Fashion Advice From a Fat Girl

January 31, 2014January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

You may think that someone of my size couldn’t possibly know anything about fashion, let alone be in the position to give out advice, but let me assure you, I’m quite qualified.

Think about it.

I’m a person that society doesn’t want to even look at it. I’m not supposed to even leave the house and inflict my fat self upon them. But if I have to leave to do things, could I at least cover up in some sort of burka type ensemble so they can just see me as the shapeless blob we all know I am. (This is not a slight on those who wear burkas, by the way; just the only example of head-to-toe clothing I could think of at the moment.)

The fashion rules aren’t written for a person of my size.

But since the fashion “rules” are a made-up, bullshit concept to begin with, don’t you think you should be taking advice from someone who makes up her own? Damn skippy.

Lucky for you, I only have two rules to follow.

Rule #1-Dress for yourself

To head off any “buts” right at the beginning, I understand that sometimes you will want to dress for a partner or to attract the attention of a certain someone. Wearing your husband’s favorite outfit or wearing a shirt you look dynamite in to attract the attention of a cute girl is fine. So long as you are also dressing for yourself.

What I mean by that is wearing what you want to wear. That’s it. You feel more confident in clothes that you like, that you’re comfortable in, that you want to be sporting. And because you’re rocking out your way, you automatically look better than you would if you tried to wear stuff that society’s fashion rules tell you to wear.

When I was in my early twenties, I wore purple lipstick, pro-wrestling t-shirts over prom dresses, combat boots, had my eyebrows pierced, and colored my hair all sorts of colors. People said I did it to get attention and didn’t believe me when I said that I didn’t. No doubt I attracted attention. When you look like that, people notice. But I looked that way because that’s the way I wanted to look. I thought I looked good like that. It was the look I wanted to rock.

The picture at the top of the post? That’s what I look like today, right now, as I’m typing (okay, not as I’m typing as it is obviously a bathroom selfie, but you get the point). I’m wearing a bright red and orange flannel over a black cami, dark wash bootcut jeans, and combat boots (I love combat boots; it is a pure love). Yesterday I wore a blue cableknit poncho over a white longsleeved t-shirt (both of which my youngest niece picked out for me for Christmas).

I will wear skinny jeans. I will wear boots with my denim pencil skirt and tights. I will wear a bright purple scarf with my olive shirt dress. I will wear red owl socks with my gray owl sweater over a blue buttoned down shirt.

I wear it because I like it and that’s what I want to wear that day. I dress for myself.

Rule #2- Wear clothes that fit

I cannot stress this rule enough because it’s very important.

I’m not just talking about clothes that are too tight either. Honestly, I don’t know how that’s comfortable for anyone when their t-shirts are constricting movement and their pants are cutting off their circulation. This isn’t just for the big folks either. Just because you’re skinny doesn’t mean you get a free pass to look like you’ve swaddled yourself in a boa constrictor going in for the kill.

On the flip side, don’t wear clothes that are too big. I realize, particularly for big girls, people do this to hide their bodies because society has shamed them for their size. Well, let me put this in bold print and all caps: YOU ARE FOOLING NO ONE. You can throw a circus tent over an elephant, but baby, there’s still an elephant in that tent and everybody knows it.

Clothing should fit. Even if you’re just doing a t-shirt and jeans, they should FIT.

The ass of your jeans shouldn’t be sagging, they shouldn’t be dragging the ground, you shouldn’t be hiking them up all the time. They shouldn’t be so tight that you can’t sit down without unbuttoning them, that every ounce of fat from below the waist is spilling out over the top because it has no place else to go. You shouldn’t be in danger of your skirt falling down or hiking up.

Your shirt shouldn’t be so tight that it’s a twenty minute wrestling match to get it on and then you spend the rest of the day pulling it down. It shouldn’t be so big that a family of four could camp in it either.

Think skim. Your clothing should skim your body. Loose enough to be comfortable, but tight enough so you don’t look like a slob. Even if you’re slumming it in a ratty t-shirt and jeans that have more holes than a prairie dog village and stains from unidentified sources on them, you automatically look less like a lazy, dirty grub if they fit.

