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Thursday, January 18, 2001

I did something so typically me. I have been so self-conscious about my scars and I was bothering the doctors about them. Both Dr. H and Dr. P advised me to just have someone take a look. Someone nice, whom I trust and feel comfortable. Tall order. Do you know the only guy I could think of was BM? Yes, I know-how absolutely crazy. It's been, what? Five years, at least. So I thought well, what the hell? I called the only number I had for him and, amazingly, it was still his. He returned my call and agreed to come down. B didn't think he'd show, most likely because she knows how indifferent guys are to me.

He came though, and it was like no time had passed at all. He is so the same. I told him that I'd thought of him every once in a while and he was like, well I haven't thought of you at all. We chatted and then we walked to Limerick's for a drink. Hi, freezing. We came in totally frozen. We had a drink and I mooched his stew and then we froze back to my little house. I was so pooped by then. He's all-okay, let's take a look at these scars. I was an itty-bit nervous, but I mean it's BM, you know? So I unbuttoned my top and showed him what they look like in a bra. Then I pulled down my bra and flashed him. He said they were hardly noticeable. I asked him if he thought they might scare anyone, like a Frankenstein and he said no, guys just want to get fed and get laid. And that was that-no trauma, no drama.

One funny thing did happen, though. When we were at Limerick's catching up, BM said one or two things that made me feel funny. I'm not sure. He said that I wasn't very nice. I think he meant to say that I wasn't very sweet. He said I never went out of my way for anyone, like just to be nice. Then he mentioned NL and how she was forever going out of her way for others. It made me feel that he was comparing me to her. And I was thinking, Gosh-did he always think me such a caustic bitch? For a brief moment I wanted to defend myself to him. I wanted to tell him about everything. Even stupid little things like who do you think has to throw a baby shower at work for all these fertile fannies who keep having babies right in front of me? Oh, she can do it, she doesn't have a husband or children to look after. No, I'm the only child I have to take care of. Hello, why don't any of you try working 50+ hours a week and going to school practically every single night, including Saturday afternoons?

Anyway, when I realized he was comparing me to her I felt an old resentment resurfacing. Oh, it's ancient history, I know. I know how ridiculous it is. I wanted to scream at him not to ever compare me to the Great, Perfect NL. Did I not get enough of this from L? Every time we would drive up to see them, it was NL this and NL that, the entire way up. Then the whole drive home it was always NL, NL, NL. Oh, if you would only help me entertain the way NL does, blah, blah, blah. Hey, L-I'm not married to you. I don't want to help you entertain. Get yourself a husband already, alright? NL is so good with money, unlike you. NL has perfect credit, unlike you. NL knows what she wants out of life, unlike you. NL has her degree and a fabulous career, unlike you. Unlike you.

Okay, I got it. NL perfect, me not. NL good, me bad. NL exotic, graceful, and lithe. Me fat, ugly, and dumpy. It's so fucking endless, I could go on forever. I don't care, mostly. It was just that for a split second, when I realized he was comparing me to her, and that once again, I was automatically the loser, I had an impulse to pound on the table and yell-I haven't spent thousands of dollars and hundreds of painful hours in therapy just to take this shit from you! However, it might have been inappropriate, so I contained myself. In any case, that might not have been what he meant at all.

But, obviously there's still a nerve to strike there. I hate being compared to someone else. If you want to get me psychotically angry, that'd be a quick way to do it. L. What a freakshow. How could I have put up with so much for so long? My own capacity for enduring the unbearable astounds even me.

NL. All this time later, quite frankly, I don't really mind to be thought of as the exact opposite of Queen NL. First of all, I can't help my body structure. God's the one who gave me that DNA. If people have a problem with it, they should take it up with Her. Secondly, yes I did allow myself to become absolutely enormous, and I purposely made myself just about as unattractive as I could, but I hadn't really dealt with the rape back then. Oh, and here's the great nursie-poos L and NL, the two biggest know-it-alls ever. Did they really just not see it, or did they really just not care? We'll never know. I mean, I know I was a crazy back then, but really so were they. And if NL is so perfect, and wonderful, and all, then what about her marriage? God, it makes me absolutely cringe just to think of the crap she used to say to him, in front of God and everybody. Not to mention the stuff she would say about him when he wasn't around. Every time I think of that situation, I remember that line from the John Cusack movie-Now, that's a shame when folks be throwing away a perfectly good whiteboy like that. I mean, what moron would walk out on BM? Oh, but thanks for ruining him forever, NL. You can tell just by looking at him that he'll probably never be able to love again.

I don't honestly know what the big deal was. Perhaps it's sour grapes, but really I don't think so. I never thought she had style. In fact I found her furniture and place settings to be a bit tacky. I absolutely loved the ring BM got her, though. I didn't like her taste in music, or cars, or entertainment, or clothes, or jewelry, or anything. But that's just me, the opposite of Queen NL. Quite frankly, I don't really like nurses as a people. Most of them are just stupid, really. I find that quite a lot of them can't make the jump to lightspeed. Of the perhaps hundred or so that I've met, here are the only nurses that I ever respected. KT, whom I believe is now practicing law. TS, because c'mon she's TS. CA, because she could see right through us all, and because she knew, and she knew that I knew that she knew, and she still didn't make a big deal of it. For the most part, nurses are just nose-wiping, diaper-changing dolts.

But I digress. And as for NL having such a fantastic body, I'm so glad God let her have it, since he certainly left her a bit wanting in other areas. She didn't exercize for that body, and we all know she never had to eat right to keep it. Goodness sake, if I'd had her little body, I'd have taken over the world by now. Perhaps that's why God designed people like C and me to look like Renaissance peasants. Is that what I should do? A great Mea Culpa? I'll just pull CL up on the stage with me and show them all that even if I became a sneaky little anorexic like on Women's East, I'd still look like a "husky" girl. I don't have frail bones. I'm short and stocky. Get over it, already.

As for her exotic looks, well I can never compete with that nor should I. I'm fair-skinned with light eyes and freckles. It's not wrong to look like me. I'm just born in the wrong era. I know my looks are not fashionable now. Oh, well. There's nothing wrong with the shape of my eyes, nor the thinness of my lips, nor my lack of cheekbones. I'm average. I am a chubby, average-looking girl. If thou prickest me, do I not bleed? I like my looks. I like wearing my hair curly or blowing it straight. Not a lot of girls can do that. I'm glad I've got options. I know I'll never be a skinny girl, but frankly, I like having curves. Not such curves as I do, but curves like when I'm slim. I like looking like a woman. I never wanted to look like a little boy. Besides, who wants to hug a bag of bones?

Perhaps I am still a little resentful of NL. Not for all that's past, but because from my side of the fence she squandered what I so desire and will never have. Like those people who want a baby so bad. I understand how agonizing it is for them to see others mistreating their children. I understand how hard it must be for them to have their hopes dashed again and again and again just to watch some 15-year old breeze by with her tattoos and her medi-cal and her swollen belly. I understand how offended they feel. I really do. If I had never seen such riches, I could live with being poor.

confessions of gd * 16:49

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