If y’all need me, I’ll be at the gym.
Via Sex with Timaree:
Via Philadelphia Magazine: Jennifer Weiner Smashes Your Swimsuit Fears With Awesome Facebook Post.
I know I’m basically obsessed with Ashley Graham at this point, but… but…
C’mon, y’all, godDAMN.
Notes to self:
— Obtain first bikini
— Go to beach
I just finished reading a book called Things No One Will Tell Fat Girls, and the author, Jes Baker, points out that you rarely see “larger” women paired with thinner men in advertising or pop culture. I hadn’t really noticed that before, but…yeah.
Generally, I’m not attracted to men who weigh less than I do. That may well be years of indoctrinated body anxiety, but I don’t want to look like I ATE my Person. Logically I know it’s not true, but I feel like I’d break a thinner man in half — I want a dude who looks like he can TAKE me, even if, again, I understand a thinner man could.
There’s a freckle at the top of my right breast. For a long time I referred to it as The Freckle of Good Taste — my shirts would never be low-cut enough to show it.
Yeahhh… Fuck that. Look at my freckle and fear me.
My friends are a good influence, plus I’m old and tired of giving a fuck. My breasts won’t be this lovely forever, I might as well revel.
(I’m all bluster until the creepy dude at work checks out my rack. But even then — he’d be leering at me if I wore a turtleneck. And I can’t with turtlenecks, man. So sayeth the Hedberg: “Wearing a turtleneck is like being strangled by a really weak guy, all day.”)
I’ll still consult The Freckle for family gatherings, and any time I’m forced to be in a place of worship. God is aware of what my breasts look like, He doesn’t need to see them. (By the way, God is totally proud of my chest, even though pride is a sin. They’re THAT good. Some of His best work.)
You may recall about a week ago I was fortunate enough to receive an advance copy of Shonda Rhimes‘ Year of Yes. (How much would it have sucked if they’d said “no” to my request for a copy of Year of Yes?)
Since then, I’ve only gotten through the first 100 pages, mostly because I’m an asshole, but I also got too busy. But the book came out in stores today, SO:
The first 100 pages are hilarious and inspiring, and unless it somehow ends with a puppy massacre, I have faith the rest will be the same.
I should be able to finish reading and write a full review over the weekend. But in the meantime: she’s one of my heroes, the book is at least one-third amazeballs, and you should all go read it. (Unless you don’t groove on Shonda, in which case I have no idea why you’re reading this — I am merely her hacky, foul-mouthed henchman.)
Also, I just found out she narrates the audiobook, which means I’m going to go spend $18 (on iTunes) to have Shonda Rhimes read me a story, and probably finish the book much faster.
“2 a.m. and I’m still awake writing a song,
If I get it all down on paper, it’s no longer inside of me,
Threatening the life it belongs to.
And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd,
‘Cause these words are my diary screaming out loud,
And I know that you’ll use them however you want to.”
I’m gonna need more eye makeup. (Or, um, ANY eye makeup, because I usually don’t bother — that’s some shit the Real Women do.)