Awkward Is My Middle Name
It's been a rough couple days, kids and I'm having some trouble blogging. This is because 1) I'm busy and b) I've been in a happy mood as of late and last week, when I tried to blog, it kept coming out like this:
I am super busy hanging out with amazing friends and rocking out at auditions and fingerpainting with twins and I no longer consume the rotting carcasses of dead cows, chickens or turkeys! Weeeee!
But now, my hormones are all over the place and now I feel like writing this:
I hate my backfat and I'm kind of tired and auditioning stresses me out and I'm running on the treadmill at the gym watching Oprah and she has those boys who were kidnapped on the show and now I'm CRYING, SOBBING on the treadmill, I can't run uphill on a treadmill with tears in my eyes because I'm blind and I'm going to fall off the machine and break my legs and never work again ohhhhh WAHHHHHHHHH.
*stuffs face with vegan chocolate raspberry cake*
Sigh. Okay. Stable.
So for lack of anything better to say, here are some photos that represent my feelings:
This picture explains how I was feeling AFTER watching Oprah but BEFORE eating cake:
This picture explains how I felt directly after eating cake:
I look totally hot in these pictures, yes? My parents have some stellar genes, eh?
Which reminds me:
My vocal coach stopped me the other day as we were talking about various theater people and he said, "Wow. I can't believe you recognize the names of ALL the people I'm talking about."
And I replied that I was rather ugly and awkward as a child and found solace memorizing original cast albums and playbill bios.
He laughed uncomfortably as people do when I say that, accompanied by an eyeroll and a "Yeah, riiight, whateverrr" because he assumes I'm THAT girl: the girl who was never anywhere near ugly but just says it because she wants a compliment.
Um. Let me just state here and now that I realize that I'm the queen of self-deprecation. Within two minutes of meeting me, you will realize that I hold the crown and title and do not challenge me: I will throw comments into every day conversation such as "I'm not that smart" or "What do I know? I'm blonde!" or "Eh, I don't know, I just wasn't good enough."
In fact, you don't need to hear me speak to know this about me. Maybe you'll just catch sight of me as I get stuck in between the closing doors on the N train, holding three bags full of music, gym clothes and groceries, with my mittens-on-a-string-so-I-don't-lose-them hanging out of my coat, heaving an exasperated sigh. And then, I don't need to say anything because that image has self-deprecation/loserdom stamped ALL over it.
Keeping in mind that I play the self-deprecation game, I am not exaggerating about this ugly thing. I'm not hanging my head, Eeyore style, whining over all the years I could've been making out with boys. It is simply honest: I was not that good looking. I'm not saying that other kids called me Quasimodo or that I had extra limbs removed or that girls threw tampons at me in the locker room and then I set the prom on fire. I'm just saying that I was unattractive. And I don't think that's untrue or a big deal. Plus, I have proof.
Case in Point: Upon returning back home from my first semester in college, I ran into a high school classmate at church. I hadn't seen her since graduation and at least six months had gone by. She ran up to me and squealed, "OH MY GOD. Laura! You're...PRETTY now!"
Awesome! Apparently, the trick to getting hotter is: move to Buffalo, break up with high school boyfriend, take 21 credits, fall into depression, wear lipgloss, go to church.
If I could only have had that information 5 years sooner!!! UGH. (The boys! The boys that would've kissed me!)
You still think I'm joking around, right? That it couldn't have been THAT bad, right??
How about when it comes up in conversation with my family?
Let's forget about how I've been called big-boned by my family members. Or how my teeth have been compared to ...what was it? Oh yes, "VAMPIRE" teeth. Or that my hips are "unnaturally larger" than the rest of my body. (Wait. You forget it. I won't because I need something to talk about in therapy, don't you know it.) Those things don't count because I'm a big girl now and I grew into a person with pretty hair and nice ankles. We are talking about BEFORE.
Not only will my mother nod in AGREEMENT about this topic, she'll then say cautiously, "Well. Laura had a very long...awkward stage." She believes this is protecting my feelings when in reality, I'm not at all HURT about this because I'm the first one to point out how awful it was. (You are all making that clucking sound in the back of your throat and thinking, "Denial. If she wasn't hurt about it, she wouldn't be TALKING about it. Well. Shut up. I need something to talk about.) Actually, as I was living it, I'm pretty sure I woke up every morning and looked in the mirror and uttered a "DAAAAAMN! That is FOUL!" kind of exclamation.
My dad won't comment so much on the physical hideousness but will definitely start laughing as he remembers how klutzy I was and how I would literally walk straight into walls and fall down on my ass. My older brother will most likely bring up physical characteristics--crooked teeth that were SO crooked I needed a palate expander and 2 years of braces and let's not forget how dreadfully skinny I was. How skinny? "Like a starving child in a third world country," he'll say. So skinny, in fact, that when I would jump off the diving board into my cousin's pool, my head would never go under the water. I would just bob there in the deep end, reciting all the colors to Joseph's coat from "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat".
So, klutzy, crooked-toothed, skinny, horrible bangs that I tried to grow out in the 9th grade, etc. Yeah. Mom will try to call it an awkward stage but my cousin Tom minces no words:
"Awkward stage?! She was UGLY AS SIN. We BOTH were."
And then we'll pause and laugh and he'll finish, "And it was incredible."
Because it kind of was.
Tell you what, I'm going to go through my old junior high photos and scan some in and post them here, in case any of you try to dispute this very well-known fact. (Who wants to see those!? SERIOUSLY! AMAZING.) But for now, just gaze at the beauty I've evolved into because MAN she is one fine piece of booty:
I am super busy hanging out with amazing friends and rocking out at auditions and fingerpainting with twins and I no longer consume the rotting carcasses of dead cows, chickens or turkeys! Weeeee!