So if you weight 300 pounds and want to rock a belly shirt, by all means, do so, just make sure that shirt is the right size. Jeans, too. A good bra is also a must, but that’s another post (it’s a Holy Grail quest, fellas). All about the booty shorts? Terrific. Make sure that those booty shorts aren’t so tight that they’re squeezing the booty out of the top.

Remember the rules.

And don’t let anyone shame you for what you wear.

Those folks should be ashamed for being such assholes in the first place.

My Yearly Descent Into Madness aka Christmas Season

November 8, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

Oh yes. That time of year after my beloved Halloween ends and the jolly faithful completely skip over Thanksgiving and go right to shoving tinsel down my throat.

That time of year when Christians start screaming at me to say “Merry Christmas” but then tell me I’m not allowed to celebrate THEIR holiday (though if I’m going to be honest, folks on my FB started that crap in September; you know who you are). Nothing puts me in the mood to love my fellow humans quite like it.

That time of year when my horror films are replaced with saccharine holly jolly flicks about what a wonderful time of year it is. Six weeks of syrup drizzling all over my channels.

That time of year when Christmas songs start creeping into the playlists on the radio and in stores, gradually building until that’s all you hear because somehow people think that six weeks of this music will put everyone into the spirit instead of driving folks, particularly the poor folks working in retail, to homicide.

That time of the year when most people become obsessed with shopping and deals and getting and spending. So this is more retail PTSD, but when you’ve dealt with as many nasty, rude people as I have all for the sake of some joyous gift-giving holiday, your dislike of crowds, shoppers, and materialism becomes part of your fight-or-flight response.

That time of year when I’m subjected to false-cheerfulness and ho-ho-ho and very special episodes and endless commercials for toys and elves and Santa and white chocolate and peppermint in EVERYTHING.

Oh yes. That time of year.

I wish we could keep Christmas in December so I can eat my damn Thanksgiving turkey in peace.

About Kids…I’m Good, Thanks

April 1, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

When I was younger, in my early 20’s, I thought that I’d end up having kids like all of my friends. It was kind of an expected thing. I figured eventually I’d get the hang of the relationship thing and then there’d be kids.

Of course, that didn’t happen.

As I got older, I moved more and more towards the fence that divides the “I want kids” and the “I don’t want kids” yards. For the last couple of years, I’ve been firmly sitting on that fence. But in a gap between the posts because I like to be comfortable.

And recently, I finally took my first steps into the “I don’t want kids” yard.

So now I have to explain myself because there’s nothing that brings out the villagers with their torches and pitchforks with the intent of burning someone at the stake like a woman that doesn’t want to have children.

First and foremost, I like kids. I like babies. I like toddlers. I like teenagers when I have the option of smacking them upside the head. My saying that I don’t want kids isn’t a declaration of war against them or parents. I like kids. I also like koalas and tigers, but that doesn’t mean I want one of my very own. I must admit, being an aunt is great. I can have the kids and then I can give them back. Like going to the zoo.

Like I said, a lot of my friends have kids. My Facebook friends and Twitter followers have kids. I grew up in a daycare. I am more than aware how great kids can be. I’m also very aware that they’re a lot of work. And I admit, I’m not sure that it’s work I want to do. I could do it, I know that. But I’m not sure I want to.

Facebook has been particularly helpful with this. I see the people on my list bitching about the schools and the doctors and the hospitals and other kids and other parents and I think to myself, “Bullet dodged, Matrix style”. I don’t think I have the patience or the energy to go dealing with that crap and I certainly don’t want to be the person that bitches about it. It sounds like a real drag.

Now, here’s the thing.

Just because I’m in this yard doesn’t mean I’ll stay here.

I don’t like to rule things out. It makes me nervous not to have choices.

