Tuesday, February 21, 2006

My Marmy says I'm special.

Everyone thinks they're special. Obviously. Otherwise you'd proddly decide it was time to stop the whole 'living' thing. And that's the reason we blog.

When I was younger, I never thought of myself as physically special. I was stick thin when I was younger, 48kg in yr 10, 58 kg in yr 12. No boobs till uni and alchohol stuck and then I was, err, a lil 'curvier'. I grew up as a bit of a tomboy (the whole three brothers, martial arts, only two Barbies thang) and never really grew an interest in girly-girl things. I only wear makeup for special occassions, even then it's the same tube of Maybelline coverall I bought in year 12. I rarely wear heels. I prefer pants and jeans. I don't do many girly chats - I was the last of my group to join the 'grown-ups' (end of year 8 thankYOUverymuch) so I missed out on those two years of girly talks about that kinda girly stuff. I never had a boyfriend until college, hence the first one that showed any interest got my full attention.

It was during this time that I tried to develop myself as one of the 'funny ones'. I was never going to be 'cool', so my best option was to align myself in a position where I could get any kind of attention. Tending to lean towards Monty Python, sharp tongued wit, demeaning insults and obscure references, I tried to cover as many aspects as I could, increasing my chances of success while always being aware that not many people shared every aspect of my sense of humour. Still, I always thought I was pretty funny, I got my fair share of laughs, I considered myself fairly quick, and I loved to tell a story.

In first year, when I finally got some boobs, I started to use it as my next drawcard. It's not a particularly good thing to be saying, nor is it a nice feeling to be admitting it. Dress 'em up and joke, draw the people in, then they'll get to know the real you.

"Thank God for your boobs or we would never have got together... Well, you have to admit that your sense of humour is a little odd."

Such is the nature of relationships and people in general I guess.

You build up an impression of yourself as you think people see you, what they will like and what will work best for you. Build on your strengths, portray an image and go with it. Become somewhat comfortable with the way you are, what you value, what you do and how you feel. Yet this can be shattered and bring on a self-concsious tear, confusing haze and sense of grounding once you realise just how much someone really knows you.

*End ramble*


Boysenberry said...

Nothing wrong with an occassional ramble. I think every blogger does it. I know I do!

Popularity is what we most of us aspire to as kids. It usually doesn't strike us until later that quantity of friends isn't what's important, but the quality of said friends.

Erica said...

I had the boob thing too! I was such a stick, and didn't even fit into a 10A bra properly in year 12. Then suddenly, something happened, and I "blossomed".

I must admit though that I start to feel really insecure now that males are only talking to me because of my boobs, and not because I'm interesting to talk to.