I told you to ask me some questions on Twitter, and in case you didn’t see – ASK ME YOUR QUESTIONS! I’m opening my life up to the weird and wonderful requests you might have, so feel free to shout them out. There’s the comments below, or you can get in touch via the powers of social media. I want to know your burning questions – about me, love, life, dating, sex, whatever. Tell me what you want to read more of.
Hey lovelies, how’s your day? I had an idea! Do you have Q’s? About me? Sex? Life? I want blog inspo – what do YOU want to read? ?#dating
— NotSoSexintheCity (@notsosexintheci) December 12, 2016
I asked you to ask me questions and one of you lovely lot wanted to ‘paint a picture’ of me but, being anonymous, that’s quite difficult to do. In the spirit of ‘Because I Can’t Write a Novel’ I decided to answer the question whilst re-hashing a post I’d been writing (and re-writing) for what feels like forever. It started out as a ‘things I like about myself’ kinda post, and then turned into an ‘about me’ kinda post, and then I wasn’t sure what it really was. But … I’ve finished it off, edited it, re-edited it, and basically started again from scratch a few times, but here it is:
All About Me
I’m the most generous person you’ll ever meet. I make loads of money sometimes and I throw it away like it’s water. I’d rather have an amazing time surrounded by people I love than go through it all alone, so if someone is skint and I’m not, I’ll be the first person to offer to pay if I can afford it. I’m also often called a ‘mug’ but I like that I’m generous, mug or not.
I get told that I have beautiful eyes a lot. The following is likely to be made up of a series of quotes, taken from past lovers, boyfriends, and friends: I have eyes that you can fall into and never get out of again. Eyes that tell you everything and nothing all at the same time. I don’t make eye contact a lot, and I’m always wearing my glasses or sunglasses. They’re more a fashion accessory (and a barrier from the rest of the world) than necessity, but somehow they make my anxious self feel safe.
I’m short. Five foot two and a half. I used to hate being short, especially as my family are all pretty tall, but now I really, really love it. Good things come in small packages. I’m a good thing. Now I’ve lost weight I can shop in the petite sections of clothing stores. I love it. It’s like I get my very own section, just for me and my ridiculously short legs. 28 inch jeans are usually a bit long if I don’t have wear a heel or roll up the bottoms.
You’ll never know what colour my hair will be next, or what tattoo or piercing I’ll have either. I don’t know either. I don’t think I’m a scarily-pierced person though. My body jewellery is dainty and pretty, and I’m definitely a girlie-girl. I just like pain. And body modding. I’ve always wanted to have scarification work done, but I promised my mother I wouldn’t, and I’ve always dreamed of being suspended. It’s MY body. MY work of art. I’ll do what the hell I like with it. K, thanks.
Both of my legs are inked from the knee down, and I also have tattoos on my back, arms, sternum, fingers (multiple), and I think that’s it. I always forget though. I don’t have any explicit piercings – no clit hoods or nipples for me, and I’m gradually losing the metal over the years. I once had dermal piercings but they grew out. I’ve taken some of my piercings out because I just don’t like them anymore, or I think I’ve grown out of them. My piercings, tattoos, and hair are often what people know me for. In a good way – “She was the chirpy one with the colourful tattoos and all the piercings. Nice girl, shame about what she’s done to herself.” For the record, I absolutely adore each and every one of my body modifications.
I’m an ex self-harmer and I have scars. The worst of them – the ones you can still see a bit – are on the tops of my legs. You’d never know they were there, not unless you looked close, but I can see them. I hate them. I both hate and love them in equal measures because they tell the story of the journey that is my ever-surprising life. And man, what a life it has been!
I really love my legs. I’ve grown to love them more and more as I’ve lost weight too – shapely, not skinny, but not fat either. In heels my legs look utterly amazing. Sometimes I’ll catch myself in the mirror running around in nothing but underwear and heels trying to get ready (because I always start with heels), and I’ll need to stop for a moment and check myself out. I love my legs more and more each day. I also quite love my butt. Or, at least, I’m learning to love my butt. You know how some people get a spotty back, or spotty arms? Well … I get the spotty butt. And I hate it. It’s not as bad as I think it is (because people keep telling me that), but I HATE it. So much so that I smeared neat tea tree oil over my butt once. It burned so much, I lost a few layers of skin. And then the redness was so much more noticeable than the spots (like three of them, none of which were even that big) ever would have been. But, spots aside, I twerk and I squat before bed, so I’m starting to have some love for my butt too. Is it cool to admit that? Well, I just did.