It’s entirely possible that I could meet someone that would like to have kids with me. And I would be open to that idea. If I had a partner that was willing to do the work with me, being a parent would look a little more appealing. And since I’m not one of those women insistent on having the kid myself (I’m squimish about pregnancy anyway; Alien made a great impact on my life), acquiring a kid by other avenues means that my fertility (or my partner’s) isn’t an issue.

What I’m saying is that it’s entirely possible that I might one day jump the fence again.

But for now, about the kids, no thanks.

That Personal Line

February 4, 2013January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I mentioned in my last Megalomania post that I’ve got an imaginary line drawn in some imaginary sand in regards to what I will and will not share on the blog. And I will be the first to admit that it’s a confusing, variable line. More like a squiggle, really.

I have no trouble letting the world know that there are a lot of bad words that apply to me, but I shy away from really getting into the extent to which they apply. For example, I’m paranoid and I know it, but I hesitate to get into how paranoid I can be and what things I can be paranoid about. I want you to take my word for it, I suppose. To go into any more detail is just too revealing. It opens up the thick skin I’ve developed just a little too much.

There are things that other people would consider personal that I have no trouble talking about. My boobs for instance. I’ve done several blog posts about my boobs and my reduction surgery. Ask me any question about my titties and more than likely, I’ll have an unembarrassed answer ready for you. While some women (most women, dare I say) would consider their bosoms to be off-topic, mine have been sliced and stitched and pierced and seen and drawn on, so there’s really no secrets left for them to have. I might as well talk about them.

But ask me about what I’m writing right now and I’ll probably be pretty vague in my answer (once I get over the shock of someone asking me what I’m writing because that doesn’t happen very often). It’s partially a jinx thing. I’m afraid I’ll jinx myself by talking about a project that’s not ready to be talked about. It’s also a personal thing. To talk about what I’m writing is to open myself up for judgment and I think I get judged enough as it is.

Hell, it’s only been recently that I’ve started to really come clean and willingly offer up that I am a writer. Period. Everything else I do is to support that career goal. It’s made for some interesting job interviews.

I’ll talk all about being single and bisexual and that sort of thing, but don’t ask me who I’m attracted to or who I have a crush on now because you’re not going to get that from me. I even shy away from admitting to celebrity lusts. That sort of thing, I think, shows too much of my heart and I’d really rather not have it broken. Or even bruised. Give me a writing rejection over a personal rejection any day.

I imagine it’s confusing for people reading this blog. She’ll talk about this, but not that. Hey, I thought she was supposed to be honest. Why won’t she say this, this, and this?

I can only say so much, you know? And I don’t want to talk about what makes me uncomfortable. Because that gets transmitted in the post and I don’t want to make any of the few folks reading this blog uncomfortable, too.

I’m awkward enough in my life. I need one place where I’m not. Let that place be here.

Hopefully, you guys don’t feel awkward here, too.

Pessimistic Pete

November 5, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 1 Comment

When I was little, my mom used to call me Pistol Pete (no, I don’t know why; my family is random like that). Pessimistic Pete probably would have been a better nickname. At least a more accurate one.

Yes, I have a tendency towards pessimism. If you believe in astrology, then you can chalk up this trait up to being a Capricorn. If you don’t, then, I dunno, chalk it up to reinforcement or self-fulfilling prophecy if you believe in psychology.

I wouldn’t call myself overly pessimistic. Mostly I’m a realist and that makes me seem more pessimistic. That’s because I look at my past to help determine my realistic possibilities in the future and my track record isn’t that great. I hope for the best, expect the worst, and I’m delight if things turn out okay. That’s because rarely (so rarely that I can’t really remember any examples) do I get the best. I don’t usually even get the good. The bad is more likely and I know it’s more likely and because I know it’s more likely and that’s what I tend to expect, then I’m seen as quite the downer.

People have told me to think positively and you know, I do. Like I said, I hope for the best. In my head, I focus on the good, the positive and I try to project that energy. But there’s a part of me that knows no matter how hard I try to think positively, I do not attract positive energy. I just don’t.

