There are some people that intimidate me enough to make me sound like a bitch when talking about them, it’s not a very charming personality trait, but then again I’m only human. I would like to clarify though, that my bitchiness stems solely from a twisted form of admiration. So if you fit in to one of the two types below – I’m sorry, I have most likely badmouthed you in the past or at the very least thought some less than decent thought about you.
The first type is the prissy princess that isn’t prissy at all. She’s cool and collected, smooth and elegant. She knows her wines, her art and literature and is of course an eloquent speaker that easily makes friends with all kinds of people. It’s the girl that can walk around a whole summer day in white crispy clothes and by the end of it look, well like when she stepped out the door in the morning. Her hair silky smooth and in place, her make-up pristine and not a trace of sweat or flushness on her face. She walks in heels like she were barefoot and no matter how cheep her clothes are they always look like quality garments.
The second type is the relaxed hippie girl. She’s the girl that makes backpacking and sleeping in a tent for a Woodstock-type of festival while looking great seem like the easiest thing in the world. She’s mellow and easygoing, talks to everybody and gets intimidated by nobody. It’s the girl that rocks cargo pants and a white tank top as if it were designer exclusives. She laughs loudly and drinks beer with the guys while keeping her femininity intact. She doesn’t do the flushed and sweaty look either, but if she did she’s just look natural and beautiful, and as she doesn’t need make-up or hair-products to look amazing there’re no worries about making either stay in place.
The thing is these two types (whom I know plenty of girls that fit in to by the way!) make me feel like a mess or an uptight square respectively. I can’t relax and take beer because it tastes despicable and I always squirm out of having to buy the wine to any social occasion knowing I might end up buying cooking wine. My clothes are either too cheep-looking and wrinkly or too put together and matched. I get tongue-tied when trying to talk to anyone I haven’t talked to at least 50 times before and even the simplest conversation topics become to difficult to handle. I mean, I don’t really get much of the modern art out there and while loving to read I don’t think neither The Hunger Games nor the latest Nickolas Sparks novel is what people call “good literature”, and don’t even get me started on music – how am I suppose to come across as an intelligent (or at the very least not a ditsy teenager) woman in her late twenties while confessing that my Taylor Swift playlist on Spotify has been playing on repeat the last couple of weeks? And even if I could somehow fake my way too seeming like I’m not a complete dork inside you just need to see me on a semi-hot day walking out of my apartment, I promise you, all it takes is a couple of steps and all efforts gone into brushing my hair (which I don’t incidentally, but you know what I mean…) and carefully applying make-up is lost, I’m red as a tomato, glistening with sweat and the hair has curled and flying every which way.
Anyway, this wasn’t really supposed to be a “bash Arlen” post – I mean, maybe I could change, if I really tried, but why would I? I absolutely love my sappy “Americanized” (yes that’s supposed to be an insult) romance books (or movies) and how else am I supposed to dinner if not while dancing around to Taylor’s amazing songs? And I guess if I really had to bring wine to a dinner there’s always Rosé right? But darn it, I do wish I knew the secret to not looking flustered and sweaty on summer days.
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