I tend to be mean to the opposite gender. I’m not physically mean –sometimes slamming your brother up against the wall can be satisfying but only every few years--but sometimes I tend to be a little verbally abusive. Some people think I am flirting but for me it’s just a competition.

In some circumstances I guess I need to be more careful though. One time I was kidding with my professor when he was calling the roll:

“Prettyman, that’s an interesting name. Do you go by a nickname?”
“You can call me Prettywoman”
“I don’t think my wife would like that”

Only problem is that he wasn’t kidding. My teacher was the type who liked to joke around with us but apparently not me. Why would I be interested in a teacher who is forty, wears dorky glasses and walks like a nerd?(You know the bouncy, excited duck walk that nerds have? They usually walk like that when they’re thinking about quantum physics or how they just said more than two words to a non-related woman for the first time in their life). Anyway, guess I should leave humor out of my relationships with my professors.

It seems that I can’t joke around with someone of the opposite gender unless I want to date them. I swear I’m not flirting and really it’s not flirting. For me it’s a competition. I don’t play sports because I would get too violent. I guess I let that competitive frustration out in other ways. Sometimes it’s with grades or its with beating men on getting the last word.

I grew up with two older brothers who are brilliant at getting the last word. It was a dog-eat-dog world in my family. If I wanted to be allowed to jump fences, break into abandoned houses or be let in on the latest secret then I had to prove myself.
I guess it also stems from my obsession with comedy. When I turn on the television, which isn’t often, it isn’t to “What not to wear,” CSI, or Law and Order. I watch comedy shows; Seinfeld, MASH, Everybody Loves Raymond, King of Queens, Simpsons, Cheers.

It’s been one of my goals to master the art of the perfect come back. I’m especially intrigued by Hawkeye Pierce from MASH. I look up to him and hope that someday when I make a comeback it will be as good as his.

So, next time you see me “flirting” with a man it’s because I am insulting or making jokes. I’m really just trying to win something that only I know is a competition.

Body of a goddess

I’m too fat, my skin is too pale, my acne is disfiguring, my hands are too big, my voice isn’t feminine enough and the zit in the center of my forehead just popped. We are our toughest critique but what else influences us to feel insecure in our appearance?

I heard this joke—read at your own discretion, its degrading.
Q: Why do women wear make-up and perfume?
A: Because they’re smelly and ugly.

This seems demeaning and easy for us, as women, to deny but how much of this do we believe to be true? I turn the tv on, flip through a magazine, walk out of my apartment, and I am faced with women who look better and will always look better.

I’m embarrassed to wear a swim suit because there are things about my body that I don’t want others to see. Actually if I could I would just put a brown bag over my head and wear a trench coat to all of my classes. While most of the insecurity is in my head, some of it is caused by what I hear every day.

I dated a guy who thought I was too fat. He would talk about taking me to the gym and working off my love handles. He didn’t like the fact that I didn’t always wear stiletto heels and sexy belts. He wanted a girl with perfect abs, a perfect butt, perfect everything—in regards to the body.

My older sister was a big boned girl. She struggled with her image for years. Who do you think watched her struggle? I did. The impressionable little sister, who admired everything about her sister, wanted to be just like her sister. My sister used to have magazine cut outs of skinny, beautiful actresses covering her wall. She’s exercise all the time, skip meals and weigh herself several times a day. I used to do some of the same things. I’ve never eaten something fattening without feeling guilty, ever. I’ve never gone a day thinking that I was skinny enough, pretty enough.

Once I hit high school I decided that my appearance just didn’t matter. I dressed in baggy sweaters and baggy pants. I went through high school thinking I was fat and ugly. I thought I wasn’t worthy of others friendship. I masked these feelings with a pretend attitude. It was me against the world but really all I wanted was to fit in. my appearance stopped me from getting dates, from making friends. I didn’t know what self confidence was.

My attitude didn’t magically change. I came to college and felt the same way my whole freshman year. That whole freshman year is a blur. I wasn’t happy. My feelings began to change when I started dating and started having friends. When I surrounded myself with wonderful people, who loved me for me then I realized that I didn’t need to look perfect.

While we should all take care of ourselves, we must also realize that each person is created differently. We are our toughest critique. When your family and friends tell you that you’re beautiful listen to them.

I still struggle to feel good about myself. Sometimes I look around and wonder why I should even bother trying but then I remember that we are created in God’s image. I’m a daughter of God and so I am beautiful and you are too.

Trips to the pool

Swimming, I’m a professional. I move so fast that the water doesn’t even ripple. I’m like a diving duck, a penguin, a dolphin…a whale. But really I’m embarrassed to say that I think the life guard laughs at me whenever my head is dunked under the water and I can’t hear him. I swear I must not have a prideful bone in my body because I go to the pool and swim. Let me rephrase that, I go to the pool, struggle to stay afloat and I do all of this in public, surrounded by people my age, including men.

