The Mostly Unabridged Chronicles of malackey

I had something really awesome to be thankful for this year:




This is Liam. My cousin had her first baby this weekend. I'm already waaaaay too excited to meet him.

Happy Birthday mahaloluinoa! Let's get cupcakes and make fun of stuff on Deadspin later, okay?

Oh yeah. I have a bed now. Like a big kid, and everything.

So, I'm busy getting jerked around for my student loans, hours at the place that offered to hire me, and repairs on my apartment. I'm hating virtually everything, perpetually jacked up on Diet Coke, and stuck with a sinking feeling that I made a really, really bad decision in moving to Sarnia. In Windsor, I had a support system, close friends, and virtually instant access to my therapist. Here, I have none of that. Here, I am the support system, as my grandmother is navigating the fucking labyrinth of government bureaucracy to get my grandfather into a proper assisted care facility. Here, I don't have a job, or any money coming in, and rent is due in two weeks. I am fucking freaking out.

What are you all up to?

Dear pilarcruz and scotty2naughty and sun_myst,

Because I love you all so very fucking much, I have a present for you. You'll have to share, but there's plenty to go around.

MILLIONAIRES


Hugs and kisses!
me

HE: Seriously? How can anyone say the Obama administration handled this badly? They got the journos back, they may have started to repair the diplomatic relationship with North Korea, and no one got hurt. Where’s the problem?

ME: Oh, it’s a ‘propaganda victory’ for Kim Jong-Il.

HE: Ummm, isn’t it all propaganda in NK? Like, state controlled media and all?

ME: Yes, but this is way worse. NOW THEY HAVE PICTURES OF BILL CLINTON. Looking all dashing and heroic and brilliant…God, he’s so hot. I’m sorry, where were we? Oh yes. See, peaceful resolution of the problem was wrong. You know your foreign policy is lacking, if it doesn’t involve fighter jets, aircraft carriers, and body counts.

HE: Yeah. Obs, they just should have invaded. Diplomacy is for pussies.

ME: Pffft, for some chicks? WTF were those girls doing out of the kitchen? 12 years hard labour is letting them off easy. Maybe they’d have time to work on their apple pie recipes.

HE: Oh goddamn. You win.

-Post five of any pictures currently on your hard drive that you think are self-expressive.

-NO CAPTIONS!!! It must be like we're speaking with images and we have to interpret your visual language just like we have to interpret your words.

-They must ALREADY be on your hard drive - no googling or flickr! They have to have been saved to your folders sometime in the past. They must be something you've saved there because it resonated with you for some reason.

-You do NOT have to answer any questions about any of your pictures if you don't want to. You can make them as mysterious as you like. Or you can explain them away as much as you like.

So, so, stupid. But it kinda made me think of scotty2naughty and his Green Shirt Thursdays.

Red Zoo Closing Doors.

Wow.

Since I don't know if you caught it on Twitter:

'Hold Me Back' is my pick to win the Derby. I figure 'Friesan Fire' to place, and 'I Want Revenge' to show. And since I'll most likely be unconscious for the actual race, it's up to you to drink a gallon of mint juleps for me.

Forever21 recently announced the addition of a plus-sized line, to be called Faith21. Over on Tumblr, the general reaction seems to be, "ZOMG, who would even want to wear their shoddy crap?" That's an easy one. Fat girls. I can guarantee, fat girls would give their right arms to be able to walk into a trendy store with their skinny friends, and actually be able to shop with them.

It's a special kind of humiliating, to be in a store, and realize the only thing you're going to be able to fit into are the shoes and the socks. Accessories are kind of a crapshoot, because sometimes you just can't jam your meaty paw into those adorable little bracelets. And while your friends are trying things on, you're still looking on the racks, searching for a XXL anything, just so you can join in. Eventually, you end up squeezing into pants three sizes to small, and desperately layer three tees, a cami, and a hoodie on top, to camoflage the muffin-top spilling out. Even now, I can vividly remember how awful it was to be a size 14 girl out shopping with my friends. They all found things that looked cute, didn't cost an arm and a leg...I was stuck wearing shapeless sacks that made me look like a baked potato. Back then, stores that even deigned to carry plus sizes certainly didn't concern themselves with style. Unless of course, you considered tacky prints, sweaters with cats on them, and tapered pants some kind of style. And stores that did cater to plus sizes were decidedly devoted to a much older demographic. Leaving my teenage self in clothes that made me feel ugly.

No teen girl needs another excuse to hate the way they look.

So, while I still think Forever21 is trashy, tacky, and poorly constructed, I appreciate that they're embracing customers of all sizes. Naturally, there's some killjoy shitting on the parade. MeMe Roth of the National Action Against Obesity actually questioned the notion of fashionable clothing for fat teens. "However, when you look at the human cost, what we're doing is we're on the Titanic and rather than forcing our children into the lifeboat, we're telling them to join the band. Worrying about fashion rather than worrying about the food is a horrible message that we're sending these kids."

Fuck you, MeMe. Fuck you right in the neck, with a chainsaw.

Surely, a much better lesson is to suggest that unless you fit a specific mold, you're not worthy of feeling cute. If you're so lazy, stupid, and immoral as to dare to be fat, you deserve to look terrible and feel ugly. You should be stuck in 'Mom Jeans', and constantly worry that your shirt is riding up over your pudge, until you get your act together and lose the weight.

Or, perhaps if you felt good about yourself, and liked the way you looked, you'd be more likely to take care of yourself. But what do I know? I'm just a fat girl.

My 23rd birthday was easily the worst on record.

Reality and I were having this really messy break up. Like, I got mad, threw Reality out of my cerebellum, and proceeded to go completely batshit nuts. My father found me cowering behind the bedroom door, and hauled me off to the ER, convinced I was thisclose to doing something drastic. He was right. I’d spent the night before at the Sculpture Garden, sitting on the railing, and contemplating dropping myself into the Detroit River. I’m not much of a swimmer.

As the sun came up, and joggers began passing by, the likelihood of a rescue became statistically more likely, and I walked home. Nothing ruins a good suicide attempt like some misplaced Galahad.

So, for the big 2-3, I was in a shrink’s office, alternately hysterical and withdrawn. I got asked a lot of questions, didn’t get many answers, and a handful of scripts. The next year is mercifully blurry, probably because I slept through most of it. My diaries from that time are mostly incoherent, which really isn’t a surprise. Most of my profs had complained my prose was overly verbose, unnecessarily dense, and once the madness had free reign, those aspects only got worse. Stevie Nicks would probably want to put it to music though.

That birthday is the closest I’ve come to checking out, and was the event that started me on the way to getting better. Without a doubt, it was the worst day of my life, the darkest night before the dawn. But every birthday after that got better - I was surrounded by the closest friends that had stayed loyal to me, the family that had rallied around me. So, every year, I turn 23 again, to remind myself of how far I’ve come, and just how I’d let myself slide.

Plus, I got carded trying to buy cough syrup three weeks ago, so I figure as long as I still pass for a juvenile trying to get high on Vicks 44, I can keep on pretending.

Fun thing I learned this morning:

The unemployment rate in Detroit is estimated to be 22%. Which by itself is terrifying. Factor in the failure of the Domestic Three, and it's anticipated that number will double.

That, is the kind of terrifying that sends me in search of clean drawers.

While I'd really like to finish my nursing degree at my current school, a few things have transpired to make me consider transferring:

1. The school recently passed a resolution tacking on an extra $200 to every students' tuition. Why? To pay for the 32K pair of ostriches the school just bought.

2. The school also recently appointed Sarah Palin to the board of governors. I give up.

http://www.swiss-miss.com/2009/03/if-i-was-a-robot.html


Silly? Yes. So is Phil.

Can't blog today. Too busy being miserable. I am thoroughly convinced dentists are sadists, no matter how many painkillers they prescribe. Wah.

