Once upon a time, there was
a princess a snarky, ball-busting bitch named Michelle (that would be me, this is an autobiographical account that can be considered one of the many modern fairy tales). The Executive Director (a sociopath, a skinny brunette with a fake tan and pointy witch fingers) teamed up with the HR Director (a gray bearded man with a small penis) and the head of the Office of Economic Opportunity at the state capitol back then (an old balding guy with a false sense of importance) and cursed me with unemployment because I stood up for the low-salaried people during an intergalactic office-politics war (see How to Get Fired: Reconciliation, Sociopaths, and Sex). I was at an all new low in life.
Prince Charming some hottie doctor with a high IQ, who that I ravishly mated with when he was in town, trotted gallantly with true love’s kiss to remove my curse. “Move down to Florida with me, live with me, help me run my clinic, and we’ll see how things go.”
His mother, my old boss and best friend before she retired, reassured me of his intentions, “Yeah. He has been talking about a serious relationship. He says he loves you and you might be the one.”
So, I moved to Florida on a whim packing up only some clothes and my favorite stuffed animal with Hallmark Dreams of a perfect life with the perfect job and the perfect man. Not only was this man a doctor, but he graduated top of the class in medical school. He also worked out. Nice body. And his eyes were “like the sea after a storm.”
I moved into his luxurious apartment where he was staying with his mother (he was paying for it all). These caramel colored apartments offered a high-brow life and, most important, weekly spraying of pests outside (no
palmetto bugs cockroaches). I felt like Fran Drescher in Beautician and the Beast, except I wasn’t actually a beautician, and the doctor wasn’t actually a President King Dictator, though he would make a great dictator.
After 3 days, he stopped staying in his own apartment. I also wasn’t getting paid to work at his clinic. I was there on a volunteer basis until he got more established in the area. I soon realized he didn’t live with us in his own apartment because he was living with his girlfriend in her apartment. Apparently, his paradigm relationship was to have a blond anesthesiologist as his wife, and me as his mistress.
The blond had dropped out of OBGYN school on account she wanted to follow him around, and she was a germ phobe, because Gynecology is the perfect career for public-glove-wearing germ phobics. She also had a lot of daddy’s money to blow on him, like eventually, a multi-million dollar home off the retirement of a Chicago cop (yeah). Apparently, I was too “rough around the edges” to wear on one’s arm around other doctors and country club folk. The other chic was more, “compatible,” with his objectives, but I offered true love and hot passion that he truly needed to stay focused.
Well, the problem with his little plan was that I’m a good person. Yes, in this story of a Princess and a Knight in Shining Prince Charmingness, it is the Princess who was the noble, chivalrous character, a common component in today’s modern fairy tales. Integrity is a quality many people forget to consider when trying to manipulate. So I put my foot down, “You can see her all you want, but I’m not fucking you until you make up your mind. I can’t do that to her. She has feelings you know.”
He respected my wishes for the most part, though he did make a couple attempts at testing my seriousness. He would flirt. He gave me hope that I had a chance, up until the part where he dumped me completely. First, he fired me. As a volunteer. His only unpaid worker. I’ll never forget discussing it on “our” balcony at the dusk of a sunset. Some gems from the conversation that followed…
“You need to find your own place and a new job.”
“You are too rough around the edges. I can’t take you anywhere. My practice depends on the referrals of other doctors I need to impress.”
“She’s smart enough to be with me on account she’s a doctor. You’re not. You can’t possibly talk to me about my job because it’s over your head.”
and the one I’ll never forget,
“You are just nothing more than a pretty face.”
Yes, that one bothered me. Of all the things he said… Me? Nothing more than a pretty face? The dumb, pretty blond was the smart one? The smart, sassy brunette the dumb one? He needed someone with a brain? Me? I have an IQ of 170. I was a straight A honor student taking Calculus and Physics. I got an A in Chemistry. Who the fuck gets an A in Chemistry? Smart people. I was always the smart one. The nerd. The one who couldn’t get a boyfriend because I wasn’t pretty. Now all the fucking sudden I was nothing more than a pretty face?
So to get back at him, to prove him right, the next morning, I ventured out and got a job, a new job, as a stripper. Fuck that motherfucker. Let’s see how he likes me now?
He did tell me to get a job. He did say I was rough around the edges. He did say I was nothing more than a pretty face. He implied I wasn’t upper class enough for him. He described a stripper. So I would be who he thought I was.
I showed up to my first day of work, early in the morning, because I never stripped before. Fact: Strip Joints put the crap strippers up in the morning, and once you prove yourself worthy, you get to strip at night where the good money is made. I swear there’s a Step it Up Stomp the Yard movie in the making on this one.
