For a Pessimist, I am Pretty Optimistic

Earlier this week, my roommate, StuckInaMoment, moved out. He was going to Oklahoma City for 3 months of Air Traffic Control training and upon his return he would be getting his own place. While he’s best friends with both me and my husband, I was getting so sick of seeing him day in and day out. I bluntly told him such as he was packing, but this was not the first time it had been said.

“Oh, you’re just upset I’m around because the two of you can’t go having sex all around the house,” he replied.

“Is that what you seriously think?” I asked. Sure, it was definitely something to put on the mental to-do list, but that wasn’t the problem. Having a roommate sometimes can mean having the same amount of privacy as if you had a child – none. Seriously, all I wanted to do was be able to walk around naked, even if it was just from my room to the shower. I’ve tried to explain this to SIAM, but he doesn’t understand. He went from his mom’s house, to the dorms in college, to then living with roommates; all situations where comfortably walking around nude is never an option. But once you get a taste of freedom, it’s hard to adjust.

When my husband and I first got married, we spent several months living in my mother’s basement. Do I even need to tell you what a disaster that was? I’m sure you can guess! Eager to escape, we moved into a brand new and very expensive apartment with a co-worker. She and I weren’t the closet of friends so it was assumed that we wouldn’t annoy each other too much.

“Besides,” she kept saying, “my job keeps me away from home all the time. I just need a place to sleep for a couple of days a month.”

However, her work schedule was really the reverse. She was always at home and stayed sprawled out on the living room couch, dressed in nothing but a thin robe that was never belted closed. To top it off, she was argumentative about everything. Once she yelled at me for not watering her plant. When I told her I watered it every other day, she then yelled at me for watering it without her permission.

Still, that nonsense wasn’t enough to push me over the edge.  It was when she started spreading around work that she listens and was even invited to watch my husband and I have sex that I almost strangled her (for the record, we did NOT invite her and there’s no way I can drive my point home further without sounding horribly shallow).

Our next place was a one bedroom that had a teeny tiny den. We were there for maybe just a month before I received a hysterical call from my best friend, Becky. Her abusive father had gone on an even worse rampage (if that was possible) and she had gotten herself lost in the rain while trying to run away from him. After calling some other friends, we picked her up and with a knife in hand (one of those funny ridged ones that always come in the pack of cooking knives) I pounded on her door and we were all able to scoop up most of her things before her father brought out a knife of his own. The teeny den became her room.

Though Becky and I usually got along great, she had some peculiar home habits. She never told me everything that went on in her house, but I suspect that someone was always swiping her stuff because she loved to hide everything. For instance, one day she took all her toiletries and towels from the bathroom and hid them under clothes in her dressing room. I noticed, but didn’t say anything. The next day while chatting in her room about nothing in particular, she suddenly took everything out from the drawers and put them back in the bathroom cabinets.

Our fighting didn’t begin until Becky started dating someone. Though she told me constantly that she thought he was dumb and mean and always called me crying from his apartment, she followed him around like a puppy. I didn’t like it, to me it seemed like she went from being physically abused by one man to being mentally abused by another. She actually told him this and when he began to talk against me, she sadly went along. It seemed like she changed overnight.  She even went as far to call my husband “a dumb Pollack”, myself a “dirty Jamaican”, and SIAM (who was with us that rainy night) a “filthy Mexican”. She actually said it right to his face too. It was awful to see how hurt he was, but he simply stood up and said “Well this filthy Mexican won’t be driving to your rescue the next time you’re stranded in the rain,” and left.

After Becky moved, we managed to snag ourselves a nice 2 bedroom apartment and like clockwork we received the phone call. A friend of a friend needs a place to stay, can he stay with us? No, was the immediate answer. The next day, I quit my high paying job and we changed our answer. Indy (called that because supposedly his middle name was Indiana as in Indiana Jones?) was a tad mysterious, but a pretty good guy. Plus, he could roll a mean joint. When our lease was up, he went his separate way, never to be heard from again. People still call and ask me what happened to him!

You would think after everything, we would have learned our lesson, but no. I fell in love with a cute little house I saw on Craig’s List and the only way we could afford it was if we had a roommate. Enter SIAM, who after 8 months is leaving.

