What is it with our nails - that they can never stand tall? Nails will grow, but never remain at it’s length. It’s no wonder woman find a fulfilling sensation when they have naturally long growing nails, because those are hard to come by. Perhaps impossible to some. Those that do have long nails- I can tell you this, it won’t be forever.
I feel like a crackhead… or a Weavehead I should say. Recently the urgency to add extensions to my hair has returned! I’ve been trying trying to justify my thought process by telling myself “it’s okay to do it for special events, or It’ll look better with this outfit”. Sometimes I fight my thoughts, contradicting every justification I develop. I’m starting to believe
"Hey, your friend is cute, can I get her number"… "Tell your friend to add me on Facebook". Those are the few requests I’ve heard over and over again, in several different ways repeated to me since I was 10 years old. Can I really get mad at the guy with no game? Do I blame myself for all this? Or, is it just series of unfortunate events? Apart from sitting in my misery and ranting about why the male species does not acknowledge my existence, I will inform you of how it works in the shoes of the girl that passes on - The friend’s number.
The friends I have are beautiful. Inside and Out. Even the new ones I make, glisten with pulchritude. Each and every single one of them. I however, am on the outskirts. My personality seems to be the only thing that gets the engine running, & those days when I’m feeling out of it, there’s nothing firing the engine at all.
They always say that less attractive females mingle with more attractive females just because
A. it makes them believe they may possibly be wanted by a good-looking crowd
B. In case of the occasional group of males, one guy will have to settle for them when all the other females are taken.
Others believe less attractive females are “Wing Mans”, “Cock Blocks" … you get my point. Names I’ve all been called before. Are you Surprised? No, don’t be.
My life is like a sitcom. When I was in the sixth grade, the puberty bus was not waiting by my house at all. Pamela Anderson Boobs, and Beyoncé butts were out of the question. As a late bloomer, I remained stuck in my tomboyish, overly competitive, athletic ways. It wasn’t just about hanging with the opposite sex that made me a Tom-Boy, it was my nonchalant attitude towards my appearance around the opposite sex. I just wanted to kick it. Hanging with the boys were cool. Luckily for others as our grade, and group of friends got older, I automatically became the He-She link between sexes. It was one thing to play soccer, basketball, and tag with me but, once you’re a late registration for puberty you are not on any dating list. The boys simply asked me to pass on sweet notes, touching comments, and even phone numbers to my girlfriends. I, of course was not aware that this would be my job for a long run. It seemed like the friendly thing to do when you’re 10. This is where the “Hey, give this to your friend” evolution began.
Finally…. A Crush
Elementary passed, yet I continued to be confused with those that surrounded me - boys liking girls. To my understanding, relationships were forbidden, & Cootie vaccines were a rare commodity. Middle school approached, and believe it or not, The Puberty Bus, was still later than usual. I mentally felt it was essential for me to develop ‘A Crush’. Most likely because everyone had one, and in middle school it is apart of a hidden criteria to – Fit In. Prior to that time, the only idea of a crush I remembered was Aaron McKinley, who threw rocks and sticks at me, and chase after me in Grade 4. Stepping into the Big Leagues of grade 7 & 8, I felt ready for the challenge an actual… CRUSH. In my world a crush is :
Crush (verb)- Constant Reminder of Unrealistic Hopes ; A moment in a person’s life where they crush after another individual, in hopes to making them a key factor of their life. Crushes are usually unachievable goals.
Turns out, sticks and stones and chasing, are the same thing when you’re older. His name was Tyrell Moncrieffe. It rolled off your tongue didn’t it? He became the activation of all butterflies in my stomach. I even became frozen, after every announcement ordering him to return to the office. I attempted to chase him (unaware of the forbidden: Non- chasing Guy, girl rule). My tactics involved placing anonymous 'Happy Birthday Cards' in his locker, and slowly hanging out by the basketball courts after school just so he’ll notice me. Like Aarons attempt on me; the chase was a mission impossible. The sticks and stones, were thrown, every time one of his friends made fun of me & he laughed, or the numerous occasions when he walked by my locker without looking my way. However, it was a sad day when he asked for my best friends number, an even Worse day, when he attempted to date her.
The Puberty Bus finally came, right on Time, like Toronto’s public Transit. At this point, I knew my chance was finally here - to have someone ask for my number. Before I get into the baby handfull of men that asked me for my number, I’d like to explain the theory behind it. In High school the objective is to be the coolest, sexiest, hard-to-get-but-still-gettable-chick in school. Girls were cautious of not looking too thirsty but we all know, at any given time Guys were always the trending topic (Don’t worry it’s vice versa). My first boyfriend chose me out of sloppy seconds, thirds or fourths even. His thought process was: “Well if I can’t get Laura Lee Winslow I’d have to settle for Myra Monkhouse” (Family Matters). After months of comparing me to the “Laura’s” of my high school and questioning me “Why can’t you be as pretty as they were”, he managed to end up settling for me. I looked past all he said to me prior to asking me out, because for the first time someone wanted my number!! I felt like a Barbie in a Barbie World… FANTASTIC. As the years went by I got the hang of being the settlement to many guys that could not get with my friends. When all else failed they turned to Danica. I was the assurance that they could still get a female.