I work at being less pessimistic. I try not to think of the worst FIRST. I focus on the good and the positive and then slowly let in reality until I get a decent, realistic expectation. I try to keep the overly negative thoughts out of the mix. But there are times when I’m prone to excessive pessimism. Sometimes I think EVERYTHING will end badly. Rocks fall, everyone dies.

It’s these times that I look at the state of things. I look at my mess of a life. I look at the financial hole I dug trying to pursue a career. I look at the decisions I’ve made and the risks I’ve taken with little or no support and/or not enough planning. I look at the physical ideals imposed upon women that I’ll never meet. I look at the responsibilities that I’ve taken on that never should have been foisted on me in the first place (and God forbid I should have refused them or else be labeled as selfish). I look at all of this stuff and more and I think “This is the life I’ve created. There is no hope here. There’s no point in being optimistic. This is it.”

I don’t like those times. I feel very alone during those times. I feel very tired during those times. And I feel very frustrated at those times because as tired and alone as I feel, as much as I want to say “fuck it” and drive on, just accept my reality and trudge through it until the end, I know I won’t. Because there’s something in me that won’t give up. There’s a little part of me that struggles and insists on looking on the bright side and striving FOR that bright side.

It’s annoying little bit of me, to be sure.

In the end, though, I’m glad it’s there. It puts the pessimism back in its cubby and insists that I get my head out of the self-pity oven and get on with it. There’s no time for this shit. I’ve got some living to do.

So, yes, I am pessimistic and have a tendency to be overly pessimistic sometimes, but I’m not nearly as pessimistic as you think I am. Because I fight not to be.

Aren’t you glad I haven’t surrendered?

A Word About My Politics

October 22, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I typically don’t talk politics. I find the conversations become unpleasant and anything but enlightening. Truly I think they bring out the stupid and make me change my opinions about people too frequently.

That all being said, I think I should explain a little bit of my political position so at the very least I have something people have a basic understanding of where I stand.

First of all I identify as an independent since I have no desire to belong to any party. I like the sound of it. In-dee-pen-dent. Free. I’m not bound by the rules of a party. No party lines to follow. I don’t suffer any second hand candidate embarrassment. I’m not compelled to vote for a particular candidate just because they’re on my “team” (a huge fallacy we’ve got going on with voters here; they’ve got government confused with sports). I’ve voted for Democrats and Republicans and Independents and Green Party members. All on the same ballot once. It was glorious. I vote for whoever I want to and for my own reasons. I have a nice, objective view of the races. I like it.

Second of all if anyone asks, I say I’m a moderate. I ride that line. I admit to being more conservative on some issues and more liberal on others, but overall, I’m in the middle. People can get pretty aggravated about that, demanding I pick a side. Sorry, scooter. I found me a really comfortable dip in this fence and that’s where I’m sitting.

Lastly, this isn’t a challenge. I have no desire to convert you to my way of thinking and I’d appreciate the same respect. I’m also not spouting this off to somehow say how much better I am than you because of my politics. Aside from the fact that you don’t really KNOW any of my political beliefs since I haven’t actually articulated much past generalities and labels, my politics are a small part of who I am. And by stating these basic facts about myself I’m not by any means calling you out. This is just for general knowledge purposes.

I’ve found that general knowledge helps prevent unfortunate assumptions. Even the bare basics helps.

Politics fall into the category of my personal beliefs. I don’t feel the need to bray about them and I don’t think that braying about them makes them anymore real. If I’m not in the market to change minds (when it comes to politics, I prefer to point out logic train derailments), then there’s no need for me to be spitting into the wind. I’m not compelled to add to the noise, particularly during this extra loud presidential campaign.

However, if you ask, I’ll probably answer. And if you’re an ass about how and what I answer, then your questioning privileges will be revoked. Probably rudely.

Remember, I’m not bound by niceties either.

Bi Bi, Baby, Bi Bi

October 15, 2012September 15, 2021 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

I’m bisexual.

I’ll allow you all a minute to process what that means to you before I get into what it ACTUALLY means.

