Compliments

Most guys tend to think that if you call a somewhat attractive woman (which is exactly what I think I am) beautiful, she'll probably be more willing to sleep with them. Maybe it's the guys I knew growing up, but when a guy tells me I'm beautiful, it pretty much does one thing: makes me suspicious. Beautiful is not the compliment I want to hear, what does it really mean? "You look really good, and because of that, I want to be with you." Woo! Hooray for me.

No, beautiful is not what I want to hear. Instead, call me an artist, call me talented, and most importantly, mean it. Be impressed by what I can do, what I can make, not by what dna made.

A man I view as extremely talented recently told me about our first meeting and his impression of me.
"I thought you were an art girl. Talented. I didn't think you'd be interested in me."

"An 'Art girl' is exactly what I wish I was."

And after that, of course I kissed him. How could I not? It's one thing for people to see your outsides. It's another for them to not only see your insides, but see them as YOU want them to be seen, hope them to be seen. I'll give the other girls, "beautiful" and keep "artist".

Bad Girl

The last week has been a whirlwind of crazy, complete chaos and above all, spontaneity. And I loved nearly every minute of it, most I can remember, a few are a bit fuzzy. I feel like something snapped a bit in my brain and I almost wasn't me anymore. I don't know if it was a permanent tweak, or just a temporary one, and quite honestly, I'm a little scared to find out.

I've always been such a good girl. Painfully but also realistically good. I'm no nun, no stereotype. But by society's standards I've spent the first quarter of my life playing it safe. Really, really safe.

Which is why, when I woke up the other morning and remembered the shocking things I had done the previous night, after drinking more than I needed to, I was highly amused. I giggled to Charlotte about all the uncharacteristic things I had done. Then later, I started to get embarrassed. Mostly because most of the guys I was with didn't know me very well. And while I don't mind being thought of as wild, or fun, and just a little bad, there are so many negative words for the type of girl who pulls a guy into a dark corner of a bar for a little making out. And I am not those words.