4 quarters & A Butt
I was sweet-talked, kissed, and held hands with a few boys in my high school, but their only goal was to get close to the girls I affiliated myself with. I knew I was the rebound. Valentines day would come around and I had no Roses in my hand. They were only a DOLLAR! No one wanted to scramble 4 quarters for my cause. Numerous times, jokes and comparisons between my friends and I were made about who was better. Comments like “You have a nice butt….” was the constant complement I received over 4 years. Was my but the only thing I had going for me? I was somewhat aware of others lack of respect for me, and still I did nothing. I was so caught up in the Attention I hardly realized my Self Abuse. Evidently the same guys that held my hands one day, asked me about my friends the next day!
The official Title
As high school progressed, friendships split, people matured. No one talked about Boys; it was either A boy, or The boy. Matters became worse, when the broken friendships between my girlfriends and I, became a way for males to get information about them. "Well, since you don’t talk to her anymore, did she ever like any of us" , "What kind of guys does she go for"? I felt obligated to answer these questions because I was helping them, and not harming anyone. The Less and Lesser friends I developed the more of a Wing Man I became.
Wingman (Noun): The person to fill in the gap for the left out person on a group date. A wingman can also be the person that removes the social tension when two crushes meet for the first time.
In layman’s terms - possible CockBlock or A Bitch. Whenever there needed to be an extra piece to a group, I became noticed. That’s when I noticed how calculating and manipulating people could be. In fact, that’s when I realized my title was serious. No longer was I the messenger of numbers, I was becoming certified. Certified other.
Grounded in this belief of being a Wingman, and the seasoning of terrible high-school relationships, I developed my position as ‘The Other Girl’. Currently, when the guy I like, or attracted to likes my friends, I don’t encourage the ‘single girl pity party’ and dwell in my misery. It has become apart of my lifestyle. Countless amount of times my girlfriends ask me to join them on first encounters with guys they like, because I can keep a conversation going or I can make them feel “comfortable”. My presence makes them look better.
The worst part of being an ‘Other’, is the pity party that your friends provide for you: The sympathetic compliments, the wishes of future relationships and worse of them all- apologizing for being better. This harsh apology is never told bluntly. No one ever says,
"I am sorry I am better than you and he likes me"
but in essence it might as well be said that way. Many incidents of the friend getting the guy you crush on completed my life.
Eventually, I built a wall of expectancy, denial, and refusal. Some say this wall helps you remain humble, some say it’s terrible. Through experience we learn, grow and become wiser. As the outskirt girl from my friends, I’ve learned to keep my personality on point. What happens, as an ‘other’? You develop a negligent attitude toward the perception of males who meet you for the first time. As far as I’m concerned, they want my friend.
It seems so unrealistic, and you’re probably shaking your head, or laughing. Have you ever considered that you may possibly be an OTHER. How can you tell? Who’s calling your phone?
Enough is enough with the bitter Valentine’s day post. Enough is Enough with the mushy Valentines day quotes. Why is it throughout the year we argue, bicker and rant about love, affection, Men vs. Women, but this one day everything comes to a complete halt. I’ve come to notice that every Valentine’s day there is the following :
Is it called running away or taking control , when you decide to remove yourself from uncomfortable positions (problems). Numerous times I’ve been told that removing myself from ugly situations is running. I beg to differ. What’s wrong with stepping away from certain issues you just can’t be bothered with?
Until there no longer 1st class and second class citizens of any nation. Until the colour of a man’s skin is of no more significance than the colour of his eyes -Me say war. That until the basic human rights are equally guaranteed to all, without regard to race - Dis a war.
That until that day, The dream of lasting peace, World citizenship, Rule of international morality Will remain in but a fleeting illusion to be pursued, But never attained -Now everywhere is war - war.”
There is always that one store you always want to shop at but you either A. don’t have the money to , B. Not allowed or C. You don’t have the money. You continually window shop and lurk around the store, as if one moment you may buy something. But really you’re day dreaming. Today I walked into
I love coming from the Hair Salon, my hair is super bouncy, and coordinately blows with the wind, as if my strut down every street is a staged Herbal Essence Commercial. It’s not greasy, and I can run my hands through it all day long.
Follow along with me as I try to compliment the Epiphany I had Early December 2011. I removed Extensions permanently December 20th 2011 and it’s been just over a Month. I blog about my feelings, what I like and dislike, as well as how I see things differently.
"What I wanna know from you boy, is do you wanna share my loves Bliss? I long for the day when I’m feeling your kiss, can you love me for a lifetime but just in one night im helpless for you baby but its alright"