I was not a good-looking kid. 

There was a brief period up to when I was like eight that I was cute – and my family would say, “She’s going to be so pretty when she grows up!”

So we were all disappointed.

And no, it wasn’t like some Princess Diaries movie where all I needed was a blowout and contact lenses. I legit looked like a dude.

Which, in hindsight, I should have just ran with. Not only would I have a lot more respect, but I would have made a great-looking man.

No, I didn’t grow up to be a natural beauty. Do I look better than I did? Sure. Did I grow out of the dude thing? Not really. But I have become a master of obnoxiously thick eyeliner, cakey foundation, and long-lasting-but-flakey lipstick. 

Naturally, as a teen, I always compared myself to my older sister. She was pretty, popular, and funny. (Although I like to believe I grew up to be the funnier one… It’s the only way I sleep at night. If you can call sleeping for three hours and then waking up to your cat knocking shit over just so you can watch them vomit on the bed “sleep.”)

But then we both grew up, and I went off to do my own thing. Now, instead of comparing myself to my sister… I just compare myself to every human being on the planet. 

Literal growth. 

As I’ve said in other blog posts, I grew up in a family of nine. I was the third oldest. When we three oldest ones were young, my parents had very strict rules about TV and movies. We weren’t allowed to watch The Simpsons (there were one too many Catholic jokes), the live-action Spiderman had too many characters who said, “Crap,” and “Oh my God,” and The Hunchback of Notre Dame was a big no-no (the bad guy had the whole lust thing for Esméralda… But I never had the sex talk, so that would have gone way over my head anyway.)

When the younger kids came along, they not only got away with watching The Simpsons, but they got to watch Seinfeld, Southpark, and live-action Batman with Christian Bale (and Catwoman is far more sexual than cartoon Esméralda). 

My parents, when we older kids confronted them about it, said, “Eh, it’s not like we’re letting them watch porn or anything.”

Just kidding, they didn’t say that. But they might as well have.

Speaking of inappropriate…

Men have said some creepy shit to me at the bar. To clarify, I am not in any way bragging about getting hit on at the bar all the time. I do, but you should see these guys… it is not flattering. It’s depressing. 

I hate when a guy starts the conversation with, “I’m not hitting on you – but…” It’s always followed up with something creepy. It’s just like when people say, “No offense, but…” Immediately, you take offense because they clearly know it’s offensive. 

“I’m not hitting on you – but… I wouldn’t mind seeing you naked.”

“I’m not hitting on you – but… I’m distracted by your boobs.”

“I’m not hitting on you, and no offense – but… Are you trans? It’s totally cool if you are, because I still wouldn’t mind seeing you naked, and I’m totally cool with small boobs.”

Maybe I would have been more prepared for the cruelties of the world had I been allowed to watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Key takeaways:

• I was an ugly child
• My siblings are better than me
• I’m not hitting on you

Watch the video below if you find any of this interesting and would like to hear me ramble about it some more.