a special kind of stupid

The problem is that I'm never satisfied.  That's the core issue.

I'm not thin enough, charming enough, talented enough, rich enough, perky enough (did I really just admit to wanting to be perky?), reserved enough or smart enough.

What I am today is never enough.  It's one of my many personality flaws that I am willing fess-up to, but I will probably never do anything about.  Because I'm lazy too.

But on with my story.

I get really excited about chemical peels. Because, you know, my skin is never smooth enough.  I love the idea of singeing off the dead, grossness that is holding me captive in ugliesville. Dramatic? Maybe.

So last Friday Shannon came over with her bag of tricks, and while speaking to me in a soothing voice about marketing and other such trivialities, she fried off the top layer of my face.  Then we had some guacamole and chocolate covered strawberries. It was delightful.

But today, well, the delight has fizzled and I'm a little worried that should I use any of the muscles in my face, my skin might crack open and leave huge gaping fissures.  I'm like the girl in the mask.  I can't carry on the way I usually do with all the laughing and yelling and general rowdiness. I'm talking to my children very softly through very tight lips.

The silver lining is that this new quiet way of mothering has scared the hell out of my kids.  I'm fairly sure they think I've finally gone over the proverbial edge I've been screeching about for years.

And here's another thing that needs getting to the bottom of:

I am never cool enough.

My theory goes a little something like this:

I have this incredible knack for making friends with super duper, over-the-top, talented and suave people.  I swear I sniff them out like a pig to a truffle.  Even my friends who are fundamentally just geeks are the coolest kind of indie/anarchist geeks around. Or so it seems.

So the whole time I'm with these people I feel like a groupie.  And I don't want to be a groupie.

With the exception of Sugar Daddy. I'll be his groupie any day of the week and twice on Sundays. (Wow, that sounded a little racy.)

Sometimes I lay in bed and analyze this whole cool factor thing.  And to be honest, I do a little positive self talk "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it people like me.  I too, can be an anarchist if I felt like it."

It's not that I have low self-esteem. As we learned yesterday, that's generally not a problem for bloggers.

So I was thinking maybe I could go see a shrink and talk this over.  There might be some insight there. Then again, I'd probably spend the entire time on the couch marveling at how smart the doctor is worrying that should I start to cry over my inadequacies, my singed face might crack and leave a scar.

And I couldn't have that happen because I'm really excited to see how this whole chemical peel thing turns out.  I think I'll skip the shrink this week and just eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's on my own couch.

I'm quite positive it takes a special kind of stupid to publicly display your personal demons this way, but I also know I needed a Tuesday post.

I can't let my readership drop. A girl can never have enough readers.