Monthly Archives: February 2011

Bathing Suit Body

Well, I did it. I found a bathing suit that seems to cover all of the “unmentionables” and is at least somewhat aesthetically pleasing. I have this problem where I think I look much better, day-to-day, than I actually do. For example, I keep picturing a buxom 50’s pin-up in the new bathing suit I purchased. The reality, however, is more like a lumpy, plumpy bull dyke (not that there’s anything wrong with that). In order for you all to get a better idea of what happens inside my delusional mind, I’ve drawn you a picture. Just imagine it as if it were drawn well.

<—This is what I see in my head when I think of myself wearing the bathing suit. See? Buxom. (I can’t draw arms…can you tell?

—>This depicts what I actually look like, often not realized until captured on film. I’m still on the fence about whether or not I just instantly turn into an ogre whenever anyone points a camera at me, or if I really do walk around looking like this every day. I pray for the former.

Yes, it’s quite disturbing, I know. This happens every day, everywhere I go and with whatever I wear. In my head I look amazing and I walk around with a strut to match. It is only when I get a glimpse of myself on video or in a picture that the harsh reality of my appearance rears its ugly head. However tragic this may be, I still find it amusing and I hope you all do too!

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What is the World Coming To?

Several things have been getting on my nerves this week, but no one thing has gotten far enough under my skin to result in an entertaining blog. There was the girl in class who spent 10 minutes meticulously tightening the laces on her snow boots, fruitless attempts at wit by various “class clowns” that did nothing more than throw the class off track for a few annoying seconds, and finally the situation that succeeded in eking out a blog from this exhausted brain of mine.

This subject has been festering and building in my mind for a while, but the time was finally right today. I needed a blog topic (A blopic?) and this needs to be said:

Going to concerts is one of my absolute favorite things to do. It combines the ability to be near celebrities, the appropriate setting for group singalongs and overpriced beer. All things I’m a fan of. Well, I’m a fan of complaining about overpriced beer and then buying it anyway. I love small venue shows, such as those at the Intersection in Grand Rapids, or various other small clubs I’ve been to over the years. These venues are all general admission and those who put in the time are rewarded with a few moments of eye contact, or perhaps a sweaty towel. At large venues, such as arenas, however…it is a MUCH different story.

Once upon a time, in a better world, those who waited in line overnight or mastered the fastest “refresh” hand in the land for online sales were able to get the seats that justify that kind of commitment. If you weren’t able to buy tickets, then you could always listen to your favorite radio station in hopes of winning a pair. Tickets given away by radio stations were usually GREAT seats, if not front row (not a random pair of nosebleeds as is now usually the case). Now, however, even if you erect a small tent-village for a few days outside of your local box office or camp out in front of your computer, flexing those fingers for “refresh”, you’re not getting a good seat. First come, first serve is no longer the way of concert tickets and I, for one, am heartbroken.

Brokers are ruining the world and humanity. They are buying up all of the good seats and then re-selling for atrocious prices. I don’t know how they’re able to get away with this legally, but it is frustrating as all hell. Now, Ticketmaster has started a “VIP” option where you can get guaranteed front row or similar tickets, if you’re willing to pay $400 apiece (minimum). I wouldn’t pay $400 to see The Beatles intact, right now. (Ok…so I would if I had it, but you get my point). How are the average fans supposed to get near their favorite artists? WE CAN’T! That is why when recycled boybands come back around, their backstage/front row area looks more like “4H goes out on the town” rather than a representation of their regular fans. The only people who can afford these (and are willing to pay) are the crazed, rabid fans who would bid their college tuition on that precious lock of Justin Bieber’s hair.

Injustice, I tell you! I say we come together and demand retribution for these lost opportunities. Down with brokers and the illusion of VIP! We need a resurgence of tent-cities and all night singalongs! Ticketmaster and associated brokers (I’m talking to you, StubHub), just say no to over-inflated sales and help a sister out! You dirty bastards.

