important if you’re only going to come across through a written article–they also can’t report which, um, hate to break it to them, IS THEIR JOB. And I’m purposely overgeneralizing because I haven’t seen one writer who was actually worth reading. I mean, honestly people; do your job like it’s supposed to be done. I’d rather read a random North Korean news article on something that’s happening in the US than Yahoo! News.

Now that that’s out of the way, I came across an article a day or two ago about a new type of doll called Lammily whose creator has big dreams of supplanting Barbie as a household doll. Capitalizing, smartly, on the body movement of 2014-15, Nickolay Lamm has put out a girl’s toy doll that imitates the average American girl. It even has the stick-on options of stretch marks, birth marks, etc…and while she won’t fit any of the Barbie clothes you already have, she is a fair representation of what an actual teenager/early 20s woman looks like in America. It’s an awesome thought and product, and I really do hope it becomes popular.

But that’s still not the point of this post. If you go to the post and scroll down, you’ll see the comments. Most of them are (women) bashing on the idea of this doll, and the fact that we’re even going through a body-identity crisis, which I find as hilarious and stupid as people believing that global warming isn’t a threat and the Holocaust didn’t happen. There is a ton of bullying that’s been happening for decades, and fat-shaming is one of them.

Now, let me just say that there IS a limit between healthy chubby and unhealthy fat; I’m speaking about unfair bullying/shaming for the first one. If you’re overweight and it’s unhealthy, freaking do something about it. You don’t deserve to be part of the body-positive movement. For example, me. I’m 5’6 and 200 lbs…for a 23 year old female, that’s technically “obese”. HOWEVER, I don’t have any health issues because of it; I just might have to run the mile in ten minutes instead of four. And each doctor’s visit I make confirms my good health.

I am all about loving your body IF YOU’RE TAKING CARE OF IT. If it’s starting to shudder and stall and your blood pressure is too high, or your heart is strained, then you need to stop “loving yourself the way you are” and lose some freaking weight before you die young. All of this is besides the point too. I’m just trying to show you, dear reader, where I’m coming from when I tell you what happened in the Yahoo! comments the other day.

It takes a lot to get me fired up enough to waste my precious time voicing my opinion on the Internet, even on this blog, which is why I don’t post often. People I don’t care about at all are going to voice their opinions right back at me, and they’ll probably try to start a Net fight, and I don’t have time for that. I respect your view because that’s what makes humans great, but don’t be an asswipe and say something ridiculous to get a rise out of me. All I’ll do it shake my head, roll my eyes, and MAYBE post about you on my blog, like right now. And then you look like the rear end of a donkey. *claps* Yay you!

So I’m just scrolling through the comments, ignoring Yahoo!’s article as usual, and I start to get fired up for some reason, so I take the time to write the below comment. It’s still on there; my username is LoRen.

“Every woman on here who is bashing Lammily needs to stop. I LOVED my Barbies when I was a little girl and I actually got upset when my mother’s husband didn’t let my half-sister play with Bratz or Barbies when she got to the appropriate age, but now that I’m in my early twenties and I’m having to deal with my own body issues, I realized that if I had had Lammily to play with instead of Barbie, I wouldn’t have as bad of a problem with my body NOW. It’s true that as little girls we really don’t care, but when you get older and that ideal body has been ingrained in your mind for the last 10 years, it’s hard to suddenly love your ‘not-Barbie’ body.”

I was SO tempted to call all those bashers “insecure blonde morons who need to feel better about their own body so they immediately gang-rape anyone who dares to imply that maybe there are girls who are confident enough to stand up and demand a real doll.” But anyone who’s insecure, blonde, or an actual moron would be insulted, so I refrained. Plus, I didn’t want to sink to their level. It’s true though; I bet 90% of anyone who gangs up on a body-positive champion is either insecure themselves, or an asshole. And the other 10% are skinny girls.