Being bisexual means that I am sexually and romantically attracted to men and women. I was once challenged in high school that I couldn’t be bisexual because I’d never slept with a woman. If that were how it works, then I couldn’t have been a heterosexual at the time because I’d never had sex with a man at that point either. But that’s not how it works.

Being bisexual brings up some interesting stereotypes.

One is that I don’t exist. People who claim to be bisexual are just confused. In a society so obsessed with labels and the concept of either/or, all or nothing, bisexuality is a mind-boggle. I have to be attracted to either men or women. I can’t be attracted to both. And in this world, adherence to convention would be preferred. But if I were a lesbian that would be okay because at least then I would make a COMMITMENT to a choice. For some reason the idea that I could be attracted to both sexes is considered impossible.

Speaking of commitment, therein lies another stereotype. That because I’m bisexual (if you believe in that sort of thing), I can’t be in a committed relationship. I am somehow unsatisfied if I were to pick one partner because I’d always be yearning for the opposite. The problem with this idea is that it has nothing to do with sexuality and everything to do with monogamy. I know some perfectly straight people and some perfectly gay people who couldn’t be in a committed relationship if you tied them to someone. I’ve personally gotten to the age and experience that commitment to ONE person is my ideal.

You may be wondering why I’ve never brought up my sexuality before. I’ve talked about my dealings with men before, but not women.

Well, first of all, it’s none of your damn business and I’ll mete out information about myself as I see fit. Second of all, my dealings with women have been fewer, but no less confusing, awkward, and difficult than my go-rounds with men. While I’m more trusting of a woman flirting with me than I am a man (in other words, if I realize they’re hitting on me, I don’t automatically chalk it up to them looking for an easy score, they’re joking, or it’s because I’m the only single girl in the room), I’m as clueless as a man when dealing with them in relationships. I’ve also been witness to a few sour women break-ups. That alone has been enough to make me tread extra carefully.

Lastly, I’m not exactly in the closet, but I’m not sure everyone knows. In fact, when I did let my parents in on the fact that I was bisexual, they were actually both shocked that I wasn’t a lesbian. So there ya go. But still, there are certain friends and family members that might not be too thrilled with my sexuality.

Which raises another fun point.

If I date a man, I’m okay. If I date a woman, I’m a lesser human being. Isn’t that strange? Nothing else about me changes. Not my personality, not my weight, not my eye color, not my job. Just my relationship. And that one little thing determines if I can go about life peacefully or if I get people coming up to me in the mall to tell me I’m an abomination (it’s happened!).

Think about that, kids. How would you like the value of your existence, whether or not you’re entitled to the same benefits as everyone else, whether or not your family LOVES you, whether or not your friends will associate with you dependent upon who you’re fucking? Nothing else about you changes. Everything about you is the same. But making that one relationship choice, dating that one person, changes everything about how people feel about your and treat you. Just that one little thing.

Amazingly fucked up, isn’t it? Not very fair, huh?

Welcome to my world.

Fat Telling

October 8, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ 2 Comments

So a viewer emailed a news anchor in LaCrosse, WI to let her know that she was fat and as a someone on TV it was her responsibility to not be fat in order to set an example to the young people.

That’s my snarky summary. You can read the whole thing (and see video) here.

The whole incident brought up the topic of bullying, but that’s not why I’m bringing it up. That topic is best left discussed by people who are not me.

I’m bringing it up because this is actually a common occurrence for fat people. You don’t even have to be on TV to have it happen. For whatever reason, people feel it is not only acceptable but also their DUTY to tell fat people that they are fat.

I’m not talking about the assholes that scream “FAT ASS!” across crowded malls and streets. I’m talking about the people like this gentleman who sent in the email. There’s nothing overtly offensive in his email. He just felt that perhaps this news anchor COMPLETELY MISSED THAT SHE’S OVERWEIGHT AND SOMEONE SHOULD POINT IT OUT TO HER. She addresses that in fact.

You might think it’s stupid (and you’d be right), but there are people out there that think I don’t know I’m fat unless they point it out to me. Seriously. They think I might have been trucking right along in my life thinking I was normal or average or worth a shit and it totally escaped my attention that I was FAT. And if that person didn’t tell me, I’d just continue living my life in some sort of oblivion.

