The One that Got Away

Posted on: January 27, 2012

Nope, it’s not how I feel about anyone. Not even British. Though I definitely hope I end up being the one that got away for him.  It’s actually the name of the OPI polish I used today for my pedicure – love it! And I just looked it up and it’s part of the Katy Perry collection… I guess I should’ve figured that out.

Anyways, I also got acrylics, which is making it sort of hard to type. I bite my nails – awful habit I’ve had since I was little – and I’m hoping these help me stop. I think I look like a hooker though.

Sometimes, you just need a little boost to make you feel pretty. At least, I do. It’s not that I don’t feel pretty most of the time, but this whole thing with British certainly hasn’t helped. Not him in particular, but more so the incessant crying I did for about 2 months… puffy eyes, red nose, tissues in every pocket possible for easy access… not so pretty at all.

It doesn’t help that I am not a huge fan of work right now either, so I don’t even dress up. I haven’t worn heels in about 5 months now; I used to wear them daily. Now, I wear jeans at least 2x a week, and the other 3 days it’s a toss-up between two pairs of black pants. I’ll actually pull my ‘short’ pants out of the dirty laundry so I can wear flats rather than wear my nice dress pants that require heels.

I don’t think I’m a high maintenance girl, but I try to make sure I look nice/presentable/sometimes attractive for work. I’ll even occasionally shower. With this new job that I can’t stand and things with British ending, I just had quit caring. If I looked good, it was quite by accident… I’d even stopped wearing mascara because I was just crying it off during the day. Black rivulets just running down my face. I’m happy to say that no longer is the case and I can wear non-waterproof with no fear. Sometimes it’s the little wins in this  battle of life that mean so much.

When you’re heartbroken (for whatever reason – not just because some stupid boy dumped you on facebook), it’s so hard to make it out of bed, much less do so presentably. All I wanted to do was wallow in my self-pity and cry and wonder why I wasn’t good enough for someone to love and to fight for and to try and make things work. And those thoughts absolutely still cross my mind – they did so just this morning in fact. But now I just look at my pretty little purple toes and my hooker-y hands and think I *am* pretty and fun and smart and funny and I *will* find someone who wants to be with me, whether I have my stubby little bitten nails or nice fake ones.

And it’s not all because of “The One that Got Away,” but it is certainly helping.


Berry Pretty

Pudgy Little Ones That Didn't Get Away



Hooker Hands

Hooker Hands


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