Jessica Hildrum

It turns out Michael Jackson was a short, curvy, brunette

I am on this nett dating site, and did something seriously stupid today.  I checked out the pictures of the other women, this was a stupid, demotivating, destructive, boneheaded move.  As if I wasn’t already feeling about as attractive as a partially salted slug – you can guess how I felt when hit by a wave of  beautiful Nordic blonds.

After sighing deeply (ok, hyperventilating into a paper-bag) and contemplating – once again – a nunnery, I thought maybe I could make some changes to fit in.

Starting with hair; I suppose I could bleach my hair but I have an olive complexion, which doesn’t really look great with blond.  I would probably look more like an alien (a grey) with a bad doo, than a Nordic beauty.

I am short, so I could try and have bone lengthening done, but besides being excrutiatingly painful (and hey, what woman doesn’t suffer for beauty), it would take a couple of years.

I have curves which contrary to popular belief is not a great thing, unless directly in proportion to a barbie doll so some serious liposuction is called for, not to mention the gym 27 times a day and for the sake of all that is holy let us not forget reducing my diet to one saltine a day with a side of cellery foam.

I would probably also need rhinoplasty (mainly because it is fun to say – can you say it and not conjure up images of a rhino with band-aids?)

So lets sum up:

In order to transform the short, curvy, olive skinned brunette to perfect – life is easy – always gets the guy – nordic beauty:

• Bleach hair
• Rhinoplasty
• Bone extension surgery
• Bleach skin to get rid of olive complexion
• Liposuction
• Gym 27 times a day
• Diet = 1 saltine & Cellery foam

OMG – IT IS NONE OTHER THAN MICHAEL JACKSON!!!

Duuude, good thing I figured this out before I got started on my venture to be “perfect – life is easy – always gets the guy – Nordic beauty”.  I guess I’ll settle for being short, curvy, brunette with an olive complexion, I certainly do not want to end up as “ghostly white – nose falling off face – wierdo”.

As I see it there is bound to be one or maybe even two guys out there who can appreciate my particular brand of beauty.

The ultimate questions of life

I took a quiz today, “How many baboons could you take in a fight (armed only with a giant dildo)”. I suggest you take it too: Fight Baboons.  According to this hightly scientific and what I certainly believe to be accurate quiz, I can fend off 18 of them, which is a huge relief to know.

It is indeed questions like these that are forever torturing me.  Yes, I find that I often awake in a pool of sweat, feverishly wondering, what I would do if attacked by an illtempered gang of quasi-rabid ferrets; and I am only armed with a small chestnut, two rubber bands, a slightly used Kleenex and some crud in bottom of my pocket… could I, when up against the wall go all McGyver on their asses and make a small nuclear device ?

Aaah such are the questions of life.

Freaky deaky dude

I couldn’t sleep last night, and when I can’t sleep my mind goes a-wandering.. And last night my overactive brain got caught in the reoccuring theme of the week – dating (eeewwww).  And between you, me and the worldwideweb, just thinking about the dating thing totally stresses me out.

The whole scene is freaky deaky, my humble observation is that dating makes even the most laid back of us turn into quivering mounds of something resembling hormonal teenage jell-o.

Oh, I know what to do!  I’ll just get all zen about it, and the whole problem will melt away into nothingness while I become one with the universe. How did that chant go? Mewannaviggomortensen mewannaviggomortensen mewannaviggomortensen, nah, that wasn’t it although it has a nice ring to it.

So how does a grown-up deal with the stupid insecurities of dating?  Because like it or not, it is the way to get to know someone new.  The answer my cyberfriends is

I have no clue.

Maybe we could create our own Facebook or Linkedin group for those of us who are inept at dating, we could call it #datinginept, yeah, that sounds like just the thing and we could have discussions all about how inept we are and how dating sucks…  Oh, I know, we can create our own zen chants to go along with our new groups – this is really takin’ off!!

Yeah – flattery will get you everywhere

What is the deal with us women (yes, I am generalizing in hopes of distracting you from thinking that I am referring to myself ).  A little flirty flattery and *BAM* – all rational thought and judgment skills out the window!

Come on!! I am pushing 40, I should know better.  And yet, taken off guard by some “hottie” I loose my mind.  Now don’t worry I haven’t done anything I shouldn’t do, I just get easily disappointed, going from feeling radiantly spectacularly special to feeling like the sludge in the bottom of Oscar the Grouch’s trashcan.

And that too is really annoying, attaching my self worth to superficial flattery in any way shape or form; I know better – really – I do.

The funny thing is at the core, I am pretty laid back and don’t really take anything too seriously.  That is given that I know the deal from the get-go.

Maybe it is all about practice, learning to trust enough in ones own self worth to not attach much importance on the desire for outside confirmation.  After ages (12 years) in a good marriage, immediately followed by a turbulent (but great) 2 year relationship, I guess I just don’t have the thick skin I used to (and I may be remembering my own thick skin with the rosy tint of memory).

Patience is needed, and frankly patience is not my strength, I want whatever it is to happen, to happen now, actually “now” isn’t quick enough, yesterday would be better. And even yesterday is too slow, things must go Speedy Gonzales fast in the world of Jess.  When I have to wait for whatever reason, it is, torture!

I know I need to be generous with myself, be ok with my own gullibility, it is ok to be distracted and no – I am not the sludge in the bottom of that trash can regardless of who retracts their attention.

All I can do is hope that somewhere out there is the mate who can handle me, all Speedy Gonzales, high maintainance, action seeking yet lazy ole me.

Excuse me, but do I really look like I need viagra?

I have no need for viagra – thought I would state the obvious here, what with me being an actual anatomically correct woman my needs in maintaining an erection are, well, limited.  Actually I don’t think I have ever had trouble in that region, once again let me reiterate I am – A WOMAN !  Hence the name “Jessica”, ok so the name may be used by trannies but I gave birth to a child – which makes me a… wait for it.. WOMAN!

The sheer amount of spam that I get for Viagra, increasing my size  and pleasing her in bed, makes me wonder whether I have truly underestimated the marketing effect.  Someone must be responding and actually purchasing the stuff.

So as a marketing professional, maybe I should take some hints, start sending e-mails to all of our customers, offering every Tom, Dick and Harry a painless bikini wax or a spit & polish of their “rod”,  in order to boost sales of our Consultant services.  Hell, maybe we could start up our own Viagra sales department and target particularly effeminate names.

Someone is bound to get curious and click on that link..