But now, my hormones are all over the place and now I feel like writing this:
I hate my backfat and I'm kind of tired and auditioning stresses me out and I'm running on the treadmill at the gym watching Oprah and she has those boys who were kidnapped on the show and now I'm CRYING, SOBBING on the treadmill, I can't run uphill on a treadmill with tears in my eyes because I'm blind and I'm going to fall off the machine and break my legs and never work again ohhhhh WAHHHHHHHHH.
*stuffs face with vegan chocolate raspberry cake*
Sigh. Okay. Stable.
So for lack of anything better to say, here are some photos that represent my feelings:
This picture explains how I was feeling AFTER watching Oprah but BEFORE eating cake:
This picture explains how I felt directly after eating cake:
I look totally hot in these pictures, yes? My parents have some stellar genes, eh?
Which reminds me:
My vocal coach stopped me the other day as we were talking about various theater people and he said, "Wow. I can't believe you recognize the names of ALL the people I'm talking about."
And I replied that I was rather ugly and awkward as a child and found solace memorizing original cast albums and playbill bios.
He laughed uncomfortably as people do when I say that, accompanied by an eyeroll and a "Yeah, riiight, whateverrr" because he assumes I'm THAT girl: the girl who was never anywhere near ugly but just says it because she wants a compliment.
Um. Let me just state here and now that I realize that I'm the queen of self-deprecation. Within two minutes of meeting me, you will realize that I hold the crown and title and do not challenge me: I will throw comments into every day conversation such as "I'm not that smart" or "What do I know? I'm blonde!" or "Eh, I don't know, I just wasn't good enough."
In fact, you don't need to hear me speak to know this about me. Maybe you'll just catch sight of me as I get stuck in between the closing doors on the N train, holding three bags full of music, gym clothes and groceries, with my mittens-on-a-string-so-I-don't-lose-them hanging out of my coat, heaving an exasperated sigh. And then, I don't need to say anything because that image has self-deprecation/loserdom stamped ALL over it.
Keeping in mind that I play the self-deprecation game, I am not exaggerating about this ugly thing. I'm not hanging my head, Eeyore style, whining over all the years I could've been making out with boys. It is simply honest: I was not that good looking. I'm not saying that other kids called me Quasimodo or that I had extra limbs removed or that girls threw tampons at me in the locker room and then I set the prom on fire. I'm just saying that I was unattractive. And I don't think that's untrue or a big deal. Plus, I have proof.
Case in Point: Upon returning back home from my first semester in college, I ran into a high school classmate at church. I hadn't seen her since graduation and at least six months had gone by. She ran up to me and squealed, "OH MY GOD. Laura! You're...PRETTY now!"
Awesome! Apparently, the trick to getting hotter is: move to Buffalo, break up with high school boyfriend, take 21 credits, fall into depression, wear lipgloss, go to church.
If I could only have had that information 5 years sooner!!! UGH. (The boys! The boys that would've kissed me!)
You still think I'm joking around, right? That it couldn't have been THAT bad, right??
How about when it comes up in conversation with my family?
Let's forget about how I've been called big-boned by my family members. Or how my teeth have been compared to ...what was it? Oh yes, "VAMPIRE" teeth. Or that my hips are "unnaturally larger" than the rest of my body. (Wait. You forget it. I won't because I need something to talk about in therapy, don't you know it.) Those things don't count because I'm a big girl now and I grew into a person with pretty hair and nice ankles. We are talking about BEFORE.
Not only will my mother nod in AGREEMENT about this topic, she'll then say cautiously, "Well. Laura had a very long...awkward stage." She believes this is protecting my feelings when in reality, I'm not at all HURT about this because I'm the first one to point out how awful it was. (You are all making that clucking sound in the back of your throat and thinking, "Denial. If she wasn't hurt about it, she wouldn't be TALKING about it. Well. Shut up. I need something to talk about.) Actually, as I was living it, I'm pretty sure I woke up every morning and looked in the mirror and uttered a "DAAAAAMN! That is FOUL!" kind of exclamation.
My dad won't comment so much on the physical hideousness but will definitely start laughing as he remembers how klutzy I was and how I would literally walk straight into walls and fall down on my ass. My older brother will most likely bring up physical characteristics--crooked teeth that were SO crooked I needed a palate expander and 2 years of braces and let's not forget how dreadfully skinny I was. How skinny? "Like a starving child in a third world country," he'll say. So skinny, in fact, that when I would jump off the diving board into my cousin's pool, my head would never go under the water. I would just bob there in the deep end, reciting all the colors to Joseph's coat from "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat".
So, klutzy, crooked-toothed, skinny, horrible bangs that I tried to grow out in the 9th grade, etc. Yeah. Mom will try to call it an awkward stage but my cousin Tom minces no words:
"Awkward stage?! She was UGLY AS SIN. We BOTH were."
And then we'll pause and laugh and he'll finish, "And it was incredible."
Because it kind of was.
Tell you what, I'm going to go through my old junior high photos and scan some in and post them here, in case any of you try to dispute this very well-known fact. (Who wants to see those!? SERIOUSLY! AMAZING.) But for now, just gaze at the beauty I've evolved into because MAN she is one fine piece of booty:
Heyyy baby, what's your phone number!?
3 Comments:
Yeah, BUT - I still always thought you were prettier than me. So what does that say about MY awkward phase??
I remember the night we spend on AIM pretending we were cheerleaders and talking about buffalo wings and celery.
As long as we were awkward TOGETHER (see: red and yellow and green and gold, etc.), at least we'll always have each other.
Scarlet and black and ochre and peach and ruby and olive and violet and fawn, okay?
Eeyore syndrome...I love that someone else uses that phrase :)
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