I’m beautiful… it’s true… but, darlin’, it takes work to keep looking good.  The maintenance and chemicals it takes to stay this way, increasingly, cause me to be chronically tardy, somewhat morose and generally unsatisfied.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some hot, brooding shit-head… I love to have a good time.  Having a good time, me being me, is a priority.  In fact, I’m almost always searching for one so, naturally, I end up drinking.  A lot.

Thank god I was born this way.  There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t look in the mirror and say “Thanks for this” to whatever is listening.  Maybe it’s only me and that’s ok too.  My therapist says it’s important to practice gratitude, if not for anything else than for these looks, because they’ve paved an easy way.  Let’s face it, hon, I’m living statistical proof of the axiom that says pretties get all the perks, all the trust, all the allowances.  Uglies are better off dead if they can’t make up for their lack with a winning personality or a kick-ass sense of humor.  It must be hard to have to work so hard only to be viewed sideways with pity or disgust.  I could realistically get away with doing very little as long as my face and body hold out.  Coasting right along.

My morning routine is the most challenging routine of my day.  I have a multiphasic skin and hair care regimen that costs more than my groceries do.  But, it’s not just frivolity; my skin tends to be oily, prone to breakout, so I have to use organic, all natural products that don’t disrupt its Ph.  I don’t do alcohol in skin product and most all of them have it; anyway, that’s the cheap shit that’d magically turn me into a walking, breathing pustule.  My tan’s permanent.  I don’t think I could give up tanning because it helps (a little) with my acne.  These goddamned zits are the only thing keeping me from being “model quality.”  I mean… look at me… perfect plump lips and bleached teeth that were braced through high-school.  My blond hair, straight but with two stubborn cow-licks, is nearly perfect today- it looks neatly tousled but, believe me, it took me over forty five minutes to sculpt.  As you can tell, my hair is no less difficult to navigate than the rest of my body.   Right now, I have this sweet fade into a very relaxed Clark Kent style.  My clothes don’t necessarily have to be new… but they do have to be fitted.  I don’t want to waste this body behind clothes that hide it- I’ve worked too hard.  I like to thrift, although with the bed bug plague I’ve backed off.  I like tailored threads.  Shoes… I’ll spend some money on shoes.  I’m single.  Painfully single.  I wish it was otherwise, darlin’, but sometimes I’m not even sure what I’m looking for.