A present for me,…
I bought a new dress for myself yesterday, which I LOVE. It is a pink and borwn paisley kimono-style dress from Mlle Gabrielle, a designer for, um,… bigger girls above size anorexic 4. You can see it HERE. I am now just hoping that it gets here in time for Selina’s wedding on the 11th, since I am thoroughly unhappy with the two other possibilities I have in my closet. Of course, my angst could possibly be because of the body going INTO the dress rather than the dresses themselves! But we won’t talk about my body image issues right now, because I have neither the time nor the interest for it!
Life in general,…
So much is going on in my head lately (something that might surprise those who know me best!) and it has left me feeling wrung out, much like that nasty yellow sponge by the sink. I supposed part of it comes from the constant battle of wills that I seem to be engaged in with the men of this family. To quote my friend Joe, I feel like I have been dragged backwards through a keyhole. And other than enlarging the size of the keyhole, I really don’t know how to change that. I am thoroughly battle weary, but since the only other option is to take the crap that I am being served with a smile, and that is just not me.
The irony is that most of the battles shouldn’t even be battles at all. Most importantly, I really shouldn’t have to be fighting to be recognized at all. But that’s my reality. But all that aside, it still doesn’t ever need to get to the battle point. These conversations generally start out just like that, as conversations. But it is their reactions to what I am saying that turns what could be a healthy conversation into a federal issue. All the sexist crap about females being the ones to blow things out of proportion? I can tell you with authority based on extensive personal experience that it is bullshit. Because both Donovan and Corey get so defensive so fast that they cease to listen to anyone. And that is when the conversation becomes an argument. They become so snotty and disrespectful and it is so over the top. Even Corey admits he does it, not that that changes a thing. Last night was a perfect example of a conversation gone horribly wrong, without any help from me. He called and asked how I was. I told him the truth, that I was still hurt from the Kim-bashing the other night and from continued Donodrama. I wasn’t rude. I answered the question. I even told him that I knew that perhaps he hadn’t meant it to be a bashing, but that was how it felt. And I got instant snottiness and he bit my head off, basically telling me to get over it. Nice. So I did exactly what he has told me to do when he cops an unnecessary attitude. I called him on it. And that worked,… not at all. It just got worse, just like it always does. I pointed out that HE had told me to call him on it,… apparently a tactical error on my part. So that went well.
So, that began the talking him down portion of the phone call, something that never fails to irritate me. Nothing makes me happier than to have to talk down and soothe someone who just shit all over me, just to have an adult conversation. Do you sense my sarcasm? And so the conversation went on. I did get a few points across, things that he hadn’t realized or thought about before. And that is all well and good, but it won’t matter if he doesn’t take it to heart and do something about it. And even he admits, I have no reason to believe that he will, that there is anything beyond the words. So who knows? And then there is still the Donodrama.
I’m tired. Need a nap. Maybe a drink. DEFINATELY need a cabana boy.
Ug. Let’s not talk about body image, eh? I was struggling with weight when Maxx came to live with us and between the realities of dealing with a toddler again (who is a very picky and allergic eater), being sick every other week thanks to his marvelous mutation machine and having my back thrown out at least once every three months as a result of said toddler monster, I’ve put on another 20 pounds.
It doesn’t help that I bought a dress a few weeks ago that I was really excited about, tried it on at home for Bry and Molly to critique for me and got just a feeeew too many seconds of stony silence . . . I am a cow.
A pretty cow – but a cow nonetheless. It’s a bit hard to wrap my head around that since I was always the skinny one.
Two bits of consolation – now I have breasts and Bry seems to really enjoy my Rubenesque look.
Good luck with the men. Sometimes I think that my in-laws raised the last 3 decent males on the planet.