Eat the Damn Cake

Hope everyone is enjoying the holiday! I am! But I had to post something before I return to my wild fun.

Update about my life: There was a gas leak in my building, so I can’t use the stove or do my laundry for a few weeks. I say that so casually, as though it isn’t even a big deal. As though I’m not wearing clothes that smell like the plague and living off of geriatric Chinese take-out. That was a joke. I doubt “geriatric” can be used that way, you know, in real life. But I have been eating out a lot. Whole Foods’ prepared food, everyone. It’s worth walking 40 blocks in sparkly gold sandals. I did that. Several times.

Happier update: 5th Ave is amazing late at night, when everyone has gone away to sleep. The mannequins prance around behind the huge, blank sheets of glass, entertaining the emptiness. Loius Vuitton’s golden bubbles dangle eerily above the sleek purses. The whole city was warm and quiet and magical last night, and we walked all over it. I was still wearing the gold sandals.

Here’s Christina, celebrating this blog and life with a demonstration of how to eat a cupcake. I suggest you follow her example at some point today!

(click here for original source. I’m citing things now! No more illegal web behavior!)

I saw Sex and the City 2. I couldn’t help it. It was like this massive magnet just pulled me into the theater. I was completely helpless. It was fate. The gods. It was a part of my destiny that will lead to other things of which I know nothing yet. Mysterious things. Sparkling, fabulous things.

I knew it would be terrible. I mean, come on, everyone in the world knew that. I knew I wouldn’t laugh at most of the jokes. I wouldn’t appreciate many of the outfits (Samantha wears gigantic silver spikes on her shoulders at one point). Everyone seems really wealthy in it. Everyone has to change their outfit every five minutes. Carrie’s breasts have miraculously grown. No one has a stomach. They don’t even eat very much when overflowing banquets are laid before them (oh my god. Take me to that FOOD! I’ll show them how this works). There are a lot of problems with how Muslims are portrayed. And on and on.

But I wanted to wear high heels to a movie. By myself. And also, there’s something about Carrie that always pulls me in. I’ve mentioned Sarah Jessica Parker on here before. It’s a big nose thing. I feel like we’re kin. I mean, I will never ever ever be that thin, nor do I hope to be, but the woman has a face like no one else in Hollywood, and I feel I owe it to her face to support her career. Continue Reading »

[This post is being cross-posted today at Beauty Schooled, one of my favorite blogs! If you check it out there, don't listen to Virginia about the bullying. There was no bullying. Except when I told her she'd better cross-post stuff with me or I'll find her, wherever she tries to hide, and make sure she knows how important it is...]

It’s really important to compliment people. In terms of body image, I think it’s extremely important that women compliment other women. I’ve never understood dismissive people. I’ve never understood rude people. I have a sort of grudging respect for them once in a while, because it looks like they don’t have to go through the trouble of caring constantly about other people. Which must be kind of liberating.

But mostly I just feel like if I was trapped in an escape pod with one of these people, hurtling through space, we’d have nothing to say to each other. Even if we were stuck there for a week. Of course, now that I think about it, maybe meeting someone in an escape pod, blasting off from an exploding space station, might interfere with a person’s ability to be dismissive. They might start telling me about how their dad left when they were little. Continue Reading »

This is Stephanie. She blogs at Girl with Dog and Torch. She co-founded the Journal of Inter-Religious Dialogue.  She is one of those people who is actually comfortable being herself, as you’ll see. I have endless amounts of respect for her. And her cake. Look at that cake! It could totally take on like four other cakes.

Here is Stephanie:

Why yes, I would love some cake.  And I have no second thoughts, or inner voice that responds in warning or regret, about it. Continue Reading »

As I write this, I’m having a little bit of trouble breathing. It’s like I have a perpetual cold. I’m completely used to it, but when I think about it, I realize that it wasn’t always like this. In fact, the reason it’s like this now is that I feel bad about my face.

My college boyfriend talked me out of getting a nose job. He was appalled by the idea, perhaps to his credit. But I couldn’t talk myself out of it.

When I finally went to the cosmetic surgeon he took one look at my nose and said, “Oh yeah. Could definitely use some work done.” He was a very blunt guy, and I appreciated that about him. I appreciate him a little less after two surgeries and a nose that doesn’t look significantly different but doesn’t function quite as well. Continue Reading »

(The Odyssey boat. I think.)

We hung out with my parents over the weekend. My mom and I went with my fiancé to look at tuxes for the wedding. He tried on a vest and jacket that were about four sizes too big and I immediately started to cry. Not because nothing fits him. Or because I’m just a crier. Or because I got a bug in my eye. But because I am actually going to marry him.

I had to leave the store. I said, “I can’t look at you, you’re too handsome.” That’s exactly what I said.

The salespeople at the bridal stores I went to told me that when I found the right dress, I’d cry. When I saw myself in a veil, I’d cry. But I didn’t. I think of myself as someone who doesn’t really cry. Maybe that’s not true anymore. I cried when I saw my fiancé in a tux. He prefers old tee shirts and rumpled cargo-esque pants, and his work clothes don’t require a jacket or a tie, so it’s sort of shocking seeing him dress up that much. And also, I’m going to marry him. How strange is that? Both extremely, overwhelmingly strange, and not the slightest bit strange at all. In a journal entry I wrote when I was fifteen I said, “What do I know of love? I haven’t been out of the country. Or to outer space,” in a list of reasons why I wasn’t ready to be in love. Hopefully my writing style is slightly less dramatic now, but I still haven’t been to outer space. What do I know? Continue Reading »