I paid 20 bucks to be there, and then I bought 6 double shots of vodka. When it was my turn to go on stage after all those shots, I was more sober than ever. Stage fright is a sobering experience. Oh yeah. Did I mention? I suffer from a serious case of stage fright. I can’t dance on a dance floor until I’m 3 sheets into the wind.
So I did the bravest thing I had ever done in my life: I got on stage. I danced my first song, off beat, like a white girl, with my clothes on. The second song came on, and I removed most of my clothing, down to my bras and panties (which is probably the only time in my life they matched).
I looked like a little girl on that stage: unsure, insecure, and awkward.
My audience was 2 men. One man licked his lips several times looking at me. I swear he was holding his dick the entire time. The other guy was not paying attention at all.
The moment creepy pervert smashed Honest Abe’s face into my ass crack, I started crying. I kept dancing until the song was over, but I cried for most of it. Something about the way that man was looking at me and fondling himself just made me so sick to the stomach and so ashamed, it was the most defeating thing I ever faced. I may have been up on the stage, but I was still beneath him. I hope to God no man ever looks at me like that again.
I went back to the changing room where 10 strippers gave me hugs (I know some of you are jealous of that one). I found myself sitting on a dirty chair in a thong crying on the shoulder of another half-naked woman named Cherry Pop. They nursed me through my break-up, my horrible performance on stage, and my stupid pretty face. I’ve never seen such a supportive group of women in my life. Most women are cut-throat, every bitch for herself, but not these girls. They were a legion. You fuck with one of them, you fuck with all of them and 2 bouncers. They totally understood what I was going through, and not one of them had a problem with me going home after that though they all tried to get me to stay.
Then I left. Mid shift.
After Florida didn’t work out, I was at a real low. The low of losing my bookkeeping job at the beginning of this story does not even compare to the low I was facing at this point in my life. I was just told that I was nothing more than a pretty face, and then I failed at being nothing more than a pretty face. I wondered if that’s how people saw me. A pretty face and nothing more. So, I proved to myself I was more than a pretty face. I joined the military.
I got a 95 on my ASVAB (highest you can get is a 99, and they drool over people who score in the 40’s). I scored that “low” only because I fell asleep during science and reasoning (shouldn’t take the ASVAB hungover). I graduated Basic Military Training with an Honor Flight. I had managed to do the 5K without walking, and I held a runner up and dragged her so she, too, could complete the 5K without walking. I was the second highest score in tech school losing by 2 points, and that got me some award. I did 73 push-ups in one minute and 55 sit-ups when I dated a Marine in tech school who focused on building me up instead of tearing me down. I could drop a Navy guy in less than 10 seconds, and a Marine in under 2 minutes. Marines called me Devil Dog and embraced me as one of their own despite the fact that I was Air Force (that does not happen). I also won 2nd place in the Squadron vs Squadron Christmas Tree Decorating Contest.
I designed a camera bracket for a top secret building so top secret, I didn’t have clearance to see my camera bracket I designed. My husband got to see it and says it was beautiful. I did that because my NCO was intimidated by me, and I quote, “You come in here with your big shot, east coast attitude and take over,” and so, he decided to give me a job he didn’t think I could do in order to prove his manhood. One beyond my scope. A job for engineers because they do the actual designing, but since we are talking a camera bracket, that one got to be done by nothing more than a pretty face. My NCO was hoping for tears, failure, and giving upness, but instead, he got a big shot, east coast attitude who took over. I did a better job than he would have. The sad thing was, I had no idea what I was doing. I couldn’t get AutoCAD to do what I wanted it to do, so I did it all by hand first using Trig, and then just drew the lines on the computer until AutoCAD got my numbers.
I literally ran circles around my First Shirt who too thought I was nothing more than just a pretty face, and I cheered him on to keep trying. He’ll catch up to me some day. Then I did taxes for all the important ranks on base making the First Shirt kiss my ass for a while.
I know I’m more than just a pretty face.
I’m a pretty face. An intelligent mind. A loving heart. A badass courage. A Stubborn Strong Will. And the Sass of a Gay Man.
I don’t just have a nice body, but I know how to swing it and push it beyond the boundaries of Fantasia.
I don’t just have a high IQ, but I know how to apply it and think for myself.
I know more important than looks and brains is my heart that loves and courage that faces fear like an addiction.
I don’t look good on a man’s arm because I’m so much more than that.
And then I married my Latino Lover I met in the military and gave birth to 3 beautiful princesses and is now Cinderfuckingrella living happily ever after.