I'm fat.
What? No, c'mon.
No really, I'm fat.
You're fat. Where are you fat? Please show me.
Here...and here...
There, you've got to be kidding, that's called flesh...
No, I should be much skinnier.
But I like you this way, you got a little meat to you it's sexy, you know I'm an ass man and all that...
Yuck, no, I just need to lose like five or ten more...
What?!?! From where, no, don't, you're fine trust me.
Yeah, whatever, you're sweet thanks.
Times that conversation or some facsimile thereof by, oh, I'd say several hundred. Yeah, I've had that convo many many many times. I mean, yes, I am a guy and yes I do get severely turned on by body parts just like the next guy but at the end of the day if I'm attracted to you I'm attracted to you. So it makes no sense to me why if it's clear that I'm attracted to you you would go on at length on how you're not attractive and how you used to be or should be something else.
It's like a car salesman selling a car and then saying, 'You sure about signing that, no, the engine is all flawed and look at those rims, ewww, like, hello, those are twos not twenty twos. [Salesman begins to cry] I used to have rides that were Ryde or Die rides now...now they're all teeny weenie fisher price tires!'
I'm done.
Out of my disgust with this constant experience with the fairer sex I was moved to post something on the Book of Faces about it. A friend commented that it was an LA thang and I would have to vehemently disagree on that point.
It is a planetary phenomenon. Women all over the world being infected by the idea of beauty being propagated by these miserable models and celebrities who hate themselves and buying into the consumerism and advertising model of never being good enough.
I'm sick of it.
Every Model, Playmate or Celebrity I've ever met, and I've met more than I care to remember, is NOTHING like what you see. Repeat...NOTHING. So I have to date or meet women who always sabotage themselves because of these illusions and I'm done with it. I will not buy into their pity party anymore. You think you're fat, great, leave. I think you're gorgeous but if you don't then leave. Go home and puke, I have a book I can read.
If you can't love yourself then how can you possibly expect someone else to love you? Sure, we all want to have our bodies feel fit and healthy but at what cost? At what point does it go from being fit to being obsessed about millimeters, inches or a few pounds? And what are you basing the idea of what you should be and how you should look off of?
Magazines, TV Shows, that chick that walks in the club that everyone drools over?
Let me tell you something ladies, I always approach the chick that everyone always drools over and for the most part they're usually vapid boring uninspiring slabs of balsa wood. I don't approach just those types exclusively but in my experience they hate themselves just as much as the next girl.
Whether you want to say that this is who I am or not based on your judgment of me the fact of the matter is that I truly love women. I would like for nothing more than to adore a woman and make her feel special, loved and safe around me. Yet throughout my life it seems no matter what type, background or age the female may be she almost always, at some point, will go on about her body image issues.
Now, what would an adoring, loving good all around cool dude like me do in the face of such self deprecating behavior ? Well, I'd want to cheer you up, or prove you wrong or make you feel better of course! Let me dance a minuet on our dinner table and proclaim my love for your jiggly wiggly bootay! Let me sing a simple butt dimple song for you! Watch it jiggle see it wiggle cool ass booty female brand gelatin!
Oh Issac, tee hee, you're so funny tee hee.
Yup. Never works. Why? Because there's nothing I can do to shift your belief system, only you can do that for yourself. It'd be like me telling you to quit cigarettes. No chance. You find a comfort zone in hating your body and me trying to take you out of it is pointless, but I keep banging my multi-colored head against your scale.
So what happens to me? I become that friend in your mind who you go to when you consider confronting those doubts about yourself since I'll always be sooo supportive and appreciative.
Then, while I'm doing that, some schmucky a-hole who doesn't like women and is living in a complete space of his ego will come along and key into your insecurities which you will subconsciously connect with. See, he hates you deep inside, so do you...it's a match made in heaven! Then you get together with him. He tosses you around like a beanbag, dumps you like a file in a recycle bin on your desktop and then you wonder why men treat you like crap and why all guys are a-holes. You get bitter and hate yourself even more.
Awww, look, there's Issac doing his Female Brand Gelatin Dance, he's soo sweet.
Finito.
You know, there's more pressing insecurities and fears that need addressing on this planet. Fear about our creativity, our desires, our dreams, taking that risk to go for what so passionately excites us. Yes, I would love to work with you and build you up on that level. Because by doing that for you I also do that for myself by reminding myself what I sometimes forget. But an extra pound on your ass? Puh-lease. Go bother some other doofus with that nonsense. I have no time for that anymore.
Get a clue and get some confidence that you're a babe. There is nothing sexier than a woman who walks in a room with that powerful attitude. I don't care what she looks like, everyone will notice her no matter what she weighs. Those that deride her are just scared or are jealous of that power because they don't have it themselves.
Look at me: Five foot six, one twenty two...wet. Most of the girls I meet weigh as much as or more than me! Yeah, sometimes I look at myself and say, hmm, I could use a little more muscle there or an inch or two here wink wink wink but overall, I love, I mean love how I look. Somebody asked me recently if I could change anything about me physically what would I change and I honestly couldn't think of anything. Flexibility doesn't count does it? I wish I could do a full split, there, I said it, oh my goodness...I'm bawling, woe is me and my hamstrings! I'll never get what I want with those damn tight hamstrings of mine!!!
Anyway. From now on the pact with myself is made:
You wanna hate yourself then go ahead and leave me out of it.
You wanna love yourself then let me know, I haven't fully choreographed my 'Watch it Wiggle see it Jiggle' opus and could use a muse ;)
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