As usual, he forgets something in his room and I shout from the door for him to come back. He takes his last bag and we say goodbye again. “Want to come with me to the airport?” he asks. Hello no, I tell him. “Fine, have fun. Enjoy getting ready for you night of sexual escapades!” he quips and drives away. I close the front door and sigh. It’s a bit sad when you get used to having a close friend around and they leave.

Then, wasting no time, I go to my room, strip down to just my panties, and run up and down the hallway between our rooms while waving my arms in the air like in “Home Alone”…just because I can!

Supermodel Gisele Bündchen was discovered by talent scouts while eating at a McDonald’s. Victoria’s Secret’s Adriana Lima was discovered by an agent in a mall when she was 15 years old.

I was discovered at the age of 20 at the bus stop on Northern Blvd.

Okay, so obviously I’m not some famous model, but I really was “discovered”!  I had just spent an unsuccessful hour waiting at the local beauty salon, Images*.  All I needed was a quick trim and blow out, but when I sat in the beautician’s chair, she confessed that she wasn’t sure just how to cut my “ethnic” hair. Annoyed, but appreciating her honesty, I impatiently waited for the Q31 bus to take me to Jamaica Avenue.

Suddenly, I’m approached by this guy asking me if I ever thought of modeling. After giving me an extremely suspicious schpeal for about 5 minutes, he hands me a card, tells me to check out his website and give him a call. I pocketed the card, but was convinced it was a scam of sorts.

Oh, he was legit. In fact, he worked for a pretty well established agency. The catch was, however, that he was leaving to start up his own agency and was looking for clients. So alas, I was not signed with Elite or IMG Models, but instead with Flyy Divas International.

Just what wonderful bookings did I score? Guess, Versace, Sears? Ha, I wish. Most of the time, all of the models would meet at his office in Brooklyn to pack into a van and he would drive us out to some car event where we would pass out flyers.

After a few months of car shows and random test shots with photography students, and I was told I had been booked for a fashion show. I met up with the lady who was in charge to try on a few outfits and get the rest of the details. Turns out, it was a lingerie fashion show. The lady was opening up a new store and bought out space at a local venue for the show.  

“Actually, I didn’t buy the space, one of the judges did.”

“Judges?” I asked.

“Didn’t your agent tell you? At the end of the night, there’s going to be a contest and the best model will win $500 cash.”

$500?!  “What do I have to do?”

“Just show up and try to look as sexy as possible. You know, the whole works – hair, makeup, nails. Which reminds me, here’s a little secret: the head judge has a thing for feet.  So, you know, maybe get a pedicure and wear some nail polish that matches your outfit. Okay?”

What was I supposed to say to that? “Um, okay?”

Noticing my hesitance, she added “As a bonus, no matter whether you win or lose, you’ll get to keep your outfit.”

Eh what the hell, I thought. A free outfit is a free outfit, and it wasn’t as if I had anything better to do.

Skeptical yet optimistic, I arrived at the local venue the day of the show.  As soon as I realized that the teeny Mexican bar I was staring at was the “venue”, I should have turned away. But instead I went inside to meet up with the other models, Amanda and Kelly. As we gossiped, I noticed the bar getting more and more crowded.   

“So, what’s going on tonight? Where’s the show and contest going to be?” I asked “there are so many people, I can’t imagine there’s any room.”

“What show?” was Amanda’s response. “There’s no show. There’s a contest, but that’s not til later.”

What?! “So what are we doing until then? Just hanging out?”

“Nope. First we have to change and then the lady from the store gave me these for us to hand out,” Amanda said and then took out a box full of fliers. I groaned.

The next 2 hours were filled with the three of us squeezing through the crowd passing out fliers and asking girls to sign up for the lingerie stores’ mailing list. What a stupid task that was. Seriously girls, would you be eager to give some barely dressed girl your email address? I sure hell as wouldn’t and was not surprised at all every time someone gave us the stink eye.

Finally, Amanda spotted a guy across the room and squealed. “That’s Dilbert, he’s going to be the judge tonight!”  And what do you know? Dilbert was a regular at the bar I used to waitress for. He immediately recognized me, which I was pleased with. Not only had he been a generous tipper, but I also knew that he always found me attractive. Smiling to myself, I felt the prize money was mine.

After another hour or so, the bar had been arranged so that there was a clear space in the center. The girls and I lined up in the back as Dilbert addressed the room. “Hey everyone thanks for coming! Welcome to Mexicana’s first ever foot fetish contest!”

