Don’t tell anyone!

Dear Diary,

I have a secret.

It’s really, truly terrible… so terrible in fact, that I can barely stand to tell you about it. (So don’t tell anyone, OK?! I mean, don’t tell anyone if, on the off-chance that you are like Riddle’s journal, you actually do have that power.)

Okay, here it is…

I think I may have low self-esteem.

I know, I know! Low self-esteem?! What the hell? I thought we were banning that word, not to mention everything it stands for! Yes, yes – so did I.

But today, as I was attempting to fight off the boredom that necessarily accompanies just about every single day at work, I found myself in a rather low emotional state. Of course this would be because my hair didn’t look right, my work shirt makes me look about 3 sizes bigger than I am, etc. (or maybe just because I am a girl, and we are cursed), but all of a sudden it hit me… I may just be one of those girls.

You know, the girls that somehow wind up thinking they look fat and unattractive even though everyone they know would tell them otherwise? The girls that subsequently become convinced that they are boring and expendable and that because of this they will never find true love? Yeah, well, as ashamed as I am to admit it… that is actually exactly how I felt today.

Which is ridiculous.

I mean, how did this happen?! I’ve been so busy trying to talk my friends out of their self-esteem issues that it didn’t even occur to me to be on the lookout for my own! If I think about it though, they have always been there… I just chose to ignore them. And for good reason. Because being aware of these things, though enlightening, is a real pain in the ass!

And it’s not as if I can blame anyone either… these issues are my own, and only I can defeat them! Though, like anyone, I find myself looking for validation… and thinking truly heinous things, such as “Maybe if I just lose some weight/ grow my hair out/ buy better clothes, I won’t feel this way anymore.” But I know better. My appearance is not the problem. The problem exists within my mind. The problem is not in how I am viewed by the world, but in how I choose to view myself. The problem is in failing to see my own value. The problem is in letting there be a problem in the first place!

So really, dear diary, it is up to me. I am the only one who is judging myself this way, and I am the only one who can put an end to this judgement. I must be stronger than this. I must be stronger than this for myself.

And, right - I must not think that having a boyfriend would solve any of this…

Clothes Whore

I know the correct term is “clothes horse”, but who are we kidding? I mean, really.

I thought I would take a brief moment today to talk about something other than sex (which, like everything else, is all in my head.) Although I will say, for those of you keeping track, that my sexuality is so looped at the moment, I am practically a gay man. Which means that if I tell you you’re hot, you have to take it as gospel. Seriously. Gay men don’t lie… at least not about that, anyway. (It also sort of explains my obsession with catchy show-tunes… and costumes… hmmm…)

But we digress (for now, anyway).

I love clothes. I mean, I LOVE clothes. Well, perhaps it is more like lust than love, but you get the idea.

Current list of things I NEED in my wardrobe:

1. Band Jacket

2. Betsey Johnson Bra

3. These sandals

4. This dress

5. These Ray-Bans (in Cherry Red, please!)

I could totally wear all those at once, no?

Okay, who knows… but the point is, I want them! I don’t really need to save up money to go travelling, do I? I mean sure, travel would broaden my horizons and introduce me to new cultures and ways of thinking and art and music and life. But clothes I can have RIGHT NOW!

Damnit.

I guess I should probably focus on cultivating actual life experiences, instead of buying pretty things. But what can I say? I like the instant gratification.

Plus, clothes actually look good on me now!

In the past, shopping was all about what I needed in order to have a fully functional wardrobe. Shopping was fun in theory, but never in  practice. In high-school this was because I had no money and had to depend on the charity of my parents… which meant buying hardly anything, EVER. But when I came back home from Toronto (where I “ran away to” the fall after graduation) shopping was even worse. No longer a mere irritation as it had once been, it had at this point graduated to the status of sheer TORTURE.

I had gained weight. Like, a lot of weight. And I had always been skinny! (You remember that scene in “Selena” where she says that the way she maintains her figure is by eating hamburgers and never exercising? Well that was pretty much me… only smaller.) Being over-weight(ish) made it pretty difficult to enjoy shopping, because everything I tried on just served as a reminder that I needed to lose weight. And really, did I need to be reminded of that every time I was innocently shopping for work-appropriate clothes? No, I did not!

