Disguises I've Worn...

Instead of moving more stuff up from my old janky apartment into my more spacey apartment up here on the second floor I’m going to semi-force myself to make yet another blog post in the efforts of getting “writing” back into my daily process. It’s like almost comparable to anti-depressants/SSRIs! I stopped taking my anxiety medicine like about a month and a half ago and slowly my nerves have been trying to throw my ass off the deep end again. I won’t have it though! I refuse.

That’s were this blogging thing comes in. It helps me stay level. Sort of. Sometimes (actually often and this is one of the MAIN reasons I stopped blogging as much when I became micro-famous on the internetz with my “UndressJess” persona) it opens me up to more bullshit and ridicule. I realize how schizo this makes me seem when I say that I have all these stalkers and haters constantly nagging me online. Honestly it could just be one nutty dude and I’ve considered that possibility in the past but anyway you know how I meander off the subject being that I’m severely Attention Deficit Disordered… I have people that hate me and they are pretty clear on letting me know about it.

I bet/know some of them are in town and I imagine they are always asking themselves what makes me so worthy of being paid for my narcissism… I’m not that cute, I’m droopy, I always look high or tired due to my “shrimp eyes”, I have big crooked teeth, I’m chubby now since after my stroke I somehow gained a ton of weight (my highest weight being 185 around July of 2010 and now I’m down to 155... And counting), I’m not well read (although one day when I’m allowed to stop obsessing over my appearance, website ratings, website traffic and customer satisfaction I CAN be once I have all of that free time once again), I have bad hygiene, I make grammatical errors, I’m actually pretty ugly and I’m not really desirable in the least. Yet once a day every day I paint up my clown face and dance naked like a wanna-be Josephine Baker with a crack habit. That’s just an analogy there, I don’t really have a drug habit… Anymore.

Speaking of “painting on the clown face” I’ve recently stopped wearing foundation. I have decided it makes me look older and I’m no longer going to have any part of it… I started wearing foundation after looking at pictures and videos of myself a few years ago and thinking, “Damn my face looks all dull and discolored…” Little did I take into consideration that I was a cocaine addict at the time and I was abusing myself with uncharacteristic promiscuity and alcoholism sometimes/most of the time DAILY. I’m still quite the alcoholic but I make myself drink tons of water now and I try not to go out more than 4 times a week. That probably still sounds like a lot to the layperson but considering I used to go out and get black out drunk 7 days a week and try to kill myself at least twice a month at one point I think the patterns I follow now are much healthier. But yeah, that probably had an effect on the way my skin looked at that point in time.

Also I think showing my true self is more exciting. Weird huh? I’ve been hiding behind SO MUCH for most of my life… I mean, let’s examine my methods of “disguise” shall we?

5-7th grade: I saw the movie “Clueless” and tried to be one of these stupid stereotypical but fun types of girls. I obsessed about perfect make-up (not wearing the foundation yet of course though, that only came into place somewhat recently), wearing new/current fashions that other girls HATED me for having and showing off. I was so spoiled looking back on this period of my life. I could almost get my grandma or grandpa to buy me ANYTHING I wanted. And I thought we were somehow poorer than the other families that lived in our neck of the woods. Pshhh…

8-10th grade: I idolized this friend of mine that I met in junior high… Her name was and still is Breea. I’m sure if some of you creep asses in town that read everything I EVER post probably know her too. (By the way I like it that you take the time to read my posts and shit. It makes me feel special but it’s also a little scary at times because I’ve known a lot of you my ENTIRE life.) So Breea was working this bohemian chic vibe that I couldn’t bring myself to get enough of. It seemed that her single mother made an insane effort to get her all the weird but hot hippy shit from out of town every summer when they would take these epic vacations that I always envied. So when I started to get kind of slackerish (and that was like my shtick… Everyone thought I was a stoner my whole life because of how laid back I can seem yet I never actually smoked weed for the first time until I was 21) about the “preppy” Clueless inspired persona I was trying to do to impress the dumb bitches I went to school with (who by the way all look fucking fat and if not fat then aged way past their years, this includes sadly Breea probably due to her extensive drug use in her teen years), I decided to turn to this attractive bohemian look instead.

I grew my hair the longest it’s ever been during this time period. When I lost my virginity when I was 13 in the woods with this dude who will remain nameless (for now) I actually accidentally jerked my head back and hurt my neck from sitting on my own long black wavy/curly hair. I do declare! I was the hottest fake hippie you’ll ever know.