I love my hair, long now, and always changing colour. I was once a natural blonde but I couldn’t tell you what my natural hair colour is now. I could be a unicorn under there for all I know. I hate my arms because I think I’ve got bingo wings, and they’re the one part of me that didn’t “sort itself out” when I lost weight. But even then sometimes I look in the mirror and I don’t think they’re so bad. So I don’t really know. Maybe I just need to buy some cute pink girl weights and quit bitching?
I love my body shape, although I wish it were more toned. I have a classic hourglass – itty-bitty little waist, round hips, a getting-there ghetto booty, and D-cup boobs. Natural ones. I know, I hate myself just saying the words. But do you want to know something? It’s taken me 30 years to appreciate this ever-changing body, and now I’m finally starting to appreciate it. There are bad bits – bits I can’t stand, but there are some good bits in there too. Or at least, there are some parts I quite like.
I suffer with the worst anxiety sometimes, and it’s been really hard for me to go from the war-zone trekking, skydiving, fire-walking lunatic to this timid little mouse. But I was just that – as crazy as my stories. I was the thrill seeker, always looking for the biggest rollercoaster or the next unknown adventure. I was the girl who hopped on a plane for a couple of weeks, visiting her boyfriend on the other side of the world, and didn’t came back again for two years. That’s what I do – that’s what I’m known for. Or, at least, that’s what I used to be known for. Now I’m scared of everything. A three-hour journey to my boyfriend’s house makes me feel more than uncomfortable, and there are times when I have full-on anxiety attacks at the thought of leaving the house. But I’m getting there, I’m battling through it, and I like to think of myself as a recovering anxiety sufferer rather than a sufferer of anxiety … if that even makes sense?
I have size 4/5 feet, and I always have the cutest accessories. I love shoes more than life itself, and when I get ready in the morning I always start from the bottom and work my way up. I’m self-employed, so although there are days when I don’t even manage to drag my lazy ass into the shower, when I get ready, I. GET. READY. Even if I just need to run to town to get cash out, I’ll put a full face of makeup on. I have the kind of lifestyle where I can spend two and a half hours getting ready, so why shouldn’t I? I worked hard for this damn life. Plus I always feel better when my hair and makeup is done. Mask, much?
I don’t have a fashion style. I try something of everything. People tell me I dress weird but it works, and if I’m honest, I really like that. I’ll wear a pretty little summer dress and look really cute, but the reality of the situation is this – a dress is one piece of clothing and I was just too lazy to find two – bottoms and a top. Those cute waves in my hair are just the leftovers of yesterday’s hair. It was a complete fluke that it looked that cute this morning. I team a Primark dress with a Calvin Klein bag happily, and I’ll throw on a pair of £150 shoes to pop to the shops. Weird and wonderful, usually with a slogan tee, and if I could have my Christmas present already, I’d be wearing light-up shoes. That’s me. Bear calls me his ‘rainbow girl’, and that’s really what I am. I’m a rainbow. I’m two people really – split personalities – either a rainbow or a black storm cloud. There is no in between.
But I love me a little bit. I’m so kind, and I’ll offer to help anyone out even though I really don’t want to. I give up my seat for people on public transport, and I’ll help a struggling single mother with her pushchair on the train. I’ll buy homeless people meal deals from Boots because I don’t like the thought of them spending MY hard-earned cash on alcohol or drugs, and I’ll pay-it-forward when I buy a cup of tea from Greggs, putting one hot cuppa on reserve for an elderly person who looks like they deserve a freebie, or for the homeless person that the sales girl has come to know over recent weeks.
I like me now. I’ve gone through some really bad shit to become me, but I like me. I’m a good person. I make stupid decisions, say the wrong thing, and there’s no filter between what’s going on in my head and what comes out of the rest of me, but I’m cool. I don’t lie, I don’t cheat, I don’t steal, I work much harder than most other people I know, and I love life. I may not be living my life right now with the whole anxiety thing, but I’m getting back on track.
But there – there’s your painted picture of me. You might not know what I look like, or maybe you do, but that’s me in a nutshell. Short, usually pink, always bright, occasionally covered in glitter, and nine times out of ten with a lost, bemused little look on her face. Oh, and in one hand she’ll have her Mac, and in the other her iPhone – the two things she positively couldn’t live without. (Even over liquid eyeliner!)
Now tell me all about you!
- Expected word count: 21,671
- Word count today: 2001
- Word count to date: 17,636 (Well … I’m massively behind!)
(Oh, and if you’re wondering what ‘Because I Can’t Write a Novel‘ is all about, click the link to be taken to the full list of one-a-day December posts … )