Wrists

I haven’t done much this week while interviewing to really “upgrade” (or “downgrade,“ really) my personal style. I’ve been applying the same technique to these interviews that I’ve been applying in everyday life. I’m not faking a thing. If you don’t like me, you don’t like me. On top of that, I don’t give a fuck if you don‘t like me. I spent far too many years of my life punishing myself for what other people think of me to care anymore.

But one of the jobs I interviewed for needed a slight personal change to interview for. The job is one of those “manly men” kind of positions, so I did the unthinkable: I took off my bracelets. Yep, those ever-present bracelets that cause so many straight guys to question my sexuality. Those bracelets that so many girls laugh at when they meet me. Yep, those things.

After the interview, I kept them off for the rest of the day. Mainly, because I’m utterly fascinated by my wrists. It’s been so long since I’ve seen them. Obviously, they’re the blinding white spots at the base of my arms from the ages spent being shielded from the sun. But beyond that, I don’t remember my wrists being so wrinkly. When did that happen? Did the wrist gnomes sneak in under my bracelets when I was asleep?

(Edit. 2-8-09. 6:15pm. A photo, from October 18th, 2008, for those who haven't had the opportunity to bear witness to my usual display of plumage. L-O-L-Z.)