What A Man Wants

I've had this project going on for a long time, and so far I have yet to be fully successful. Before I can tell you precisely what my project is, I must explain my former physical demeanor.

A little over a year ago, I had platinum blond hair that was big and wavy. I had the perfect California girl tan, with a trim waste and busty chest. I always had my finger and toe nails done to perfection. I wore my make up in a smokey sexy fashion (be it day or night). When it came to my attire, I wore mini-dresses and skirts with heels too high. Beneath my clothing I always wore push up bras to create enchanting cleavage with all of my plunging necklines. I shaved my legs every single day so that they would be baby-butt smooth (whether or not somebody besides myself would be touching them that day). Basically, by traditional California standards, I was beautiful. It couldn't be more obvious, with the haters and cat-calls and all. Plus, everyone (with a penis) seemed to like me.

BUT I DIDN'T LIKE THIS.

I drew up a plan for myself that I seldom spoke of (and when I spoke of it I never referred to it as my plan). I was going to make myself ugly. And the purpose of this? To discover exactly what constitutes attractiveness.

This was so much easier than maintaining a life dedicated to beauty. First things first, I dyed my hair black, and this didn't make a difference in even the smallest of ways. I looked the exact same with different hair, and this is when I realized no one gives a shit about hair color.

My next step was to change my dress attire; I increased the length of my hemlines two-fold! (Whatever that means.) I also started wearing turtle necks in Winter instead of tube tops. (This benefited greatly when it came to the outside temperature.) I also started wearing flats and sneakers more often than heels. As I predicted, this made me seem uglier (per say) and I received less attention from all those penises with bodies attached.

I still thought there was too much attention, so I wore less make up and stopped wearing bras entirely (which doesn't help at all, when breasts jiggle more as you walk it's apparently more attractive). And the make up tactic seemed to be unsuccessful as well.

Now we're at how I look right now sitting in front of my computer. I have glasses and hair shorter than most penis welding males in California. I lost weight so that my breasts would shrink, and now my chest is barely an excuse for tits. I still don't wear bras or very much make up. I now wear high waisted bottoms and loose tops. I try my hardest to look ultimately androgynous (which sometimes works because I have been mistaken for a man on multiple occasions). However, despite the fact that I now have the physical demeanor of a man, real men still think I'm attractive. Thus leading me to conclude that physical appearance is absolutely pointless when you have the one thing all men want: A vagina.

What you see when your brain slows down.

Today there was a moment between 7 and 7:30 AM. I was sunken into my depression, lying on my backyard stoop, wearing an over sized cardigan and nothing else, beneath a 5 dollar Old Navy blanket. This moment was meaningless in every other place around me (assuming no one was shooting anyone around me), but for me this was a grand beauty. Never have I seen the world as such a beautiful place. Never did I love so much.

The clouds were patterned. Those 30 minutes were also the rare 30 minutes of the morning where no one on my street is walking to their cars and starting their engines. It was silence all but the few birds chirping. I remember seeing pigeons on the roof behind my house, and they were beautiful. I hate pigeons, but I thought these particular set of two were miraculous. My dogs were still half asleep nudging and licking at my body, not knowing to avoid the cigarette. And the cigarette was beautiful! It's smoke was eerie and mysterious, making trails in the air. If it could burn longer, it may have asked me to follow its trails to somewhere even more beautiful than my backyard stoop. One dog kissed my face, and it was like the love you feel on ecstasy.

I've never been the type of person with the "reach for the sky" kind of attitude. But today, I reached my hand up, and tried to touch the fucking sky. Only problem is I realized why I never tried before: I knew I couldn't do it. I failed. I was depressed again. And the beauty was lost.