Closet Confidence and Shazzer Shimmies
After having a good long think last night about present and past shit that kept me awake much longer than I intended, I woke up with a new outlook.
My happy-glow of utter joy and bliss, of feeling like nothing can hurt me because I have this shield of untouchable confidence and happy is gone. But I am not letting that get me down.
I got a new dress yesterday. It was one of the dresses for my Transformation that was shot down for a costume. But it fit so well, and looked so cool, and needed to be transferred to a new owner for sake of room at the annex so much that it was given to me.
A little while ago I put it on again and reveled in the figure it gave me. It's so bright and sparkly, and so different from things that people wear nowadays (probably because it's from the early nineties or eighties) and it just fits me. I walked around the house a couple of times (seeing as walking from one end of my house to the other takes all of five seconds), strutting my stuff and wishing I had those silver stilettos that the costume queen told me about.
'This," I decided 'is just the beginning.'
Not too many people have seen my closet. For a girl who doesn't go to dances and wears jeans on a regular basis I have a surprising number of dresses and skirts.
Feeling like a grown-up child I proceeded to try on nearly every dress I owned.
The new one, then the one which it reminded me of that I got nearly a year ago. It's my black and white dress, and while it doesn't fit as well, it is still groovy. The black one that goes to my ankles and just needs to be a bit tighter in the chest area (seriously, if I had cleavage that neckline would be killer). The magenta one that is just simple and long, no sequins or laces or anything.
I left my choir dresses alone, seeing as I have worn them this year for concerts, and my bridesmaid dress because it is too much of a hassle to get it in and out of that plastic bag thing.
Finally, I got into the beach-halter dress that I got over winter break. The sheer fact that I own anything beachy is doubly amazing, seeing as I hate the beach in all of it's sun-soaked splendor.
I felt good in every one of those dresses, and the last one (which I tried on for a lark and bought because it was one of those dresses that you put on and it just hugs you like an old friend and looks fan-fucking-tastic on your otherwise thin frame) I kept on.
Hell, I'm wearing it right now. I threw my hair up into a high ponytail and washed the dishes like that. Then, when I was done with that, I used the limited space in my living room as a dance floor and did what I could remember of the combination from Saturday, with lots of hip thrown in.
"I am awesome," I thought.. And for once I looked down at my legs and didn't think they looked like they belonged on a chicken. I didn't think my hips looked weird, or my chest looked flat. And fuck all of that, I've got plenty of other qualities.
I called up rat bastard like I promised myself I would today. I (not surprisingly) got voice mail. But who the hell cares? I called him up, unafraid of talking to him.
From now on, I'm being honest. If the subject comes up, I'll tell him he's a fucking contradictory fuckwit and even if I'm indecisive, at least I have some idea of what I want. I don't say one thing and do another, I don't label something as one thing for one girl and then go off and say it's a completely different thing with another.
He's a fuckwit. And seeing as my inner-Shazzer came back, I don't bloody need him at all. I've got my iTunes to dance and shimmy too (which I did right before sitting down to write this, and I'm snapping my fingers and swaying to the songs as I type this), and a night of rehearsal to look forward to.
Damn, I wish I was in an adult show so I could show up in my dress. It's a tad bit low cut (in the front and back) to parade in front of the kiddies.
But today has told me something. I realized the real-world symbolism of all my dresses and skirts being in the closet. All the things which make me feel feminine and free are all buried away in the closet. They're back where no one can see them, hidden away.
I need to bring them out. I need to come out of the confidence closet more often. My senior year is coming up, damnit, who is going to judge me? Except the other seniors, but who the fuck cares? I don't speak to all of them and most of them I'll never see again. And rat bastard won't be there, which should definitely help my confidence shine forth.
I'm coming out of the closet, damnit. Next year, and starting this summer, I will let all those nifty clothes get shown to the world. I will not be trampled on, by the world or myself.
(Insert war cry here)
My happy-glow of utter joy and bliss, of feeling like nothing can hurt me because I have this shield of untouchable confidence and happy is gone. But I am not letting that get me down.
I got a new dress yesterday. It was one of the dresses for my Transformation that was shot down for a costume. But it fit so well, and looked so cool, and needed to be transferred to a new owner for sake of room at the annex so much that it was given to me.
A little while ago I put it on again and reveled in the figure it gave me. It's so bright and sparkly, and so different from things that people wear nowadays (probably because it's from the early nineties or eighties) and it just fits me. I walked around the house a couple of times (seeing as walking from one end of my house to the other takes all of five seconds), strutting my stuff and wishing I had those silver stilettos that the costume queen told me about.
'This," I decided 'is just the beginning.'
Not too many people have seen my closet. For a girl who doesn't go to dances and wears jeans on a regular basis I have a surprising number of dresses and skirts.
Feeling like a grown-up child I proceeded to try on nearly every dress I owned.
The new one, then the one which it reminded me of that I got nearly a year ago. It's my black and white dress, and while it doesn't fit as well, it is still groovy. The black one that goes to my ankles and just needs to be a bit tighter in the chest area (seriously, if I had cleavage that neckline would be killer). The magenta one that is just simple and long, no sequins or laces or anything.
I left my choir dresses alone, seeing as I have worn them this year for concerts, and my bridesmaid dress because it is too much of a hassle to get it in and out of that plastic bag thing.
Finally, I got into the beach-halter dress that I got over winter break. The sheer fact that I own anything beachy is doubly amazing, seeing as I hate the beach in all of it's sun-soaked splendor.
I felt good in every one of those dresses, and the last one (which I tried on for a lark and bought because it was one of those dresses that you put on and it just hugs you like an old friend and looks fan-fucking-tastic on your otherwise thin frame) I kept on.
Hell, I'm wearing it right now. I threw my hair up into a high ponytail and washed the dishes like that. Then, when I was done with that, I used the limited space in my living room as a dance floor and did what I could remember of the combination from Saturday, with lots of hip thrown in.
"I am awesome," I thought.. And for once I looked down at my legs and didn't think they looked like they belonged on a chicken. I didn't think my hips looked weird, or my chest looked flat. And fuck all of that, I've got plenty of other qualities.
I called up rat bastard like I promised myself I would today. I (not surprisingly) got voice mail. But who the hell cares? I called him up, unafraid of talking to him.
From now on, I'm being honest. If the subject comes up, I'll tell him he's a fucking contradictory fuckwit and even if I'm indecisive, at least I have some idea of what I want. I don't say one thing and do another, I don't label something as one thing for one girl and then go off and say it's a completely different thing with another.
He's a fuckwit. And seeing as my inner-Shazzer came back, I don't bloody need him at all. I've got my iTunes to dance and shimmy too (which I did right before sitting down to write this, and I'm snapping my fingers and swaying to the songs as I type this), and a night of rehearsal to look forward to.
Damn, I wish I was in an adult show so I could show up in my dress. It's a tad bit low cut (in the front and back) to parade in front of the kiddies.
But today has told me something. I realized the real-world symbolism of all my dresses and skirts being in the closet. All the things which make me feel feminine and free are all buried away in the closet. They're back where no one can see them, hidden away.
I need to bring them out. I need to come out of the confidence closet more often. My senior year is coming up, damnit, who is going to judge me? Except the other seniors, but who the fuck cares? I don't speak to all of them and most of them I'll never see again. And rat bastard won't be there, which should definitely help my confidence shine forth.
I'm coming out of the closet, damnit. Next year, and starting this summer, I will let all those nifty clothes get shown to the world. I will not be trampled on, by the world or myself.
(Insert war cry here)