Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Ruffles Across the Butt

I know. It's crazy, but I DO want my ass entirely covered.

You know what I don't want? Ruffles. When did ruffles across the butt on a bathing suit become normal for any female over three? I get the draping. I get more coverage. But ruffles? What exactly do you think the ruffle is hiding? Also, when there is decoration, people tend to look at it more. My butt does not need additional attention. If I could paint my body the color of the sand and match the suit, I would. My goal is to pretend it is not there. Frankly, it's the goal of anyone who sees me in a bathing suit, too. No one needs a ruffle acting as a neon arrow to no man's land.

I understand bathing suit designers are under a lot of pressure. They constantly get harangued by women who have honed their enormous number of body issues into award-winning angst (for instance, medical science cannot explain my thighs… seriously, the finest minds have failed). But must we make it more challenging?

I know you guys are bored, but having a ladder of fabric up the back, while looking interesting, means the tan lines are going to be murder. Do you want the people wearing your bathing suits to look like they were whipped by Dom 47? No? Because they will if they burn in that thing.

Also, who decided that adding metal is a good idea? Metal fasteners in the front, big shiny metal things on the hips, or the big "nautical" looking chain design might be eye catching, but the sun is actually hot. I know. I know. No one ever tells you these things. It is true. The sun is hot. When left in the sun, metal things get hotter. Why would I want metal burning things anywhere near my breasts? And, God forbid, if you are actually wearing the metal (or faux metal/plastic) into the ocean or swimming pool: Nothing says sexy like corrosion.

And another thing—maximum support should mean straps that hold the top up. What it should not mean is that you've added so much padding to the top that when you get out of the water, you'll be leaking for the rest of the day. I'm not saying you should stop providing padded bra tops. The theory is a good one. But when a girl looks for swim top with support, she tends to be looking for… oh… what's the word… support. The tiny little strings and three tons of sponge work, isn't quite what she has in mind.

If you are designing for 6ft model types with perfectly buoyant bodies, well done. Those poor fools need swimwear, too. Life is hard enough for those folks without making them cover their lights under bushels. But for the rest of us, could you please take a moment to reflect on what it was like in the olden days when breasts were real and a woman might not have the metabolism of a racehorse?

Your kind attention this matter is greatly appreciated.


Monday, July 25, 2011

In My Mind

In my mind, I am taller.

My mental pictures owe a lot to Photoshop, apparently. I'm svelte, sophisticated and statuesque inside. The fact that no one in the history of time has ever thought the word "statuesque" in relation to someone like me is probably not shocking to those of you on the outside. To me, I'm left with confusion. Whenever I picture myself in hard-nosed negotiations, or accidentally coming upon an ex, I'm also much, much taller. I'm sure this isn't unusual. I probably just associate tall people with authority, and when I want to seem authoritative, I picture myself as taller. I'm just trying to figure out why I'm so surprised to find out that I'm still 5'3". No seriously, at least once a week I have a "that can't be right" moment.

It doesn't stop there. You should see me shop. I shop like a tall person. Imagine my consternation after buying the dress I saw on the six foot model (sporting a size zero no doubt) when my picture and her picture don't vaguely resemble one another. Maybe it's just because she had red hair?


In my mirror, I am fatter.

My mirror and I don't understand each other. It's not just that I see every flaw. It's that the flaws seem to come as a shock to me from time to time. For instance, just now I walked past the mirrored hall closet (devilish invention) and exclaimed, "Holy Hell!" Not because I was having a religious vision, but because I just noticed exactly how lumpy I looked and that I had actually gone out wearing these clothes.


In my fantasies, I am desired.

I just heard a collective "Duh" from you people. I don't mean those kinds of fantasies. I mean the kind of fantasies that involve people offering me jobs because they happened upon my blog, heard good things about me from someone respected, or just met me but were completely charmed. And… perhaps… in moments of weakness, I might want Clooney to approach me and say something along the lines of, "I've been trying to meet you for years, and speaking to you now has surpassed all of my wildest dreams." But that's really only when I've run out of chocolate. And Tuesdays.


In my real life, I have never pulled off jaunty.

As a teenager I envied Laura Holt and her seemingly endless supply of jaunty chapeaux. Naturally, I too wanted to exude the confidence that said, "That's right—my hat is jaunty. Not only that, but I'm rockin' this inimitable style that tells the world I am a force to be reckoned with." Instead, dear friends, I envy you your "hatness" and continue to fall far short of perky.


In my delusions, I never have to get a 9 to 5 job again.

We'll see.


Wednesday, July 20, 2011

When Dating Becomes a Business Transaction

I'll admit that I'm oddly fascinated with the concept of this website:

I'd like to say that I have my finger on the pulse of the dating scene, but my dating scene is more corpse-like than vivacious and thriving. Luckily, I have friends like Pen to introduce me to the newly terrifying ways of meeting someone else who will waste my time (and apparently cost me money).