All this discomfort with the way I looked was bad enough in itself, but to deprive me of the joy of new clothes? CRIMINAL. Because I LOVE new clothes. The way I feel about a store newly filled with the latest trends  cannot be described. Although if it could, the words “lust” or “ravenous” would probably be thrown around quite a bit. It’s a little unhealthy, sure, but it’s also just one of the many things that quickens my pulse, causes my pupils to dilate, gets my blood boiling, and flushes my cheeks… which is a really good look, so really, who cares if it’s unhealthy?

Of course, it would be fine if I could just be a crazy-excited observer of fashion, an appreciator of the art, if you will. But I can’t. I have to get involved. I have to embody that new idea, that reinvented concept. And now that I find it easier to find things that look hot not only on the hangar, but on me as well, how can I refuse? I can’t, I tell you!

I wonder if there’s a pill I can take for this?

Split

Can someone please send me a script involving a person with a split personality? Because I think I’d get the part…

Change Is… Easy

I have a talent, a wonderful thing… ’cause when I start to get bored I do some pretty strange things! When I’m not microwaving little princes or writing Adrien Brody fan fiction, I do something I have always been fond of… ever since I was a little girl. That thing is dress-up.

Occasionally, I will break out the fake blood and become a wicked-awesome vampire… but seeing as my hair is already far too dark these days, I decided to go another way. I pin-up-y way. Kind of.

Anyway, without further ado, here are the results of the photo-shoot entitled  “Amber and the wig that won’t quit”

And to show what I mean by Pin-Up-y (and keep in mind these are not that great… and also that I can hear you laughing at me already!)

 

Have a good week people, I’ll catch you later!

Like a High-Class Skankster

I am not a person with a huge ego problem. Haha… no, really!

In my HUMBLE opinion, my ego is neither too big, or too small… but juuuust right! (Yes, it’s true – my ego is frickin’ AMAZING!)

Included in “my ego” is also that dreadful thing call “self-esteem” which I have omitted from my vocabulary ever since reading The Virgin Suicides. But just for the sake of this post, I’ll restore it… temporarily. The thing about self-esteem is that it is fickle… it doesn’t really say anything about who you are as a person, or the root things that are informing that esteem. It’s kind of like calling a fedora a hat… you miss out on all the details by glossing over them and “dumbing things down.” and a fedora is so much more than a hat… I mean, really!

BUT, I will say that in regards to my appearance, my “self-esteem” is generally good. Or pretty good. Or whatever. There was a year or so when my weight was at an all time high and my hair-styling instincts were at an all time low… and that sucked! But since then I have managed to pair down my figure to the main essentials. LOL, Okay, okay – so I still have a bit of weight on me…. my stomach is not exactly “Gossip Girl” flat… I have hips, yo… and an ass, a good one (well, I like it!)… and my upper arms are a bit too big for my liking… but I have nice boobs, and really, what else is there? (I find it just a tad ridiculous that in this point in time, every woman wants to be smaller over-all, but the boobs always need to be bigger. What is that? Are we all really so keen to be walking, talking breasts? Because that is what it seems like…)

Basically, I am happy with the way I look. I know I’m no alpha, but I can work it with the best of them… sort of. And I take pride in the fact that I am not a girl who is perpetually “on a diet”, or who calls herself fat. I am not fond of the berating-myself-in-front-of-others-so-they-will-tell-me-I-am-wrong tactic. It’s exhausting to be on the other end of those things… I know. (But I will still do the pep-talk for my friends, or the “Shut up, you’re perfect” talk, in my case.)

So, yes, I am happy with the way I look… for the most part!

But now, dun-dun-dun! SUMMER IS COMING! Ahhhhhh!

So of course that could all shortly go to crap. Not because I will suddenly think that I need to look exactly like Jessica Alba in her bathing suit (because, right… that is so not happening!), but because I am obsessed with fashion. I want to own all the cool new stuff that I see coming out for the season, and I want to look hot in it! Unfortunately, summer clothes are made for sticks. Girls with curves do not look good in high-waisted shorts and tops without straps. And although I look killer in normal shorts, sitting in them is tantamount to disaster, because it squishes the top half of my legs up and then they just look like… polish-sausage legs… or something. And yes, there are the bathing suits. No matter what feats of engineering they accomplish with their miracle suits and push-up every things, they have yet to master the whole “how to NOT make Amber’s hips look huge” thing. (Someone work on that please… ’cause I’m not wearing those granny-suits… EVER!)

Maybe if I start eating right and excersing on a regular basis, I can lose the fat and keep the nice boobs….

And then I can wear this —

And look like a high class skankster!

Or, you know… maybe not.