How am I sacrificing my pride? First off, I am sticking on a swim suit. That takes the pride factor and throws in on the ground. Because me in a swim suit is ridiculous. Wearing swim trunks helps my situation a little embarrassing. You’re just lucky that I didn’t buy the Batman one’s I saw in Walmart yesterday. That would’ve been embarrassing for everyone. Maybe I will even blame the trunks for the reason why I am so slow to make it from one side of the pool to the next
That brings up the next contributing factor as to why I am not a prideful person.

The actual swimming part is where it gets sad. Not only am I putting a swim suit on but I am also swimming in that swim suit. I don’t go to the pool to do hand stands or float on my back or check out the abs on guys—but sometimes I do look…
I go there for a real work out. Sadly I don’t look like much when I am “swimming” laps in the pool. It looks like a shark has got me by the leg and is slowly dragging me down to the bottom of the pool. I can’t swim. I won’t even try and lie and say that I can. I simply try to stay afloat. I consider that exercise. When I do a lap, it’s like a turtle trying to make it across the street.

The most embarrassing part is the bystanders or what we like to call “lifeguards.” I swear, when the life guard sees me get into the pool he probably tightens his grip on the lifesaver float. I’m sure it’s a fun story to bring home to his roommates. “Every time I go to the pool now, I think I may be saving a life today. I see this ridiculous girl in trunks at the pool and each time I see her it seems that she struggles more and more to keep afloat.”

And of course, as I am doing my version of swimming--which is the doggie paddle--I begin to wonder why I am there.

Its’ when I start my day feeling brand new, with my abs feeling tight and knowing that no one will recognize me—hopefully-- as the girl who can barely make it from one side of the pool to the other that I am glad that I dropped my pride and went to the pool.

Slack lining night mare

I did the splits today…on a slack line. The whole ward was watching. I should’ve stayed back, should’ve kept to myself, kept my mouth shut, but did I? No. I walked up to the group of guys who were guffawing and fighting to go next on the slack line.

And I opened my –only occasionally-- big mouth. “I love how this seems to be a strictly male activity,” I said with a little attitude. A bunch of them opened their egotistical mouths, “you can do it if you want, no one’s stopping you.”

I wanted to get up on that slack line but I also didn’t want to be the first female and be the first female to fall. But someone had to stick up for the female population, so when the “men” said, “hey, we had better lower the slack line, if the girls want to have a go at it.” Well I wasn’t having any of that.

I realized that I really am a feminist as I rolled my sleeves back and started taking off my shoes and socks. I wanted to be a total feminist and get on that line all by myself but I couldn’t step onto a line that’s five feet off the ground.

So, I ended up using some guys knee to get up on the line and then held another guys hand while I started walking the line. Only thing is…I had to be a feminist. So I let go and the next thing I know I am doing the splits. Slack line smacked me and then I was hanging upside down, holding onto the line. It hurt, like there would be no tomorrow but I jumped up off the ground I had just fallen on.

A bunch of people in the crowd said, “Are you ok? You sure?” I acted all gruff. “Heck yeah, I’m ok,” I said. And then someone next to me said, “Do you want to try again?” Of course I didn’t want to try again. I love slack lining but I hurt. So what did I do?
I got right back on. “Hey someone get on the other side of her,” some guy yelled. “I don’t need someone helping me,” I said vehemently. “After last time, it looks like you do.” What a JERK. Well he got his come-upins because the next time I fell, it was on top of him :P

Humor in the worst situation

I recently broke up with someone. It tore me up, broke my heart but after six months of being taken advantage of I finally dumped him. Yes, I actually dumped him. The first day was the first. Every time I opened my mouth I wanted to cry, I couldn’t breathe.

When I dumped him, I really wanted to eliminate him from life, but how was to go about it? I deleted his pictures on facebook, I deleted him from my phone. After we ended things on the phone I felt awful. He texted me something and I went to text him back.

I discovered that I had deleted his number. Of course while I was deleting all of his texts, I kind of temporarily memorized his number. So I texted him, I texted him a list, a list of all the things he did that were dragging me down and him. Well I guess it wasn’t meant to be read by him.

I received this message, “I think you have the wrong number but your guy sounds like a real idiot.” Ughhhhh, whoops that really embarrassing; especially since I signed it, Kaitlin Prettywoman. So I explained to this mysterious stranger that I had just dumped the man who held my heart in check for 6 months and he texted me back, “He sounds like a selfish loser, I’m sure you are a beautiful and intelligent woman.”

Well I left it at that. I don’t text random strangers from Utah. But the next day I gave in to a moment of weakness and texted my dumpee, saying, “How was your day”. Only problem was I sent it to the same wrong number again. Well he starts texting me that he would like to be my friend, “I’m Mark and if you would like to be friends you can text or call me anytime.”
Curiosity killed the cat and I wanted a distraction. So I asked him four extremely crucial questions if you are to truly get to know someone.

-Favorite musician
-Hair color
-Age
-Job

This is the text I received back, “George Strait, sandy brown, 39 and fast food for seven years.” That’s when I deleted his texts from my phone and never talked to him again; especially when he knew my age and still wanted to keep talking. Good thing I didn’t mention my school or real name. All I need is a stalker.

But it was definitely a diversion and a funny story. Guess breaking up isn’t too bad.