The Universe Has Spoken

Well, it happened. I fell off the wagon this past weekend. I fell hard. In fact, I’d say I took a running leap and tucked and rolled off that wagon. Obviously the universe wants me to be chunky. There must be some divine purpose for me to remain pleasantly plump, so who am I to argue with it? Here’s why failing at my diet is not my fault:

1. Exercising is hard. Especially when you’re already fat and you are forced to do any exercise in the few spare moments you have. And ESPECIALLY when those few moments are usually shared with your thin and trim sister who constantly says, “You’re not supposed to sit down in between. Hey…You aren’t supposed to sit down if you want it to work. Um. You might want to get some water…”

2. I twisted my ankle. Yes, you might remember the post regarding that unfortunate accident being a couple of weeks ago, but it is still swollen and hurty. I think there might be more than a simple sprain to this whole ankle debacle. Obviously I can’t be expected to do rigorous cardio on what is clearly a hopelessly useless ankle. Obviously.

3. My schedule is CRAZY busy during the week so it stands to reason that the weekend will include some libations with friends. It is common knowledge that alcohol (mostly beer) makes people have the insatiable need to munch. I am no exception. No diet or will to lose weight is strong enough to defeat the 2:00 am “Dude, I want breadsticks!” idea. Not a chance.

4. Shopping. What used to be my favorite pastime has become one angst-filled trip to the dressing room after another. Not only do I have to come to terms with the fact that it is no longer appropriate (or realistic) for me to shop in the Juniors section, I have to weed through racks and racks of “old lady clothes” to find something I can even work with. I am chubby, not fashion-retarded! This emotional rollercoaster often leads to feelings of defeat, which then leads to emotional eating. I’m sure every woman is familiar with this phenomenon. Endless cycle, I tell you. Endless.

Clearly, with all of these unstoppable forces I can’t possibly win. I am destined to use euphemisms to describe my voluptuous, curvy, healthy, rotund body forever. Or at least until next week when the feelings of hopelessness, acne, bloating and ridiculous cravings cease.

Loose Lips Sink Ships, and Loose Women Sink Marriages?

Before I start today’s “rant” I’d like to mention that although the past two entries have been in response to something I heard about the entertainment industry, I will try not to let this blog turn into another regurgitated version of Perez Hilton.

That being said, I can’t help but comment on the pending divorce of Pete Wentz and Ashlee Simpson. At first, the public was made to believe that Ashlee requested the divorce because Pete was spending more time partying than parenting. Now, however, another side of the story surfaces. It seems that along with the ever-gorgeous Halle B, Ashlee also has a secret side. Friends of Petey have been coming forward to set the record straight and get the public (save for a few straggling FOB fans, who never faltered in their faith) back on the side of the angsty Wentz. According to those close to him, it was Ashlee who has been spending too much time practicing her night life skills while leaving Pete at home with the baby. She has reportedly been spending loads of time with a group of professional skateboarders (the salt of the earth, if you ask me) and not coming home until 6 or 7 each morning…which is a completely reasonable hour for a wife and mother. If she works 3rd shift.

I’ll admit that I drooled over Pete Wentz when I first laid eyes on him. He was hanging upside down from the ceiling of a small club where they were performing, screaming the last beautiful note from some song or another and I was instantly smitten. I rushed to my nearest search engine the second I heard there were pictures of Pete’s “Wentz” floating around on the ol’ interweb and I pined over each hard to understand lyric. He seemed like the “party boy” you’d imagine to be in a band like FOB and I was truthfully, sort of pissed when he married such a douchette.

Here’s what I don’t understand:

How did the successful music businessman/rocker that once was end up being the whining house-husband? How did he let Ashlee get such an upper hand that she felt no remorse staying out until the sun comes up, with professional skateboarders no less. I mean…skateboarders are just perpetual teenagers and everyone knows that all teenage boys care about is sex. Even if they have to get it from that crazy, no-talent, plastic-nosed, shadow-living, jig-dancing jackoff of a “celebrity”. I don’t get it. Why, Pete? Why?

Now you’re just another notch in her bed post. Yeah, I did it. I quoted Fall Out Boy lyrics in my blog. What of it?

Riding Her Coattails Straight to Hell!

Everyone has heard by now that the esteemed (not pitied and mockable at all) Billy Ray Cyrus is at his wit’s (assuming he had a wit with a beginning) end concerning his family’s continuing trouble. His main concern is his downward-spiraling teen queen daughter, Miss Miley.

