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2007-04-11 @ 11:19 a.m.
double standards, I guess

Poor Valerie Bertinelli. Poor, poor Valerie Bertinelli. The tragedy of it all. Her comeback on the cover of a national magazine had to be for shamefully, and I do mean shamefully admitting she’s no longer puking out her guts to stay skinny. Nope! Instead she has totally let herself go and gotten like totally fat, like almost fat enough so that Maury Povich had to almost send some guys over with chain saws to extricate her from her Hollywood mansion so that she could run over to In-and-Out Burgers for a couple of three pound hamburgers and a cheese IV to hook up to her little chubby sausage arm.

I mean, why else would she lose her Rock Star husband. (cough) FAT! And all those starring roles in skinny-girls-are-sexy movies (cough) FAT! And appear on a national magazine in what amounts to a white mu-mu large enough to hide 12 illegal aliens. (cough) FAT! And then to be asked to be a spokesperson with Kirstie Alley for Slimfast!! I mean somebody had to make Kirstie look skinny!!

My god, people, the poor woman is only size 14! I’m size 14! I don’t consider myself fat. True I have a poochy tummy and a double chin, but everything is very well proportion. I don’t have rib bones sticking out of my t-shirt like a Holocaust survivor. Its all good. Unfortunately Hollywood makes anyone bigger than Nicole Richie look like Godzilla stomping through Tokyo with people running and screaming. I’ve been on a vague diet. I’ve lost 9 pounds, but Monday I had a crummy day and after my watercolor class I went over to the grocery store and bought a pint of S’mores ice cream, and just ate the whole damn thing when I got home. I just needed some comfort food and I didn’t have to ask anyone and I didn’t need to feel guilty because it tasted pretty damn good.

I think I’ve been putting too much pressure on myself lately. I skipped out on the EM-power-MENT class Monday, because frankly I wasn’t in the mood for god-boy asking me what I wanted to call the entity I pray to. And besides I was working on a graphics project for our upcoming two day art event at the university and I’m on a new computer and I’m having trouble locating files and I’m spanking myself for being so dense. And I’m not usually a perfectionist, but suddenly I wanted this brochure to be absolutely perfect. Plus it was STILL snowing out. We actually sang “We’re dreaming of a White Easter” at my aunt’s house on Sunday.

The last night of my watercolor class was pretty uneventful. The teacher still didn’t know any of our names after six weeks and told us the uber-exciting news that she had gotten a job selling ads in the local newspaper. Married Guy used to write for it. She told us that the woman interviewing her said she was the most qualified candidate by far because of her vast experience with executive publications. I can just see how well that will go over. Her walking into a business. “Hi, I’m an artist. I wrote a book. I don’t know your name, nor do I particularly care, but here look at my book. Oh, and you should buy an ad too because I have a book on”

Anyways, while all the other women in the class continued to work on the same paintings of flowers they’ve been working on the last three weeks, I finished my third painting. I didn’t want to do something that wasn’t challenging (i.e., flowers), so I brought a postcard in from the Adirondacks of two baby coyotes snuggling each other affectionately. I guess it came out okay. Originally I had a painted the background with tree branches and flowers, but I didn’t like it (the perfectionist thing again), so I just blotted it all out with a dark color to make the coyotes show up better.

And then yesterday, while wasting some time until my board meeting at Charlemagne’s house, I went to Barnes and Nobles. Charlemagne is loaning me a copy of Photoshop to put on my new computer, since my old photo-editing program never transferred correctly. So I wanted to look at some books on Photoshop, since I’m not real clever with it. And as I was looking at a book, I was standing next to two people who were catching up. We were fairly close, but I was trying to ignore them, since I really didn’t care about their hateful co-workers and how much they were worth to their employers. My paintings should be hanging in MOMA, but you don’t hear me snarking about it in a bookstore.

Finally the two part ways and suddenly the guy turns towards me and just starts chatting away. “What’s your book about?” “Oh I like to take pictures.” “I have a computer.” “You can make pictures look better?” “I like traveling.” “Do you like to travel?” I wasn’t really expecting that and boy was I ever glad that it was the Photoshop book I was looking at and not the “Kitty Kuma Sutra” book I had been looking at earlier. The book that had the girl kitty commenting “Your whiskers are so manly. Will you tie me up?”

Anyways, this guy just went on and on. Was he my type? Not in the least. He was barely my height (5’4”), rather rotund (yes, I’m a hypocrite, what can I say) and was boring. Blah, blah, blah. I mean he was talking, but it was smaller than small talk. So I finally said “I have to go, it was nice chatting with you.” and then scrambled towards the art books. Of course then I was afraid he’d find me looking at nude paintings of men and would want to talk about refrigerators or something, so I finally just left. I think I finally just had my first Barnes and Noble Pick-Up attempt. “A” would be so proud.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty