Is That All You Get For Your Money?

Okay! Time for a quick catch-up. I moved everything out of my studio on Saturday and into a storage unit. Then Sunday the movers came and took it all away. (And I fly out on Tuesday, just to make sure we're all following along here.)

As you would expect, a million things went wrong (well, or like a few but work with me) because it is me and this is my life. All of these things could be detailed but you would likely die of either boredom or panic attack. Maybe both. So here's the summary:

1. My family was 3 hours late.
2. My mom couldn't come so we were down a car.
3. Construction workers were in the way of us moving.
4. The freight elevator stopped working.
5. I lost the key to the storage unit and had to have the lock cut off.
6. I GROSSLY underestimated the amount of stuff we owned, to the tune of 100 cubic square feet. (Whoopsie!)
7. I have to go back to the studio for the run-through because the landlords were gone by the time I was moved out.

In the end, it all worked out and my family pulled through without an ounce of complaining--AGAIN. Seriously, you are jealous of my awesome family (especially my parents) and their car-packing abilities.

But there was one thing that went wrong that you need to hear about.

We had to pay the movers about a grand yesterday (DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT THE COST OF THE MOVE IT IS ALREADY MAKING MY HEART DO THIS) and in cash or money order. I had the cash in my wallet. My mother assumed I would pull a Monica and stashed $500 in her coat "just in case." Thanks, mom. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.

Yeah...I left my wallet at home. So we had half the money. On a Sunday.

I know every stand-up comedian in the world has talked about this, but HOW ARE BANKS NEVER OPEN WHEN THE PEOPLE NEED THE MONEYS. Also while we're speaking of worn-out subjects that never change no matter how often Louis CK discusses them, what's with dentists being like, "See? When I slice open your gums they bleed! You need to floss!"

BAH. Where was I? Oh, right. The bank. It was closed. So we went to the ATM and took out $400 more, the max the ATM would allow. This was still not enough money to cover all the charges we would incur. So we did the next logical thing: we scammed my mother's own debit card.

We took that debit card to the grocery store self-check out aisle. We bought a pack of Altoids. $102. We walked to a different self-check out. We bought some water. $103. We bought some heavenly sandwich pinwheels. $104 dollars. Voila! We had the money we needed, and the bank was none the wiser! SUCKERS!!

I just need you to imagine my mom and I in the store, looking around all shifty-eyed like we had figured out how to beat the system and someone was going to come and arrest us at any moment. There was nervous giggling. Of course, this was the South Loop and there is so much more shifty activity happening that absolutely no one paid attention to the two pasty white ladies and their pinwheels. But there we were, cackling in the morning sun over our sweaty wad of money.

That is, until we got in the car, closed the door, and my mom said, "Wait. Why hasn't the bank called me by now?" "Huh."

So that's all. My mom and I will be entering a life of crime any day now. If any of you lose your debit card and then see purchases on your account for a wheel of cheese: $107...you likely have me to thank.

Urrrrrrgggggbbbllleeeeh

(Now THERE is a blog title that is SEO-optimized)

Whose idea was it to move?! HMM!?!?! Why am I putting Saran Wrap around my spice rack?? How many lists CAN I possibly make? THESE ARE QUESTIONS I WANT ANSWERS TO, PEOPLE.

Fears and Pet Peeves

"....Ancient History, Literature, and IT'S ALL RELATIVE." I'm sorry, but I'm a lady who likes to complete her Friends references. DEAL WITH IT.

Ahem. Well, hello. And how are YOU today? You're well? That's marvelous. Come, follow me into my chateau. Have a seat on this velvet armchair.

Sorry, I don't even know where I'm going with this, suddenly I just felt like pretending to talk like a Mrs. Robinson-type for no reason whatsoever. Also, a preemptive warning--if this post seems incomplete and has a lot of non-English words, it is either a) a typical post and you should be used to such things by now or b) prematurely posted by my cat who has decided that laptops are for walking across, and wrists are for wiping your nose on.

So as you are all aware by now, I am moving to San Francisco in a week. And as of today, I have an actual flight reservation, as does Regina (My god, she is going to hate flying SO HARD) and a moving company picked out. I'm nervous about the movers. These ones totally check out--they have an A rating with the BBB and everything. So it's not that they're sketchy, it's that I just assume everyone taking my money is trying to take MORE of my money. And let's be honest, that's probably a good assumption.

But they ask you for an itemized list of stuff, and damn me if I can remember what we jammed into that storage unit 4 months ago before Joe left. I had to guess the number of boxes. I said 30. It could be 100 and I wouldn't be surprised...we had an unnerving amount of things. And when you tell them it's a 1-bedroom, how do you explain that it's a 1-bedroom, but for two people, and one of those people may or may not own multiple sets of Star Wars figurines and a barrel? (A BARREL.) (.............A BARREL.) So I'm pretty freaked out that the movers will get there and be like "We won't move this barrel! It's not in a box!" or "We won't move these Star Wars figurines! You said there are 30 boxes total and there are 32 boxes of JUST Star Wars figurines!" or "We couldn't fit the mattress in the elevator so you owe us $4000 dollars." I don't know...I'm scared. I'm scared because I am not making money right now, and this move is going to be a son. of. a. bitch. And Joe already spent the money his work gave him to move on moving himself out there earlier.

Truth be told, I'm scared of a lot of things about this move. I'm finding that this fear is like the head on a pint of Guinness: It covers all the good stuff underneath, it's the only thing you can taste at first, and it follows you down through all that good stuff, too.



I don't know...I'm still working on my metaphors. Michelle is helping me, she is the Metaphor Master.

My biggest fear is in going bankrupt. I'm going to be paying a lot more for rent in SF than in Chicago, and unemployment isn't going to get me through for very long; neither is temp work or Starbucks. I'm going to need a real person job. And I'm scared I won't be able to find one. San Francisco is filled with tons of great places to work. But it seems like they're all just 10 people per company, and I'm filled with fears that tiny companies won't take a chance on an unknown kid.

I'm also afraid of homesickness. I haven't felt really homesick since college, and even then my emotions were more about pining for dreamy Teenage Boyfriend. I'm moving far away from my family for the first time, so even though we have the internet, I can't go visit them for a weekend whenever I want. A lot of my friends have scattered (Again. I was hoping post-college would have been the last of it but NAY.) but those who are still nearby won't be able to visit and we can't go out for drinks. Even if I haven't seen some friends for a while, just knowing they're in Chicago or even in the Midwest feels comforting, knowing we can hang out if we WANTED.

I'm afraid San Francisco won't feel right. Y'all know me, I move ALL the time. What if I start feeling the need to move cities every year? I don't have that kind of money. Despite people's assertions that it's the best city ever, that you can make of it what you want, and that I personally am going to love it...I'm blindly afraid that I won't. What if I start resenting the hills? or the less-than awesome transportation system? Or the smaller-than-Chicago feel of it all?

I can tell myself a million times that the pros WILL outweigh the cons. I can tell myself about all the reasons SF is going to be awesome. And I do. And I even tell OTHER people why SF is going to be awesome. I hear it. I think about it. But no matter what I do, the foam still stays on top of the Guinness, keeping me from really enjoying the good stuff under it. So while, yes, I know everything will be okay and things will work out and I'm going to love it, I wouldn't be honest if I said I'm totally fine about it all. I'm not--I'm scared.

I guess I shouldn't be afraid for one reason and one reason only. And that one reason is lkookloddddddfffbbbbbbbbbbbhhh

REAL UPDATE!

GUYS!! THINGS HAVE HAPPENED!!!

Q: Gasp! Do you have a job?
A: Well...no.
Q: Gasp! Did you buy your ticket out there?!
A: Errrrrr.....
Q: Do you even have movers picked out?!
A: CAN I PLEASE JUST TELL YOU MY NEWS WITHOUT A BARAGE OF QUESTIONS. COME ON, Shelly.

No but I actually do have real news! Joe got the job officially! (Quick catch up: Joe has been in San Francisco for 4 months on contract-to-hire, and while we've been planning this move for a loooong time, he only just found out that he got the job a few days ago.) So this means we won't have TWO unemployed people living in an overpriced apartment, we'll only have ONE! HUZZAH!

And speaking of apartments--we have one of those, too! And check THIS action out!!




Windows that look out into things! Drawers that hold silverware! It's all I've ever wanted and more! And it's ours for the low low price of the top of our price range!

Now the next piece in the puzzle is getting our stuff over there. I've been talking to moving companies (almost got scammed by one. Let me tell you, there is no stress quite like the few hours you spend believing you just got scammed out of $500. Luckily Me+Ledge÷Joe+Megaphone=everything was okay.)

But I didn't realize movers give you such a wide timeframe with which to move. I thought you told them "pick it up on Saturday." And they said "It'll be there Tuesday." Then you'd do one of those single-pump handshakes, spin 180 degrees and walk away. Turns out, moving companies follow the John Locke school of stubbornness: DON'T TELL THEM WHAT THEY CAN AND CANNOT DO. So there's no way I'll be able to just fly to San Francisco the day the movers get there. Our new plan is this: Joe gets us an air mattress, shower curtain liner, kitty litter, and plastic silverware, and we camp out in our empty apartment for an unknown number of days until our stuff arrives. It actually sounds very romantic in a "middle part of Benjamin Button" kind of way. Which means inevitably everything will go wrong and it will be the worst, because that is how things go.

So in conclusion, our to-do list is coming together pretty well....even if it might not look like it from an ACTUAL to-do list perspective.

X Joe gets job
_ Emily gets job
X Find an apartment
_ Hire movers
_ Buy plane ticket
_ Gently stuff Regina into a case and fly out there
_ Move stuff in

Oh well. We're still on our way!

Word-Of-Mouth

Everyone has their brands. Things they will fight to the death over. I had a professor in college who WOULD NOT SHUT UP about Viva paper towels. Christ, lady.

Do I care about paper towels? No. In fact, I don't care about most brands. You know why? Because I majored in Advertising. And I took class after class telling me that all products are essentially the same. The only difference is what you, the advertiser, has to say about it. I've made myself feel not-evil about this fact by blaming the products themselves. Look, is it MY fault that Crest and Colgate both exist and have each created roughly 4 million kinds of toothpaste? No. It's not my fault. It is their fault. It is just my job to help them sell all their ridiculously similar products.

But I have some brands. In fact, during one of these all-products-are-the-same lectures I actually raised my hand to defend a brand. It was an enormous lecture hall. 300 kids all wanting to go home and nurse their hangovers. And I raised my hand because sometimes I'm THAT GIRL. "Yeah, but not ALL products are exactly the same. I bought the Meijer-brand Wheat Thins once and they were CRAP."

And 300 kids turned toward me and threw things.

No, not really. But there was SERIOUS groaning. WHAT?! YEAH, I SAID IT. BRAND-NAME WHEAT THINS ARE IMPORTANT TO ME, DUDES.

So I agree and disagree with Marketing professionals on this one. Yeah, some products are the same. My Pharmacist/mother never buys a brand-name pill if she can help it. So many times I've uttered the phrase "Aleve? Which one is Aleve? Do you mean ibuprofen?" And then again, sometimes a sista HAS TO HAVE HER WHEAT. THINS.

So I've created a list of the products I stand behind. Not all of them, just a nice sampling. But after you see mine, I'd love to know: what brand names do you get behind?


Fiber Plus: Cinnamon Oat Crunch


Love cinnamon toast crunch but feel like a pre-diabetic child when you buy it? Love Cheerios but wish they had a little somethin' somethin'? THIS. Don't let the healthy-sounding name or terrible packaging fool you. This product is cinnamon deliciousness for adults. Less sugar, more fiber, all the special feelings in your belly.

Special K: Protein Plus


So I'm starting off here with two cereals, yes, but they are so clearly aMAHzing. This one is absolutely the best cereal for keeping you full. It's a little bran-y so drop a few raisins in there to kick it up a notch. And then don't expect to need anything until lunch.

Laughing Cow wedges


If you are a cream cheese lover as I am, this is where you need to aim your priorities. Such a great healthy alternative, and delicious with pretzels. Also, surprisingly, carrots.

L'Oreal Collagen Filler/Eye Illuminator


I have genetic dark circles under my eyes. This stuff is great because it brightens your eyes and makes wrinkles go away (when it's on, not permanently [wah wahh].) And I don't want to hear, "Oh, Emily. You're too young to worry about wrinkles." Because I will say this to you in my best Ross impression: "AM I?!"

Johnsonville chicken sausage


If you like spiced meats filled with cheese, please go and buy these immediately. They are DELICIOUS. And probably slightly healthier for you than something made of pork. Personally, I like them by themselves on a bun with some ketchup and/or mustard. Also, everyone be proud of me for not saying "that's what she said" a SINGLE time for this one.

Clean & Clear Advantage Spot Treatment


I've been using this stuff for a very long time. Is it fair that I now use a wrinkle cream AND zit cream? No. But it is a fact of life. I've learned to deal with it, SO SHOULD YOU. Because if there's ever a time when I don't need to use this stuff, I will probably be forcing my children to use it, and then they will force their children use it. Here's why it's awesome: it's salicylic acid, which doesn't dry out your skin, leave white marks, or bleach your clothes like benzol peroxide (coughPROACTIVcough) does. Also, it works better anyway.

Tupperware FridgeSmart Containers


These things are containers sent by the Lord Himself. Also Allah. Possibly Zeus. Maybe all the gods got together and were like, "You know, we've been kinda hard on them lately. Maybe we can give them a little something nice." And they sent these Tupperware containers. An oversell? Absolutely. But czech it out: They're made especially to keep fruits and vegetables longer, and I can personally vouch that they work wonders, especially for peppers. In a regular container, peppers last for maybe 3 days tops? In these containers, you can keep peppers perfectly fresh and crisp for at least a week, probably 2. Also, I had a lemon in one once. Found it in the back of the fridge so y'all KNOW that can't be good. Opened it up expecting it to look like Mel Gibson's mugshot, but it was perfectly good! Had it with a beer. (Sidenote, probably don't try this at home, kids. I might have died.)

So like I said before, lay it on me. What products do you stand behind? Share the love!

Devolving

I feel like I'm really bad at blogging lately.

The problem is, my mind is filled 100% with finding a job in--and moving to--San Francisco. There just isn't room for anything else. I want to give you awesome anecdotes about the crazy stories of my life (and what crazy stories they are, my stars), but as soon as I sit down to write about something it quickly devolves into a breakdown. Something like:

This weekend I went to a party called "Spuds 'N Suds" where everyone had to bring a potato dish and beer. I brought sweet potatoes because I wanted practice for when I make them in DC for Thanksgiving with Joe's family. I'll be flying there from San Francisco. I'm moving to San Francisco. I don't have a job in San Francisco yet. I'M NEVER GOING TO FIND A JOB BECAUSE I'M USELESS AND LAME AND EVERYONE HATES ME AND I'M NOT CREATIVE AND I NEVER HAVE GOOD IDEAS AND I MIGHT AS WELL JUST GET A JOB STUFFING ENVELOPES AND LIVING IN JOLIET BECAUSE NOTHING WILL EVER BE GOOD AGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIN.

See what I mean? It's pretty bad.

I'd like to think I'm getting a little better each day, though. Surrounding myself with positive thinking and helpful lists and fun-sounding back-up plans. Seriously, here's what I'm thinking: if no advertising agency wants to hire me (BREATHE, EMILY. STAY WITH US. WE LOVE YOU.) I'm going to give it a few months(?) and then get a job as a secretary so I can (just barely) pay for rent and food, then I'm going to take stand-up classes and improv classes and spend my free time writing sketches and spec scripts.

I think it's a stellar back-up, in my opinion. Besides the fact that is still leads to me never saving up money, maybe one day I will be rolling in it after working on TREAT YO SELF: The Donna/Tom spin-off show and THEN I'll finally be able to buy luxurious things like a car and socks and dental insurance. One can dream.

A Bit Of Weekend Nonsense

So, Adrienne has showed me the wonder of Tumblr. Specifically, the wonder of reblogging funny pictures/gifs into one place so you eventually have a collection of ridiculous things.

I don't know. Apparently there are other uses for Tumblr but so far this is my favorite.

So I started one. I'm still pretty remedial at it. Because, seriously, there are only so many things on the internet you can be good at. It makes for good boredom scrolling. It's iheartejs.tumblr.com. So if you're into Tumblr, or if you need yet another medium for me to tell you how much I love Parks & Rec, feel free to follow.

50 People I'm Envious Of

(Warning: this isn't a celebrity post. That would just be me writing "Zooey Deschanel" 50 times and calling it a day.)

I have a problem with jealousy. One of the 7 Deadly Sins. (Wait, is it? I don't know. Let me look it up.......Envy! Boom-shacka-lacka. In your face, ME.) Okay, so envy. That's the one that I have a serious problem with. Not so much jealousy because Joe is all miney mine and when girls hit on him it just makes me feel proud. And also a little makey-outey.

But! I DO have a problem with envy. When I read blogs and Twitter and Facebook posts I become very aware that I'm not doing the exact thing that other people are doing, and then IMMEDIATELY worry that I'm doing it all wrong. My apartment should be more DIY design-y, I should be eating at more highly-rated restaurants, I should cook delicious food that looks so professional I can't help but post pictures of it to Facebook, I should wear more scarves.

I don't think it's wrong to have aspirations. Or to want to have/do/eat cool things. But when it starts to make me feel like the person I am is failing, that's when it becomes an issue. So I started making a list. Because I am INSANELY visual, nothing I ever think about can move forward until it is on a list of some kind. Everything in this list is true--I am envious of all these things. But It's made me realize that there's always something to be envious of, and you literally can't have everything. You can only do the things you love and be the person you want to be. Aaaaand maybe add a few more things to a Bucket/Life List so you make sure you're striving to be your best.

