Cupcakes And Friends Are Good In Moderation
I've been thinking a lot lately. Dangerous I know. Conjuring up smoke clouds and the the olfactory hallucination inspired scent of burning, old, greasy gears violently grinding against one other.
(that is what I imagine my "thinking" brain to smell like: burning. My unthinking brain smells mostly of old books that have been in a dank library basement fermenting and molding over. God how I love that smell)
Every good, average, down home, feminine, girl knows one's mind as well as her underarms and lady parts should be clean, free of hair and wreak of blooming lilacs or exotic fruits. At all times a girl should be "fresh" and somehow evoke involuntary "fresh" thoughts of breezy cape cod shore lines specked with green sea grass and vibrantly potpourried fields full of wild flowers. I'm pretty sure that despite my best efforts at being average and feminine I am very far from it. The only thing "Fresh" about me is my mouth.
When people look at me or speak to me for that matter I highly doubt it sends their mind's eye running through a lush, green, mountain valley and careening into a cool, effervescent, mountain spring. I think mostly it just sends them running.
I lack a filter.I was born without one. Some sort of internal deformation. I say whatever is on my mind be it good, bad, wonderful, or wonderfully ugly, grotesque and often times awkward. I'm foul and unladylike. I am genetically a women though my facial hair and "Hulk" like bursts of hypoglycemic anger beg to differ. I am a hormonal nightmare and I should probably be studied at the Mayo Clinic or some other scientific research lab. I might in fact be a close relative if not a direct descendant to sasquatch.
Being in my thirties is kind of fantastic because despite all my short comings and abundant medical oddities I am alarmingly okay with who I am. My thirties are my coming out story of sorts.
No I'm not gay though I do love my gay and lesbian community. Nobody knows quite how to love a chunky, loud mouthed, female, societal outcast quite like a gay man. If you're in need of a boost in your self esteem spritz on your nearest bottle of cucumber melon body mist and head for your local gay club. I guarantee you'll be feeling fabulous in no time.
In the gospel according to Queen, "fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round"
Let's face it without fatties like me in the world there would be no such need for Spanx or any other lycra stretch product, bedazzled sweats suits, microwavable food, diet soda, chocolate, chick flicks, and even Aerobics and Zumba. You think it's the thin, healthy, "Normal" masses who drive the force behind cooperate america? NO! It's the unhealthy fatty, freak, misfits of society like myself who keep the economy rolling, so to speak. Far more of us exist than the perfectly sculpted, statuesque, runway models that the media shoves down our throats everyday. Eat a cheeseburger PLEASE! Even a veggie cheese burger, I'm not picky! Just stop sucking ice chips and you'll be a lot less cranky.
I'm not telling you to eat frosting for breakfast and chase it down with deep fat fryer oil but what I am saying it live it up every now and then. Life is too short to not harden at least one of your arteries so long as you get off your ass every now and then, unplug and read a few books. Stay active mentally as well as physically but never stop learning, living, and loving. Cupcakes are your friend and everything is fine in moderation even depression.
Being sad, hungry, full of angst, and downing an entire pint of Chubby Hubby while watching Golden Girls at 2 am is a lot more "NORMAL" than you think it is.
I say, "give me your poor, your tired, your freaky, homosexual, fat assed, masses." and, "GOD BLESS AMERICA!"
Everyday we are free to be exactly who we are, exactly who we want to be.
I just happen to be a 30 something, overweight, hormonally challenged, funny girl, who's sometimes sad for no reason.
It's alright to be a perfect mess or perfectly insane. Just be thankful that at least some part of you is perfect at all.
(that is what I imagine my "thinking" brain to smell like: burning. My unthinking brain smells mostly of old books that have been in a dank library basement fermenting and molding over. God how I love that smell)
Every good, average, down home, feminine, girl knows one's mind as well as her underarms and lady parts should be clean, free of hair and wreak of blooming lilacs or exotic fruits. At all times a girl should be "fresh" and somehow evoke involuntary "fresh" thoughts of breezy cape cod shore lines specked with green sea grass and vibrantly potpourried fields full of wild flowers. I'm pretty sure that despite my best efforts at being average and feminine I am very far from it. The only thing "Fresh" about me is my mouth.
When people look at me or speak to me for that matter I highly doubt it sends their mind's eye running through a lush, green, mountain valley and careening into a cool, effervescent, mountain spring. I think mostly it just sends them running.
I lack a filter.I was born without one. Some sort of internal deformation. I say whatever is on my mind be it good, bad, wonderful, or wonderfully ugly, grotesque and often times awkward. I'm foul and unladylike. I am genetically a women though my facial hair and "Hulk" like bursts of hypoglycemic anger beg to differ. I am a hormonal nightmare and I should probably be studied at the Mayo Clinic or some other scientific research lab. I might in fact be a close relative if not a direct descendant to sasquatch.
Being in my thirties is kind of fantastic because despite all my short comings and abundant medical oddities I am alarmingly okay with who I am. My thirties are my coming out story of sorts.
No I'm not gay though I do love my gay and lesbian community. Nobody knows quite how to love a chunky, loud mouthed, female, societal outcast quite like a gay man. If you're in need of a boost in your self esteem spritz on your nearest bottle of cucumber melon body mist and head for your local gay club. I guarantee you'll be feeling fabulous in no time.
In the gospel according to Queen, "fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round"
Let's face it without fatties like me in the world there would be no such need for Spanx or any other lycra stretch product, bedazzled sweats suits, microwavable food, diet soda, chocolate, chick flicks, and even Aerobics and Zumba. You think it's the thin, healthy, "Normal" masses who drive the force behind cooperate america? NO! It's the unhealthy fatty, freak, misfits of society like myself who keep the economy rolling, so to speak. Far more of us exist than the perfectly sculpted, statuesque, runway models that the media shoves down our throats everyday. Eat a cheeseburger PLEASE! Even a veggie cheese burger, I'm not picky! Just stop sucking ice chips and you'll be a lot less cranky.
I'm not telling you to eat frosting for breakfast and chase it down with deep fat fryer oil but what I am saying it live it up every now and then. Life is too short to not harden at least one of your arteries so long as you get off your ass every now and then, unplug and read a few books. Stay active mentally as well as physically but never stop learning, living, and loving. Cupcakes are your friend and everything is fine in moderation even depression.
Being sad, hungry, full of angst, and downing an entire pint of Chubby Hubby while watching Golden Girls at 2 am is a lot more "NORMAL" than you think it is.
I say, "give me your poor, your tired, your freaky, homosexual, fat assed, masses." and, "GOD BLESS AMERICA!"
Everyday we are free to be exactly who we are, exactly who we want to be.
I just happen to be a 30 something, overweight, hormonally challenged, funny girl, who's sometimes sad for no reason.
It's alright to be a perfect mess or perfectly insane. Just be thankful that at least some part of you is perfect at all.
Comments
Post a Comment