A-whaaaaaaaaaaa?  Did I hear wrong? Not at all!

I stared in shock as Dilbert managed to line up 7 other girls from the crowd in front of us. The voice in my head kept saying leave, leave, leave! Ha, thanks sense and reason for interjecting, but now was a little too late. There was no way I could slip through the crowd un-seen, especially in my non existent outfit. Nope, I was too much of a coward to do that. Resigning myself to my fate, thought “Well if I’m gonna do this, then I might as well win that damn prize!”

I focused my attention on Dilbert as he sat the first contestant in a chair, crouched down to take off her sneaker, and then nuzzled his face against her sock clad foot. With the second girl, he removed her sock. By the time her had gotten to the 5th girl he was kissing their toes! Kelly and I grew more and more nervous; it was obvious she had been as in the dark as I had. Amanda, however, was happily chatting away with a busboy.

Next thing I knew, it was Kelly’s turn. Sitting in the chair, she revealed to the crowd a bunch of cherries that she was holding in her hand. Taking 4 and sticking them between her toes, she held out her foot as Dilbert ate them while nibbling on her toes. And lord help me, I couldn’t help but think “Where the hell did she get those damn cherries?” I frantically looked around for some sort of prop or food item. All that I could find was half a bottle of white wine. I quickly filled up a glass as Dilbert called my name.

Forming my mouth into what I hoped was a seductive smile, I sauntered around the bar. I could barely hear the crowd over the sound of my pounding heart, but if I wanted to win I had to “commit to the moment”. I held up my glass of wine, displaying it to the crowd. Then I took a sip and nearly gagged at the dryness. Seriously, I think that was the most awful wine ever created. Lucky me! Still, I smiled and managed to take another sip, all the while smiling prettily.

Approaching the chair, my mind started chanting oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. There was Dilbert, sitting on the floor, his eyes glazed in happiness.  The minute I sat down I knew he would be slobbering over my freshly painted toes. The crowd was cheering more than ever, I really egged them on and they wanted to see what I would do with the wine. I wanted to know myself!

At that moment, I was hit with a burst of inspiration. If I was going to be subjected to this, then it would be on my terms. I stood over Dilbert and pushed my foot down on his mouth, forcing him down on the floor further. A la Salma Hayek in “From Dusk Til Dawn”, I began to pour my glass of wine down my leg. As the fluid flowed down my leg and splashed all around Dilbert’s mouth, I couldn’t help but smirk. This made the crowd cheer even more. To them it probably looked like I was enjoying it in some sort of dominatrix way, but in truth, I was smiling over the fact that Dilbert was being force fed that crap awful wine. When the glass was almost empty, I took another sip. Slightly pushing Dilbert aside with my foot, I turned and sauntered back to the other girls. As the crowd cheered I thought “I’d like to see Amanda try to top that!”

Amanda was called last. She jumped in the air, squealed, and grabbed a shopping bag as she practically ran over to the chair. “What the hell does she have?” Kelly asked, but Amanda answered the question for us. Opening the bag, she revealed a can a Redi-Whip and a coconut custard pie! Incredulous, I exclaimed “Not fair! She had time to prepare!”

After Amanda returned to us, somehow sticky from head to toe, Dilbert brought the crowd to a hush so he could announce the winners. 3rd place went to Kelly, 2nd place went to me, and 1st place went to, of course, Amanda. She cheered and squealed and jumped more than before, if that’s possible. “Ohmygod, I am so excited! Girls give me your numbers; I’m taking us to dinner!” With those words, she disappeared within the crowd, never to be seen again.

Kelly and I changed and sat in the back waiting for Amanda to return. Kelly opened her prize. She had gotten a 50 dollar gift certificate to a local tanning salon. We laughed so hard when we saw that. With her already dark skin if she got a tan, she’d look like she was burnt!

“Okay, I think it’s time for me to go now,” she said and stood.

“Shouldn’t we keep waiting for Amanda?’ I asked.

 “She’s not coming back,” she laughed and with a kiss on my check, she left.

I sighed to myself and opened my envelope. I had also gotten a gift certificaten and read the little card that was included. “Congratulations, you have received a $250 gift certificate courtesy of Images Salon! Please bring this note as well as the attached receipt to your closest location!”

