Bored, With Drink in Hand [ 2004-05-16, 12:53 a.m. ]

Hey…do you know what makes a person feel like shit? How ‘bout when you stop in your local Trendy Boutique Staffed Exclusively By Skinny 22-Year-Olds to browse cute new sundresses, and while you’re picking up pair after pair of Sigerson Morrison sandals, trying to decide if you can afford them or not, you see a woman trying on a little black skirt and she has the most perfect body EVER and she is also lovely but really you are staring at the perfectness of her body and her flat, tan belly, and you look down at your own stupid cargo pants and Adidas and feel like a slob standing there with that Anna Sui dress slung over your shoulder, and then the pretty, perfect-bodied woman goes over to a baby carriage in the corner and you realize that she has a CHILD and you look closer at the child and it is a teeny, tiny, brand new baby, and then you realize that the skinny, pretty, perfect-bodied woman gave birth no more than three weeks ago, and that is precisely when you feel shit.

How? How is that even possible? I am quite willing to concede that most women with great bodies deserve them more than me, largely because I never, ever work out. And I have no self-control when faced with bread, cheese, pastries or wine. So my body, while neither perfect nor hideous, is in a nice state of stasis: I’ve achieved the best body possible without having to alter my lifestyle. But this woman JUST had a baby. JUST. Skinny whore.

I am so exhausted by body issues, and am beyond sick to death of talking about body issues and food issues and all the fucking ISSUES we (or at least I) have regarding our appearance. However, being sick of the issues and being over the issues are two very different things. Thanks, Skinny Whore (and she totally wasn’t, you know…she was lovely and had a gorgeous new baby and was not a whore at all), for making my feel like a flabby piece of crap when all I wanted to do was feel guilty for spending money on shoes instead of, you know, rent.

Speaking of clothes, I wore a padded, push-up bra yesterday and spent the entire day feeling like a porn star. I’m pretty much an almost-B cup; not totally flat, but damn close. But this bra! Gave me a solid B+! And all day long every time I looked in the mirror or walked by a window I was like, Shazam! Then I got home, and found my recent J. Crew order waiting for me, including some adorable bathing suit separates -- specifically some adorable string bikini tops. Which I tried on and totally couldn’t fill out, not even a little. So alas, the nearly-Bs had but a few hours of glory. But good hours they were…

Right now a major thunderstorm has settled basically on top of our building. I keep expecting the computer to catch fire or explode with every flash of lighting. But y’all? I am bored. Bored. There was nothing really going on this weekend, so Kent and I had a boring dinner and then a boring dessert and came home and have been watching boring TV – oops, I mean, Super Exciting Worthwhile NBA Playoff Game – and I. Am. So. Bored.

Which is why I started screwing around with my camera:

Aside from swilling wine, obsessing over the furniture from Design Within Reach, wishing my hair was long enough for a ponytail, and apartment-hunting, I am basically spending the evening mentally planning my wardrobe for JournalCon this August. Must find the perfect ensemble(s) for kicky-yet-casual-while-hip-and-urban-but-also-approachable-and-funny!-so-funny! persona I am hoping to effectively convey. Am pretty sure a pair of Prada heels will do the trick.

Kisses, all. Need more wine.

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