The week ended Thursday by spending time with a few close friends and making light of a very trying week at work. Couple of well earned margs and supper. Nice, relaxing and fun to catch up a bit. We’re all so busy these days.

The weekend began Friday night by being a bit adventurous and attending a good-bye party for an acquaintance. Normally wouldn’t go but feeling a bit claustrophobic. What the hell? Do something you wouldn’t normally do, right? Promised a friend I’d go along and take her home if needed in exchange for her spare bed so the 30 mile drive wouldn’t be so painful in the wee hours of the morning. Go out have a good time. Still feeling like I need a couple stiff drinks. Dancing. Need to shake it loose a bit.

Met some great people. Most I’ve talked to on the phone or thru e-mail. Finally able to put the name or voice with a face. After a few drinks, conversation soon turned to (what else) men, relationships, dates gone bad, and life’s little lessons as the guys shot pool, played darts and fetched the drinks. Good to know my experiences are not abnormal and as funny/pathetic as the others.

I zoned a bit I guess, and thought how I do so love being with other women sometimes. Women I admire for having the balls to get the job done. Strong, capable and funny. So funny. Wise.

What? Me? Huh? Talkin’ to me girlfriend? Whoops….back to reality…

“I’ll take you shopping, you’d really look better if you wore something more flattering. Guys really like cleavage so your really need a wonderbra it would make you look more proportionate. They never notice once they’re drunk anyway. You have beautiful salt and pepper hair but a different cut would be so attractive on you. And beautiful features but makeup would hide some of your wrinkles. You need contacts, the glasses detract from your eyes. I’ll work on your mouth, you’re way too gruff and honest. I’ll work on your self esteem. You really need some attitude.”

It’s not the first time I’ve been told I could be “more” if I’d only take their advise…

Great, just great. Does wonders for the self esteem. I’m everyone’s pet project? Just fuckin’ shoot me. Why do I want to be more? More what? I don’t wear makeup. Like my long hair. I dress for my comfort and playing in the dirt. I trip in heels. Contacts hurt my eyes. My boobs are beautiful without a bra. My wrinkles are part of me, my life experience. I rely more on honesty than pretty words. And I already have a fuckin’ attitude.

I my struggles in recent months I’ve had few a occasions of not being comfortable in my body and with who I am. But, I’m still angry and hurt. Angry at words I consider cruel, hurtful. Disillusioned that I thought these woman were friends.

We didn’t go dancing. I didn’t have to take her home. Or spend the night. I didn’t bug out early. I laughed like hell and had another drink.

It’s why I don’t do the girls club.
I’ll take my men friends any day, even if I’m always the friend and never the lover…