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Apr 22

Low-rise jeans (and stupid bitches who wear them)

Posted on Wednesday, April 22, 2009 in Bitch slap of the day

I’m starting a new thing, as of today. It’s a mini rant, a tiny little bitch slap to all of the stupid fucking things I see in my day.

Subject for today: Low-rise jeans

As I was returning from the restroom today at work, I caught a glimpse of a plump, dark-haired girl heading up the stairs. As we moved closer (I was already on the second story, heading towards the stairs she was ascending), I realized that she wasn’t actually as plump as her jeans made her appear, she was just making the classic mistake (that many a woman have made since the creation of these little assholes) of wearing what I would quite literally call women’s worst enemy: the low-rise jean. She displayed all of the classic symptoms of a girl who wears low-rise jeans one size too small including: tugging her pants up after each step was defeated, flashing butt-crack during the defeat of said steps, and the ashamed once-over of the area to ascertain who may have witnessed this tugging/butt-crack flashing action. Oh, and let’s not forget the most noticeable symptom: the muffin-top.muffintop1

I’m just going to take one quick moment to point out two things that nag at me every time I see this choice of wardrobe:

  • Low-rise jeans were created for the anorexic models who grace us with their presence in every media magazine from here to Tahiti, not real girls with love handles and dumpy butts and, lets face it, ass cracks. Rule 1 of becoming a model, if you didn’t previously know this, is surgically replacing your ass crack with dimples which were designed to inspire maximum male masturbation sessions all across the world and a world-wide female scramble to the nearest mall equipped with an Abercrombie & Fitch store.
  • There is no excuse for a muffin top…I understand that a lot of girls don’t want to have to admit to themselves that they actually wear a size larger, but wouldn’t you rather be able to hide the size of your jeans inside your pants, rather than advertise your muffin-top love handles to the world? Bigger jeans = no muffin-tops. Yeah!

That’s all.

Apr 21

Sometimes I want to kick my own ass.

Posted on Tuesday, April 21, 2009 in Legitimate concerns

Do you ever find yourself doing things that you know you shouldn’t do, that could cause some serious long-term damage, hurt people and yourself, yet you can’t stop doing it? I’m not talking about drug addiction or alcohol abuse because well, lets face it, those people are just lazy assholes who don’t like themselves and think that any sort of substance they put in their body to alter their personality will make other people like them and in turn, trick themselves into believing that they are actually pretty cool and not annoying as hell to deal with for everyone else riding on the sobriety bus.

No, alcohol is not my problem (but sometimes I wish it was!). I’m actually afflicted with self-sabotage and hurting-the-ones-I-love syndrome. I have mentioned before that I am a slightly (read: totally) insecure person and I can’t for the life of me figure out why my fiance not only loves me, but says I’m sexy, he thinks I’m gorgeous, wants to marry me and have babies with me. Don’t misunderstand, I’m not trying to insult his taste or his opinion in any way, but I grew up with a brother who felt like shit and wasn’t happy until everyone around him, which was only me at the time, felt like shit too. I quickly learned that not only was I fat, I was stupid, fat & ugly! Yes, I’m the complete package here folks! Well, when you’re 10, and you’ve always idolized your big brother, you tend to believe pretty much everything he says (I mean, he was able to convince me to eat a worm….you get the idea) regardless of its validity. Accompany that with the occasional (frequent) ass beatings he gave me, the public humiliations he put me through and the number of friends he chased off for me, by the time I was 15, I’m scum.