*all names of people and businesses have been cutely changed.

Dear Jakob,

I know you must hate me, especially after I promised you we wouldn’t be back here again, and I’m sorry. Both your dad and I did everything we could to prevent this, but it was no use. Your condition has gotten worse than ever and we have no other options!

You must be so miserable. I remember how scared you were the last time we brought you to the emergency room. I wasn’t able to see you for hours; when I did you were shaking like a leaf. You’re probably even more scared now, but at least they say that the procedure won’t be long. At most, you’ll only need to stay there for the night.

When you come home, you’re going to have to rest and let you stitches heal up. This means that you’re not going to be allowed to run around the entire house. And you’ll have to be careful around your siblings. Your little brother is going to want to play all the time and won’t understand that he might accidently hurt you. Try to be nice to him and don’t smack him in the face.

Though you’ll probably end up hating me more than you already do now, once we get home I will be enforcing a strict diet for you. Its doctor’s orders and do you want to have to come back to the emergency room again? Don’t even think of pouting to your father. The doctor bills are very expensive!

While it will be hard, please understand that this is for your own good. If you listen to mommy and the doctor, then you’ll feel so much better and won’t be bloated or throwing up anymore. All you need to do is eat the right food.

So that means no more buffalo chicken, no more Papa John’s, no more Cinnamon Toast Crunch, no more Hamburger Helper. And ABSOLUETLY NO more plastic bags! Even though your eating habits were horrible before, it’s all those CVS bags in your stomach that are making you sicker!

I will be calling the vet in a few hours to find out what time we can pick you up. Hang in there…I wonder, would you appreciate a picture of a person hanging from a tree? Oh well, I’ll just buy you a pack of catnip mice.

Love,

Mommy

I’m sure this is the millionth time I’ve said this in my posts, but I always hated visiting my dad in the summer. Several years after he and my mom divorced, he moved to Miami, Florida which was supposed to be all sun and fun. It was anything but! Seriously, if they say that Florida is God’s waiting room, then my dad’s apartment complex must have been the examination room. Hmm…so does that make “check-out” the part when you hand the billing clerk your chart?

It wasn’t until the second summer that my dad developed a friendship with one of his co-workers, Dale that my summers became fun. Thank goodness for Dale; she had so much positive energy packed into her pixie self. Even as a child, I was aware of my over-active imagination and constantly felt like I was being humored by adults. With Dale, I felt like she was genuinely listening and genuinely enjoyed my company because of me, and not simply because I was a child. When she passed away several years later, I was crushed. She hadn’t told any of us that she had a heart condition, so there was no way to give me a ‘sick relative prep talk’.

 Almost everything she owned had been left to my dad. Most of what he was able to keep (Dale’s place had four bedrooms, my dad’s only two) went into his spare room which I slept in during vacations. So now besides the scattered fishing equipment, I had in my room Dale’s piano (my favorite instrument despite my lack of skill), bunches of stuffed cats (my favorite animal), and lots of purple décor (my favorite color).

Another influence Dale had was helping me to fall in love with classic movies. She owned stacks of videotapes, mostly classic movies. And I mean stacks, there was no other way to fit them in the room without stacking them on top of the other from the floor until they touched the ceiling (my current memory says that it was at least 15 columns). Each one was numbered and Dale had typed up lists, one alphabetized by title and the other in numerical order. I was partial to the comedies and musicals in color. For some reason, my little self had been conditioned by the Wizard of Oz to think that black and white meant boring.

With a recent subscription to Netflix and the addition of TCM in HighDef to my cable plan, I’ve been trying desperately to watch every movie that I had seen while pining away in Florida. Even with a jaded adult perspective, I’m still charmed by them. My husband hates to watch them with me, he complains “Ugh, that story has been done already,” No, I tell him; all of these were done first!

It’s because that I’ve known they were done first that I think little me took too much stock into the underlying morals. Sure, some have worked out for the best (such as I will always look both ways when crossing the street to meet my love at the Empire State Building) but others just don’t, and shouldn’t, apply to real life. Here are some others that have come to mind recently, along with actual nonsense conclusions little me had come up with…I’ll let you guess for yourself which is which!