Well, allow me to put a lot of minds at ease. Fat people know they’re fat. And there’s also a good chance that fat people understand the health implications of being fat, the HUGE societal implications of being fat, and every diet in existence. You don’t have to tell us. We know.

But see, that’s not REALLY what it’s about. It’s not that fat people live in some sort of ignorance that they don’t realize they’re fat. It’s that people think that if they don’t remind fat people that it’s WRONG to be fat, we might forget and continue being fat.

That’s what this guy was doing when he emailed the news anchor. He was reminding her that it’s wrong to be fat and because she’s on TV it’s EXTRA wrong because she’s now displaying her fatness to more people. And somehow, because she hasn’t changed her fatness, it’s poisoning the minds of the young girls by letting them know it’s OKAY to be fat and, as society is quick to point out, BEING FAT IS WRONG.

Thin people might have to deal with strangers telling them to “eat a sandwich”, but it’s not implied that their existence is in violation of the Universe. Mine is.

I don’t need you to tell me I’m fat. I know. And I’m not going to change just so you’ll feel more comfortable. Changing my appearance might make me visually less offensive to the rest of society, but I’m afraid my personality will remain just as revolting and vile to you. I could lose 150 pounds, but I’d still be a “fat bitch”. Like the lovely news anchor said, there’s more to me than a number on the scale.

I know I’m fat. Do you know you’re an asshole? Tell me I’m fat and I’ll return the favor.

“I’m judging you all. Harshly.”

September 17, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I posted that on my Facebook the other day. This was after just about everyone had to run their mouths about the sad events in Libya. And it was true. I was judging everyone harshly. And I posted it because it was just easier to get right to the point rather than try to construct a witty few sentences that inoffensively said the same thing. I didn’t want that point to be missed.

I am judging you all harshly. I do it every day. I judge your decisions. I judge your morals. I judge your actions. I judge your words. I judge your clothing choices. I judge everything about you. Harshly.

Now, here’s the twist.

When most people think about judging other people or other people judging them, they tend to think about it terms of good and bad. People are judging you to be good or bad. You’re a good person or a bad person. You’re a success or a failure. You’re right or wrong.

When most people think about judging other people or other people judging them, they also tend to judge in relation to themselves. Is this person better or worse than me?

When I judge people…I just judge people.

I don’t think much in terms of good or bad. Are you someone I want to know or not? That’s basically what it boils down to. I’ve known some totally worthless people in my time. Drunk. Never had a pot to piss in. Constantly fucking up in life. But I liked them. They were funny, caring, interesting people. I wouldn’t ask them to do anything for me, wouldn’t trust them to take a dollar and not spend it on booze, but they were all right.

And then there are those with the spit and polished life of perfection that have the successful career and the college education and the spouse and the children and the church commitments and the everything and I wouldn’t want to spend one minute with them.

No one is exempt from this. I judge EVERYONE. Constantly. Harshly. Family, friends, former classmates, Twitter followers, strangers, whatever. Everybody gets run through the judgmental filter in my brain. Repeatedly.

For me, this constant judgement keeps me conscious of who people are. It’s more of an objective thing in the sense that my opinion of a person only changes in the sense of “do I want to be around this person” rather than “this is a good/bad person”. I can’t judge that. I’m a horrible person when you boil it all down. Far be it from me to make that call.

But I can make the call on how much you get on my nerves. How pleasant do I find you right now? What are you saying? What are you doing? How are you affecting me whether you know it or not?

That’s really why I’m so judgmental. I’m selfish. We’ve already established that in previous blog posts. It’s all about me. How are you affecting me? How is your behavior and your words affecting me? I don’t care what anyone else thinks of you. It’s all about me.

There was a guy I went to school with that everyone liked. He was funny, a good Christian, nice guy, all around good person. Except he didn’t like cats. He didn’t just not like cats. He HATED cats. He once wished that a cat would get killed on the freeway.