I can't decide how I feel about the option of bidding on someone's time. I don't kid myself; I'd have to fall into the "generous" category, not the "For the Attractive" category. On the one hand, I suppose it is practical: someone wants an attractive date and here they can buy someone (or at least rent them). I'm a little fuzzy on how this system guards against being prostitution—I mean if a guy pays $500 for an evening with you, you can't convince me that he wouldn't expect something other than your dynamic personality. But let's go along with the supposition that everyone on this site would be playing by the stated rules. I could finally get a date! I have a little savings for "entertainment" during this year of adventure, so it's within the realm of possibility. And yet…there's something that feels vaguely sad about me buying a date (sorry, bidding for a date that I might lose because my enterprising, would-be partner might be looking for someone with a bit more cash and a lot less ass).

And then there is the other part of my reaction to this: at last a chance for successful men to finally date the gold-digging prom queen who normally wouldn't give them the time of day. Contrary to the press around the launch of the site—this isn't like a fun-filled bachelor charity auction. You are for rent. Now if you are broke and pretty, you might be entirely fine with guys paying you for your time (you get dinner and a little spending money). But how does this inspire relationships (as seems to be the stated intention on the site)? What is to keep you from going out on a lot of first dates through the site? You might have no intention of getting involved, but need some quick cash.

I suppose that takes us back to the practical—you are going to date a lot of people while looking for Mr. First Marriage, why shouldn't you get paid for your time?

The theme that is repeated over and over again on the site is that everyone has a price. I'm not so certain that is true. Did Mother Theresa have a price? I'm not saying that there aren't some tempting offers: $1 million would certainly get my attention. But I'm not sure I could get away from the idea that I'm letting someone buy me, and I don't feel like I'm for purchase. And if I could get past the fact that bidding process, do I really want a relationship with someone who buys women? My relationships have been a lot of things (some good, some bad, some "what the hell?"), but I've never treated anyone or been treated like a commodity. Is this really the way of the future?

It just seems like we're getting further and further away from engraved calling cards, heated glances across a crowded room and arousing debate. And I'm hesitant to call that progress.



Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Magical Mystery Tour

My magical mystery tour of Los Angeles has continued. Today's tour stop: Compartes Chocolatier in Brentwood. If you are a chocolate fan, this place is your nirvana. Not only is the chocolate amazing, but you can actually watch it being made right there at the facility. Also, an incredibly nice man brought me chocolate to sample. I'm not sure it gets better than that. In fact, I'm positive it doesn't. Now I'm not saying that Gene Wilder comes out singing about "pure imagination," but it does feel inspiring (and the dark chocolate truffles could inspire many a fantasy, I'm sure).

You'll be incredibly impressed: I limited myself to the five sample box. This was not easy. My one true love is chocolate, and I almost asked about submitting an application now that I'm looking for a new career of adventure and intrigue. Then I got the image of myself being arrested after I ate through the shop's inventory, and I realized that it might not be the best possible plan. I will content myself with the knowledge that I can visit whenever the mood strikes me. And no, my looking for an apartment in the area is not related at all. Why do you ask (she says, wiping chocolate from her face)?

The other reason you should check this place out is they have a really interesting charitable giving program going. Essentially, the proceeds from the handmade beaded bracelet and percentage of the proceeds from the chocolate go to support malnourished children and the only women's center in Darfur through Relief International. Normally, I have to work hard to find outrageous justifications for my chocoholic tendencies. Not so here: a little bit of chocolate goodness can actually do some good elsewhere.

Stay tuned for the next stop on the "how have I lived here so many years and not known this existed before" tour.






Friday, July 08, 2011

Body Blow

I innocently wandered into a store today and admired a pair of jean shorts. They were longer than the typical shorts, which I can appreciate since I've never had the assets of a Blake Lively or Cameron Diaz. I justified the purchase with the fact that they were on massive sale. I grabbed a couple of sizes and hit the dressing room.

Alright, the first pair didn't fit—could barely squeeze them over my knees. Ok. I shook it off. Things happen. Bodies morph. It might just be time to actually work out rather than thinking about it.

The second, larger pair also didn't fit. And it's not just that they didn't fit, it was as though they were spanx meant for outside wear. My legs looked like sausage cases and the jean shorts were losing the battle to contain me. Is it possible to have fat knees? Because I swear to you, it looked like the muffin top and also become mini muffins on the bottom.

In despair, I peeled them back off, sat on the bench and entertained some suicidal thoughts (along with some inappropriate thoughts involving chips and cheese dip). I checked the label just to be certain I hadn't accidentally wandered into the children's section. Nope. They were made for adults—adults who hate themselves.

There on the label explained at least part of my distress: jean leggings.