1.       You can wave your finger in front of a bear’s snarling mouth and it won’t maul you (Turnabout).

2.       No one will recognize you if you put your coat collar up (any film noir movie).

3.       Becoming pregnant is all the man’s doing (My Blue Heaven).

4.       A pair of glasses and a baggy sweater equals ugly, even for Audrey Hepburn (Funny Face).

5.       All you need is a dream and un-wavering hope and you too will score a millionaire husband (practically every Marilyn Monroe movie)

6.       Men didn’t attend college until the were at least 30 (How to Become Very Popular)

7.       There’s “nothing to it” when smoking your first cigarette…not even a cough! (Roman Holiday)

8.       Anyone who lives in a mansion or plantation house is crazy/and or a murderer (What Ever Happened to Baby Jane, Sunset Boulevard and Hush…Hush, Sweet Charlotte)

9.       Having a baby makes everything better! (any comedy about a  bickering married couple)

10.   Leslie Nielsen was hot! (Tammy and the Bachelor)

11.   Even after Eleanor Roosevelt paved the way for women to join the Navy WAVES, you’re still nothing without a man (Skirts Ahoy!)

12.   If a man who’s dressed as a woman gets hit on by another man, the latter is fully aware that they are both men (Some Like it Hot)

13.   The French people and government are stupid (Funny Face, Gentlemen Prefer Blondes)

14.   Someone doesn’t love you unless they grab you buy the shoulders, press their cheek hard against yours, and hold it there.

In high school, my friends and I did the same thing everyday. We’d hang out at the same person’s house after school. We’d order the same type of pizza from the corner pizzeria. Once a week we’d go to the same shopping center and watch a movie at the same movie theatre.

This repetitiveness drove me crazy, but everyone’s stubbornness was more absurd to me. No one was willing to take the bus 2 extra stops to the other (and bigger) shopping center. No one wanted to try the pizza at the new shop just across the street from our regular place. I complained about this constantly to my closest friend Sam, but he agreed with everyone else. “Why try something new when we know what we already like?” he’d always say.

The only time they did anything different than the norm was when I convinced everyone to go shopping in the West Village. We were all having fun until we stopped in a store to buy some gum where the cashier was in a loud argument with a patron. Both were yelling and waving their arms around excitedly. As the patron reached into his back pocket, Sam said “Oh crap he’s reaching for a gun, we better not get shot!” and ran out the store with everyone else at his heels. Meanwhile, the patron took out his wallet and threw some bills on the counter while he continued yelling.

After this incident, my friends began to distance themselves from me. They stopped inviting me to the movies and their phone calls became sporadic. Sam still talked to me, but even his conversations became awkward. I couldn’t help but ask him why everyone was being so weird around me.

“Well, it’s just that everyone thinks you changed and they don’t like it.”

“How have I changed?”

“Cause you want to go to the city all the time.”

“And what’s wrong with that? So what if I want to do something different once in a while? There’s a whole world outside of our neighborhood after all,” I retorted.

“Don’t get angry at me, that’s just what they were saying. And then they said that they might as well stop talking to you anyway since you plan on going away to college.”

“Seriously? They’ve stopped talking to me because I’m going to school upstate?!”

“Yeah, well they said that no one is going to want to go and visit you so far away.”

“Big fucking deal, so I’ll just visit them. Ooooh, but I’m not visiting those assholes. I hate them, I hate them!” I crossed my arms and pouted.

“Yeah they’re being really stupid. Don’t worry; we’ll still be best friends. We’ll just hang out without them,” Sam assured me.

2 months later, Sam stopped talking to me completely.

**********

Fast forward ten years later. Hubby and I are preparing for yet another move after living in my old neighborhood for 2 years. Sam and I renewed our friendship and hang out after work almost every day. On the weekends I would hang out with Sam and his current group of friends, comprised mainly of the same people from high school.

While I enjoyed re-connecting with everyone, I quickly grew weary of their company. It was déjà-vu. They ate at the same pizzeria as before and would go to the same movie theatre as before. The only change was that instead of hanging out everyday at someone’s house, they’d all hang out in the same boring over-priced bar.

Before the final move was made, I invited Sam and the others over for a BBQ. Sam was the only one to show up.

“What the hell? Everyone told me they were coming and no one even called to say otherwise!”

“I don’t know, they’ve been strange lately.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Sam was silent. “Oh come on, just say it,” I prodded.

“Well, I don’t know. They say you haven’t changed much from before.”

