Little Voices in My Head

I’ve always said that I would have made a crappy lesbian. I applaud women who are, for they are better women than me. Let’s face it, attraction to women just makes sense. We’re pretty. We (to make a gross generalization) smell nice. We’re great to cuddle with, and to top it off, we have the boobs, and therefore, the power. Not only can we conquer nations, we can rebuild them with a smile. Men? Not so much. Men have the tendency to lean towards that funk smell. (yeah, man funk can be sexy, it’s full of pheromones and stuff, but not so pleasant most days) They’re great to cuddle with when you’re cold cuz hey, human furnaces. But what use is that in August? They do have that certain appendage that makes life worth livin’. *WINK* However, men, for all their faults, have one thing up on women that keeps me batting for the hetro team. Men (another gross generalization commin’ your way) for the most part, are not big balls o’ crazy.   

Not to belittle my gender, and yes, I’m lumping myself squarely in there with the rest of them. Women can be absolutely INSANE. I’ve seen women do some of the most conniving, underhanded, shiesty, sneaky, downright cruel things to others all over some misguided notion of ‘love’ or (in most cases) blind lust. Most of them don’t even know they’re doing it. Some do it deliberately. For instance, I have a girlfriend who, when in a supposed “monogamous” relationship, found her lover in a certain compromising position with another gal pal, (I think the exact position is on page 178 of the Karma Sutra, for those who want to look it up) didn’t break up with her lover. She allowed him to remain in her life and in her bed, simply for the express purpose of punishing him later. She bided her time, waited for the moment he relaxed into the relationship again…then shredded his clothes, dumped them on the lawn, melted his CDs and DVDs in the garage with a propane torch, (actually made an impressive art peice) and repainted his car with bright green house paint. On one hand, I have to applaud her actions, but I seriously disrespect her timing. The moment for that kind of revenge was the moment of discovery, not a year later.

 A guy friend of mine is having issues with a girl who keeps jerking him back and forth over the ‘relationship’ coals. This guy is almost perfect boyfriend material. He’s honest, charming, treats her like gold, takes care of her, (and yes, he’s hot) not to mention he is emotionally open and ready for a committed relationship with her. Yet, she keeps raking him because she just can’t get it through her skull that he’s not going to put up with her back and forth emotional ping-pong forever. Then she wants to cry about it. Boo freakin hoo.

I myself, cannot take compliment graciously to save my freaking life. Yet heaven forbid my boys or my sweetie don’t notice I’ve lost another 10lbs. I simply MUST point it out and wait for them to tell me to go buy more clothes, because it makes me feel good. If they tell me I look pretty, I tell them the bullshit is getting deep, but them telling me to go buy pants that don’t fall off my ass makes me feel good. Totally crazy. And totally female.  

Have you ever looked at a gal pal and wondered, “Why don’t you just grow a pair, put on your big girl-panties, and get over it?!”. Well, they don’t, because women are prone to insanity. Hence the reason I applaud lesbians. Putting ONE woman in a relationship is trouble enough, mixing two in there? Now THAT’S certifiable. Or heroic. You decide.

Weird weird comments

As my family and friends will bemoaningly tell you, (should you care to ask) I have some…quirks, in my personality that make life with me…interesting. *yeah, we’ll go with interesting…yeah…* One of those little quirks is a strong propensity to telling the brutal truth. About everything. All the time. I just can’t help myself. Those little white lies people tell to make you feel better about yourself? Nope, can’t do it.
This has, at times, gotten me in some VERY hot water, but it has also saved my ass on occasion. Some friends and family think this quirk is awesome, and some think it’s my worst fault. Those that love it, love it because I can help them out. Want to know how your ass REALLY looks in those jeans? Ask Carissa. Got a ‘delicate’ problem, but need to know the honest solution? Ask Carissa. Absolutely need to know wither or not you’re just being a whiny git and need to get over it? OH for the love of all things HOLY, ASK CARISSA! Because I will tell you. I won’t be mean about it, I won’t condescend to you, and I will NEVER tell another living soul about it if you don’t want me to, but I will also, never never lie to you.
This also extends to myself. I refuse to ever lie to myself, about anything.
So when I tell you what I’m about to relate next, please understand that I am not being modest, self-depreciating, fishing for compliments, or even setting myself up for a joke. *for once, I’m NOT going for a gag* I’m just being as honest with myself as I would be with any of you. So here goes.

I’m not physically beautiful. I know this. I accepted it years ago, and actually, I’m really glad I’m not. It takes a load of pressure off of me, and has allowed me to develop my personality and character rather than my hair flipping technique. Honestly, pick 20 random women my age off the street, put them in a room with me, and have 100 random men rank us in order of appearance. NO way in hell I’m going to be in the top 5 on any of those men’s lists. Now, ask those same women to list their character traits, personality quirks, hobbies, interests, intelligence, etc. on a piece of paper, and have those same men pick who they want to date? OH, I am SOOO in the top five of that list. Every time. Maybe even the top ONE on several of them. I’m just that damn cool to date. Just ask my boyfriend.
That is why I’m so comfortable meeting men online, or through other friends.Because in those forums, my personality matters most. My brain power. Not the power of my boobs. *which are awesome as well, but hey, it’s not like I had any control over that*
A 6 year old called me pretty. Out of the frigging blue. It really got me thinking. It wasn’t just the 6yr old, because he was just one of many anomalous comments and events about my looks lately. Not one, but TWO men asked me out IRL. Then, just today at work, I got a phone call from an old friend, who just HAD to tell me about another friend of his who happened to see pictures of me online and wanted to know if I would be available for a date. And why I didn’t divorce “El Douche-bag” sooner and marry HIM! *I’m thinking that last bit was an exaggerated joke, but still, this is me with the shock* I’m busy looking around for the Candid Camera crew. This is SO not my life.
Granted, I’ve lost over 70 pounds in the last 9 months, but I’ve been much skinnier than this before, and have not had this kind of response from men. So I’m really confused. My mom posed the theory that maybe men, and the random 6 year old, are just picking up on how happy I am. I think this could be true. I mean, if Confidence is sexy, maybe Happy is pretty? Whatever is causing it, I like it, and I think I’m going to just roll with it. But if you see me look like a monkey doing a math problem after talking to a guy, just do me a favor, and slap me upside the head and tell me it’s going to be ok, there are no cameras. Breathe Carissa, BREATHE.
I don’t know for sure, but I’m willing to take the word of a 6year old any day, because they are the most honest people on the planet. I’m pretty dammit, and I’m rocking it!