Thanksgiving Post

Yeah, I know it's not Thanksgiving yet, but in the next 48 hours this is the only time I'll have to blog. We're hosting our family Thanksgiving dinner at our place this year. Without giving my entire life's story, my mum worked throughout my entire childhood, so I was left with another babysitter to another. Thus, she never was much of a "Domestic Diva" or "Soccer Mom" and for that I am very proud to have her as ma mere. So she's never learned proper recipes or cooking techniques.

Basically, we're trying to pull the entire household together by tomorrow.

Anyway, today started with it's usual beginning. My alarm clock goes off, B-b-b-b-beep, and I swear mentally, before rolling over and switching it off. Nothing pisses me off more than the sound of my alarm. It's like the devil's calling or something. Then, I roll out of bed, cue the goosebumps, which don't leave till I go to sleep that night, and trudge into the bathroom. Like most bathrooms, the focal point of the room is the mirror. The mirror in that bathroom is known as Common Enemy #1. As I get ready, I simply stare at my reflection, and it stares right back with the same self-loathing, insecure countenance. My insecurity has just turned into frustration. That mirror has never reflected back something I like. Never anything the least bit attractive. No matter what I'm wearing, or how my makeup is, or how I do my hair, I can't get it right. The problem: I'm ugly. My appearance is cringe worthy, and every time I look in that goddamn mirror the reflection, no matter how happy it had been a second ago, frowns back at me, eyes flickering away.

It's not an unusual affliction for a teen, especially a girl with masochistic tendencies. But with all my immaturity I feel as though my appearance is one of the worst. I'm short, peaking at 5 feet exactly. I've got a long torso, broad shoulder's but a generally petite build. Except for my thighs and ass. I've got a quite disproportionate pear shaped figure. Affectionately, I could be described as Bootylicious, cept my butt isn't that toned. And my face is just...ugh, not bothering to describe anymore so none of the readers lose their lunch.

And then by the end of the day, I'm sitting on mon copain's lap trying to come up with a decent script for a group project we're in. His hands keep me tightly locked down from falling and he lets a hand run up and down my back, occasionally messing with the clasp of my bra. Why this makes me smile? Am I a creep? No, I've concluded, I just love to be held, touched, loved. Love can't describe the way my heart warms when he holds my hand or hugs me, tells me I'm pretty or hot, and all those thoughts, and all the tears of self-hatred I've cried, are evaporated. He makes me whole, and alive, and right, and happy. And I don't care what they say, all the kids who call me emo *gasp* and make fun of me for dating him. It's okay. And then I go home to a cold house where none of my friends are there to make it okay again. He's not there. And often doesn't text. So I sit there and begin to fall back down from my high. It all comes crashing down.

And then, I'll remember when he tells me not to doubt myself. How he worries about me, about the episode on Halloween. And that feeling of warmth creeps up my spine, and safety locks me in again.

Today's post is just my reminder to thank the ones you love or like or even hate just so you have someone to focus your anger on. For helping you, caring for you, making you happy, loving you, or just being them. Don't be an idiot and go over to your copine/copain and say "On Thanksgiving I'm thankful for you!" Maybe just an 'I'm glad I have you.' Or even an 'I love you' if your lucky. Just a hint to let them know.

Second grade essay style: I'm thankful for my friends, who I'm not going to list, my crazed family, my Big Fat Italian Family, except no ones fat, and mon copain. I really think I may be falling. And maybe he'll be there to catch me.

-End cheese-

Happy Thanksgiving, and if your reading this, thank you very, very much!

Peace, love, and rock n' roll

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