I stared at him until he continued. “Well, you complained the other day that you didn’t like hanging out at the same bar. Some people were insulted by that.”

“Why would that insult anyone? Big deal, I don’t want to hang out on Bell Blvd. There are tons of other places to hang out.”

“Yeah, but they like hanging out there. You know, it’s pretty much majority rules.”

Fine, I’ll give him that. What a bunch of morons. Still, I couldn’t help but feel slighted. “Screw them,” I said, crossed my arms, and pouted.

Trying to reassure me, Sam added “Besides, you’re moving so you won’t be seeing them anymore anyway.”

“What do you mean? I’m moving only 15 minutes away?”

“Yeah, but you know no one’s going to want to drive out there.”

“Oh God, you’d think I was moving across the country or something.”

“Eh, they’re just being stupid. Screw them. I’ll still be over all the time. You’ll be sick of me.” He punched my arm playfully and smiled.

I haven’t heard from him since…

(The intended outcome of this article was supposed to showcase that yes, people do change after high school. Interesting how a little self-reflection can change one’s mind!  

Sure, you may not live in the same neighborhood, have the same interests, or even speak to the same people as you used to, but does that mean that you have truly changed? It’s my firm belief that by the time we have ended high school, we have developed personality traits (good or bad) that stick with us through our entire lives.  

After all, a gangly loner can grow into their looks and even become a millionaire, but the inevitable newfound popularity they’ll receive does not ensure that their childhood insecurities have gone away. Or the Pretty Boy Jock can lose his looks, jobs, friends, etc and say while admiring himself in the mirror “Yup, still got it!”)

Hubby is complaining that he’s hungry. Our fridge is bare as we desperately need to make a trip to the grocery store. Since there is nothing to cook in the house besides Ramen noodles, hubby says “if we have to” then we’ll eat out. I suggest we eat at the local pub, Connolly’s. He suggests Taco Bell. I suggest Chinese food. He suggests getting some cold cuts at the deli.

This goes on for hours. At one point I become frustrated and lock myself up in the bedroom with my lap top. Hubby doesn’t notice as he clacks away on his keyboard in response to comments on the car forums.

Our roommate comes home. “Gosh, I’m starved. You guys wanna get something to eat? Let go to Connolly’s.”

I snort. “Can’t. Hubby refuses to get anything that costs more than $3.00”

“Hey!” Roommate shouts towards the computer room. “You wanna go to Connolly’s?”

I could practically hear the scowl on his face as he said a firm “No.”

Roommate pauses. “What if I pay for Ang?”

Hubby emerges; it’s nice to see him without the computer chair attached to his bottom. “Sure.” He’s all smiles now.

When we eloped 5 years ago, you were perfection. You put your dishes in the sink. You folded your laundry. If I was sick, you’d make me chicken soup. Now it’s hard enough to get your attention just to remind you to buy some Airborne.

You constantly drive me crazy. You spend 50 percent of your time at work, the rest is spent on the computer or working on your car. Your clothes are strewn all around the house. You drink all the milk in less than 12 hours. There are tires and car rims taking up my entire living room!

To make matters worse, the cats love you more. They run to you when you come home, even if I’m feeding them treats. You never feed them, brush them or buy them toys, but they always purr when you’re around. Damn you.

During the years, I’ve looked at you and wondered “Why the hell am I still with this person?” It’s guaranteed that we’ll fight at least 3 times a day: once in the morning as you wake me up to ask if your socks are brown or black, once at dinner time when we need to agree on what to eat, and once at bedtime when you refuse to get of the computer. Why would someone willingly put themselves through that nonsense day in and day out? It took me 5 years, but after what happened the other day, I now know the answer.

I had been arguing with you all day, you seemed unable to do any good. Instead of cleaning the cat’s litter, you spent 3 hours washing the car (3 hours?!)  The lunch we were supposed to have together instead turned into a cold slice of pizza for me while you drove to Auto Zone. You ignored your mother’s constant phone calls, so much to the point that even I thought you should return her call. When I suggested as much, you snapped at me that I sounded just like her.

We finally got into the car to rush to the bank. During that drive, the only sound was your favorite techno CD where every track sounds exactly the same. I was so annoyed with you that I didn’t even complain that you were playing it yet again. You scowled at the road ahead of you.

