I just think it’s so stupid when people say you don’t have a choice in who you fall in love with, like it’s something that’s forced upon you.
So I kind of thought creating a blog about being a spinster would in turn change my social status from spinster to flawless career girl, but that has not been the case. In fact, I have spun even farther into the abyss of spinsterhood.
The following is an excerpt from a book I’m writing called, “Skittles for Breakfast”. Chapter Four: Hot Pursuit “You have really pretty eyes. I like the way they look when the sun shines on your face,” he said with that cheesy Disney Channel movie smile. I swallowed my first bite of cafeteria chicken wrap as he waited for my response from across the lunch table. “Shut up, don’t talk to me.” I told him sassily. (Sassily. A word I didn’t think existed until my word processor granted me the right to use it by sparing the red squiggly line of failure).
#1 When I was 12, she once got a guy who worked at the movie theater concession stand fired because he said to me, “Why do you have to be so difficult?” Excuse me sir, but there are three types of pretzels to choose from here and I can’t decide if I want something sweet or salty. In any case, it wouldn’t be the last time a man would say those exact words to me.
The following is an excerpt from my book, “Skittles for Breakfast”… Preface Dear Jayden, Forgive me for the content of this memoir, for I am not one to misplace honesty in the dark. Yours Truly, Robert Losing friends and making enemies has turned out easier than I thought. I much prefer hating everyone while they continue to like and admire me, however, my acts of emotional destruction have brought me to where I am now… happy.
Flaunting a green sash around campus proved to be quite attention getting, something I endorsed to climb the ranks in the High School Hierarchy system. Throughout most of my childhood, I dreamed of one day being crowned Ms. America, but my dose of reality sunk in after my mother said it was inappropriate for an eight year old boy to be wearing high heeled shoes. I then told her that it was inappropriate to be wearing Mom Jeans at the age of twenty eight.
The following is an excerpt from the book I am writing called, “Skittles for Breakfast.” December has always been my favorite month. I even want to grace my first adopted daughter with the name DECEMBER and call her DESEE for short. Sounds ridiculous, but it’s not as bad as the name for my future second daughter, KACI, a name inspired by Kelly Clarkson’s first and last initials.
There is nothing more obnoxious than some attention loving drama queen walking around school on her birthday carrying fifteen hundred balloons (in various colors), a pink wand covered in glitter with a star attached to the top that reads “It’s My Birthday!”, while still managing to hold a pan of half eaten chocolate cake like the way a waitress would when bringing a platter to a table. Well, turns out this year, that bitch is me.
Countless Google searches on hair transplant surgery, cheek implants, jawline surgery, liposuction, teeth surgery, rhinoplasty and eye shape surgery only made me more depressed about my self-esteem. All of these things I wanted to fix about myself began to consume my life. It took a lot of prayers to get me to where I am now, and although I may not be completely comfortable with my face + body, I’ve reached a higher level of acceptance; I’ve accepted myself. We may live in an image driven society but it would be nothing without the people who refused to fall into the dangerous pit of “self-loathing.” So let this be the first time I have ever told anyone, ever, about my battle with accepting the way I look, a struggle beginning at the age of 5, and continuing on into a state of depression just this past year. I contemplated sharing something so personal about myself, especially because I am just now beginning this blog, but I figured I’d do it now while people are still …
spinster |ˈspinstər| noun an unmarried woman, typically an older woman beyond the usual age for marriage. So the definition doesn’t necessarily fit me, but at the same time it fits all too well. I am nowhere close to being a woman, unless of course you’re a stranger on the phone with me, who’s courteous language includes, “yes, ma’am/no, ma’am.” I guess I just sound like a woman. And ‘beyond the usual age for marriage’? That’s not even legal for me yet. Especially not in the hot & lovely state of Arizona. So what is it then? Well, I am a 20-year-old college student who spends his weekends working and catching up on the DVR, with the occasional dinner night out at some restaurant chain that has commercials played on television regularly, sometimes the casual movie goer. I love gas station food a little too much, I post pictures on Instagram almost everyday, just to feel like I’m doing something interesting and hope people care, judge anyone who’s full of themselves, but really just secretly jealous …