Miley is 18 now and has been showing the world her underdeveloped body for a few years already. That seemed fine with Mr. Achey Breakey. She swung her adolescent legs around a stripper pole at an awards show at the ripe age of 16…not a problem. Strange twitter photos of a sopping wet and sometimes half-nude teen Miley didn’t seem to ruffle dad’s feathers. Finally, video of Miley smoking Salvia (come on…it was pot) from a bong surfaced and she held her 18th birthday party at a bar and Daddy Two-Names has had enough!

Billy boy has been spouting his disdain for the Disney machine all over the media world in the past week. He blames Disney for his divorce, his crappy son, Miley’s blatant teenagerism and that other kid nobody knows about. It’s Disney’s fault that Miley was exposed to fame and riches and it’s Disney’s fault that she had “handlers” who didn’t properly babysit her while Dad was raking in those residuals from all of the “Oh yeah…he had a song one time!” iTunes downloads.

Well I say NO! Mr. Cyrus. If you want to throw blame on something for your inability to control your family then you better put it where it rightfully belongs. Your glorious mullet of old. Without that mullet you would have never made it to the “big time” which then would not have led to various open doors to that evil Disney Machine you are so quick to slander. Next time you don’t trust Miley’s “handlers”, try stepping in for them once in a while and spot your own daughter while she learns some new stripper pole tricks. My guess is that you’ll learn something about her. (Hint: Daddy Issues)

So there you have it. Disney is innocent. Mullets are evil. Case closed.

Ten Yards of Lycra Please!

With Spring Break approaching, and my ever-present need to pretend I’m still allotted a Spring Break, the task of purchasing a bathing suit is upon me. I have successfully avoided most bathing suit situations for the past few years, but unless I feel like wasting the time I have scheduled in the sun I better figure something out fast!

I know what kind of suits I like, that isn’t necessarily the problem. I used to have a great new suit every summer. Suits that really framed the jiggle as I sauntered to the end of the grumpy neighbor’s dock on majestic Rose Lake. Not only have I since lost that adolescent cockiness (sometimes mistaken for confidence), but I’ve found at least 40 pounds along the trail to adulthood. If it were up to me (and it is) I’d simply continue with my fashion blinders on and go with whatever is “in” at the moment. However, as well as those extra pounds, I’ve picked up a keener sense of what might activate a stranger’s gag reflex. With that in mind I must embark on my journey to the swimwear section of my local department store and search for…what then?

A wetsuit? A Victorian-inspired chastity suit? Something with a full skirt, perhaps? I’m at a loss and I need help. Serious help.

I encourage any and all who read this entry to submit your suggestions. The funnier the better.

*Actually helpful suggestions not necessary.

I saw a man…

I saw a man who made me stop and ask the age-old question:

Is that a 40-year old has-been desperately trying to relive his glory days? Or is it a hipster who is doing it wrong?

Forever Young

I am in a strange place in life. I’m in my mid twenties (on the back end, but still mid). I’m the youngest amongst my co-workers, which helps me retain my youthful status, but also allows me to interact with more uh…”seasoned” adults. I am usually one of the oldest in the college classes I attend nightly, which helps me reconnect with “kids these days”, but also constantly reminds me that I am not one of them. Along with these conflicts, I am single and without children, so that alienates me from a lot of my peers. Confusing!

I tend to side with the aspects of my life that make me feel and behave young. I do realize that mid-twenties is still fairly young, and that those who are into their later years might be cursing me silently while reading this, but just hang in there. You’ll see where I’m going.

Over the past couple of months, I have found 3 gray hairs near my temples. 3. As if that weren’t traumatic enough, I have also only been carded ONCE when buying alcoholic beverages in the past month. ONCE! There comes a time in a woman’s life when she longs for the suspicious lingering look at her driver’s license. Now, I don’t even get a courtesy check! The law states that vendors are to ID anyone who looks as if they COULD be under 35. THIRTY-FIVE! The last time this happened (at a liquor store this past weekend) I sort of let my outrage show. I demanded that he look at my ID, and mentioned that he was lucky I wasn’t an undercover cop or for that matter, a teenager with impeccable taste in wine. He just stared at me and pretended to glance at my ID. Awful.