11-12th grade: I should throw in that I was a pretty hot curvy girl during my early teens. I thought I was just the fattest thing known to hit a high school but the truth was I never got above a size 13 or above 145 lbs. I was STACKED. I’ll never be that perfect again… Sadly during the summer between my 9th and 10th grade years I decided sort of by accident that I was too fat and didn’t look good in ballet class because only super skinny girls have beautiful “dance lines” and I could improve my dancing by not eating and getting as small as I can be.

The other side of the story is that I was supposed to be getting braces and they put this stupid fucking weird “spacer” in my mouth that I had to turn with a little key weekly to widen out my mouth in preparation for the braces so I’d have enough room for all of my huge teeth to fit in perfect little American white lines. I couldn’t hardly talk with this thing. I had like the worst lisp ever. I hated talking out load in class and it was GLUED onto my teeth so that it couldn’t be removed. I couldn’t swallow. For the first week after I had this thing installed in my mouth I constantly threw up because the way it was placed in there activated my gag reflex and I drooled because I couldn’t swallow even the saliva that was pooling in my mouth to try to reject this HUGE metal thing that was epoxied to my god damned teeth.

Needless to say I couldn’t eat. If I tried to chew anything it would get stuck in the top of my mouth behind the “spacer” bar and needed to be pried out with a ball point pen or anything longish and slenderish that I could find. I couldn’t swallow because I had no way to put my tongue to the top of my mouth to create that vacuum type action to be able to do so. I accidentally started to starve myself. I wasn’t even cool enough to fully develop anorexia on my own accord… It just worked out in my favor for you know my self-confidence and “ballet lines“.

I’ll never forget the day when I was in this huge department store called Lazerus and my grandpa said to go get some new pants and try them on cause all of my old ones (sizes 13. 11 and only a few size 10s) were falling off of my ass. I tried on these really stupid looking cargo style track pants that were made to sort of look like jeans by Union Bay and I realized my sexy skinny new ass was fitting in a size 5! I had NEVER been a size 5! In 5th grade I had to wear a damned size 6 (which for you men that don’t really get the difference between the odd and even women’s sizes, the even numbers are for women and odd numbers are for juniors. The even sizes are about the same size at the odd sized but offer more room in the womanly areas like the ass and tit departments. ) Now all of a sudden at age 15 after getting up to a size 13 briefly I was 120 lbs and a fucking size 5.

I couldn’t leave the dressing room for over 45 minutes because I couldn’t stop crying. I was just absolutely in shock. Boys were talking to me now when before they would only pick at me about wearing shirts that were too tight to show off what I thought was sexy; my big underage boobies while I completely overlooked the fact that those tight “baby tees” also showed off my multiple rolls down the sides of my waist. I HATED those stupid Union Bay pants and I can’t even remember for the life of me why I tried them on to begin with but at that point they meant so much to me I had my grandpa buy them for me and I wore the shit out of them. From then on I thought of my life’s story line/memory files being put into little shoe boxes labeled with “When I was Fat” and “After I Got Skinny”.

But with power (even the young, thin “just realized she can manipulate men with her newly found looks” type of power) comes corruption (of myself in this case)… I started to wear sluttier and sluttier “goth” shit. I was mad at everyone for never looking at/ogling me (or so I had thought) before even when I forgot that I was a prematurely curvaceous fishy lost in a sea of pre-pubescent white girls with no asses and actually thought I could MAYBE be “pretty” and then ALL OF A SUDDEN I develop a fucking dangerous eating disorder and they wanted to invite me to parties and talk to me after class. So I dealt with this anger in a few ways, one method being that I thought it was funny when they would assume I was some kind of devil worshipper when I dressed in all black and method two by being as sexy as I could without getting expelled (and believe me I almost was several times due to my whorish outfits I’d wear to school on a daily basis) and then NOT be available… i.e. NOT HAING SEX WITH ANYONE I WASN’T TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH…

Some fat girls who lose lots of weight might feel similarly but then deal with it by becoming total skanks and fucking anyone that gives them 2 seconds of attention. I’m not talking shit here really I went through something like this later on in life after my second great weight loss… I like to think that I lashed back at society with a tinge of class. However looking back on the shit I was wearing during this time period of my life, that obviously can not be the case. Eh, different strokes for different folks!

Long story short (as if that’s possible at this point) I figured out how to use my appearance and knowledge of the lesser desires of humanity (of men specifically, that I had absorbed up to this point by being the weirdo in the back ground for so many years) to manipulate them and get anything I wanted…

I was wearing so many fucking layers of bullshit it was hard to find home base/my TRUE self again but this all fell to the wayside when I started college the next year… Or so I thought?

More on this when I feel like telling you more, if I ever do… later!