50 People I’m Envious of:

1. People who go out all the time
2. People who stay in and snuggle
3. People who travel the world
4. People who go to the same place every year
5. People who cook
6. People who go out to eat
7. People who drive
8. People who bike
9. People who have dogs
10. People with great nails
11. People with tattoos
12. People with kids
13. People in couples
14. People who are happy just being with themselves
15. People who take naps
16. People who’ve been up since their morning jog
17. People who love their boring, high-paying job
18. People who scrape by doing something exciting
19. People who buy everything from Crate and Barrel
20. People who can make a table with their hands
21. People who craft
22. People who hire someone to craft for them
23. People who live in the woods
24. People who live in the mountains
25. People who live by water
26. People who live in the middle of a city
27. People who know everyone in their town
28. People with straight hair
29. People with curly hair
30. People with really thick eyelashes
31. People who watch black and white movies
32. People who see every movie that comes out
33. People who spend their day playing video games
34. People who accomplish tons of stuff every day
35. People who buy all the latest fashions
36. People with a funky wardrobe from Goodwill
37. People who happily eat vegan
38. People who happily eat cheeseburgers
39. People with an hourglass figure
40. People with a tomboy look
41. People who know their cocktails
42. People who know their beer
43. People that change careers all the time
44. People who are successful by 28
45. People who still play a musical instrument
46. People who can do their own makeup really well
47. People who don't need makeup to look beautiful
48. People eating a cupcake right this second
49. People with more friends than me
50. People who don't get envious

Anyone else? Who are you envious of?

An Update On Moving:

I have no further updates on moving.

Here's the thing. San Francisco is very small. But it is very awesome. And everyone wants to live there. Which means apartments are really hard to find. Well, unless you are willing to spend $2000 a month on a studio in the shady part of San Francisco called the Tenderloin (and while it sounds delicious, trust me, it is not.) Because THOSE apartments are PLENTIFUL.

So we're doing our best at finding a place that can fit us and our small cat. But we haven't found anything yet. Since we don't know where we're living, we haven't hired movers yet to take all our stuff (although I'm realizing we might need to hire them anyway, even without a specific destination and hope they accept this.)

Since we don't know when our movers will get there, I don't know when I can come out there. Since I don't know when I can come out there, I haven't bought a plane ticket. Also I still don't have a job out there waiting for me.

THEREFORE: My update on the move is that I have no update on the move. But DEAR GOD I would love to know all those things even more than you, believe you me.

So if you're wondering how I feel about moving, I'd say it's close to this:


Time goes by really quickly, nothing seems to be accomplished, no blog posts are written, and my stomach feels like I've been eating nothing but lemons for five days. Usually the day ends with me having a breakdown to Joe on the phone, convinced that no one will hire me, we'll never find an apartment, and Regina will run away. I don't know how, but I imagine a Homeward Bound situation with Regina traveling across the desert with one of those desert hats flowing down her neck.

So in conclusion: I am still a floating Kermit balloon. Working on that.


(Image from Hyperbole and a Half)

Everyone's A Little Bit Famous

When I was young, I wanted to be a Muppeteer. Then I vaguely wanted to be an actress. Vague because it was the 7th grade and I couldn’t be bothered to really focus on an occupation when no one had even had the decency to kiss me yet. Finally I landed on ad writing and that was the end of that.

The cornerstone of all three professions is my being famous. Copywriting on a much smaller scale, of course. But eventually I’d make an ad that everyone saw. Or that was the goal.

I think this may be a Generation Y complex. Adults told us that we were the best at everything and we deserved to have whatever we wanted. So naturally, if I’m so damn good at...I don’t know, being a human being I guess, then the world should recognize it and make me famous.

I’m ready to admit it, and I think it’s time y’all did, too. It’s why everyone has a blog and a Facebook profile and a Twitter account and a Tumblr and Four Square and on and on and on. We all want to be a little famous. So fine, if it’s 1,000 people on Twitter that see we’re having ketchup for lunch, so be it. It’s still a little famous. You may not be on the cover of InTouch, but at least a few people are listening.

But I always intended on having more listeners than a handful of Twitter followers. I don't need to be a household name, but I do want to make a stadium full of people laugh. I only realized this of myself in the past month or so. And now that I know it, the question is: do I keep going? Do I keep trying to be a little bit famous? Is that the only way for me to be happy?