But back to my comment. Of course the Barbies can’t be blamed for everything, and I’m not trying to do that. But I’d say around 20% of my issues came from them, and it would’ve been nice to have Lammily around as well as Barbies. The rest of my problems come from my own self, the media, and growing up around skinny girls all my life until I hit like, 20 or something. It also didn’t help that my mom had me on diets since I was nine. Anyways, I was waiting for trolls to pop up and sure enough, they did.

ladylove decided to question my intelligence as well as my parents capability. “funny, I had a barbie, and when I grew up, I knew Barbie was just a doll, and nothing, absolutely nothing else

I still have that doll, my parents were not rich, and I grew up knowing what it meant for them to buy it for me. that is what gives a person a good body image, not playing with a perfect doll, but having parents that did their best for you, and you growing up to appreciate it.

I have a great self esteem, and am proud of all I have accomplished.

the doll is not the problem, its people telling young girls what they should look like. ads, TV programs, magazines. and a whole lot of other things.”

She did get one thing right with blaming the media, but I can’t forgive her for blaming my family for basically 1) not caring about me and 2) being rich. My family wasn’t rich, let’s just say that now. I should also point out that at one point I had 30 Barbie dolls, including her babies, so maybe the amount of skinny dolls I had around me also effected me more than ladylove’s one.

And then Valentino decided to follow ladylove’s comment up with a one-two punch to both my self-control and lack of motivation. “Body issues girl just hit the gym and don’t eat the donuts is not that hard Jesus people are becoming so weak.”

Apparently mentioning God’s son gives your statement credit, I was unaware of this…I would also like to point out that I work out three times a week AND hate donuts, so thank you Valentino for your (un)inspiring suggestion, but that’s not the problem.

Basically my point was/is this: Lammily needs to get popular and stop getting bashed on because it’ll be healthy for non-skinny little girls like me as a child. Did I absolutely love my Barbies and get obsessed with them and not give them up until I was 19? Yes. Did I learn to exercise my imagination and become an awesome fiction writer because of playing with them? Yes. I just wish they had been bigger. I learned from an early age that Barbie’s pretty things weren’t able to be worn by a chubby girl/teen like me because of my hips and thighs.

Now I’m working on changing my attitude and trying to fall in love with my coke-bottle shape.

On Attempting To Be Ambidextrous

Besides the obvious fact that the word itself is ridiculous sounding, the Latin roots are also slightly absurd. (The information below is more or less correct; I’m not a Etymologist. By all means, feel free to correct the facts in the comments, but you’ve been warned.)

The first version of the word was ‘Ambidexter’ in Late Latin where Ambi=on both sides (okay, that makes sense) & Dexter=right-handed (some choose to translate it ‘favorable’, but regardless, this is just being handist to lefties)…basically it meant ‘right-handed on both sides. I’m sensing a feminist-like movement sprung up in defense of indirectly calling left-handed people “lesser-than” because Ambidexter was changed to mean a lawyer who took bribes from both sides and in the 17th century the English (as they so often do) added -ous to the end to liven things up a bit. Thereby inventing ‘Ambidextrous’.

Now that we’ve gotten that history lesson out of the way, the REAL reason for this post is my attempt to strengthen my left hand. Everyone in my family is right-handed except for my great-grandfather on my mother’s side and my brother, who apparently picked up that recessive gene from him. Last year I got kinda’ obsessed with Lumosity, one of the best brain-training sites out there that I’ve experienced first hand. As it was helping me with my memory, I started seeing hints that advised the learner to switch hands when they got good in one particular area. (Many games require the use of a mouse.)

When I tried it out with my left hand, I sucked. Not because I couldn’t reason out the answer quick enough, or memorize how many numbers were on the screen, but because my hand wasn’t coordinated enough/fast enough. It was quite frustrating, and I quickly switched back. (I couldn’t stand losing all those points; I’m very competitive.) But that tiny experience was enough to make me realize that I didn’t like not being able to use my left hand. I mean, I’ve always felt an imbalance between the appendages, and that night I actually felt it. Something had to be done.

So began my journey. I’ve now been using my mouse with my left hand for 3 months, and the improvement has been tremendous. I’m agile and quick enough to do tasks at work without slowing down my productivity level now, as long as detail work isn’t involved. I.e. pushing tiny buttons…

I’m also able to unconsciously grab things with my left hand that I’d normally carry with my dominant one. Next, I want to work on writing with my left hand. One of my friends started using her left hand when she was a teen, and now she writes beautiful script with both hands, although it’s still obvious which hand is dominant. As I continue my random handed journey, I still have to accept the fact that my 10 year old sister will always have better handwriting then I do as a wannabe leftie.

