tooclosetomoi-phobia

My idol, mother-figure, transcendant super mega nurse aptly named Divine lets it out in one of our extended sublime conversations at the UMMC lobby that a McDreamy I carry a torch for likes me. She also lets it slip quoting him, "J__ is not that good-looking but I've seen her dress up once and she looks good". This comes from a man who just broke up from a long-term relationship with an equally exotic Meredith Grey.

Ah, the delight of being in the consolation box. I am not blessed with the earth-shattering physical perfection of Giselle Bundchen or Adriana Lima. Nor am I blessed with the sharp wit of Dorothy Parker or Jessica Zafra. My confidence naught that of a Paltrow nor am I of atrociuos moolah on par with a Hilton. I do not have the wardrobe and bank account of an Olsen. I do not have the fierce edgy animal appeal of a Jolie to match my fierce independence and my ideals. I am smack dab in the middle teethering between borderline gorgeous and not-so depending on yes, the (kindness of the) eye of the beholder. I am some kind of a complete package or often times a will-do burger-and-fries combo.

I have learned to be comfortably ensconced in my little nook. I never wish to be someone's consolation prize nor be one's trophy. I rather be in my little corner carving my own place in the world and decorate it with Ikea furniture, middle finger up in the air for a world who pooh-pooh on how I run my Guggenheim.

Intimacy issues? Claustrophobia? I rather attribute it to... I don't know, a love of boots?