Sticky Beak
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The Skinny
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...life in small Northern towns, working for assholes, boys who refuse to become men, synthetic personalities, anorexic models and their link to emotional scarring, bad marijuana trips, crazies on BC Transit, beer, piece of shit cars, living out of a suitcase paycheck to paycheck, unrequited love, Seinfeld, minimum-wage jobs, broken New Year�s resolutions, and over-limit Visa accounts.
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Moooooove over, wide load comin' through!!! I've suspected it for sometime, but have just recently come to the conclusion that every barbie doll out there has an ugly and/or fat friend. It's more than just a theory, people... it's a fact. How many times have you passed the odd-combo duo on the street? It's the perfect synergy; fat/ugly girl gains exposure to a world that would otherwise be entirely inaccessible to her, and barbie's level of attractiveness sky-rockets when placed in direct contrast to her friend. It is Yin and Yang. Yes, Yes. This weekend I went downtown with a beautiful friend and my theory was cemented. I'm not resentful of my beautiful friend - she can't help the fact that she was born with superior genes - but I am resentful that I have always played the fat/ugly girl role. I've been painfully aware of my participation in this 'synergistic' (is that a word?) pairing with my friends for years now. Decades, actually. Once upon a time, in my prime, I was referred to by a stranger as "generic" in looks... nice. Since then, my looks and 'lure', if you will, have declined in direct relation to my increasing weight. Fucking metabolism. There is absolutely no justice in this world. While browsing a shee-shee-poo-poo boutique with my friend - a place that I would never contemplate setting foot in otherwise - I remarked that, "this is the type of place where Clinton & Stacy would take you to shop on What Not To Wear." To which she queried, "Definitely... Hey, would you be offended if I put you on that show?" Offended? Hmm... let's see. Would I be offended if someone offered me a trip to New York, $5,000 to buy a new wardrobe, a $500 haircut for free and a complete fashion make-over? Tough one. Give me a minute, now. No, not at all. Or would I? I would loooovveee to dress like the Beautiful People; trendy, sexy, full of confidence and envied by all.... but the truth is that there are two major roadblocks to me achieving this. 1. My income bracket. There is never going to be a time in my life when I will have enough money to afford $500 jeans, $1200 shoes or $2000 bags. It's not pessimism... it's a reality. Oh, shit. This has somehow evolved into a 'Poor Me' episode... sorry for that. That's not what I intended at all. My POINT - and I did have one in here somewhere - is that there are two very distinct groups of people in the world... those who have, and those who have not. This can be interpreted in a million different ways... health, wealth, opportunity, luck, looks... Spending an afternoon downtown in Vancouver with one of the Beautiful People and receiving a nomination for an extreme fashion intervention simply reminded me of my place in the world as a Have Not (a.k.a. token fat friend). Sometimes it's important for us to be reminded of such things... keeps us humble. I've asked her to skip the fashion makeover and go for the big cheese... The Swan. If we're gonna make me over, why not do it right? Let's shape and sculpt until the reflection is something a little less jarring??? "Wouldn't it be nice, if I could melt myself like ice and outrun my skin and just be pure wind???" - Jewel Am I fixating? Uh, yeah. I think maybe. Fuck. I'm pathetic. Nothing like airing your bloody insecurities and deepest scars on the fecking internet, hey? How lame is that? Maybe I should invest in a shrink. Or better yet, a hypnotist. Make me believe I'm something else... someone else... erase all this bullshit and the layers of scartissue that are my albatross... Give me all the possibility of a newborn and none of the mind games from this sadistic, cesspool of life where anorexics mudwrestle with bulemics, and hemaphrodite skeletons parade the runways as projections of ideal beauty. Cry, cry, cry. Wow, the Cynical Beast has clawed his way back to the surface and suddenly assumed the driver's seat. Ouch. Where did He come from? PISS OFF, BEAST! We were doing just fine here without you... |