I’m a frog

frogSo, I was watching a movie, and as the actress walked through the room I noted that she was tall and slender and graceful—and for whatever reason my brain equated her to a gazelle. A sleek beauty. A tower of head-turning porcelain skin that flowed like water with feet that never seemed to touch ground. My mind wandered father into that thought—what animal people emulate. She was a gazelle. I have a friend that is, without a doubt, a Lipizzaner stallion—shiny, show worthy & always ready to perform. Another that is quite possibly the last remaining phoenix—just when you think crash and burn will be the end, they come back stronger, taller. What the hell am I? Hmmm…

A few moments later, I jumped up to get more coffee—and acknowledged I am not a gazelle.

I’ve never been a gazelle. I will never be a gazelle. I will never be that stunning beauty that turns heads when they walk into a room. I will never be the fair maiden that men stumble over each other to talk to. I will never be the girl that lights up the room. I’m friends with those girls, but I am not one of them.

I’m a frog.

I don’t light up a room when I walk in, because I’m already in the room, playing pool in the back corner. I’m not the fair maiden they stumble for, I’m the one that points those out to them, the one they call in the middle of the night for tough love. And while I may be able to convince myself—in a dress, with the right hair and makeup applied—that I might be pretty, I will never be the beauty that stops discussion in a room when I enter. Instead, I’m the one with that last half of a shouted sentence when the rest of the room goes quiet. Nothing about me is sleek. Olive and porcelain are at the opposite ends of the complexion spectrum. And I do not have legs that go all the way up.

I am a frog.

I have no muscle in my arms, but can kill a man with my leg muscles. I’m short and jumpy, cute and spunky, and rumored to be an endangered species. And I’m ok with that. For the first time in my life, I’m really comfortable with the fact that I’m a frog.

For years I thought I was a tomboy. Once upon a time, one of those silly internet memes asked “which movie character are you?” I always thought I was Watts, Mary Stuart Masterson’s character in Some Kind of Wonderful. A tomboy. The girl that helps the guys get the pretty girl. “Just a girl.”

I may have been wrong about that.

I know what I am now, and I’m happy with it. Really happy. Happy with me–who I am, what I am, where I am. I have a better outlook on life, on me, and how I see myself.

A part of me is a little angry that it took me forty years to figure it out. I could blame society for telling me I have to mold into some sort of tall, sleek, gazelle (Barbie complex, anyone?). I could blame people in my past for pointing out I was not a gazelle, but never telling me it was okay to be a frog. I could blame my friends for acting just like the rest of the cast of any bad 80s movie and making me feel that my part was Watts. But it’s not their fault. None of theirs. It’s mine. For allowing those thoughts to supersede my own inner voice.

I found that voice–on a Tuesday at noon, for no good reason, when slapped with the gazelle on screen. And it’s a strong voice. It chirps in the rain and sings while it cooks. It blows bubbles and has anal towel-folding rules. It’s short, but a lot of good things come in little packages, plus Nana always said the short will inherit the Earth. It’s spunky—not loud and obnoxious. Those are other people’s words.

I’m done being ruled by other people’s words. I thank them for their input, because without it I may not have gotten here, but we’re done now. I am not fat, ugly and stupid. I’m a frog. There’s a difference.

A world of difference.

The spring peeps are out, and this little frog, clinging desperately to a branch in the wind and rain, has a life to live, books to write and a publishing industry to take over. If you don’t mind, I’m going to back to my lily pad now and work on that.

Ribbit.

11 Responses to I’m a frog

  • Dickie says:

    “I have no muscle in my arms, but can kill a man with my leg muscles.”

    *shiver*

    Now, of course, you’ve got me wondering what the hell I am. Hmmm.

  • Kelli says:

    Good! That was part of the point… =)

  • wolfnoma says:

    Nice, a woman with strong legs… I like it. GIIGGGIIITTYY!

    Seriously though, Kelli, all of our lives we have lived by a description of what some ding-a-ling in some office in some city is dreaming up on his computer. This “Perfect-Woman” syndrome has invaded everywhere. Our children even have it and I know there is no immunization shot for it. I for one have never been a big fan of that sort of woman. I don’t like it. Never have, never will. Guess that’s why I really did not fit in with any one clique, never had and Thank God I never will.

    That being said, I know for a fact that Gazelles get eaten by lions and tigers but a frog? Now those little suckers will kill you if you look at em the wrong way. Just check out the “Dart Frogs” that will change your mind in a heart beat. Also people and scientists study the amazing traits of frogs but not really gazelles. Go figure.

    I like frogs, frogs are amphibious and live interesting lives. Gazelles just bounce around and get eaten. Of course frogs do eat flies… Hmmmm.

    I am an awkward sea turtle.

  • Kelli says:

    hehehe… yep. i could be a cute little treefrog, or i can be a colorful amazon death frog =))

    sea turtle, eh? why?

  • Qweequeg says:

    Frogs are amazing, and much, much more interesting than a gazelle any day of the week. They are colorful little characters with huge personalities. They are also incredibly adaptable to their environments. They leap with all the faith in their big little hearts, and usually land on their feet, even if somehwat clumsily, even if hanging by a single toe, they still “made it.” Yes, I think you hit the nail on the head, Ms Owen. A frog it is.