I've tried to envision a life where I am never famous. Where, outside my family and friends, no one knows a thing about me. I could be a teacher or an editor or a coffee shop owner. I don’t have to write an ad or a book or a screenplay or a TV show or a stand-up routine. I could just be me.

My self-worth would not hinge on the number of original ideas I could come up with. I could just try my best and then be paid for it. No more staring at the ceiling, willing myself to think of something other people will like. It makes so much sense. It seems like such a relaxing life.

And I’m not sure I’ve considered it. Ever.

I think I might be totally happy being anonymous to the world. It’s comforting. For some reason, in that world of anonymity, I drink a lot more tea by the window and cook things with sauces. In the world of trying to be a little bit famous, I chug Maalox and ask people to slap me in the face.

I’m worried that giving up on fame means giving up. It means that I’m officially leaving behind my childhood dream. It’s like when I gave up on being a marine biologist once I realized it involved more than swimming with dolphins. But this time I’m giving up on something I’ve held in my subconscious for 26 years, not the 48 hours when I thought I could get paid to hold onto dorsal fins. What if I turn into one of those people full of regret for not living their dream? I don't want to be the mom who forces her daughter to be a bulimic ballerina because I didn't have the dexterity.

So do I finally let myself ease into a world of relaxed, safe anonymity? Or do I strive, like a Los Angeles barista, to be something more? I don’t know. I do like the idea of not worrying what everyone thinks. What do you think?

Clearing The Air About My Derrière

I've been thinking lately about my butt.

I've always had a problem with it, and it's the opposite of what women stereotypically worry about: mine is too small. I have a hard time filling out jeans, and I worry that it makes my bit of muffin top look extra muffiny because it doesn't quite fill out the space under the lovehandles.

So yes, if you are keeping score, two of my biggest physical concerns are that my boobs are too big and my ass is too small. FINE, so my life is not THAT TERRIBLE.

But back to my butt. (FOCUS, people.) When I have complained about it to boyfriends past and present, they say the same thing: "Sure, it's small. But it packs a punch." Which....I don't even know what that means, but I appreciate the sentiment (usually followed by grabbing attempts I have to then ward off--serves me right for mentioning it.)

What I'm saying is: I have a complex about my caboose and the men who've loved me have never done anything to create that complex.

I think it's other women.

Since the moment I realized that the size of my tush could potentially be something to think about, there have been girls--friends--who have had something to say about mine. Specifically how small it is. I don't think anyone has meant to make me feel bad. But I think it's a bit like if you complain about your sister and then your friend is like, "Yeah, your sister is TOTALLY crazy." And your hair lights on fire and you scream, "YOU SHUT YOUR HOLE ABOUT MY SISTER."*

It's kinda like that. I can complain about my imperfections all I want. But you're not allowed to actually AGREE with me, dude. When you complain about your looks, a girl friend's job is to DENY, DENY, DENY. And when they don't? You know you have a problem.

I bring it up because I think it's something to consider--how much blame we may put on media or on the way men react to women for giving us such complexes. But I've realized, more often than not, men don't notice those imperfections we agonize over daily. They basically think we're pretty...and that's as far as they've gone with it. And sure, the media gives us rear ends to aspire to. But ever since Sir Mixalot pulled up quick to retrieve it, they come in all shapes and sizes and (with a few notable exceptions) do not a movie star make.

When we complain about the imperfections that bug us, the only ones who listen are other women. Presumably because they're worried about their own problems. Since it's something I worry about on myself, I notice other girls' butts. Often. It's weird. Not that I'm leering--more like analyzing. Like how a girl who hates her nose notices other girls' noses, I stare at butts. They are fairly hypnotizing. I see why people enjoy them. And what's funny is, when I see someone with a small patoot, I've never thought "that lady has a bad butt." Sure, I've occasionally thought, "She needs better pants," but never a better butt. So why do I think I'm the exception? Why do I worry that everyone is walking around judging my posterior, as though they have nothing better to do with their lives? Do I just need more hobbies?

I don't really have a big point here, at least not yet. But I thought I'd see if anyone had thoughts on the subject. Also, I'm not sure how these issues play out in LGBT duos. I'm not a relationship expert, I'm just a chick with a blog. But I'm really interested to hear how it may differ...or how it's still exactly the same.

Anyone else willing to call their butt to the attention of the court?


*Oh, calm down. No one talked smack about you, it was an example. Quit being totally crazy.