The Mostly Unabridged Chronicles of malackey

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.

Hey there Universe -

X-mas was really great. I got to see my brother and sister, the parents, the cool cousins. I got a camera and a Coach bag (pictures to come). I was a good niece, and ate some weirdly dry pot roast at my aunt and uncles house. Like we're talking so over-done, it was falling apart into thready strings...virtually meat at the atomic level. I was nice to my gramma shitty.

And while I am totally happy with the present haul this year, I've decided I want more. Specifically, I'd like someone that will bring me diet coke and dim sum at three am, when I am trapped in my office by myself. I'm willing to meet you halfway, and will start going out more often, since I'm not really interested in dating anyone I will meet in my basement. All I'm asking is that you give him a nudge towards me (as I'm assuming anyone I am compatible with is also deeply committed to sleeping in, Wow...or Sims...or something similar, and laying around their bedroom like a sloth). And is willing to make late-night snack runs for me.

Thanks!

I'm really trying to sleep, but some asshole is running the snowblower thisfuckingclose to my windows.

Not blowing snow...just running it next to the window. For twenty fucking minutes. The place stinks of gasoline now. I am about to go pull a sparkplug, and kick some fucking ass.

UPDATE:
Went out and turned off the snowblower. No one seemed to notice. I still can't sleep.

Happy Birthday, to sun_myst, student teacher, artiste, roommate extarordinaire, and for the next 24 hours, Global Teenage Princess.

I won't even make fun of how old you are.

*hugs*

Although I'm sure it would ultimately have adverse effects on productivity, I can't help wishing for a hammock in here tonight.

*Or perhaps a futon*

Liver is still borked. It's better, but it's still borked. And I think I'm a size 12 pants now (which is a major accomplishment, considering how goddamn porky I'd gotten), as my two week old jeans fell off me in the office last night.

I'm still chomping through more than a thousand dollars worth of anti-depressants every month. I'm still not slitting my wrists, but to be honest, I've had better days than what the last 4 months has thrown at me. The light treatment regimen did nothing to improve my mood in 2 months, so we're ending it. Next up is rotating anti-depressants (Effexor for a few weeks, then Celexa, then back). After that, I believe is suicide, but we're all hoping to avoid that.

Fencing lessons are still ongoing. I am getting better, and haven't opened myself up, or picked up anymore spectacular bruises in a few weeks. Go me.

The New New Job is fine. It pays better, which is very nice this time of year. Not that I am even close to having my shopping finished. Or even really started. Meh. But, I get to play my music as loud as I want in the office, as I'm all alone in here. Downside? Midnights are kind of slow, and I'm all alone, and not talking for 5 and 6 hour stretches just doesn't feel normal to me. Also, I keep forgetting to bring in dinner with me, and I'm starving when I leave.

I fired up my Second Life account for an hour today. SL is still creeping with just as many pervs as I remembered. Despite my noob appearance, I got propositioned several times (quite graphically on a few occasions), and logged off in disgust. And this was on noob island (as I've never re-set my home landmark, and was exploring all the new stuff they've updated there since the last time I was on). I realize the internets' primary function is to house the world's collection of erotica and pornography, but must EVERYTHING circle back to the wang? Can't a girl wander around SL without immediately being asked to furnish a complete stranger with a service I ususally reserve for the second date, assuming I've been purchased a suitably expensive dinner? I know people that insist SL is tons of fun, but between the furries, the goreans, virtual escorts, and the general douchenozzles I keep meeting, I can't find it.

sun_myst and I need to come up with a few hundred bucks, and invest in GMAC and Ford. I don't have good feelings about Chrysler, but Ford seems to have the most organized re-structuring plan, and as the largest auto company on the planet, GM seems likely to benefit from the coming bailout loans. With shares trading below three dollars, a thousand dollars invested could have decent returns in four or five years. And if we lose it...chances were she was only going to buy booze, hair extensions and cat food, and I was going to waste it on mascara, magazines, and gum. Nothing much to show for it either way, really.

Ummm, I think that's it.

Waiting for the bus, deep in the west end of Windsor, I was approached by two cheerful, smiling, attractive, early twenty-something boys in dark suits.

"Ahhhh, fucking Mormons," I thought to myself, and promptly slid on my sunglasses, cranked up my iPod, and turned my back to them. But, we all know Mormons are, if nothing else, persistent, so one stepped around me, and grinned.

"Pardon me, young miss, but do you have a moment?" he asked, politely.
"No," I replied, and began wishing for my bus.
"Not even a moment to think about where you'll spend eternity?" He smiled even wider, and began to extend the book in his hand towards me.
"Especially not for that." And with that, I took several steps away from them, and looked down the block, willing the bus to appear.

Mormon number one followed me. "Well, you need to consider where you'll spend your afterlife..."
Rudely, I interrupted with my favorite anti-mormon missile in the arsenal. "Look pal, you and your magic underpants and heretical bible can fuck right off, okay? The fiery pit of hell I'm bound for is going to be a goddamn day-spa by comparison to your notion of celestial fucking and spirit babies."

He drew back like I'd spat at him, staring, open-mouthed. Both he and Mormon number two left the bus stop, looking over their shoulders, presumably to make sure I was still right where they'd left me.

"Say hi to Eloheim for me!" I shouted, smiling.

I gave notice at work today.

After weeks of half-shifts, going home early, covering for others, and getting no kind of schedule from my boss, I called her and asked for an explanation. Two women in the office, who do not like me, have begun complaining that I was offered 'their' weekend overtime as my regular shift. So, now they're raising all manner of problems for my boss. Rather than lose them, she's been trying to accommodate everyone...and ended up pissing us all off. My boss can't promise me anything in terms of my regular schedule, and was afraid to tell me I might end up on midnights. Rather than tell me now, so I could offer my opinion, she had preferred to wait until January or so, and spring it on me once I was back in class.

The urge to scream was pretty desperate, but I held it together long enough to just say I was done. Done with the brokerage, done with getting jerked around, done with the whole mess. Then I called sun_myst's office, and got a job there. Sure, it's weekends and midnights, but I don't freaking care. It's a job. It's a schedule. It works around school. I'm happy.

So, in the last 20 months I have quit a total of 4 jobs. Go me.