Oh Doodle, It'll Be Ok: You Should See My Scars

Scars are sexy. I firmly believe this and don't know that I've ever met anyone who doesn't agree.

But my scars? No.

I'll admit that I'm a biter. But you should never, ever bite someone's scars unless you know it's ok. Asking permission really is better than asking for forgiveness, people. And it's much less likely to slam the brakes on sexy-time and send people home alone.

Scars are both hidden and visible. For the most part, I prefer to keep mine hidden (then why am I airing them here to the interweb? Good question. Because Sharing is Caring?)

It's now 4 years later and my "track marks" are finally gone, unless you're determined and know where to look. I even had a lab tech tell me recently that I had good veins. I laughed at her. I still think she just got lucky, but anyone who can stick an IV in me on the first shot has to know something. I've had far too many visits to labs where it took seven tries before there was success to completely discredit her knowledge or skill.

I've had a classmate accuse me of having a Hickey on my neck, and then refuse to believe it was anything but, causing a rather embarrassing scene in front of the rest of the class. I can always tell when new people in my life are looking at my neck scar, curious but too polite or sober to ask about it yet. My favorite thing to do is make up stories about my scars. The neck slash is usually the result of a bar fight I was in "back in the day." You should see the other guy ;)

I haven't worn a low-cut shirt in years because of my port scars. Forget bathing suits. I'm sure they're far worse in my head than they are in reality, but the incision sites keloided when they healed and I'm not comfortable displaying them to just anyone. (Inner Voices once left me a voicemail where he made cheesy Port jokes the entire time and I will always love him for that.)

The reason I never wear shorts is split. First, I really am very allergic to the sun. I make jokes because it's something that is honestly funny to me, but exposure to the sun hurts like nobody's business. But the secondary reason is my knee scars. My divots. It looks like someone once played golf on my knee and did not follow proper etiquette and replace them. Bad knee golfer! This analogy amuses me greatly because when I had a cane (2 lovely years-because of my knees) we used to play golf in the office with it. Some of the handles make great putters. Being the resident cripple was a tough job, but damn we had some fun times.

I still occasionally (though thankfully less frequently) require the stability of a cane and it's not something I like to admit to needing. I even keep one in my vehicle at all times. Yes I own more than one cane. (This does not lessen my desire for a Cane Corso.) Don't stare like an asshole when you see someone under the age of 60 rocking a cane. Yes, you may call them House, a Pimp, or (much more rarely and depending exclusively on the person and the tone used) "Handicapped Whore-Bag." Please recognize that you're nowhere near the first one to think of the nickname.

I have a ridiculous level of self-confidence and cocky. I am rather in love with myself and don't try to deny my narcissism.

But sometimes all of that is bluff and bluster, a disguise to hide my scars behind, a shield to make sure no one can get close enough to peek underneath.

It's been almost 6 years now since all of my unhealthiness began and sometimes I really just want to pretend that I have a normal life. That I had a typical twenties experience. That what you see is what you get with me. And sometimes I can pretend very well. Until I meet new people. Or until the old people ask, in that concerned tone that doesn't let you lie to them, "How's everything going?"



Doodle takes Dad's scissors to her skin,
And when she does relief comes setting in.
While she hides the scars she's making underneath her pretty clothes,
She sings:
Hey baby can you bleed like me?

Fun Fact: No Doubt and Garbage are both rumored to be in studio right now. This isn't the first time over the years that I've heard such things though, so I wouldn't recommend holding your breath. If they decide to tour together again my fangirl heart might explode. If they were to bring Spinnerette (the Distillers' front-lady Brody Dalle's "new" project) along for the ride I would surely die on the spot. They are amazing live acts and to see them on one stage is something that should enjoyed as often as possible. Bring earplugs. Long live 2002!

Kay's Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures: Know Your Baggage and Be Yourself

(I love music. When I spend too long without it my life goes wonky. I've just fallen in love with a pop-rock-grunge band with pretty, pretty accents called Mechanical Smile. You should give their song Take Me To The Other Side a listen and vote for it so they win Redbull's little challenge.)

Read the whole Blind Gayting series here. Scroll down to 8 February and work your way up.

To the Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures:

I've come across a lot of articles lately about "celebrities" (let's not start the debate about what qualifies someone as a celebrity today) saying they don't think they're pretty. And then people tear them to shreds in the comments or even the article itself.

But I totally get it. I am becoming more and more anti-label as a whole as I spend more time on this earth. I'm not particularly comfortable with undeserved complements. I don't have really any choice over the face I wear around every day, I didn't pick my name, and my voice is the one that comes out when I speak. I look in the mirror and yeah, I'm cute. I've got interesting eyes. I've usually got a cocky smirk on my face and something interesting going on with my eyebrows.

But I'm also sarcastic. A bit of a smart-ass. I'm quick with a come-back. I try to be informed about a wide range of topics and things that interest me, but I recognize that there are millions of things that I don't know anything about. I know that my taste in clothing and sneakers and music and movies and my sense of humor aren't always shared by everyone else, and I try to gauge if I've anything in common with my conversational partner so that I'm not blathering on like some completely self-absorbed douche or sitting in awkward silence. I try to stay away from the 3 conversational no-no's at all times: Religion, Politics and Hunting, because I enjoy getting to know people via conversations, not debates.

But all of that is MY baggage. They're my issues to work through, not something to expect other people to pick up on and be aware of. And above all, I'm almost painfully polite. I will never tell someone to please shut up, stop saying that thing they're saying, that they're making a complete horse's ass of themselves.

That said, I'm not comfortable with people I don't know (or barely know) who hand out superfluous complements in an unending stream. Who assign intimate, pet names upon first or second meeting. Don't call me Beautiful like it's my name when we just met 20 minutes ago. Don't have a glasses fetish (or at least keep it to yourself the first couple of meets, like everyone else). Don't be overly touchy when I'm not drunk and I have no personal relationship with you that lets you in my bubble. In fact, assume that everyone has a bubble and that you should respect it until you are invited into it.

People: BE YOURSELF. I know everyone gets nervous, or tries to hide up their unsavory quirks, but for fuck's sake! Shut your mouth for 5 seconds and pick up on what the other person's not saying. If they're tense or relaxed. If they're focusing on you or looking at anything but. If you're boring them out of their mind or making them so uncomfortable that they're squirming in their seat every time you open your mouth.

If you choose a first date/brand new relationship to start introducing yourself by a new name, how about don't meet up for a first date at a place that everyone knows your actual/common name. Because when you go to the restroom (and you will at least once), your friends or regular bartender are going to attempt to put your date at ease. And then that date will say something about what a funny person you are. And they'll use your name. And the friendly bartender will look at them like they're on crack, because apparently NO ONE FUCKING CALLS YOU THAT NAME OR ANYTHING CLOSE TO IT.

*Clears throat* But I digress, be yourself. You're pretty cool. There's a reason this person though you were pretty cool. Don't suddenly get so nervous that all of the things that make you awesome and uniquely you fly out the window. Just take a deep breath in, let all the retarded rules and advice your friends have given you out, and smile. Say hello. Repeat as many times as necessary.

Will you look a bit peculiar smiling and saying "Hi" again every 5 minutes? Yes. But hopefully they'll find it endearing and you'll still be better off than if you're rambling on like a jackass, playing some stupid mind-games or working The Rules.