ASL? 23, male, my apartment (indefinitely)
I find myself wishing I had the nerve to pursue the dating game again. I’ve been randomly browsing dating websites and finding myself yearning to reach through my screen to pull the geekiest, kindest looking boys right into my living room. (Which makes me realize how much my idea of an ideal boyfriend has changed over the years)
Of course I still like a bad boy with a bod as much as anyone else, but I think I’ve come to realize that I would never be able to feel totally at ease with someone who’s going to put in the effort it takes to look like the douche that everybody envies when I’m purely running on youthful metabolism at this time (and hopefully for a long time!)
I get told time and time again that I’m “literally beautiful” “one of the best looking people [I] know” “like model pretty”. I’ve been approached to do modeling 4 or 5 times (once was local alternative, once was a small artsy/modern kinda business, once by a Holt Renfrew rep., and a couple times online by people wanting me to do a few local runways for their aspiring fashion lines). And I’m humble enough about this that I either reject or ignore every offer.
Beauty is honestly, truly, skin deep. I don’t feel beautiful at all. I don’t feel worthwhile at all.
I have a very long, slender, thin frame. One of the things I love most about my body is my tiny waist and beautiful bone structure. I have broad shoulders, my limbs are long, my cheekbones out of this world, but slathered all over it is this skin that I writhe under. And that’s not to say I have bad skin, I just… I sometimes feel like I am a fat skinny person. Like everyone who sees me sees all the things I would love about myself, but underneath my clothes I see the things that deter me (am I being literal or metaphorical?). My chest for starters–inherited via my father, and his father before him. The largest point of contention in my life. I have never stood proud, shoulders back. I have never taken my shirt off since beginning puberty.
Especially now that I live alone, this affects my life daily. Trying to find clothes to wear that make me feel comfortable enough to brave going outside can be an hour long process. Sometimes longer. Sometimes I decide not to go out at all. Even buying groceries is hard for me. I have a lot of anxiety about people seeing me. I’ve spent so much of my life stocking up on carbs and snack foods, frozen foods, foods with artificial ingredients and a longer shelf life. Why? Because it allows me to stay home for longer. My skin feels like elastic and I’ve never had a lean tight body. I feed myself garbage, how could I expect to have that body? I am the skinny fat person, for as long as my metabolism allows.
I pick apart every little thing about myself and use it as fuel for being alone. My breath reeks–cryptic tonsils. I have awful sebaceous dermatitis–my hair gets so waxy if I’m not diligent and I shed skin cells from my scalp like my cats shed in the spring. My teeth could be whiter, my nose could be more elegant (and it runs a lot because I broke it in kindergarten, which also makes me a mouth breather, yuck), my eyebrows never quite look like they belong.
Even non-physical things.
My mom still does my banking–I’m not frivolous I just don’t know anything about finances. I’m pretty lazy when it comes to doing laundry. My cats are welcome to walk, sit, or lay wherever they please (counter tops and dining tables included). I am incredibly habitual and follow a daily routine, anything out of the ordinary is indelibly stressful. If you’re with me for the long haul you better be prepared to re-watch my favourite movies and replay my favourite video games on a yearly (or so) basis. I’m pretty ambitionless and am rarely motivated to do anything other than sit on my ass (my version of “homebody” for all you online dating folks). I like to think I’d be into adventures and cute dates of laser tag or skating or going to the movies or walking through the park, but I’ll probably wind up passing because it’s too hot to wear a sweater to blanket my insecurities within.
Oh yea, and if we eat too close to bed time or I haven’t had a number 2 in a while (also thanks to my dad’s genetics), you can forget about cuddling with me much less doing ANYTHING ELSE.
So if any of this makes me your idea of a perfect partner, hit me up!