That's right ladies (and the occasional gentleman who wanders onto this blog in error) I mistakenly tried on CUT OFF JEGGINGS. I didn't even know these existed—and not just because I don't know anything about fashion, but because their existence is just wrong. How do you sit down in these things? Are you just supposed to pose standing in them while holding your breath (provided you get greased up enough to get them on)? Are they actually supposed to act as a new form of birth control? Because no one is getting anything on, off or over in these things.

I'm going to go call my therapist now. It could take years to erase the memory of me trying to stuff my bits and pieces into the jean equivalent of saran wrap. YEARS, people. YEARS.

If I can save one person from this fate, my life will be a success (ok, not really, but you'll still thank me).


Thursday, July 07, 2011

An Afternoon with David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson

I'm going to be spending the afternoon (and early evening) with David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson (and special guest Chris Carter). And no, smart-asses, it's not because I'll be spending another Saturday night fervently clutching my DVD player remote (though, I love doing that and will do that again). Nope, this is one of those in-person, not in a massive convention hall, charity events that sounds like fun. You should be there, too!


Actors David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson are reuniting for IBG's summer charity event on July 30 in Los Angeles to benefit SA-YES, a South African charity focusing on the empowerment of marginalized youth in the country.

Foregoing an outside moderator, fans will be treated to the actors taking turns as they pose questions to one another about their entire careers, process and future plans. Have any burning questions for the actors? Ask them! Audience members will be allowed to pose work-related questions to Duchovny and Anderson as part of the event. Dying to know what is in store for Hank Moody in the fifth season of Californication, or about Duchovny's role in Goats? Want to know more about Anderson's work in the upcoming Moby Dick or Johnny English Reborn? The opportunity is here! And, of course, the truth is still out there about the possibilities of a third X-Files film.

As a special treat, the man who created the two characters that Entertainment Weekly named among the 100 greatest characters in pop culture, will be joining in the fun.  Chris Carter will take the stage with Duchovny and Anderson during the latter portion of the audience Q&A to field questions from fans and, perhaps, pose a couple of his own to the duo.  In addition, Carter will be joining Anderson for the photo/autograph signing following the Q&A.

VIP tickets are available through the IBG website: 

Act fast! General seating tickets for the event have already sold out. Fans do not want to miss this truly unique, live event.


Tuesday, July 05, 2011

Euphemisms on a Tuesday

Many of these euphemisms made me laugh, and I figured some of you needed the laugh today, too. Returning to work after long weekends can be hard. I am here to help.

Also, I had no idea #5 was from Othello. I’m not sure it’s going to make me cringe less if I hear it suggested to me, but I do feel more informed now.


Sunday, July 03, 2011

After Two Months


Wishful Thinking: An hour after I quit my job, my future path will be clear.

Reality: Oh, it's clear alright. It's clear I have no idea what I am doing.


Wishful Thinking: When I quit my job my apartment will be immaculate.

Reality: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA. Seriously, I keep losing stuff. The Apartment is not that big. I spent 10 minutes searching for free weights this morning. How do you lose free weights in a one bedroom apartment? It might have something to do with the fact that I keep moving the furniture around every 2-3 weeks.


Wishful Thinking: Once I leave this all-consuming job, I will write every day.

Reality: To be fair, I do use a pen every day. So, that probably counts. I should have been more specific.


Wishful Thinking: Once I leave this all-consuming job, my laundry will never pile up.

Reality: Hello, laundry, I promise to turn to you again at some point.


Wishful Thinking: Once I leave this crazy "all time zones" job, I'll be able to sleep in every day (until I start work again).

Reality: Well, I don't get up at 4:30 5 days a week anymore—4:45am is really so much more respectable. Go me.


Wishful Thinking: Because I wasn't open to the other opportunities in the universe while I was working, those opportunities didn't come to me. This will all change.

Reality: Perhaps the opportunities got lost, only had my work address and are even now trying to track me down?


Wishful Thinking: I will have time to read.

Reality: I've definitely started a book since I quit. I have every intention of finishing it someday.


Wishful Thinking: I will travel constantly.

Reality: I constantly watch shows about other people traveling. I'm currently pretending that I'm doing my due diligence just in case I ever need a home in Argentina. You never know.


Wishful Thinking: Every day I will wake up and choose another exciting thing to do.

Reality: Every day, I wake up. So far. Knock on wood.



This transition into my new and exciting life has not exactly gone to the wishful thinking plan I had. It's not that I thought it would be easy—nothing ever is for me—but I did think I would be more focused in one particular direction. I thought at least one pursuit would jump out and scream "give this a shot." Instead, I'm going to have to start clubbing opportunities over the head and dragging them back to the apartment. If only I knew where to find them—though I suppose it would take an act of God for me to approach them once identified anyway.