At the highway exit, we passed a car flashing hazards in the middle lane. “Should I go back and see if they need help?” you asked. Of course, I told you.

I sat in the car while watching you talk to the driver. You motioned down the road, where we both knew there was a gas station. I expected you to come back to the car (as the bank was about to close and I knew you were worried about a check bouncing), but you didn’t. Instead you smiled at me, waved, rolled up your sleeves, and began to push the car down the road. That smile did me in. Plus, you looked kind of sexy pushing the car and being all manly.

When you came back, I told you that now the bank had been closed for 15 minutes. You shrugged and asked me what I wanted to eat. I suggested Connolly’s. You took me to the Olive Garden. I couldn’t even remember why I had been angry at you before. I told you so and you smiled again. Bastard.

Happy Anniversary, Babe*

*originally written on February 25, 2008

(Inspired by an Emilie Autumn song of the same title)

As a child, I looked frightful (which you can see for yourself). I was too tall, too skinny and, of course, curve less. I had buck teeth (later covered for 5 years with braces), giant glasses that covered a face half hidden by pimples, and my hair was a frizzy un-tamed curly mess. To add insult to injury, I was dressed by my mother who was a huge fan of the worst 80’s fashions. 

It wasn’t until my senior year of high school that I started to grow into my looks, as well as learn to alter them. 8 styling products (along with expensive extensions) were used to turn frizzy strands into smooth waves. The braces were removed, revealing straight rows of teeth. The glasses were replaced with contacts. My constant snacking helped to make curves that filled out in all the right places. 

Do I sound a bit conceited? Of course, but I’m perfectly entitled, especially after the years of teasing I went through! 

Don’t get me wrong, it’s NOT as if I think I look like some high paid foreign model. But I’m not ashamed to say that I clean up really well.  In fact, it’s the times when I “clean up” that my prettiness seems to cause a problem. 

Who would have thought there would be consequences to looking good? Unfortunately, consequences there are. Society sometimes links attractiveness with being unintelligent, lazy, shallow, and sexually loose. You don’t have to have model looks to be thought of as attractive and get stereotyped. All you need is a few pleasant features and voila! Your looks have become an asset and a burden. 

 I’ve looked at prettiness as a double edged sword ever since my first job. I was a cocktail waitress at a busy bar and a patron grabbed my ass while threatening not to leave me a tip if I didn’t go out with him. I complained to the manager, but it was dismissed. According to him, a pretty girl like me just needed to “toughen up” and learn how to handle “real men”. 

At another job I was “let go” because they were over-staffed and I was told “Stupid Patrick hired you only because he hires every pretty thing that shakes her ass at him.” An accusatory glance was given my way, like I jerked the guy off the get the job. 

 I responded “Actually, I emailed my resume and Patrick called me the next day to ask if I could start immediately. No ass shaking was involved, but thanks for the assumption.” 

When I work administrative jobs I actually try to keep myself as plain looking as possible. It’s ridiculous, but the prettier you look, the less serious interviewers think of you. Once I went on a string of interviews and didn’t get a single job. Since I had the appropriate resume, answered the questions correctly, and was in full business attire I was convinced I should have snagged a job already. I boldly asked one interviewer when she was obviously dismissing me what I was doing wrong and she told me “Your hair should be worn up. Loose hair means that you’re a loose woman.”I thought she was crazy, but at my next interview, I wore my hair up and I got the job. Coincidence?

Another problem is that women hate other attractive women, but that’s no secret. Society has been set in such a way that women are constantly in competition with one another whether they choose to be or not. It’s funny how women complain that pretty girls are checked out by guys all the time. Most of the time, we’re being stared down by other women. I can always be assured that if I walk through the subway and get glared at by several girls, then that means my outfit is nice that day. 

Besides glares, prettiness attracts weirdoes like a magnet. I can’t even begin to list the different types of creeps that have come on to me in dangerous ways. Some have come right up to me, some have followed me, and some have shouted at me from a distance. I’ve been chased through train stations, stores, and streets. There was even a time another girl and I were running through subway cars from the same guy. When we reached a crowded car, we sat together and complained about how things like this kept happening to us. To some it might seem like the shallowest conversation ever, but taking public transportation alone, no matter what time of day, is especially dangerous for a pretty girl. 

