Personal Writing: An excerpt from my memoir by Jamie Lanham

 

    Excerpt from a chapter entitled: Sometimes we mistake comfort for love.    

    

As a poker player, I don’t prefer tournaments.  Once you're out, that’s. it.  If you are with someone who remains in the tournament, it’s a lot of waiting around.  There was one awkward Saturday morning when I quickly got out of a Texas Hold’em tournament at a card room on El Cajon Boulevard in San Diego.  The card room was small, so once I was out, I walked next door and sat on a bench just outside the front door of a Coco’s restaurant.  After only a few minutes, a man, riding a very small bicycle, rolled up to me.

    “You working?” he asked.

    I had to shield my eyes from the noon sun as I turned to look at him.  “No,” I responded, and looked away.  

    “Do you work tomorrow?” he persisted.

    Irritated by his presence, I told him, “No.  I don’t work until Monday.”  I couldn’t imagine why this guy was interested in my work schedule.

    He never changed his tone during his questions.  “Well can I at least have your number?” 

    Ahhhh, I thought.  Now I get it.  “Um, no.  I don’t think my boyfriend would like that,”  I responded evenly.  I get super weird when men give me attention, whether I’m interested in said attention or not.  I have to remind myself to stay neutral.

He rode off wishing me to have a good day.  I was impressed by his nerve, riding up to me on what I can only assume was a stolen child’s bicycle to ask me out.  I told AJ about an hour later when he exited

both the tournament and the card room.

Chuckling, he asked, “Did he ask if you were WORKING?  You know, WORKING, working?”

Holy shit. 

    I had been mistaken for a working girl.  

    That poor guy obviously thought I was the rudest hooker that ever was and I just sat there like an idiot, thinking he was asking me on a date.  

    Then I became defensive about the situation.  I was wearing jeans and a long sleeved t-shirt that hung off my shoulders.  I had heels on because we were planning to meet friends later that evening and I wanted to look fancy-ish.  I couldn’t believe that showing shoulders and wearing high heels would make someone think I was a working girl.  Sitting outside of a Coco's restaurant on a Saturday afternoon!

    In my 20’s, I was confident, but not cocky.  Slightly arrogant and situationally snarky, but not self-centered.  I don’t believe I ever had an inflated sense of self.  In fact, if someone found me attractive, I rarely believed it.  Throughout my life I was clear on the belief that I wasn’t unattractive, but I certainly didn’t think of myself as beautiful, sexy, or pretty.  I was short with thick thighs and a big old ass.  I was the goalie on the soccer team.  Coaches had me try out as catcher for softball and wanted me to try shot put as an event for track. I was fast and strong and had the body of an athlete.  From the time I hit puberty I was fit and curvy but struggled daily with body image.  

    I tried not eating but couldn’t commit.  I got too hungry and would rarely make it past a meal or two before giving in.  

    I gave throwing up a fair try but I’m a terrible puker and that simply wasn’t going to work for me in the long run.  Over the summer when I worked daily shifts at a local amusement park I would try substituting smoking on my lunch break instead of eating.  Inevitably I’d end up having a cigarette AND a snack.  Eventually I gave up and just went with eating healthy-ish and working out but continued to just dream of a day when my thighs being the same size as my calves instead of making destructive life choices to attain the unattainable.  

    I hated how I looked.  And then I started drinking.  

    Alcohol gave me the boost of confidence I never had day to day.  When I drank I believed in every flirtatious act thrown my way and I didn’t just embrace it, I gave it right back.  When I was drinking I used my sexuality as a force. I embodied the social confidence that I lacked in my day to day life, and I became what I felt was the life of the party.  I made everyone do shots.  I danced.  I sang.  I flirted.  I became a version of myself that I thought the world wanted.  Because they told me so.  Lovingly nicknamed “Saturday Jamie” by a group of my pool league  friends, I was reminded how much fun I was as we relived the wild and crazy nights.  When partying, I was no longer painfully self-conscious, quiet, and reserved.