All The Small Things

Mood: Contemplative
Listening to: Tick Tock

We are all guilty of it from time to time.

We make snap decisions about people based on the way that they look. We assess their clothing, their hairstyle, their makeup, the way they smell, the way they dance, the car they drive.

These things have such little bearing on the type of person that they are though. Why are they so important to us??

Why do I choose with care what I step out my door in? Why do I bother with makeup when I hate it with such a passion? Why do I worry what others will think of me when they see me?

Perhaps it has to do with the insecurities I have about my appearance. I'm no beauty. I know that. I'm not hideous, "I've seen worse", but I'm not going to be fighting off Model School Talent Scouts either.

But what is beauty? What standard do I judge myself by? Where did these ideas come from?

Apparently beauty is symmetry. Those of us with perfectly symmetrical features are considered more attractive than those of us who are horribly lopsided. Am I lopsided? I don't think so...

My more airy-fairy friends would say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps that is true. I've found men attractive when they really aren't, just because I was attracted to them, perhaps for other reasons. If I can find an unattractive man attractive, it stands to reason that a man could find me attractive even if I'm not.

Should this lead me to disbelieve the men who have been in my life and thought I was beautiful?

Why when I look in the mirror do I see different things? Some days I can look, and say, yeah, you look ok today. Other days, I see nothing but my faults. I see my scar. I see freckles. I see bad skin.

Again, by what standard am I judging myself? Magazine covers? The producers of such tripe filled programs as ACA would love us to believe that it is the magazines giving us all terrible body image, causing such evils as anorexia and plastic surgery. I don't think so personally. I would like to think I am too intelligent to succumb to the stereotypical woman airbrushed within an inch of her life on the cover of Cleo. Who would want to look like that?

Perhaps the truth is more about my perceptions than reality. What I see as a fault, others hardly notice. No one looks as hard at me as I do. And what we focus on expands. Like my hips. They take on gargantuan proportions if I focus on them, where realistically, I'm a size 10 so they can't be that big.

Sometimes, I wish I didn't own a mirror. Once I have left the house, I don't worry about what I look like. I have a mental picture of myself, looking average, and I guess that's what I expect others are seeing. But more than that, I hope that they are judging me on my merits and not my appearance. It isn't going to happen, we have all been conditioned to align ourselves with the more attractive people around us. Folks aren't suddenly going to decide that I fit into that category. However.

There is always hope, isn't there. If I begin to look beyond appearances, and deal with people purely on a personality level, perhaps that will become apparent to those around me and encourage them to behave the same way.

My mum says: A change in me makes a change in you.

Something to work on.

Mood: Melancholy
Listening to: Rove Live

I lost my voice two days ago, which has made me nearly go stir crazy. I never realised how much I talked during the day. Or how often I yelled out to people to get their attention. Or how much I rely on the telephone. I had 14 messages on my work answering machine, and I couldn't return any of them, cos I had no voice. Possibly a good thing, as I wasn't supposed to be at work anyway!

I'm a tad excited, as I am getting a special visitor on Saturday. Four sleeps to go!! Just needed to get that out of my system really!

Righto, on to something that you may be interested in reading...

I went to the most interesting engagement party on the weekend, in Sydney. My little cousin (who I really should stop referring to in that way, as he is 22 and 6ft something) got engaged to a lovely girl. Her parents are from Chile, so it was a really interesting evening just from the cultural point of view.

They had the party at her parents house, who had basically redone the entire backyard to accomodate the 100 people that they had invited. There were beautiful fairy lights all over the place, helium ballons, candles, and glittering stars strewn over the grounds. The pool was lit up, and there were flowers and candles floating in it. All the guests were in formal wear, and my cousin had bought his fiancee a gorgeous red dress, and was in a black suit with red tie and hanky. They looked lovely.

There were speeches, priests to bless the food and the ring, dancers doing some traditional dances, traditional foods, (including a very odd concoction of wheat, apricots and nectar, which the waiter assured me was a drink... a dessert drink) a three tier engagement cake, and bonbonierre. All the tables were done with damask table cloths, candlabras, silver wine chillers, the whole deal. 

My cousin and his fiancee had her engagement ring blessed, and then he made a very emotional speech about how much he loved her, couldn't live without her, and was so grateful that she had agreed to be his wife, then he turned and put the ring on her finger. Many sniffles and sighs from the crowd.

I personally thought it was a bit OTT for an engagement - I've been to weddings that weren't as nice! - however, horses for courses. They obviously do things big in Chile. Can't wait to see what the wedding is going to be like... it was too romantic for words.

I left feeling rather melancholy, I guess the whole night put my romantic experiences to date into stark relief . Or perhaps I'm just feeling rather melancholy in general. Losing my voice is a bit of a metaphor for the way I'm feeling now.

I don't really think that I'm being heard. Definitely the people at work aren't listening to me... after all, telling me to go to the doctor, and then in the same breath telling me I should be checking the mail each day despite the fact that I'm on holidays doesn't show much genuine care for me as an employee or a friend.

Mr. D. has been quite vocal in his opinion of my personal life of late. He thinks I should stay home, be single, and value myself more highly. I think what he would really like is to not have to deal with the fact that I am dating.

I understand that his opinion is based on what he truly sees as being best for me. But at the same time, I am going to do whatever I want to do. For the first time in my life, I am free to be me. And I'm really enjoying that. I'm not going to let it go just yet. Most people do this stuff when they are young, I didn't get that chance. I was engaged, I was in a full-on full-time relationship with a guy who didn't like to go out. Then I was with Mr. D. and had Nicky to care for.

Now, I spend most of my time looking after Nicky, but when she isn't here, I will do whatever I like. It's not that I'm even doing anything bad. You have read the worst (?) of my exploits to date, and really, since that failed experiment, I've been a very good girl. I go to the pub occasionally, I play pool, I drink a little - not a lot - and I have fun. Nothing wrong with that. I'm not tired of it yet, and until I am, its my life and I'll do as I bloody well please.

Perhaps I should take on board how angry this has made me. If I really wasn't concerned about the opinions others had of my lifestyle at the moment, I wouldn't be getting so angry about it, would I.

I would love the strength of character to really not give a stuff, but I am aware that it's part of my makeup, I really do care. My intention is never to make those around me upset or uncomfortable, but at the same time, I think I've hit a point in my life where I just have to bite the bullet and do what I need to do for me. This is it. I need to experience that freedom for a while.