He recently passed away very unexpectedly. Many people were eulogizing him on Facebook, talking about what a great guy he was and while I paid my respects as is proper, I don’t think he was that great of a guy. He wished death on an animal because he didn’t like it. That speaks so loudly to me it practically screams. I can’t think of someone as a “good person” when they do stuff like that.

I judged him harshly. I’m still judging him harshly and he’s dead. Anytime someone brings him up all I can think is, “but he once wished death on a cat”.

I’m sure there are going to be a few of my classmates that read this post and take exception to this and no doubt want to tell me that I’m a horrible person. And that’s fine. That’s been established. But, I would like to point out that at no point did I say that I’m happy he’s dead. I’m not. I reserve that sort of thing for a very select group of people and he was most definitely not in that group. What I am saying is that one comment from him, whether he meant it or not (and if he didn’t mean it that doesn’t make him look any better in my eyes), influenced how I judged him from that point on.

That’s just one example. This has happened dozens of times with dozens of people. I judge you on your past and your present. I judge and I judge and I judge.

In fact, I’m judging you right now.

Harshly.

Tales of Money-less Woes

September 10, 2012January 22, 2016 ~ Kiki Writes ~ Leave a comment

I’m having trouble making my ends meet this month. It’s not a good feeling. It’s not something I’m proud of. But it is a fact of my current existence.

There are two very good reasons why I’m having trouble this month. One, this bill period saw 3 1/2 extra bills (car sticker renewal, website renewal, a domain fee for a domain I thought I’d completely deleted but apparently I didn’t and of course that sort of thing isn’t refunded, and a little extra added onto my cell bill because I had to change plans mid-billing cycle). Two, I’ve only started one of my three new day jobs.

Had I not had one or two of the extra bills, I would have been fine. Had I started one or both of my other day jobs, I would have been fine. The combination of the two has me scrambling. If I had a couch, I’d be raiding the cushions for change.

It doesn’t help that sales have been slow the past couple of months. Books sales, jewelry sales, eBay sales, nobody is spending their money on the stuff I’m hocking. That money would have been both welcome and necessary.

Here’s the thing…I know I’ll land on my feet. The bills will get paid. They always do. I’ll find a way. I’m clever and resourceful and I know I’ll find the money I’m missing. Maybe I’ll borrow it. Maybe someone will come through in the clutch and buy something. Maybe I’ll luck out and get a quick odd job. Whatever happens, the bills will get paid.

When I was 22, this was a challenge. I didn’t like it back then, but back then I was 22. I was young. Now I’m 32. I shouldn’t be running into these problems at 32. I shouldn’t be scrounging to pay bills or borrowing money. I should be in a much better place financially and I’m not.

There are a lot of reasons why I’m not and I take responsibility for all of them that are mine. Not holding a regular 9-5 job like other grown-ups is one. My life would be so much easier if I could just be normal and work a 40 hour a week job and get that steady paycheck. But the older I get, the worse I get about submitting to that life. A flexible part-time gig is more my speed. As soon as I get all three of my jobs going, my bills will be paid and I won’t be working more than twenty hours a week.

Being very optimistic about selling myself is another reason I’m broke. I have this stupid idea in my head that people want what I sell. That friends and family know people that want what I sell and will pass my info to those people. The reality is that those people are probably out there, but they aren’t getting word about me. And if they are, they don’t have the money to indulge themselves with my goods. My inherent awkwardness about promoting myself doesn’t help this cause.

I could go on, but I won’t. Nobody needs to see my list of money failures.

And that’s what this is. The culmination of many failures. We’ve already discussed how much of my self-esteem is tied to my bank account. Being called an ugly fat cow can’t even come close to doing the damage to my ego that borrowing money can.

Particularly now. I’m too old for this. I shouldn’t be here. Yet here I am.

With no one to blame but myself.

I’ll get through this month. I’ll get rolling on all of my jobs. I’ll sell a few more things. My bills will return to normal.

And slowly but surely I’ll find some self-worth once again.