Wednesday, October 13, 2010

What Have You Got To Offer?

The other night, I was engaged in a cathartic conversation with another person in which the things that drive us crazy about the other were pointed out. It got me thinking about how important it is to be self-aware and have an honest-to-God list of your shortcomings, limitations, and triumphs. You know, really figure out what makes you "you"-- why people either should love you, or possibly, can't stand you. God, that sounded so Zen I nearly can't stand it. Anyway... So here's my list of the Good, the Bad, and the Downright Innuendo-filled Ugly:

Why I'm A Great Person:

I'm a pretty relaxed, undemanding, and calm individual. Until I'm not anymore.

My self-esteem is not lacking.

I would totally help my friends bury a body or rob a bank. And you'd better believe I'd never snitch.

My sense of humor seems to go over well with most people. I already know that were life to become a sitcom, "Stuck In The Middle With You" would be the theme song.

I've got really big blue eyes.

My measurements are 36-25-36, which, coincidentally, is startlingly close to Carmen Electra's, given that she has one inch on me, and more of a dedication to the gym and about 3 more abs than I sport.

I read.

I'm pretty blunt. Believe it or not, this is a good thing, because I will tell you exactly how I feel about you, if you're making an ass out of yourself, or what you really need to do to get your life in order.

I give great...

I also have great lung capacity for someone who was a childhood asthmatic.

I speak 3 languages, and am fluent in one. Yes. It's English.

I practice daily hygiene. Which is more than can be said for some people.
...Can you tell I'm really struggling for these good attributes?

I am strangely charismatic. I say "strangely" because I really wish I know how it worked, because then I would exploit it to my full advantage and actually do really well with sane men. As is, I skip classes, don't hand in work, and am a chronically late Dean's List student. Also, I generally feel the need to have this conversation when middle-aged men stare at me in public: "I have a very happy complicated sex life. Please go away." I don't know what about me is all Lolita to the 40-somethings. However, it could be worse. I could be Alli, and have all the octogenarians all over me.

I can get people to do what I want, 85% of the time.
...But when you hold out on me, it kinda turns me on. Even though indulging me is your direct line to God.

I am faithful. I am hopelessly monogamous. If I love you, I would move the world for you. And I totally would have your back in a fight with a mean right hook.

I have been told I make interesting, sparkling conversation. Also, that I'd be a great person to provide entertainment on a two-week-long drive across the country.

You know that phrase, "You must be a maid in the house, an angel in the kitchen, and a whore in the bedroom?" Well. I cook like Julie Child minted me, and I have OCD when it comes to cleanliness and where things go.
...I have purposefully left you out in the dark about that third one.

I have varied interests, from Batman comics to shoes to organ meat to Star Wars to diamonds to football to collecting unique ashtrays.

I appreciate the finer things in life. Like good beef jerky. (I actually really love good jerked meat.)

On a good day, I'm cute, witty, out-going, intelligent, kind, sensitive, well-dressed, well-heeled, well-mannered, and charming.

I've got a pretty decent singing voice and a broad range. I'll serenade you, if you let me choose the song, and have enough alcohol in me.

I can dance. Oh, but I can dance.

I don't take myself too seriously.
...Just don't fuck around with my medium-rare cooked meats.

Cases for Institutionalizing Me:

Actually, I can be pretty demanding. I just want YOU to be the best you can be, dammit!

I have an uncommonly skewed image of myself.

My self-esteem is rather inflated.

I hate it when people either don't hear me, or pretend not to hear me. Which leads to me repeating things numerous times until I feel it has sufficiently landed on Planet You. I think we all know how annoying this habit is.

I always want to have the last word.

I find bickering not only a great form of mental exercise and fun, but also, sexy. Others find this either off-putting, or get downright defensive.

I have issues with money.

For me, the thrill is not only in the chase-- it's in getting away with shit. Really. Anything from picking pockets to tricking people into situations that are not mutually beneficial. For them.

My morals and ethics may be considered "questionable" by anyone other than Long John Silver, Columbus, or Kim Jong-il.

I am slightly masochistic, and don't understand when other people don't feel the same way.

I coddle some individuals I should more fittingly throw under a rampant city bus. My taste in men doesn't quite match my taste in wine and beer, unfortunately.

When it's loud, or when I get overly excited, I am loud. As in, Helen-Keller-and-I-might-have-something-in-common loud. And yes, I did just go there. Which leads to...

...I am not the most politically correct person you know. I spend a large amount of time talking in double-entendres around the issues of "eating like a fat kid," fried chicken, everything South of the Mason-Dixon line (and hey, my Mom's side of the family has roots in Mississippi), and blatantly, carelessly, lumping all men together and making broad statements about how they're all the same and then objectifying them as sex objects.
...Women's Lib, baby. It works both ways.

I have quite an impressive shirt and hoodie collection, liberated from the closets of the men I've had relationships with. Some people call them "sexual souvenirs." I call them "comfortable."

While asked at the end of a recent job interview, "Other than writing, what is it that you do?" I had a brief moment of panic when I realized that I do exactly do much other than writing. It kind of defines me. Take it away, and I'm just another petite blonde with too much to say.

On a bad day, I'm too lazy to shower, snarky, anti-social, use my powers for evil, take advantage of others, am impervious to pain, dress in either sweats and Uggs or in Hell's Angel girlfriend attire, make jokes at other people's expense and bring up inappropriate conversation topics, appeal to neither man, woman, child, or beast, and skin kittens alive.

I am hair-racist when it comes to other women. If you're a brunette, good luck winning over my trust, and if you're a brown-eyed blonde, I'm pretty sure you're a freak of nature.

I've always loved prepping raw meat.
...I swear to God, I don't have a meat fetish. It's not like I'm going to go all Lady Gaga on Rolling Stone's cover anytime soon. I'm just...really far away from ever becoming a soulless vegetarian.

Not only am I temperamental, I'm judgmental.

I am what is cutely referred to as "sassy," "feisty," or less attractively, argumentative. But in a totally sexy way. Most of the time. I mean, at least I try. A woman with an opinion is hot, right?

I have a great habit of saying the most inappropriate thing by accident in just the setting I really shouldn't have said anything like that quite so loudly when the music suddenly stopped.

I get really red in the face and warm when I smoke and drink too much. This may be the only time I create body heat for myself.
...Because of this, I think it's totally appropriate for me to stick my freezing cold toes behind someone else's warm, unguarded, innocent knee. And that's really bad. It sucks, I know. But I still do it. I'm a bad, bad girl.

I'm extremely guarded. Fiercely independent. Also, jaded.

See? I know my shortcomings.

No comments:

Post a Comment