Dyin' Over Here

These are some photos of my body. They make me want to die.



This is my front.



Backside.



The side. PUKE IN MY MOUTH.


My left boobie is noticeably bigger.



Flabby McFlab.



Pass the butter. Need it for my rolls.



No.



Prime Triple A Steak.



Dead.



This is me.

Kidding. This is Kaley Cuoco. Fooled you.



This is me.

I used to be skinny and now I'm not and it stresses me out because my male roommates say that Kaley Cuoco is the hottest piece of shit alive. And everyone else who is famous is thinner than me. And all my friends. And I know that we're not supposed to compare ourselves to famous people and the media is bad because it makes us feel bad about ourselves and our body images and self esteem because we can't compete with the implants and injections and personal trainers of Hollywood. And I'm a sociology student and I've taken classes on this stuff and I know it's impossible to be like these people. But I still feel really bad about myself all the time.

I really do blame it on the media because we're obviously so bombarded with all the skinny bitches. That's not new to anyone, I'm sure. I feel like it's affecting me a lot more lately than it has in the past. Really due to the freshman fifteen I gained three years ago.

The whole concept of taking photos of myself in my bra and panties made me miserable. I actually felt like shit and I still feel like shit. But a little bit empowered because I'm sure a lot of other girls wouldn't have done it at all.

I dare you guys to. do it.

And actually, as I think about it now, I think I look pretty fuckin' hot. But for some reason I am craving celery and water.

How do you guys feel?

Feminazi

When I was in second year university, my super duper cool friend named Carrie linked an article on my Facebook on the debate about whether or not it is a smart move for women to go bra-less or if it just objectifies women. I am pretty sure the article was featuring this festival where women were going topless to voice their respect for the bodies. Some women felt that bras were empowering while others thought they made you victim of a patriarchal society. Or something. For the life of me I can't find that link. I've been googling for a good six minutes and still nothing.

Anyways, as we all know, I hate bras. But I don't let my tits (I HATE THE WORD "TITS". EW. I REALLY JUST FIND IT DISGUSTING. I THINK IT'S THE CACOPHONY OF THE T'S) flail around as a form of feminism or to hope to make guys' eyes pop out of their head. It's not so much as a feminist thing; it's more of a lazy/comfort thing. And I find it really hard to correctly clip the back of it together every day. Yesterday, I undressed to go to bed (alone) and I noticed that all day my bra had been twisted in the front. ooooops.

Still though, I hope I'm not being objectified?

Here is the start long spiel of the objectification of women in the media. I think I'll just touch on the aspect of voicelessness right now and save the rest for later. This is for two reasons: 1) I need a whole semester worth of blog topics to write on and 2) I got places to be (meaning that Jeopardy is on soon).

It's only if you've been living on top of a mountain in Nova Scotia for the last two centuries you may not have noticed that women are constantly made into voiceless objects in advertisements and TV and in music videos and in movies and in everything. Hello Kitty doesn't have a mouth does she?

I don't think I'm that extreme of a person to think that the makers of Hello Kitty sat in their studio apartment in Japan and thought, "Hehehehe if she doesn't have a mouth that'll put all those bitches out there in their place." I'm just assuming that the decision was a product of an almost unconscious internalization of what is around us in other media all the time. I don't know where it all started or anything, I'm just chattin' here.

Here's my personal favourite.



Hmmmmm. I wonder if she's keeping her bra on as a sign of empowerment or subjugation?

half a cup of shame

The other day (yesterday) I walked to the grocery store after class. I was sweating. I had to open the door to the frozen vegetable section to stick my head in and cool down a bit. I didn't buy vegetables, though. I actually bought chicken nuggets ($4 a box. what a deal). Also, I was super excited because I had a coupon for a free bottle of dip if you bought two bags of chips. It was a pretty awesome feeling. It was 5:30 and I had dreams of going home and eating chips and watching Golden Girl reruns at 6:00.

--It should be noted that I had my Indian parachute pants on. Just because it's been hard to get my jeans to fit lately. Too many deals on the Ruffles.

Anyways, I was in the check-out line and something devastating happened. There they were. Buying blueberries together. Or some other berry. That guy who I used to love and that friend of mine who he now loves more.

Picture it, I want you to picture it.

Anyways, I was a bit embarrassed. But for the first time in a long time it was almost comforting. I think I'm finally over it. I mean, they were going home to eat blueberries and get the shits. I had chips (and onion dip!) and the Golden Girls were waiting for me at home. Of course, I have my awesome roommates too.

So, this brings me to my point: if it wasn't for the goddamn media telling me that I needed to keep a guy happy to make me happy this situation would never have happened.

I'll highlight some goodies from this month's Cosmo:

"The one text you should never send him"

"8 Things Guys Notice About you Instantly"

"The Naughty Bedroom Game you need to play tonight"

These titles are sending a message to women that if you don't do these things for men you won't be happy. They also make me want to puke in my mouth.

I won't even start on how magazines also equate the ability to keep a man as a reflection of how skinny you are. But read this (it's from 1999 so a bit outdated but I think it's still relevant today.

We're just obsessed with it. It's not our fault. We've been bombarded with the same messages over and over. Every chick flick out there has the same plot, where a woman is intrinsically unhappy until she finds the man of her dreams. What I hate the most is it affects young girls. Because at least I've taken enough classes on gender and sexuality and human rights and shit to know that I should reject these messages. And it's still hard enough for me to not oblige to them. Yes, I read that Cosmo because no matter how much I try, I do care. I now know that I should never call a guy out on giving one-word answers to a long text.

Maybe that's why ^whatshisface (blueberry man) had enough of me?

Anyways, guys, read this blog. It's fantastic.

coming soon.