    Of course, now you may have to change your monthly “Rabbit Rabbit” to “Ribbit Ribbit.” ;)

  • Kevin Lucia says:

    A Clydesdale. Mostly because that’s what I look like when I when I run. I ain’t fast, but I finish. Eventually.

  • Bob Ford says:

    Okay, let’s get my knee-jerk comments out of the way right from the get-go.

    “can kill a man with your leg muscles.” Have I mentioned you’ve brought a new element of danger to my life? And I kinda like it. =)

    And have I mentioned the abilities a frog has with its tongue? Ahh hell.. your mother reads this. I’d better stop.

    All righty then. Moving on.

    You, my love, are not a gazelle. Nor are you a Lipizzaner stallion. The rich mix of blood that flows through your veins never blessed you with long graceful legs or just the right body frame that clothing designers love.

    I told you long ago I wanted to watch you blossom… that it was a shame you had never been in a relationship where someone would allow you to do that. So it fills my heart to read that you are happy with yourself now. That you’re comfortable (or at least headed in the direction) with being pretty. With being a girl. A woman.

    You’re coming into your own, and it is both a joy and a pleasure to witness and be a part of.

    You are not fat, ugly or stupid.

    You are not a gazelle or a stallion, but you light up the rooms that I’m in. But then, you’ve always kind of known that, haven’t you?

    You’ve shown me a beauty that I hadn’t previously known. You’ve shown me laughter and kind eyes and bubbles in the dead of winter. Childlike giggling at backyard water battles and excited wonder over the tiniest of things.

    I’ve seen drifting reflections in your eyes when your muse kicks in and found in you a kindred spirit I thought I’d never find.

    You are what you think, so if you think you’re a frog and you’re happy with it, then I’m glad.

    But you’re my frog.

    And I’ll take your short, cute, spunky, chirp-in-the-rain voice, sing-while-you-cook, talented-tongued little froggy self any day of the week.

    Even with the freakin towel-folding rules.

  • Qweequeg says:

    Dammit. Bob Ford made me cry… again.

  • Dickie says:

    Bob Ford makes me wish I had the ability to cry…

  • wolfnoma says:

    I have stated that I am an Awkward Sea Turtle in response to your question of what animal are you. Initially it was an off-hand comment but as I thought of my answer it became apparent that I might have accidentally described myself quite accurately. For this reason I have included a dictionary definition of the word AWKWARD.

    Awkward –adjective
    1. lacking skill or dexterity; clumsy. (Yup, especially on the Dance Floor)
    2. lacking grace or ease in movement: (I have been told I either move to fast or to slow.)
    3. lacking social graces or manners: (I am not known to handle myself according to the rules of ettiquite in social settings.)
    4. not well planned or designed for easy or effective use. (I am rarely organized enough to be considered well planned or well designed. I am a fly by the seat of your pants kind of person and those pants are usually on fire.)
    5. requiring caution; somewhat hazardous; dangerous: (I come with my own caution/crime scene tape. Standard issue for all us Polocks.)
    6. hard to deal with; difficult; requiring skill, tact, or the like: (My most recent supervisor has stated “If it were up to me, you never would have been hired and I would fire you if I could.” Yup, I may fit this description.
    7. embarrassing or inconvenient; caused by lack of social grace: (I live in a constant state of a lack of social grace. People are always afraid of what is going to come out of my mouth next. See my Blog about being Socially Retarded.)
    8. Obsolete. untoward; perverse. (I am a steam train in a Maglev world. Hmm, that may be a bit obtuse, how’s this; I am a 20 mph man in a 160 mph world. And I enjoy a good bit of obscure entertainment.)

    So, thus sums up my ability to be a bit difficult in most situations.

    Onwards to the Sea Turtle.

    Like a sea turtle I am truly only comfortable at home in the ocean, well in my case on the ocean for I do not currently have an anaerobic system of breathing. Sure, I can hold my breath for a good amount of time but I can’t convert to an almost complete amphibian at will. Also, like a sea turtle, I only really want to be left alone most of my time and only rarely see my family.

    Also, while I do have a pretty tough outer shell, my insides are mushy and are susceptible to harpoon spears whether in the form of Whale bone spears, steel spears or the spears of rejection from the object of my desire or the boot heel of the local Constabulary I feel the pain but only on the inside.

    Sea Turtles have been found in almost every ocean or sea in the world with the exceptions of the cold water of the Arctic and Antarctic regions. I too have swam in every body of water I have been on or near including the North Atlantic Ocean in 1986 in December. Yes, it was cold and I only suffered minor brain damage.

    One other quick note in this comparison, I am not a huge fan of the Beach. Any beach. I only stay there as long as I need to and then I leave. Female sea turtles only go to the beach to drop off their eggs and then head back to the water. I don’t believe Male turtles even hang out that long on the beach they usually are looking for warmer waters and prettier scenery by the time the females head in for an unloading of offspring.

    Well, I have rambled and shambled through all of this and it is now time for me to go. Have fun in discovering what wonderful creatures of this planet you relate to.

    P.S. Bob really LOVES YOU! Crazy Hippie!

  • Gregory Hall says:

    I can only contribute this. I have made love to a gazelle. And I have made love to a frog. I will take the frog any day of the week.

    The sad thing is I’m talking about the actual animals. I’m a very lonely man.

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