Vanity

I decided it was a great idea to drink the entire six pack of rosé last night. I mean, it wasn’t a horrible idea. I’m not one to drink alone though, so I do hold a little guilt in doing it. I got sufficiently buzzed. I listened to music and cleaned and put away laundry. My douche canoe neighbor came home at 11pm, revving his bike and blaring his music. I went outside and yelled at him to knock that shit off – something I rarely do. But I was in a mood. Between the alcohol and the stress from the last couple weeks I dared him to say something. He must have caught it in my tone because he put his bike away and was quiet for the rest of the night.

As I showered (right around midnight, mind you) I realized I was risking having a hangover the next day, and dreaded the thought. The day after a holiday weekend in the 80s was going to be hectic as hell. I don’t do hangovers well, so I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best.

And luck was with me – I woke at 6am just a little groggy with a headache in the front of my head. A glass of water cured it, and I went outside to check on my plants, watered my hanging strawberries and hanging flower basket, attempted to put together a hose holder that had come without the necessary hardware, and gave up and sat on my deck, enjoying the morning. I read today’s quote and began to think on it a little as my quiet little morning moved forward.

“No insect hangs it’s nest on threads as frail as those which will sustain the weight of human vanity.” – Edith Wharton

What a nice way to say that people put too much stock into what other people think of them.

So many people are concerned with the latest fashion and having the nicest car and the nicest house, with being thinner and prettier. . . Don’t say this and don’t do that.

Y’all know how I feel about that.

Fuck ’em.

It took me a long time to get to this point of not wanting to be what everyone thinks I should be.

It took a lot of people giving me their contradicting ideas of what I should be. How I should talk, dress, look, act, think. . .

No thanks.

I like food. I don’t like shopping. So I maintain a weight that keeps me from having to buy new clothes often.

There are too many fucked up things in life for me to not swear about it. So swear words season my speech regularly.

Sometimes it’s hot out and I don’t want to have to cover all of my body parts because I’m not your stereotypical skinny. I used to be embarrassed about the fat on my arms and legs. . . I got tired of sweating my ass off.

I don’t have an image. I have skirts covered in flowers and my favorite tank top says “FUCK IT”. I can dig in the garden and go get a pedicure in the same day.

It’s all based on vanity, this mindset that you have to fit the stereotype. “But I want people to like me!”

Let me tell you, the right people will like you if you’re genuine. Sure, there will be people who won’t. But. . . Do you really need them in your life anyway??

I have friends who don’t like tattoos but support my choice to get them. I have friends who won’t touch dirt, but appreciate that I do. I have girly girl friends and male friends, I have friends that are just like me, so on and so forth. Because I am genuinely me, I only attract people into my life who are also genuine, and who accept me for who I am. And really, isn’t that what you want?

Now, do I have my vanities? Oh, absolutely. If I were to lose a tooth I would call off work, no doubt. I wouldn’t be seen in public minus a tooth. I have standards and respect – I do my hair and make up and dress well for work, I don’t swear around my elders, etc.  I was taught to always go out in public looking respectable, and generally speaking, I do. Sometimes I say fuck it, I’m not in the mood to put in the effort, but as a rule I generally do. There’s a difference in having pride in oneself and respect for others, and trying to fit the status quo, though.

The morale of today’s post is pretty simple. Stop caring what other people think. Their opinions aren’t gonna pay your bills. They aren’t the ones who have to pay for all that makeup and the fancy clothes, and if shit were to hit the fan, can you depend on their opinions to help you out of a rough spot? I bet not.

I’m sitting on my back deck again. Dirt is caked under my nails, my cute purple toenails are similarly covered in dirt. My hair is a mess, I have on a tank top decorated in pineapples and capri yoga pants. I stood, just like this, for over an hour talking to Matt’s dad after he stopped to see grandma. He walked into the backyard, and saw me sitting in the middle of my garden, one hand scooping dirt up and the other holding a marigold, listening to Five Finger Death Punch. He laughed and said, “getting dirty again I see. Fuck that!” He isn’t one to get his hands dirty. But didn’t blink an eye when I stood up, dusted off my ass and walked over to talk to him. During the conversation I would occasionally pick dirt from beneath a finger nail and flick it, and he just kept on talking. Not gonna lie, he used to be one of my biggest critics. But now, not so much. Because I refuse to dull myself down. For anyone.

People will accept you. Or they won’t. And fuck ’em if they don’t. That’s a them problem, not a you problem.

Happy Tuesday. Be unabashedly you.