Fast forward to today, I’m 28 years old. I have a career, a home, two dogs, I’ve finally got long hair again, and maybe my face isn’t so disappointing, and well, not to boast, but men and women alike have told me I have a great rear end. My fiance tells me everyday, sometimes (usually) more than once, that he thinks I’m beautiful, that I’m the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen, but none of this stops me from thinking that if he were to run across someone (anyone else anatomically correct, to be perfectly truthful) else, he would drop me in a half of a heartbeat. And thinking this is one thing, but actually accusing him of it is another thing entirely and it is known to happen around our house just about everyday. An85-heartbreakkid1d I know I’m doing it, and I can hear the words, but I can’t stop my mouth from saying them, and they spill out like poison. And while I know he loves me, and (for now) he’s entirely patient with me, he is only human and can withstand only so much irrational thinking followed by completely irrational behaviour. I can see how much it confuses and hurts him, but that doesn’t stop me. He has said that he wishes I could see myself the way he sees me for just a second so that then I would know how he feels, and yet I still can’t believe that he will be faithful and loyal to me for our entire life spans. Part of this comes courtesy of my brother and the other part is compliments of good ol’ mom and dad. Their marriage was full of neglect, lies, cheating and last but not least, a nasty divorce to wash it all down. High school sweet hearts, actually, middle school sweethearts, together since the age of 13. And to this day, I’m still convinced they love each other, but once all of that nastiness (him: neglect, her: cheating & lies) has passed through a marriage, it’s past the point of no return. I don’t want that to happen to us, so much so that it seems I’m going to wreck it before it ever gets the opportunity to pass down that road.

I’m such a piece of shit, and I hate it. I need a reality check, and fast, because I don’t want to hurt my best friend, my partner, my everything. He deserves better, and that’s the truth if I don’t shape up and realize that he chose me for a reason, he loves me, and I have to trust that. I need an electrode to be placed in my head, set to shock the bazooty out of my brains anytime an insecure or jealous thought dares cross the ocean of my mind. I feel like I have an alternate personality who always prevails in every battle. I need a handler, I need to be trained. Maybe I need to be hypnotized into having some self confidence.

If you need to find me,  check in the self-help section of the public library where I will be planted until I find the solution to this problem.

Apr 9

Make-up trials

Posted on Thursday, April 9, 2009 in Someone please pay me to bitch.

I’m getting married, and apparently, as part of the “ritual” of getting married, you go to the salon and have people do a trial run of your hair-do and make up. I had the hair trial last week and I was honestly quite pleased. I went back yesterday for the make up trial, this was a different story altogether. I walked into the salon and was greeted by a frazzled, silly-looking girl with bad hair and even worse make-up.  She introduced herself and sat my down on the ridiculously uncomfortable but obviously stylish loveseat in the waiting area. She started to ask me if I had any style in mind when the phone rang–she jumped up while huffing and puffing and rolling her eyes and stomped to the phone, stating “I have to answer the phones because WE don’t have a receptionist!!!” She returned 5 minutes later to inform me that she was going to “make your face look like my face!!!” yay? This was my first cause for concern. If my face ever looked like her face (and I know how this is going to sound but) I would jump in a time machine and be born to someone else. In other words, this is not a good introduction for a make up trial for the one day that it really matters what your make up looks like!

Then she took me in, sat me in a chair and said “I have to run out to my car and get my personal make up bag, because I think our faces are so similar, my make up would work great on you. A) this is NOT hygenic, whatsoever because she looked like regularly experienced massive landmine explosions across a majority of her face and B) I am a brown haired, fair-skinned brown-eyed girl, she was a blue-eyed, fraggle-haired oompa loompa from wonkaland via the tanning salon, I am still having a hard time finding the similarities ANYWHERE. But, if you may recall (reference back to my first blog I think it was, where I explained my amazing shit-eating capabilities…), I am not the type to protest, so I grasped the arms of the chair and took it like a wimp. My mom was with me, laughing the whole time. At one point, she swiped some white goop across the lower inner eyelid (and informed me that she would NOT be doing that on my upper inner eyelid—well DUH, even I know that). I began to feel like I was looking like some sort of Amsterdam working lady. When she whipped out her mascara and started swiping it on my lower lashes, I started to get nervous. I think she actually asked me if she was hurting me, this should give you an idea of the look on my face.

All in all, she did an ok job, mom and fiance approved so I guess I’ll go with it, although it felt like much more make up than I usually wear and the process to get there was more than a little painful. My only concern is having to see this whackjob on my wedding day. lol. But I guess that’s the price of beauty?

As long as I don’t look like this lady on my wedding day:scared_face(yeah, I said lady)