I think we're all familiar with this:





And we're equally familiar with the tabloid reaction, most of which can be summed up as "ZOMG, JSimp is like soooooo FAT!". Her own sister defended her, attempting to shame us all with the question, "How can we expect teenage girls to love and respect themselves in an environment where we criticize a size 2 figure?" Ashlee has a point, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. While it's utterly irresponsible to criticize a size two figure, it's also silly to suggest Jessica is a size two.

Jessica is a lovely girl, with a lovely figure, whether she's depriving herself to fit into a pink bikini and writhe around on the hood of the General Lee, or binging on carbs and filling out a Cowboys' jersey. The only thing 'wrong' with her body, is the fact that a stylist who should have known better, convinced her to squeeze into high-waisted jeans a size too small for her. High-waisted pants are nearly universally unflattering - when a trend manages to make even the hard-abbed Fergie look lumpy, you know something foul is afoot - but, most of all on curvy girls. And, while I feel for the poor girl, as no one likes to feel fat, much less hear it from the world, I don't feel too badly for her.

Jess has built an entire career capitalizing on her blonde, girl-next-door good looks, as she's a bloody dearth of talent. Her musical abilities are comparable to karaoke, and as an actress she's utterly dreadful. Her success has all been tied to her attractiveness, whether it was her enviable "You can't cover those suckers up!" Double D breasts, or her lushly curved backside, filling out Daisy Duke's short-shorts. And as harsh as the criticism has been, I can't help but think it should have been expected. One cannot promote oneself as the All-American Blonde, and not expect some snickers from the peanut gallery when one no longer fits the mold. The slender-waisted, high-assed, big-titted mold. One also can expect to take a little abuse when the most recognizable commodity in their brand - in this case, Jessica's face and figure - undergoes a noticeable change. Ultimately, her failure to remain faithful to the branding that made her successful, is the reason for the criticism.

Well, that and some fiercely ugly pants. Seriously honey, fire that stylist.

I'm currently addicted to my Twitter. The 140 character limit seems to be just what I need to keep the updates short, and generally, pithy. So far, I've managed to stir the wrath of a vegetarian, and the derision of someone that is just so much more jaded and sarcastic than me. Oh, and a yoga instructor that feels bad for me, since I'm fat.

On the plus side, I get to share all my text marathons with the rest of you on Twitter.

Plans for next week: sun_myst and I are shooting and editing our application video for that dream job in Australia. We'll be sure to post the finished product to both Facebook, and YouTube. In the event we don't get to go to Australia for free, there's always the hope we'll garner internet fame.

School is back in session, and I'm still no damn good at math. I vented my frustrations with the prof:

PROF: You'll need to math, because someday, you may need to know how to turn a 3% dilution into a 10% dilution.
ME: I'll just move on from the 3% solution, and get some 10% solution. 'Cause you know what? I'm going to be working in a well-stocked hospital in Canada, not some third world nation.
PROF: *blinks* Compassionate, but you're probably right.

I'm also looking to drop the Strategies For Success, and Communications classes I was allowed to skip last semester. Frees up valuable nap time. Not that I'm sleeping normally...Right now I should be asleep, but I'm wide awake and bouncing off walls like a crackhead.

And that's it. Hah! Full sentences!

What with LJ getting sold to Russians, then planning staffing cutbacks, it seems some ljers are scrambling for a back up plan.

My own inherent narcissism provided me with an alternative, years ago. I've been compulsively reserving my name at several other blogging/social networking/whatever site. In the event LJ craps out on us, I'm moving right along to blogger.com. See you there!

So, I asked the universe to send me a dim-sum delivering boyfriend.

Today, I got these, for free. I suppose they're boyfriend bait.


I was at the mall, when a Chinese girl ran into the bathroom, tossed a Guess bag on the counter, and ran back out. Inside the bag - those cute little shoes. After discussing it with sun_myst via text, I decided to keep them. And spent the rest of the afternoon shielding the bag with my other purchases, paranoid that someone was going to stop me for shoplifting, or stealing their stuff.