Mind you, this only happens when I’m dressed nicely, have my hair done, and/or am wearing make-up. If I have my hair in a ponytail, my glasses on, and wear jeans and a sweatshirt, no one takes a second glance at me. 

The worst part about being pretty is that there are always jerks that will hold you accountable if, God forbid, anything terrible happens to you. I’ve unfortunately been in several situations where I was sexually harassed. I heard things such as “Maybe if you weren’t so friendly…”, “Perhaps you shouldn’t have dressed like that…” and “Well, can you blame him?” 

There’s a homeless guy who regularly follows me around certain sections of Penn Station. He doesn’t ask for money or food, he simply keeps asking for a date and tells me how pretty I am. I spoke to a Port Authority officer about him, but guess what? He looked me up and down and chuckled and said that the guy is probably harmless. The cop even said to me “Where are you coming from?” 

“Just work,” I responded. 

“Well dressed like that, it’s no surprise he likes you,” he said. 

I looked down at my outfit. I was wearing pumps, dress pants, and a black turtle neck covered by a coat and scarf. 

During another boring Sunday evening, my roommate and I were lazily flipping through the movie channels.

“Ha, look at this title,” he called over to me, forcing my attention away from the computer.

The movie that caught his eye was “The Accidental Porn Star”. Gotta love those Skinimax titles!

“Seriously, how does someone become a porn star ‘by accident’?” my roommate joked. “What, you’re just walking around one day and then you trip and fall and suddenly there’s a penis inside you, the guy has a camera and you’re like whoops! I’m a porn star!”

We laughed because that sounded really implausible, but in actuality it’s not that hard to become an accidental porn star. It’s happened to me 3 times already!

I found out about the first tape when breaking up with a long term boyfriend. I was clearing up my things from his place in anticipation. While digging in the back of his closet to make sure nothing had fallen there, I came across three 8mm cassettes. They each had a girls name and one of them was mine. I sure as hell never did anything in front of a video camera with him! Not even bothering to watch the footage, I pulled all the tape out and cut it up with scissors. I didn’t stick around after that and when we fought on the phone later, he actually had the audacity to accuse me of going through his things.

The second tape was made with someone whom I saw for only a few months. After gleefully presenting the camera and his idea to me, I found myself declining. I had just had the most horrible day at work (I had been fired and planned to drink myself under the table), but was completely up for the idea on a day when I was feeling sexier. We did end up having sex that night (I had drunk myself under that table after all) and what do you know?

“Hmm,” he said in the morning. “It seems like the record button was pressed accidentally. I think it might even have recorded us having sex.”

Are you seriously fucking kidding me?! I thought. I was ready to smack him across the head with that damn camera, but I was too hung-over to argue. Instead I simply said “My, wasn’t that convenient?” He took the tape back to his place so he could “see exactly what it recorded” and make me a copy if anything.

When we broke up because, well, our sex life was just not doing it for me, he leered “At least I still have that tape where you were a porn star for me.” I never did get my copy…

The third time I learned about just two weeks ago. It had actually been made years before the first known tape. Mr. Z was my rebound guy who calls me every now and then to check if I’m still married or not. This time when he called, it was to tell me that he had found a link online to my post “I Like To Watch Porn.”

“I always knew you were kinky like that,” he said.

“What are you jealous that I never bothered to watch porn with you?” I snapped back.

“I’m fine with that, I have my own tape of you I can enjoy,” he responded. I protested and he said “Yes I do, don’t you remember the day when I taped us?”

I thought and thought back to almost 7 years ago when I had visited him in New Jersey. “I remember there was a time that after we had sex, you turned on your video camera. I asked you what the hell you were doing and you said you were trying to take a picture of me.” Then it dawned completely on me. “Oh god, you weren’t turning it on, you were turning it off! I can’t believe what a moron I was to buy that line you gave about how I was so sexy afterwards and blah blah blah.”

With fake indignation in his voice he said, “Well you better not be mad at me because I told you what I was doing.”

I complained to my roommate about these idiots and how it was awful that they had all this unknown footage on me. He asked “What bothers you the most, that you didn’t know about it or that they can watch this any time they want, years later?”

“A little of both,” I responded. “If they just told me they would do it I would have, I don’t know, worn a costume, sucked my stomach in, and been a bit louder? For all I know, these tapes could be in some sort of circulation…and it’s not even my best work!”