It needs to be said that I promptly ordered an anti-aging regimen from Sephora.com and I’m expecting youthful exuberance to arrive in 3-5 business days.

Stay tuned for updates on my self-esteem.

I Have an Addiction.

Ok, in all honesty, I’m addicted to many things. Coffee, pretty shoes, mascara, pop culture, sarcasm…but there is one that has really monkeyed up all over my back this week. That little bastard is food.

You all read it earlier this week…I’m dieting. When I diet, I don’t just “cut back”…I go big or go home. Well, I suppose it would be “get small or stay home”. I drastically cut calories because I don’t have time (and don’t like) to exercise. That means I only have two meal-replacement shakes during the day, a snack of raw veggies in the early evening before class, and then a salad with half a chicken breast when I get home at night. Yeah, you said it. STARVING! Not starving in the sense that I’m wasting away, but starving because my body is used to preservatives, fat, sugar, sodium…all the fun stuff! Nothing I’m eating is delicious or savory. Nothing is satisfying a nagging craving. I can handle these feelings while I’m at work. The constant onslaught of paint fumes and hazardous chemicals doesn’t really do a whole lot for the appetite (or the brain cells). And I’m usually fine sitting through my night classes as well. Except of course, when all I can smell is PIZZA!

I walked into one of my classes this week and I was feeling a little irritated because of the lack of food that day. I sat down and immediately noticed the distinct aroma of tomato and garlic. I quickly scanned the room but saw no food anywhere! It was somebody who had just been enjoying a delicious Italian concoction and I wanted it! I had begun to come to terms with the unknown pizza smell when the class took its nightly break. After a quick trip to the water fountain to refill my bottle I returned to the classroom to find one of the other students enjoying a bag of freshly popped microwave popcorn. DO YOU KNOW HOW GOOD THAT SMELLS?! I thought my head was going to explode. Since then, I have tried to reevaluate my priorities and come to terms that other people are allowed to eat near me. I guess.

Side Note:

As I was writing that last paragraph I realized how gross it sounds for me to have been salivating over someone who smelled like pizza. It made me reflect on a day not too long ago. A day at work when I noticed the smell of taco seasoning and inquired as to who might be enjoying the delicious Mexican snack. I was promptly informed that one of my coworkers had simply skipped their shower that morning and the intoxicatingly spicy aroma was indeed coming from their pores. I’ll just file that away as the “baseball” of my food fantasies!

Me=Creeper

I successfully got my NKOTBSB tickets today, and I am definitely pumped about making another check mark on my “boyband bucket list”. The Backstreet Boys are the only object of teenage obsession I haven’t managed to see live yet. I saw N Sync a few times when they were actually relevent, and it was amazing because I still had that teenageness to justify my presence there. I saw New Kids On The Block when they were in Grand Rapids about two years ago, and it was amazing because I was old enough to drink and think of clever sayings to put on Tshirts. I saw Hanson this past summer and well, the drinking thing and the fact that they played at a small venue allowing me to strong-arm my way to the front made it amazing. So now BSB. Pumped!

The fact that I’m going to all of these boy band shows as an adult brings me to the explanation of my title. When I saw NKOTB last I was a total weirdo. I cried when Joe Mac sang “Please Don’t Go Girl”, I got overly excited when the guys ended up on a small stage RIGHT behind me and ended up injuring my leg when it got caught in the folding chair I was standing on, and worst of all, I turned into an ultra-creeper when I saw Donnie Wahlberg outside after the show. I honestly just grabbed on to his arm and stared at him while he talked to someone near me. I didn’t say one word. For about 30 seconds. Bless his heart he just smiled at me and continued on with his business. Apparently alcohol+teenage dreams+me=freak.

Since loving all things dreamy is in my DNA, it stands to reason that I’m having an internal conflict when it comes to the Bieber. I do adore him, and I find his music catchy and his little dimpled face charming…but his age makes me seem like MORE of a creeper. I’m not saying I want to do anything dirty to him, but the mere act of liking Justin Bieber makes me seem creepy. I thought about going to check out his “life story” when it opens at a theater near me, but I’m terrified that Chris Hansen is going to step out from the box office and ask me to have a seat!

“I was just bringing him some soda and cookies! He said he was lonely!”