Here’s a random link about being ambidextrous. I’m not sure if I believe all those ‘facts’, but they were fun to read and procrastinate with 😀

On Saying No

I am very proud of myself. On Wednesday night, I said no to my roommate’s mother (who also lives with us). She asked me to buy her a small bottle of wine, and I shook my head ‘no’ and said “sorry” in that tone of voice that means “this-is-kind-of-ironic-this-saying-sorry-because-I’m-really-not”. I’m proud of this fact for two reasons:

1) I said NO


2) I refused to be an enabler again.

For the first 18 years of my life, unknowingly or not, I was an accomplice to my father’s drinking habit. He was, is, an alcoholic, and I prided myself on finding as many empty wine bottles as I could around the house, and putting them (gently) into the recycle bin on the side of our house. I made a game out of it. And I knew, obviously, that there was something shameful about the empty glass bottles because I made sure to carefully place them into the bin so that they wouldn’t clank when I knew our neighbors were home. I was 15.

I have so many issues with alcohol and those that abuse it, and when my older roommate asked me to grab her a small bottle at the store because I was going out, I put my foot down. For once in my life. I canNOT be a part of something that is so screwed up. Her daughter hurts and gets mad every time she drinks too much. (The drinking roommate is 50 and 110 lbs…a margarita will impair her.) I feel like I’m in a warzone and don’t want to get caught, either by the drinker and how she behaves (she’s an emotional drunk, so she’ll wail, like, LITERALLY, wailing, and whine, and complain, and get mad that things aren’t going her way), or by my friend, her daughter, because she’ll come to me to escape and I feel sorry for her, but I can’t help her.

I refused to enable that to happen on Wednesday night, so I said no. And I’m proud of it. The second reason (and most important of the two) I’m patting myself on the back is for the fact that I. Said. No. I didn’t bend to someone else’s wishes because I knew it’d be easier and less uncomfortable doing what they wanted. There was an  awkward silence afterward, and I kinda just waved bye and left, but I stuck up for myself! I decided in my mind that I didn’t want to do something and I DIDN’T.

No one died, no one got hurt, no one screamed or burst into flames. The world continued turning, and I was left to fight off an residual guilt that lingered inside of me over denying someone’s request. I was raised to be a people pleaser, so when I choose to not do something for someone…that goes against everything inside of me, my very being. But I’ve had to come to realize that saying yes to every request isn’t healthy, for me or for the other person sometimes. Like the other night.

If You Were Paid $1,000,000…

…would you spend a year on a deserted island with your archenemy?

Answer: No

Reason: I’d kill ’em. Plain and simple. Or I’d kill myself. Either way, getting paid a million bucks wouldn’t balance out the act of murder. And if I survived a year alone with my archenemy, I’d have to go to so many therapists, I’d spend it all on recovery. It would be a disaster and a half, and I’d rather not deal with it at all and stay poor.

What do you think?

(Pretty sure this is my shortest post ever!)

‘On’ Poems

On Things I’d Like To Forget:              Tanka Poem

Knuckles pressed against

Some memories don't fade over time...
Some memories don’t fade over time…

eyes heavy with memories.

Flashbacks playing; stop!

Emotions swirling nightly,

reminding me of warmth past.



On Things I’m Reliving:         Kyirelle Poem                                                                            

Your hands through my hair

My neck tilted, bare

Now, I muffle cries

Fists to soggy eyes.


Hands circle my waist

Lip to lip, to taste

Before broken ties,

Fists to soggy eyes.


My hands, holding yours

Looking to explore

Going over whys

Fists to soggy eyes.


Hands cupping my cheek

Tell elsewhere to seek

All that much more wise

Fists to soggy eyes.



(I’ve been beset by flashbacks lately, and the best way to move past them is to write poems describing them and the emotions I get from them, I’ve found.)