to be a southern xx.

why is it that my day is ruined if i my hair doesn't do what i want it to do, i feel fat, or, as in today's case, my makeup remover malfunctions and continuously removes my eye makeup throughout the workday so that by 3PM, i look like i've been on the losing end of a sketchy 3AM bar brawl? or alex from 'a clockwork orange'?

according to my daily affirmation, i am good enough, i am smart enough, and gosh darnit....

why should something like external appearance carry so much emotional capital?  why does my self-assured feminist self run and hide under a stack of cosmos and inferiority complexes whenever i look in the mirror? (women's magazines are garbage, by the way. but i will save that for a future rant...)

i know in my head that i have more to offer than a rosy complexion, shiny hair, or a 'perfect' body...(not that i have any of these three coveted assets--just examples).  it's the internalization of this concept that is the more difficult task.  could it be that i have begun to believe my own self-deprecating humor?  now, there's a frightening thought. (see, that was even self-deprecating.) 

does this self-belittlement come as a result of growing up a 'southern lady' and having to apologize for any success?  being a southern 'xx' is full of contradictions and unspoken limits: you can be smart, but not too smart - that's nerdy. you can be pretty, but not too pretty - that's snobby.  you can be funny, but not too funny - that's obnoxious. or you can be successful, but not too successful - that's intimidating. most of adolescence and young adulthood is spent navigating these unwritten rules and walking social tightropes.  yes, folks, i am a product of this southern fried circus.

so, back to the issue at hand. the horrible makeup job that i am presenting to the world. sure, i could wash the makeup off and face the rest of the day with a bare face, but why do that, when i have a spare makeup bag in my office for mid-day touch-ups?  furthermore, why do i feel the need to do mid-day touch-ups, let alone plan for them?? 

this post is particularly whiny, and none of you are getting paid the big psychotherapy bucks to hear me ramble, so i'm going to cut it off.

cut. fade to black. mascara black.