swan

How many of you guys know me in real life?

I see some hands. A few of you.

I'm not so bad looking, right?

Kinda cute?
Pretty even?

For a girl my age?

I was a hideous child.
There are very few pictures in existence.
I found one the other day, which will not be posted here.

I stopped growing at about age 10 or 11. I'm 5'7". Not supertall for an adult, but big for a kid. I remember being remeasured in fifth grade because the school nurse didn't think I was five and a half feet tall because she thought she was five and a half feet tall and she couldn't figure out how we didn't match up. It's because I was slouched over my giant boobs so no one could see them and she was wearing some sort of weird clog on her foot.

I had big boobs. Grown up boobs. Just like the ones I have now. Not those creepy flatty slightly pointy ones that little girls sometimes get. I hated them because everyone (including the teacher) was staring at them and because I was tall they usually ended up right in people's faces. I couldn't even turn my back on my classmates because then they'd see my bra strap and know I was wearing a bra*. In fourth grade. So all of you who say you are jealous of my fabrack? I paid for it. Not with dollars but with lowered self-worth and extreme humiliation.

My teeth were fuuuuuuccckkkked uuuuuup. Giant and plentiful. Like horse teeth tossed in the air and let to lie where they landed. I had them sprouting out of every where. They grew in every direction. Then when I got braces I had to wear rubberbands and headgear and that sucked too.

I think I weighed in at 107 pounds in seventh grade. Soaking wet. Including boobs.

I had giant Sally Jesse Raphael glasses. Turquoise blue. Florescent turquoise blue.

I lived with my dad and grandad. Not only did no one show me how me how to curl my bangs, which I did faithfully every day from the mid to late 80s, but the only hair product I had was Brylcreem. Sometimes I had home perms from age 10 until 12ish, courtesy of Dad's girlfriend du jour. They never really took to the four hairs I have in my head, despite several attempts. And for a few years I had my hair feathered, but it ended up slicked back and glued to the sides of my head. I pretty much had a big banged mullet.

I had my ears double pierced. Who knows what the heck I jammed in those holes. It was the 80s. I'm guessing something neon and plastic. Oh, and my best friend earrings, the kind that was a gold-toned ball on one ear and a dangly zigzag half-circle on the other.

And no one bought me my own deodorant so I used my grandad's Old Spice. I must have stunk to high hell. Thank all that is good for Love's Baby Soft. Which I'm sure masked the old man scent. Right?

I wasn't allowed to wear make up until I was a teenager but sometimes I snuck on this hot pink Wet'n'Wild crap once I got to school. In seventh grade I had this dark blackberry hued W'n'W leftover from my Halloween costume. I thought it looked so cool. I don't think that white people were ever meant to wear it. But I did, for two years running.

My aunt was an Avon lady, so sometimes she would toss me some samples. I remember my favorite being a silver and lilac duo-eyeshadow that I would spit into so I could make it into eyeliner, applied with a Qtip. That's when I was 13. Who decided that 13 is a good age for eye makeup? Or spitting?

When I was pregnant I feared that Jake would be ugly and people would feel bad for him, and for me, the way I'm sure people felt bad for me, and my parents, when I was little. Looks matter, no matter what they say.

Now that I've seen Jake, I fear that I'm the only one who thinks he's so incredibly beautiful and everyone else just says he's cute because they are tsk-tsking in their heads. I know this isn't true, I'm just saying.

Every time I see an unfortunate looking little girl I feel bad for her. But I also want to kick her.
Ahhh, projection.

*me: now that Gwen Stefani is back on the scene I think I can start wearing black or bright colored bras under white tank tops again.
him: no. you are going to be 33.
me: she's like 40.
him: you have a son
me: she has two
him: she's Gwen Stefani
me: I'm Lora
him: you aren't wearing black bras under white tank tops again
me: remember that time I was on The Real World, and I was fighting with C___ at the gay bar and you could see my black bra and white tank top and my fist of fury?
him:
him:
him:
me: I was on The Real World.